Workout Pains!

One would imagine that going for a workout would be fun, relaxing, stress relieving and quiet. Well…. Think again!

I have been through the rut and cycle of much of the fitness offerings in Mumbai city. There was a time I was obsessed with trying out any fancy offering in sports and fitness and decide if I would go for more than 2 classes/sessions a week after a trial class. If there was an accompanying enthusiastic fool, then he/she would succumb and we wouldn’t waste time or energy in beating down the doors soon.

Dance, jazz, drums (yep don’t underestimate upper body workout), parkour, martial arts, karate, gyms, swimming, bboying, hiphop, crossfit, personalized training, dumbbell marathon workout, Capoeira, yoga, kalaripayattu and errrr… many more. On my to-do list are pole workout, Pilates and scuba diving in the pipeline. Despite 2 busted and surgically repaired knees, I have no intention of stopping or slowing down. P.S. This does not include occasional lazy ass bouts of nothingness. In my experience, doing nothing is a workout too :P

The good part of all the above was knowledge and experience. To know that there are folks who lived in absolutely poverty to mediocre standards just to fulfill their passion and keep it going. To impart it day after day in practice and training without expecting it to become popular at the speed of a bush fire. They put their comfort, their price, their personal time and even their family on the line to make things happen. Despite media exposure and workshops, a marginal percentage actual manage to make it to the big league – and by that I mean having at least 2 or more high profile clients and a periodic mention on social media. The rest remain to slug it in the mud and a majority to embrace defeat, shrug and move on. Their skills are narrated as after stories or introductory glory moments to give them an edge in an unknown crowd. The more exotic the art, the tougher to have it established and running.

What ropes me in is their passion. That passion is what convinces us learners to follow in their footsteps and dedicate few valuable hours from our day/week to the skill. This also accounts for the commute back and forth from the center – case in point when I worked myself to the bone doing Malad – Powai – Khar/Andheri – Malad almost 3/4 times a week. Over the last 10 years, I drove myself to the bone working out as much as 3 hours at a stretch at the gym, doing dance or yoga classes, swimming (when time, money, a clean balanced pool and mood permitted) and then followed a brief confused period in bboying followed by a long term stint at capoeira. All the art forms showed immediate and visible effects on my body and mind. Some very slight and some rather drastic. Gymming caused me to drop to a number that was underweight for my height and frame. But for someone like me who has battled weight since puberty, they were golden numbers in the 40s and I was only thrilled to drive it down rather than stay healthy and up. The result was atrocious skin for the 1^st time in my life, disrupted monthly cycle and deficiencies due to a not so well constructed diet.

Poor knowledge and even poor skills can cause severe long-term damage – something I have learnt personally. Capoeira unearthed a part of me that lay dormant for far too long. The art form just married my body movements and it was possible due to all my activities, I had the wavelength and flexibility to pull of moves that takes months for some new folks into this art form. I was home. And I made it home. Weather, space constraints, distance, time, energy, fuel, nourishment, balance… nothing mattered. I hated and loved people around me fiercely. But I was clear… I was glued to the class and the instructions than people and superficial offerings. I didn’t care if I missed a party or if I was early to leave from a party. No one lived my side anyways and some were more than eager to drop me home, repeatedly. Don’t think I have ever declined those many offers over and over again. But I hyperventilated if I either missed a class or someone occupied my comfy lil spot on the left extreme corner (1^st row) in class. I HATED that. They were minor possessive elements in my mind. I ignored it by watching year after year, month after month all kinds of folks come in. The class was no different from the gym. 

There were the wanderers and socializers among the scattered hardcore trainers.

People in Mumbai have learned to be comfortable in the tiniest spot. By that I mean, you can take a 360° turn but not really stick your arm out. The concept of giving space in life, in person, in class, in gym, in public spaces does not exist. And people carry this attitude with them everywhere they go and every discipline they infiltrate. In gym, you could hurt yourself from machines or anyone with weights etc. In Capoeira class you could easily have an arm or worse still, a leg, land on any part of you and most certainly add a few painfully sore days if not worse to your body. Safety couldn’t be further pressed and stressed about in class and yet not everyone pays heed or is mindful of it. It’s just flaying arms and legs for some who just wouldn’t care about the consequences or others around them.

Fast forward to when I joined Mickey Mehta’s 360° routine. So Capoeira had physically and emotionally damaged me in some irreparable ways. I realized that I would need a lot of time before I sensed that freeing feeling when I 1^st started practicing and training in it and that no one in class, not even in jest, would try to hurt me. So in the meantime, a suddenly ballooned weight (per my standards) prompted me to consider something tamer to be added to my routine. Mum enrolled me into MM360. It worked for her and she thought it would at least help me. Boy it did…. Calisthenics, cardio, boot camp, yoga (extreme and asanas), dance, stretch class, grow tall, aerobics, drills, well they had it all packed into 1 hr sessions 7 days a week all year long. One could pick and choose any one class per day and walk out content. Who doesn’t like variety served on a platter and the freedom to do ANYTHING from a slot reserved between 6am and 9pm. I used it and abused it. I was addicted. But I was careful and I trained sensibly. It worked wonders for me and the trainers who are so well taught and inducted into the system became my go-to folks. Early mornings and early-late evenings were packed like a Mumbai local. The odd “housewife” slot so to speak (that’s the term for 11am to 6pm) was scanty to empty sometimes. There were days I was the ONLY student and class was conducted with no discounts or trimmings from the actual routine. I loved it and I used my work-from-home privilege to slip in a class anytime. Sometimes even during a lunch break. But them ladies got on my nerves when they joined class. There is always the collective echo of wailing and yawning and laziness. I still cannot comprehend why would you attend a class if the only aim was to mark attendance. This wasn’t school or the army where it was traced and a consequence was announced. The only consequence was weight gain and not being fit. Them ladies would come and collectively slow me down by blocking my way with their group chatter or slow the class down by prompting the instructor to either reduce the number of repetitions or change the movement to an easy “doable” one. To add to the bane of my problems was the air conditioning. In a tiny studio space, 3 split ACs and 2 high speed noisy fans HAD to be on. The common sense that we warm up our bodies to work out and not cool it down with these tertiary gadgets didn’t prevail. I scouted areas of the class, however farther away or awkwardly placed just to avoid the direct blast of these gadgets. When the class would be packed, I would try to be patient and accommodate folks around me. It came at a cost. They didn’t feel or think the same way. Selfishness bid itself a warm welcome right with my breathing radius.

I joined Dumbelled workout regime as a trial for a month. T’was 3ce a week 6am-7am. Rigorous marathon training and tailor made for runners and marathon enthusiasts. I did not fit in and yet I managed to drag my crucified knees through 4kms of running non-stop at 6am temperatures. Discipline, attire, routine and stress levels were uniform and high. Just what I needed to push me over the edge and get me to do what I loved but just couldn’t find the right tools to aid me. I always needed a trainer and someone who would drive me down the road. However, the idea of doing this just one more time made me grovel and I had no will to join a bunch I barely spoke to or connected with. I think connection is key in a group. It makes you wake up and look forward to joining them no matter how bad your day was. Workouts in any shape or form always relieve you. But this… I left after a trial month. No regrets.

This was just a handful of issues I faced working out. At Goregaon Sports Club, home to the whos who of the rich and classless, I was hit on by men 3-4 times my age, causing my friend the member abundant embarrassment and refusal to bring me back again lest they pester him for my number and details. I once left a gym because the instructor insisted he wanted to marry me after training me for 2 years. Once refused to join a gym because the eager instructor looked like he would propose marriage after 2 years of training. Swimming was another story. If you find yourself in a slot that includes anyone, you are in for smelly dirty kids not minded by their parents or dirty old men who inch their whale like bodies close to yours and try to brush past or even slip in a creepy ‘hi’ in the middle of your laps. Excess chlorine and sometimes questionable hygiene drive you away faster than Juhu beach water could.

Working out is a headache and a boon. 3 scenic gardens around my home keep me grounded. Yes, I have to pass couples making bad attempts to hide in bushes to do what they do in bushes. Some quite out there and almost making babies. But if I strain my neck and eyes enough, I can pack in a good run followed by a few workout moves. The oxygen is a good trade off.

Clothing. Wait… APPROPRIATE clothing. Such a debate. Women ‘dress up’ here for workouts. I have seen pushup bras and heavy makeup beneath the perspiration. Tight clothing and see through it all clothing. And never a proper fit or a comfort. Adjusting and flaunting workout wear is THE workout. Its awkward and just a tch tch moment for spectators. Why or why would one want to be discomforted in the outfit that’s supposed to be the MOST comfortable. I once wore Quecha brand sportswear to a gym where I was told off by the gym instructor to cover up. I was shocked that racer-back was inappropriate in the near 40° heat but a camel toe and a tight T-shirt donned by someone else was acceptable. Bias! Both men and women also tend to conveniently ignore what to wear underneath the attire. Sometimes it’s way too embarrassing to acknowledge or even pass by in the same room. I shall not delve into the inappropriate details of what disasters those result in.  

In the end if not a workout, at least our wits, common sense, visual sense and our humor has a good workout and we make up for the rest elsewhere. I will never run out of feeling that initial pulse of getting my bikini bod and then leaving whatever space thinking “what the hell was THAT”. But if I never do any of these, I wont have any more experiences or make attempts to stay fit. Gotta 'ruuuuun' 

I’m in shape. ROUND is a shape! (A fat post)

Said the glorious (read Gloria) Queen Latifa in an interview to someone few years ago (I swear I Googled it but couldn’t find it). I don’t quite care for the quote as much as I do about Ms. Latifah or her character Gloria from Madagascar series of movies. Both depicting round, glorious, wholesome girls with a kick ass sense of humor.

All of my friends who are on the curvy side incidentally also carry the better part of the humor bandwagon. Probably cuz the thin 1s have no ‘juice’ left in them (that’s me being mean). I’ve been on both sides of the latitude and longitude of the 1 battle we are constantly fighting since puberty – weight. At least the vast majority of us. There is not 1 person I’ve met who hasn’t made a quip or some sorry excuse about control, diet, workout etc. None of it coming from the will to do so but rather the need for it.

I was a scrawny thin kid. Growing up I gradually become a plumpy gal. 1 push and sure enough I would bruise you. Kids are mean. They are always mean and aren’t equipped to handle sensitivity issues or factors. A random few (if you’re lucky) grace that list. I was the kind and sensitive 1. But I was also the angry 1 if someone so much as teased me or any of my circle of friends. Infant crawling-punching years were spent with rowdy boys in a co-ed. All of us were spoilt lil brats and we knew the language of the fist before we knew the ABCs. Mum dad and the teachers would never whimper in my direction cuz I was the ace student who got ace grades. I was special *blush blush*. What annoyed other kids was that I didn’t study or put in the effort either. It was ‘au naturale’ to me. And after having probably had a muddy tussle with me in the playground graced with a few unsavory exchanges, they were dragged up to my doorstep by their mommies to apologize to me and either borrow my HW or get tutored by me.

Once in boarding school, I continued being the same. Except this time we were all GIRLS. My bonding vs exceptional despise for having gal-pals came from boarding school. Too much budding estrogen under 1 roof is a formula for bloodshed, tears and disaster. It was simply our matron (long past the cramps and pads) and the convent-ish rules that kept us unscathed and alive. There were beauty experiments, weight issues (dear lord to the roof), comments (read taunts), fairness ads bombarding us, magazines of the then waif-thin super models, misconceptions from misguided thoughts plagued by confinement in a fortress-like setup followed by impressionable and excessive bombardment of media and the days of MTV grind and newly launched FTv. It was in those formidable years that I was made aware of my plumpiness. 1 will be surprised how much can happen under a boarding school roof and the people it shapes us to become. I was supremely active (hyper). I played competitive basketball for the team, I swam, I dabbled in hockey and finally even joined karate. I did it all and I could do them back-to-back without burning out. Much of it was genuine interest. A small yet significant portion of it came from the meanness I had to deal with from the very gals I lived with day in and day out.

Restricted diet became secret dieting, which is worse when the prefects and matrons check to see every morsel has been wiped from your plate. Uniform pockets were suddenly impossible to launder due to all food groups being hidden in them and then discarded to the garden dogs. Clothes became tighter cutting blood supply but giving the illusion that they fit vs they actually fitting us. Black was an all season color – the slimming color. Most of us looked goth and lost. We drank ridiculous concoctions and devised our own theories and recipes for eternal beauty – boy were we convinced or what. I recall a time when we had returned from a vacation break and sure enough had new clothes and shoes. We decided to set up our own fashion ramp and ‘model’ them clothes. What started out as a weekend time-killer turned into a massive routine production. We borrowed and got ready and fussed over ourselves and each other. Since makeup was a no-no; we used rough towels to rub our cheeks till they turned rouge pink. The end result was a few of us landed up with abrasion burns, which the matron caught and aptly punished us for. Boy did we have a laugh over it.

In all of this and through college, fat-jokes were a routine with me. I was never fat; just plump. I despised shopping and even worse, being photographed. Hence, I wondered what it must be like for the really obese and fat 1s. I am of the theory that much of it is self-brought on while a few genuine cases are genetic or health related history. Sadly, friends and foes aren’t built to think so. If you had money and/or were popular, you were left unscathed. Else, you had to develop a hyde of good humor and sportiness to succumb to all that was thrown at you. I never flinched except 1ce when a boy made especially mean comments about dating me despite my appearance. I still don’t know why THAT particular comment got me but it did – it didn’t dawn on me that the boy himself wasn’t a vision of fitness. What followed was a very dangerous and obsessive need to lose the pounds. I ignored the fact that even though I did yoga, gym, dance and sports, it was my thyroid that held me back. I was convinced that adding few hours to ALL the activities and really altering my diet was the key. It worked. I dropped a whopping 16+ kilos. The bonus was bad skin for the 1^st time in my life, some serious deficiency issues which I refused to acknowledge and going underweight – which btw I celebrated. I was perennially disturbed if asked to eat something or miss a workout – it was not part of my mental plan. My body and health were taking a beating for a lousy comment that had triggered a spark in my head and, at the time, my heart. 

Now with age and maturity and an art form that celebrates curves, strength, agility and a lot more about just being fit than a prototype image, I find myself so much more comfortable. Of course, the evolution involved behaving like a girl and investing the time and fusses to be like 1 too. This I say thanks to self-confidence and a lil indulgence of praises and flattery. Boys will be boys. But they sure know how to make a woman feel more like so. If I look around I see factory manufactured products. All that is missing is a barcode (which I think tattoos make up for). The boys and girls talk the same, have the same lazy walk, identical looks and have the same IQ. Boys look like Johnny Bravo and clean shaven less than equal to their female counterparts. The girls are essentially toothpicks or some blessed with the antique curves of a lamppost. Same long hair flicked, burned and straightened by salons they shouldn’t be heading to at their age. Pre-pubescent know how to put makeup long before I learned what an eye-liner was. Their exposure and attitude baffles me. I was thrown at a website which offers fat reduction packages to age as young as *drumroll* 12yrs. And more so recently by the ‘kids’ fashion senses at a concert. Sure it was fun and helped Abeer and me kill time, but it left me perplexed that the only way to look good was to have bare minimum covering your body.

I’m glad that at no point I felt the need or insecurity to take extreme (dangerous) measures. There are far too many vulnerable minds and bodies being tortured. I need a healthy point of view rather than a stressed point of view. There is nothing worse than embracing a bag of bones when you need to hold on to someone you love. And yes…. I love love love my food too… There I said it. Hence, round it is for me… *Busy workin it!*

Oii Gata… Belo dia para Capoeira

It’s what I tell myself every day. Capoeira has been my passion since June 2010. Before that, it was a hazy blip of something exotic I wanted to explore under the category of ‘hobby’ that was to go well with my just new life after a messy break-up. Well break-up in tow. A friend was to come along with me to the 1^st demo class but bailed last minute. As much as this sounds mundane, at the time it was HUGE for me to go by myself, enter the class, and watch the demo. “What’s the worst that can happen!?!” is what I convinced myself and meekly crawled into Raheja Classique Clubhouse complex.

The rest is a 3.5yr history. Though not as long as many who have dedicated longer or far more, for me it’s a big deal. I have done the song and dance routine, the whole basketball phase, the acting and prose phase, the stage, the direction, spotlights, narration, story writing. I was a very restless kid with a powerfully imaginative mind that just HAD to be put to use. But nothing gave me back like Capoeira did. Hence the determination and the major milestones that have affected me most with this art form. I was sold from the 1^st class: Baba was this handsome man with a non-Indian descent commanding a god-complex like presence; Macaco at the time was a quiet 1 and I assumed (like many others) that he might be from Brazil, and lastly Dancerinha (Arunima) who was my 1^st and remains my most treasured friend in CDO. I was convinced of the authenticity of the art form and its practitioners. It was important to me that I wasn’t in any wannabe or copy-cat group and this fit was anything but.

I took to Capoeira naturally – actually, my body did thanks to years of sports, yoga and dance. I basked under the attention of being the quiet beginner who picked up well and used it to motivate myself to come back every class and do better. Up till the 1^st 3 months, I was nervous every class I came. I was invariably late, struggling to get out of work early from a job I routinely left at 11pm from the worst possible location – MIDC Andheri E. I felt like I didn’t fit in mostly because of the self + imposed exile of no activities or friends beyond the relationship I was in. But each class I adjusted and found a sense of strength and confidence with the group and the art form. The roda still petrified me at month 4. Anything in a group, in a line, in partner work etc was fine. Roda felt like a spotlight was on me and I had to ‘perform’ to prove a point. Baba’s confidence and friendliness with me made me warm up. I did avoid all social events, parties, house warmings etc just strictly adhering to a class schedule. I look back and wonder now what made me be/do so. Guess I can’t explain what or how I felt way back then.

Batizado 2010 exposed my senses to a whole new world and new possibilities of the just 7 mnth old world I was in. I loved Capoeira and it had become a regular, unmistakable event of my life. It was still NOT my life at this juncture, a significant part though. With each class I learnt its depth and history. Mostly my homework and the rest gathered from class and people and online forums. I found myself relating to the struggles of the slaves. My condition wasn’t as bad as the slaves and the extremity of their ordeal that gave birth to such beautiful expression of pain, subtle rebellion, suppression and all that can be categorized as slavery in its ugliest form. I guess we all are in a race for survival. Each day is. Our ordeals are about work, money, future, trust, friendship, human connections, commitments etc. These things seem to make up the magnitude of our psyche and affect us now more than ever given how ‘beautifully’ we have all evolved. Everyday stresses are turning into killer diseases; hence, they do command some severity in parallel to the African slaves. Every student will tell you 1 thing, “When they enter class and exit post 30mins to an undefined time later, their mind and world seems different.” Me included. I designed myself to always remain busy and physically occupied. Without it I enter a dark place. In doing so I have on occasion burned myself out even if my exhausted body and mind were screaming for a break and I was literally yawning in the midst of an Au (cartwheel).

Today’s class is a much evolved space than the 1 I entered in. There is a beginners, intermediate and advance batch. There are more seniors and many more ‘teachers’ and ‘instructors’. The latter is funny cuz after a week of Capoeira even a beginner begins to see his/her future as a capoeira instructor and starts playing the part ASAP. Before attempting to even complete 500 basic kicks over a chair – a rampant fodder for jokes between the older lot of us. We bask in the stage that we entered this art form, have our own stories and version of stories and games. There is deep history and a lot of dreams and sacrifices that went into building CDO India. Every member forms a pivotal or guest-appearance like role into the building and continuity of the center and the dreams attached to Baba.

My feelings and movement in Capoeira have swayed, waxed and waned over the last »4yrs. There are times when I have a week of complete confidence, where the body and mind have married in perfect harmony and I’ve wowed myself the most (a factor more important to me). There are weeks that seem mundane and regular or at worst – stressed and strained. Workweeks that have mentally drained me to reconsider how the last few hours of the day would I sustain. These are weeks where the body refuses to reconcile with the mind; refuses to consider that there is possibility for a relationship after all. Then there are these surprises where suddenly there is a shutdown often accompanied by an ailment or injury. The mind and body are divorced and refuse to connect even a spark to recreate magic. I guess this is the way to keep the motivation up. There is no one to compete with or prove anything to anyone in Capoeira. Not even yourself. It’s art and expression of the body in its most natural form. The slaves back in the day expressed their culture marinated in a lot of suppressed aggression. They weren’t worried about how their last street roda fared or who did an acrobatic move with more flare and ease than the other. Maybe a little awe and friendly competition but not as under the spotlight as it has come to become now. I guess that’s what our marination is all about – the wow factor.

Salonee (Bombom) and I (Gata) playing chocolate!

I have driven myself over the edge with Capoeira. Because it has given me so much I expect and leech more from it. I got my social projects here. I got my dance and music and found my voice here. I found love, jealousy, hatred, passion, innocence, insecurity and pride here. But most importantly I found the strength to come back to my corner of class everyday of every week of every year despite everything. I travelled and met people; did silly things and stupid things. Never regretted them. I relaxed A LOT. I let go of my mind and body from an uptight moral-brigade and let my indiscretions be just moments I had to have to develop into the woman I am today. I learnt not to take a kick in the face or take down so personally. Unlike many who wow another game to tackle their opponent, I just refused to replay them. This was the naïve younger Capoeirista in me. Now I take down and be taken down and laugh it off. I learnt that my lessons were someone else’s lessons too. The younger Capoeira students especially girls learn from other girls. We wow at the boys but we learn from the girls. We also laugh and snicker students in our lil groups and moments. Not out of spite. More out of the familiarity we witness from our own experiences before. I too thought nothing of many things. It was always a lot from little somethings. Patience and objectivity were keys to being a good instructor. You can’t grow if you are biased by your feelings towards people. Instructors pass on the knowledge of Capoeira; NOT their feelings to students and human beings. Those come through the rodas and lessons. I have yet to master this in its complete form. Impartial objectivity.

1 of the most important lessons I learnt in Capoeira is balance. Balance of mind, body, heart and soul. Balance of inside the class and outside. Balance of Priyankka vs Gata. We get so possessed that we forget there is or was a world out there that we have clearly separated and disconnected and thrown out. All festivals, family gatherings and even dating was sacrificed for class schedule. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt; just dedication to do my class and leave satisfied. I didn’t think of the people who wanted my time and attention and who I deprived that chance because I was too blinded by my drive to be the best. I forgot I can be the best without hurting myself or burning myself out 7x365x24 hrs. I think back to the times I could’ve done many things but skipped because Capoeira was too important. Here is another balance: Capoeira vs class. What is it that drives you to class? Is the class or is Capoeira? It has been 1 or the other or both for me at various times. You see some classes I just didn’t wanna lift a hand or a leg; but I wanted to see my teacher and my friends and my alternate family and forget the day or the week below the 4^th floor of SS Sahney Centre for CDO India. Maybe watch and learn and not focus on how high I could fly or how low I could bend and twist and turn. Those days even Baba is surprised at my mischief or lack of focus. Majority days I am there for Capoeira. I can do a whole class without socializing and still leave content. Many days I HAD to do class. It could be any element but it had to be in the presence of Capoeira. I understand now why many who have watched from a distance or have tasted it and left call it a ‘cult’. It is a cult in many ways. I would be offended thinking these people just wanted to label us. But we capoeiristas we breathe together. That makes us a cult a family.

This year love found me. I say this because I refused to acknowledge it or even accept that I was in love. I thought it was a phase I was going through. But when it hits you it leaves a hue, a scent and a feeling you can’t shake off at will. Like Capoeira did to me. I may not be in class right now. But I do think about it every day. Right now from box seats called disdain and insecurity for Round II. Yes, I do feel insecure. About my injury and my mental and physical ability to get back in the game. But this time I will go back with a new relationship and balance. Abeer. He has taken top spot alongside Capoeira for me and, will in the future, occasionally bump Capoeira and take over like an F1 race going neck to neck. I realize 1^st hand the effect of giving enough time and importance to your relationship – not kick it in the face with “accept me as and who I am”. I am guilty of that arrogance. When something or someone loves you back and gives you happiness, you have to balance it with loving the fact that they love you. This time when I go back and resume where I left off, I will put my interests, my time, my body, my health and my love just as high and equal as I did Capoeira. Anything in excess isn’t good. I find that I will excel and move forward when I balance all other elements around me instead of burning and smoking and screeching with Capoeira like an engine with no water in the carburetor.

Mestre Cueca asked the instructors a very important question on our 1^st lesson late at night, “What have YOU given back to Capoeira?” I think a healthier happier me is also a way of giving back because that’s where I will fulfill my duties and dreams as a Capoeirista and as a human being. A girl very much in love with too much. 

Spiral Cycle

…or so I am avoiding. Poorly.

Last week was a difficult 1 for me. Maybe 1 of my worst. Nearly all of Eid was spent in hospital and doctor visits. This accounted for the commute, the wait and the final darshan of the doc almighty so to speak. The end was fruitful or so I am made to think of the visit but not of the circumstances overall.

A week ago during a rehearsal for a TV show, my left leg decided to do a horrible remake of my right leg’s episode. The remake was much like Bollywood movies, a crass copy that did not do justice to the original piece. The scene involved me tackling 4 ‘ruffians’ (read my fellow capoeirista boys) with Capoeira manoeuvres: throws and takedowns. It was conceived by my teacher in a matter of minutes as we practiced. At 1^st I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it look authentic enough. But after a bunch of takes I liked being the kick-ass gal. I enjoyed it and loved that THIS would mark my spot. Was gonna bring Abeer to the show. So I savoured the moves and practiced. It was late but we had the studio so we just jumped about and practiced set after set. The last and final take I gave it a lil more than just a practice run and there is where the dislodge and familiar sound defined the next 6 months for me.

I teared up and tried to fight the panic that caught my windpipe almost not letting me breathe. Batizado. Instructorship. Rehab. Restart. Rewind. At the time only 1 thought ran through my mind – I need Abeer. He was in Pune and potentially in a bar or a party. I too was ironically headed to F-Bar post this practice. But the ‘pop’ changed everything. I held up my signature thumbs up (a habit I am trying to break) to my teacher and assured him it was just a sprain and I would be back next day full form for the show. We all left to go home. I got off my station and as an afterthought, headed to the ER of Ambani hospital. Not the wisest thing to do alone but panic wouldn’t let me sleep. I was dismissed with a “The ortho won’t be available today” while another cited a long wait. Exactly how that ER and trauma works, I don’t know.

I didn’t sleep a wink. I was desperate to call Abeer. But I knew that I didn’t wanna trouble him mid-night. It was 1am and yet I contemplated if I should call my boyfriend. The next morning thankfully he contacted me with the best news ever – he was already home and back in town contrary to the earlier planned late evening. He came with me to the ER and the multiple visits after an X-ray and MRI scan. Who better than him to understand me – a sportsman himself and having injured himself. He pushed me around in a wheelchair and played in the hospital. Eased my nerves and was the ultimate of what I expected of him. I was safe.

Nothing prepared me for Dr. Dinshaw Pardiwala’s appointment (reknowned sports medicine and Ortho surgeon). Mum stubbornly refused any other surgeon to work on me. I say power of the mother as she managed to slide me into Dr. P’s schedule and get him to look at me. The consultancy was an eye opener. Mum went into her barrage of bad diet, stress, being a woman, age and that subtle way in which she wanted to blame Capoeira. I picked up on the cue and asked the doc when will I be back in full form. 6 months. Pat came the reply. I sunk in my chair. Same ol’ answer. Surgery was the only option for me given the extent of damage. Then he went on to bust certain practices of women athletes practicing during their menstrual cycle. The surging hormones, which wreck havoc on not just the tear-tap but the muscles making us sore and painful to touch. The muscles are vulnerable to wear and tear at a higher risk and intensity. Hence, thinking you are a tough cookie and working out against the pain is not the wisest habit to keep. Another one was about the structure of the bone base. A narrow base is usually seen in women and high impact workouts or movement cause the narrowness to wear out the ligament or a new graft. Hence, a reconstruction of the bone base was in order. Manufacturing defect is what I thought.

We left and I was tired. The leg hurt and the 4hr wait didn’t help. I wanted a hug. From Abeer. That place in his shoulder where I would bury my anger, anguish and had even celebrated some good moments. I missed meeting his mum for Eid; something I really wanted to prioritize that day and it not happening added to my list of upsets. I only called and messaged him. Updated him on every detail. Even though I was with family, I behaved like I was with guardians and was contacting my real family. He promised to return the next day and that eased me. The surgery date was fixed and costs were worked out. Mum and dad were quiet almost afraid that anything they would say wouldn’t sit well with me. I hadn’t said much all day and they wished I made some sound. I signed the OR like 1 books a hall for a wedding. The costs made a tight knot in my stomach. I had just quit and had no income. I had so many plans and surprises lined up. Now I couldn’t consider them. I had plans with Abeer too. And some would have to wait.

But above all concerns was the fear the surgery had set in my head. I remember the cold OR last time and the strangers around me and the needles and the scalpels. I remember the fear and last ounce of consciousness before they sliced into me. Fix me. Nothing could fix the fear Round II. And nothing prepares you for the post-operative pain. I can’t forget even though I try to. It was terrifying and excruciating. Abeer could get me through it. He had a knack for making a joke out of everything (some of those times were NOT funny). I knew hospitals made him queasy and brought back some haunting memories. So I figured that as I parallelly lay in the comfort of knowing he would be there, I was also contemplating sending him off for the duration of this hospital stint. I guess THIS was the way my mother would get to meet him. I just had the work week left to look forward to.

We will get through it. He said. I believed. He made me feel it. I felt it. What was constant pain suddenly turned into pulses of pain; like he had let in a saline of painkiller. Then it eased as I spent a lazy afternoon in his arms, in my favourite place. 

........ to B & TdC 2012

Batizado (baptism)

“The Batizado welcomes new students into the school and strengthens community bonds as recognized and nurtured by M. Bimba. Students are baptized by the floor i.e. that is, they play against higher level capoeiristas and are subsequently taken down by a rasteira to signify a continual process of humility and improvement in the game."

Troca de Cordão (exchange of the cords – belts)

“The changing of the cords signifies the level of a capoeirista. Some capoeiristas will receive a new corda before or after a game played against a Mestre in which they have to show their advancement and earn the right to wear the new corda.”

The Batizado is the most anticipated event/ experience of the year; a combination of graduation + prom night + annual day. New students are excited and the older experienced ones anticipate something new and feel a sense of pride and joy moving on to the next level. It’s a day that demonstrates and acknowledges one’s hard work, perseverance, blood, sweat, tears of joy and possibly some nicks and cuts and, most of all, a sense of accomplishment for that time period. I am still a novice in the universe of capoeira i.e. I’m 2 Batizados old so I have, thus far, experienced 1 year as a newbie and 1 year as an experienced student. Now is my time to move levels up.

There is a lot to experience and gain from the weeks we spend together as a group and with our guests. This year we have expanded to many centres with our line-up of senior instrictors. The tree is growing branches and leaves with each leaf being represented by us – the students. This batizado will marks 6 long eventful years of Capoeira India, it will include students of our Master Reza ‘Baba’ Massah and students of our Sr. instructors, it will include 2 weeks of absolute high energy, talents, workshops, music, festa, the planning and THE EVENT itself.

Apart from the obvious, we become 1 large albeit loud, chaotic, moody, funny, crazy and high on axe familia. We learn so much about 1 another from just spending time or taking charge of certain responsibilities together. The hidden talents and skills make an appearance. There is an almost relaxed to hyper-adrenaline change in the weeks leading to the event. Seniors step up their game and are given independent responsibilities or sole ownership of many crucial points for D-day; here our experiences as students kick in which we emulate as seniors. Our teacher (Baba) serves as a constant guide and support during this time. He is truly a 1 man army probably on an entire plant of Gurana‑ a‑day (you would if you need to deal with us brats). We fight, we play, we work and then we retire for the evening with a chilled bottle of beer and laugh at each other with each other at what we did and what was left out. These stories remain with us until we create new ones the following year to replace the old ones.

The main day is an unbelievable experience. It has its share of high octane energy and peaks and valleys just like any event or show does. But the difference is that where we would have 1 pair of hands, 50 more show up to help you iron out the creases. The Batizado is conducted as a planned and choreographed show (apart from the rodas) with a few impromptu modifications. But the beauty is that we are all soooo well versed that there is just no glitch and we blend in. ‘Tis true when we say “Just bring your energy.” Really that’s all that matters. When you are so happy and going through such a rush, the audience hardly ever realizes what happened behind the scene. They are already wowed by us. Another notable feeling I go through is quite similar to the 1 I experienced during my school sports and annual days. Your family comes beaming with pride and wondering what all are you going to perform. We turn into little children asking them to spot us and make sure to take the signature pictures for keepsake. Family dynamics never change. Each ‘kid’ will always be ‘the star’. The rush during the Batizado also changes your game and your experience as a capoeirista. You will go through waves of excitement, a moment of humility in games where you have been taken down, moments of exhaustion followed by a split second change to absolute axe, moments of trance where you are sucked in by the bateria and their resounding music. The songs sound different and even your body feels different. You invariably try new moves, moves you saw, moves you dared never try or thought you just couldn’t do it. Your perspective and understanding of capoeira or the people in your capoeira family changes; however slight. It’s a journey that’s just started. Sometimes even playing a game in a new venue, new floor, new people with many others watching, changes you. It’s a learning cuz this brings you out of your comfort zone of playing within your circle of friends and in your class where you train.

There will be some hilarious moments created by either you or your friend. Either way, we have enough to carry forward to the weekend and discuss them to stomach crunching laughter. The weekend away is the 1 time EVERYONE makes it. Everyone plans and pours over their calendars to accommodate these special days and not miss out. Sure, we have had our parties and outings but nothing beats having 40-50+ odd people from everywhere living, eating, dancing, singing, laughing etc. all capoeira. And if there is a swimming pool or a beach… eeevveeennn better J. A detailed analysis of the JUST CONCLUDED event will happen and planning for the 7^th Annual Batizado e Troca de Cordao will begin…

Welcome to 6^th Annual Batizado e Troca de Cordão. Love and Axe

I know I am a Capoeirista when...

-                I dream of rodas and sequences
-                My hands automatically move on any surface as if I am playing the pandeiro or Djembe
-                I say 'obrigada' and 'ola' to random people at work
-                I respond to any sounds that's phonetic to 'Gata'
-                I check the internet for Capoeira updates, videos and pictures during crucial meetings
-                I start believing that a quixada or compasso can fix any arrogant fool @ work or elsewhere
-                All I do is talk about my class like it's the ONLY coolest  thing on this planet
-                I subconsciously look down on those not in capoeira and imagine they are missing out on something great (that's just plain wrong thought process)
-                All exclamations are 'whoopaaa' (my colleagues thought I had lost it)
-                My phone wall paper, ring tone, DP all is capoeiracentric
-                All birthday celebrations feel strange to me because I start singing 'parabens pra voce'
-                I listen to capoeira music on my ipod and have the expression of attaining Nirvana when probably those around me think it's time for my next psychiatric evaluation
-                I tell people I am a capoeirista and expect them to understand what that means. The failure of which makes me roll my eyes as if it calls for "Duh don't you know"
-                I disregard all other forms of physical activities, the gym and any other martial arts cuz capoeira is simply at its wholesome best
-                I consider myself a world musician and expect people to understand when I say 'yes I play berimbau, atabaque, pandeiro, agogo, caxixi.'
-                I start asking people for their apelidos and completely loose the concept of remembering and referring to people by their real names
-                When I come across a plan, a place, a holiday spot, a show or any damn thing all I can think of is whom to invite from class or to go with
-                My idea of redecoration and renovation turns into a capoeira design project (something my dad totally disapproves of)
-                Must must have yellow and green colors around me.
-                I start beaming at the Brazilian flag as if I were a citizen of that country
-                Suddenly I have total identity crisis and think I am a Brazilian trapped in an Indian body
-                My clothes are all about comfortable tracks, t-shirts, vests, tanks and anything I can wear to class and back home
-                Capoeira clothes take precedence over all other clothes when it comes to laundry
-                I cease beautifying myself or even bothering with a pedicure/ manicure cuz hell it's no use..
-                When headwraps are the new hair accessories
-                I like beer and guzzle it and often opt for beer over any other drink
-                I have had more barbequed chicken than anyone else in my circle
-                I spend more time in Khar-Bandra area than my own residential area or work place
-                I time my meetings, appointments, schedules, travels, holidays and everything else around capoeira class, rodas and trips
-                I visited Israel under the pretext of Capoeira and now am in love with the country. Seriously guys Israel never features on people's top 10 holiday destinations
-                I actually save up like a child with a piggy-bank for Brazil trip sometime soon
-                I am the new priest of Capoeira - all I do is talk and preach capoeira
-                I climb 4 floors to SS Sahney (capoeira class) with a nearly damaged leg covered in leg braces balancing on a pair of crutches I am unsure of myself on. But I refused to walk 2 steps in the hospital corridor next to my bed.
-                While setting a password I always think of capoeira or Portuguese words…
-                My husband/ boyfriend/ lifepartner should UNDERSTAND the relevance of capoeira in my life else.. There's the door buddy
-                Every time I see sufficient space or open space I imagine how apt it would be for a roda
-                Every time I see a wall I feel like a handstand
-                Climbing stairs is not an issue at all (not like it was an issue before)
-                I start imagining apelidos for random people and laugh in my head if the apelido is not in good taste
-                My shopping list HAS to have some reference or item related to capoeira
-                Rickshaw fares and bus fares as calculated only to and fro from class.
-                When people ask me now "Are you free on weekends" I have a "Nope" ready for them
-                Carter Road = Chico's/ Zorro's/ roda
-       Injuries and cuts and bruises to my hands are more from the instruments than any kitchen work
-                Capoeira class is the only place or time when I hug and appreciate and/ or love the people who injure me or take me down (Disclaimer: Not everyone fits in this category)
-                All my friends apart from CDO India think that Priyankka Gata Dutta is my married name (LOL)
-                Suddenly I KNOW more people who are constantly in the media glare, on TV, in the papers, page 3, own high-end business' etc (quite an extraordinary luxury)
-                Brazilian Portuguese is the 3rd standard dictionary set up in my system
-                All my dance moves now concentrate only on lower body parts *rolling eyes*
-                I hate the BRU coffee ads which apparently feature 'Brazilian culture' and Capoeira-like attempt
-                I have graduated from Bathroom singer to singing loudly and shamelessly in the roda with least concern to the nearby listener's auditory senses
-                I dare to wear white pants irrespective of how much luxury it ads to my expanding waistline
-                I see wool - I see cordao
-                Everyone who is a capoeirista is by default my friend.
-                When I travel I 1st look for capoeira school
-                I pay more attention now to my derriere when I am buying trousers or denim *rolling eyes twice over*
-                My monthly budget includes capoeira related expenditure
-                Capoeira is NEVER an option. It's a OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE NEED for me
-                I start seeing my CDO Family members in everyday objects, characters and visuals e.g. captain - capitaõ; monkey - macaco; popeye the sailor man - apunchya popeye n so on
-                I have turned into a feline - only thing left to do is groom myself like a cat and eat like a cat (not gonna happen)
-                My consumption of milk and fish has tripled from an already voracious appetite of both
-                I am writing this article for my blog on CAPOEIRA yet again..