India makes me love my mom. She’s a daughter of this country. The daughter no one wanted. The daughter they kicked out. And she’s never looked back.
I was one of those emo teens with my hair in my face and dark moods. I’ve never fully grown out of it. At family functions, I was usually sulking in a dark corner, dressed in dowdy Indian clothes and trying to avoid the dancefloor and my embarrassing mother. She was usually sweating through her silk, on a break from “busting some moves.” So many times, she’d scold me saying, “No one will ask you to dance if you sit in a corner and sulk.”
I’m sitting in a corner of an office, in a corner of Ahmedabad realizing how true this is of every dancefloor. Life. Work. School. Whether or not we like the song or the dancers, it’s so much more fun to dance.
My mother also says that having fun is an art, a skill. You have to know how. I guess the first step is putting down these burdens and stepping onto the dancefloor.
Well here goes… = )
In India 