Gujarati pulp fiction: Return of the bar dancer
Editor’s note: This excerpt is from the short story titled ‘Bar Dancer’ in ‘The Blaft Anthology of Gujarati Pulp Fiction’. Written by Vibhavari Varma and translated by Vishwambhari S Parmar, the story follows the life of Parvati—a bar dancer-turned-housemaid who gets an alluring opportunity to dance again–when she meets a tyrannical dance instructor. This excerpt has been published with permission from Blaft Publications.
Below the board was an inconspicuous wooden door. Parvati could hear a remix version of a familiar old tune playing inside.
Ajeeb daastan hai yeh
Kahaan shuru kahaan khatam?
It’s a strange story;
Where does it start and where does it end?
She stopped in her tracks. Had her story come to an end already? Or was this place going to give it a new lease on life?
With some trepidation, Parvati opened the door of Lord Shiva Dancing Garage. A couple of steps led down into a cavernous, ware house-like space. Wide frosted-glass windows were set into the upper part of the high-walled room.
The instant Parvati set foot on the stairs, some flood lights turned on, filling the room with brightness.
She saw a group of ten youngsters performing a wild dance to the tune of some music. Each of them wore a two-toned t-shirt—black on one side, white on the other—with matching trousers. They moved as if they were all joined at the hip!
She hadn’t noticed at first, but each dancer had a white rope wound around each hand, running from the wrist up to the shoulder. They had arranged themselves into a fishing-net formation, each holding on to the loose end of the rope at the next dancer’s wrist.
A few seconds like this and the music changed. As soon as it did, they each grabbed onto a rope suspended from the ceiling and began swinging about like a grapevine.
Before Parvati could make any sense of the performance, the group had rearranged themselves into the shape of a flower; and with yet another change of the tune, they were a human pyramid! Four dancers crouched at the bottom with three balancing on their shoulders, another two above them, and one dancer at the very top.
“Come on… NOW!” came a voice.
And with that, the pace of the music increased. The pyramid, as if formed out of a single material, began swaying in place. And then, using the rope hanging above it, the whole pyramid lifted itself into the air and began swinging around the room!
Just as the music ended, the formation toppled to the ground in a heap, the dancers lying stock-still like wooden dolls thrown out with the shavings.
“Bravo! Very good!” A voice followed the applause.
A well-built man, over six feet tall, stood silhouetted against the light. His long hair was loose, eyes bloodshot, three-day stubble conspicuous on his chin.
“OK. Lights…”
Parvati couldn’t help staring at the figure. He must have been in his fifties, his hair half-speckled with white. His body was sculpted but heavy, his tummy hanging out of the red ganji he wore. He had paired it with blue-coloured track pants.
“Five minute break.” He walked away from the dancers towards a table where a couple of wealthy-looking women stood. They had two chocolate-type boys with them, dressed in expensive t-shirts and jeans.
“Yeah, tell me, what is the problem here?” the man asked, giving them a scathing look.
“Montano Sir, our kids have been telling us that—”
The woman was interrupted mid-sentence. “Actually, first, you listen to what I have to say,” said the man, his voice shaking with barely controlled anger. “These entitled brats have been complaining that they won’t dance alongside a mechanic’s son or a clerk’s daughter! They say that they’re happy to balance on someone else’s shoulders, but they’ll be damned if they return the favour. And why? Because they happen to have rich parents, that’s why!”
“It’s not like that, Montano Sir, it’s not about rich and poor at all! But just look at the size of these kids. Their shoulders won’t be able to bear the weight!”
“Shoulders? Chheh!” Montano made a face. “I’m going to have a dozen kids stand up and balance on top of their tiny little heads. I’m going to work them so hard their arms and legs will turn to pulp. That’ll teach them a lesson. This is a dance class, madam, not some fashion parade, you understand?”
“But the kids were saying that you didn’t even consider them for the Paris tour—”
“The Paris tour?” Montano laughed. “I can’t even be sure we’ll be selected for it. But madam, a group dance is like a basket of apples. If even two fruits are rotten, it can spoil the whole bunch. I hope you understand that.”
“But when you took the fees you said—”
“ONE MINUTE!” He held up his palm, motioning for them to stop.
As everyone present watched with mouths agape, the man walked across the room into a tiny office at the other end. Not a sound could be heard from inside. When he reappeared, he was carrying a bundle of cash in his hand. Throwing the notes onto the table, he spat, “You each paid twenty thousand, right? Here… take it.”
“But sir—” one of the kids began.
“What I said? Out!” said Montano in clipped Bombay-Catholic English, pointing a finger towards the door. “OUT!”
The two women pocketed the money and walked out, muttering under their breath, with their kids in tow.
A hush fell over the whole garage.
Parvati was beyond amazed. He had cast away such a huge amount without a moment’s hesitation! The difference between her two experiences, not half an hour apart, couldn’t have been more stark. At Body Swings, four people had ganged up on her to throw her out; here, she’d witnessed one man showing the door to an entitled group of four.
“Yes? What you want?”
Parvati was a little shaken to hear that voice suddenly directed towards herself.
“Sir, I… I have to… umm, learn to dance.” “Hmm.” He considered, flicking his hair back. “What do you do?” “I…” Parvati hesitated. “I’m just a maid. But I have this…”
Parvati was about to proffer the wad of cash she had secured in her chhedo, but Montano held up his hand.
“You’ll learn dance?” he said, coming closer. “With your knee like that?”
“My knee?” Parvati was stunned.
“Your ghutana. Your knee. I noticed it when you were coming down the stairs.” He smiled. “Actually both your knees are bad, no?”
“Yes, but I… I was a bar dancer once! At Diwana Bar. Shetty’s Diwana Bar,” Parvati blurted out.
