Hope for acceptance

I hurriedly bend down to tie my shoelaces. Today is my audition for a dance reality show. All the things that I need are in the backpack slung on my slim shoulders. I'll have to reach there by 10.

"Aahan, did you eat breakfast, son?" My mother calls from the doorway of the living room.

"I took the tiffin, Maa. I will eat later," I quickly touch her feet to take blessings as today is a big day for me and I am already running late.

"May god bless you," she says, placing a hand on the top of my head. I can see my dad reading the newspaper, in the living room. However I don't approach him as I know he won't be responding to me. I hope that someday he will.

I take my leave for the day as I exit my parents' house. While walking down the alley, rows of other middle class houses, same as I live in, stand on either side of the narrow street.

I recognise a group of people, around my age of 20 years, standing in flock at one end of the alley. As usual, I prepare my ears to go deaf, expecting some snarky remarks. However, no matter how well I try to block their voices from invading the sensitive part of my brain, it always fails.

"Faggot!" I hear the first comment and soon others follow with scornful laughter.

"Look at that she-man. Is he even a man? I don't think so."

"Dude, I heard somebody say that he is a prostitute. Did you look at the way he walks? How come his father didn't kick him out of the house yet?"

"Belly dancing? That too by a male? I pity the viewers. Haha."

"Gay!" "Loser fag!"

I am not gay! I want to shout. Even if I was, it's none of your goddam business! And what does my dance form have to do with my sexual orientation anyways?

I always expected these sorts of comments when I first discovered my passion for belly dancing years ago at the age of 16. My father was among the first people to show their dislike towards my preferred dance form.

I initially tried explaining them, tried convincing them that whatever I am doing, there's nothing wrong with it. However they won't listen. "It's girly," they said, "All these cheap activities don't suit a man, and if you like them then you are not a real man."

A time came when I thought it was pointless to convince them. Maybe they will never change their minds. But I hope someday they will. Especially my father. It has been almost two years since he last spoke to me.

I pass the group of people, hearing all their nasty comments from one ear and letting them out through the other one. That's what I prefer doing now.

I cross the alley and enter the footpath, sounds of tinkling of bells can be heard from my bag. A chiffon skirt, a hip scarf with beads, coins and bells, some gypsy jewellery and a small makeup kit. I carry them in my backpack and hop to the nearest bus stop. Bus number 172 arrives shortly and I secure a seat being the third in line.

After getting the ticket, I put on my earphones and take out my tiffin. I can see a few others eating too. That's what you do in Mumbai, when you are running out of time to go to your offices or institutions. Practicing today's choreography in my mind while listening to the song, I eat my breakfast.

Today, I will be performing on a larger stage, unlike my usual smaller platforms. I, as a male belly dancer, have gotten a few opportunities where I showcassed my talent and even won some prizes. Not that any of it matters to all the people around me except my mother. She is the only support I have got from my family. My father is on the verge of disowning me, my mother is what keeps him at bay.

When the traffic lights are red, my eyes wander across the rows of stationary vehicles outside the window. I see a few individuals wearing Sarees with a huge vermillion mark on their foreheads, crossing the footpath line to enter the main road. They clap and ask for money from the drivers of two wheelers or cars. It is their source of income; something the privileged won't even acknowledge. Some give, while some don't.

"Hijras" they belong to this community of eunuchs, intersex people, and transgender people. Referred often by derogatory terms such as Chakka, Meetha, Fairy and so on.

One of them comes to my side of the bus. I quickly pull out a ₹10 note and give them, "Bhagwaan tuze hamesha khush rakhe"(May God always bless you with happiness), they bless and leave as the signal turns green again.

I don't like to give away money as an offering because I myself am a student and every penny counts for me. However, I will only stop giving them money, when people start giving them jobs. The government has given some provisions, but they are effective only on paper. Their acceptance as even normal humans won't be happening anytime soon but let's hope that someday it will.

Moving on, the bus sets off towards my destination. When I get off the vehicle, even from this distance, I can see the large crowd ahead of me. I quickly get in line for the changing room after registering my name. There are all sorts of dance form contestants ready to show their magic on stage. I spot many distinct costumes of Bharatnatyam, Kathak, Flamenco, Salsa and a few belly dancers too. There are females as well as males. It's good to see more people of the belly-dance form participating this year.

I quickly change and come outside. A few dancers stare at me rudely, making disgusted faces but I choose to ignore them.

The audition starts. Contestant numbers are getting called one after the other and the place is getting less crowded. About an hour and a half later, the speakers announce my name,

"Contestant number 105, Aahan. Please come to the stage."

As I walk down the hallway, I can hear the comments of a few staff members seeing the chiffon skirt and jewellery on me. 'Deaf ears', I remind myself,

I am not here for them. I am here for myself, to show my talent to the world. I am here for my mother, who had always supported me through this journey. I am here for my dance teacher, who had unbiasedly taught me this beautiful dance form. I am here for my fellow male belly dancers who unfortunately couldn't participate this year. I am here for anyone who sees my dance and my dance alone.

I always keep a theme for my every performance and today's theme is really special. It's a message and a request, both, that I want everyone to hear and this larger platform is giving me the opportunity for the same. I'll put forth it through my dance.

I hope people accept my belly-dance form without any bias, without any question on my orientation, without judging me merely by my gender. I hope my father talks with me again, I hope he accepts me, so does my entire family, and my entire society and the entire world. I hope, one day they will.

The world may not be ready for me yet but I hope someday it will be. I will wait for that day to arrive... because I have hope... that sooner or later... it will arrive.

With confident steps, I walk towards the stage. I touch the platform with the hand and then place it on my heart, gesture that I follow before my each and every performance. I believe, my God resides here on the stage, a place where I can be myself.

I go to the centre and assemble in my starting pose.

The music of beating drums ques the start of my performance and I take a deep breath, channeling my emotions into the theme of my performance today,

Hope for acceptance.

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Author's note :

Hey guys,

This oneshot is inspired by a real life male belly dancer which I had seen on a TV show way back. I don't even remember his name but his graceful dance is what I could never forget.

This story of mine is dedicated to Ehsan Hilal, Rohit Kumar, Alex Mapeleena, Sravan Telu and all the male belly dancers out there, who have struggled their way to be bound with their preferred dance form.

I hope you liked it.

Thank you for reading ❤️.

(Word count : 1375 words excluding the author's note)