It seems paradoxical that most performers have intense stage fright; they should be the biggest extroverts, right? Interestingly, the reason behind my paralyzing performance panic is quite unorthodox. When I was four years old, I started Bharatanatyam, a style of traditional Indian dance that focuses on telling a narrative about the Hindu deities through expressive movement. It's one of the most beautiful dance forms that exists, and to be able to master the art is truly impressive. There's this prestigious rite of passage if you "graduate" through the levels called an "arangetram." Basically, it's a giant performance that you advertise in similar style to wedding invitations and actually being able to pull one off makes you royalty in the Indian community of whatever liberal American city you live in. I, unfortunately, was not gifted enough.
Here's the thing: I am the world's worst dancer. I know a lot of self-deprecatory people might try to claim that title, but if I even attempt to move my body in a dance-like manner, not only would you feel sorry for me, but you would also feel sorry for yourself for having to witness that tragedy. I would always watch and copy other students during rehearsals and performances because I couldn't memorize dance routines. It was physically impossible for me. Imagine that- I couldn't remember five simple sequences. In fact, if I had to dance to save my life, I would be a permanent resident of the intensive care unit at St. Mary's.
I remember one show where I was the leader of a group dance, but I still looked to my sides to watch the others since all memory had been wiped from my brain's motherboard. After we finished, it was time for the "awards show" and I was instructed to head downstage. All of a sudden, I had to pee...really bad. I had to empty the tank or I was going to explode. My six-year-old mind was thinking, "There has been no rain in the desert for eons, so go forth and bring the rain, Suvi. Make it rain!"
I frantically ran around backstage begging the "stage managers", AKA the snobby high school volunteers, to escort me to the Little Girl's Room, but they all pushed me back onstage and told me to wait until after awards. They acted like the entire shebang was being broadcasted right before an episode of Dancing With the Stars.
A warm feeling came over me when I thought about how badly they wanted me to accept my awards, but it turns out that was actually just my urine soaking through my outfit and flowing down my legs. I heard my name called for "Best Participant." So I accepted my award and slowly shuffled offstage, leaving streaks of pee as my final mark in the dance world. I was extremely pissed...they couldn't even bother to actually put my name on the plastic gold trophy. You know, the dollar store ones. With the glue still sticking out of the sides.
At this culminating performance after four years of dance, I brought new meaning to "being yourself"- it became "peeing yourself." The ride home was an entirely different story. I'm pretty sure that my mom gave up on my dancing career when she saw me waddle to her after the show was over.
