Ghungroo - The Siren Call of Lovers (#1 - Completed)

Chapter 29 - I Want Her

Chapter 29

Song Credit - 'Wicked Game' by Chris Isaak. Perfect, right?

Riaan's POV (continued)...

The lights dim.

Sips is on point taking care of the lighting and sound part of it. Art enthusiasts flock to the space, knowing that some sort of performance is about to start. There is a lull around us as we wait.

A figure is visible as it appears out of the shadows. The soft jingle of bells fills the silence. Ankle bells, or Ghungroos as they are called...at least, that's what I think they're are.

This must be Layla. She strikes a match and the space fills with the sweet smell of incense. Sandalwood and sage...

A spotlight comes on one by one, bringing into sharp focus the paintings behind her. They jar into clarity, shocking the senses and igniting emotion. The bright spots throw out the intense colors of the artworks.

The last spotlight illuminates Layla. She is in stark contrast to the paintings as she wears a simple costume of plain white tights and a top.

Fuck! But she does look lovely in white.

She looks ethereal now. It is Layla, but not Layla. Her face is made up with the make-up of a traditional Indian dancer. Her body is adorned with heavy, Indian jewelry. Her hair is braided with white lillies. She looks like an ancient sculpture, the kind you would find at the facade of a timeworn Indian temple. 

Music fills the space. The strains of a sitar, a tublar and then a flute wind through the crowd. I see that Kumari Devi has gone and sat down cross-legged at the edge of the makeshift dance space and has a pair of cymbals in her hands.

She strikes them together and Layla melts into a sea of motion, dancing with such fever and grace that a lump forms in my throat.

I have never seen anything this beautiful before. Ancient poses that follow from one to the next, her body so flexible and tempered that it takes my breath away.

As she dances, images flash onto her body from a projector. The images are of the same paintings that hang behind her, giving movement and voice to the painted women that hang behind her.

It is a well choreographed piece, the lighting and sound heightening the movement at precise moments.

Kumari Devi's cymbals keep time. The tala.

Carnatic music, the cymbals, the ghungroos strapped to Layla's feet, the well-timed music and lighting- all come together to create a breath-taking scene.

Since when did I learn these things about the ancient dance form of Barathanatyam? I'm even familiar with the terminology... I can't remember where and when I read or heard about it.

Was it Layla's interest in it from years ago that had spurned me to learn more?...No, that's not likely, surely.

And I get the meaning of it all, too. Guilt creeps into me as I recognize the unrelenting, dominating male gaze that Layla speaks of here. Centuries of western dominance, colonization and conquering of other cultures come through in the images and fever of the dance.

As a white male standing here, I feel guilty. Not in a bad way. But I just feel guilty. Their eyes follow me, relentless in their gaze.

I concentrate on the image of Layla. She is at one moment fierce, then gentle. Animated and subdued. Erotic and desirable.