R

"There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bringin me out the dark...." Adele
We should've had it all... Gata

The 1^st song to play on my ipod on the morning of12 July 2012. Such irony that just the 1^st two lines applied to me but the song in harsh reality applied to the 1 left scarred and broken... why was this day so significant to me. It was my friend Tania's and Preeti's bdays; it was the day after I completed a year to my milestone surgery; day I wld acknowledge the truth in its real light as I see it and the day after I last saw R. I cried bitterly on my way to work and could not make it stop.

There is a storm and u live in its pathway in a small but sturdy hut. However, the door hinges r bad and no matter what u do, the door keeps swinging recklessly with the wind and won't shut. Then u jam it shut with all ur might and are content its shut. Moments after u leave, that door is still ajar and gently swaying with the ever-teasing wind. U notice but u let it go as long as it’s almost closed. Then that 1 darned gust of wind and rain and all it picked up on the way hits ur tiny hut - the door swings wildly open, rusty hinges give way, leaving u bare and defenceless in the path of an unforgettable storm... That hut is my heart. The door is the chapter I thought I closed with R. The swinging was me avoiding a possible reconciliation. The final straw was last night when I realized the biggest mistake of my life when the whole hut and everything with it blew away to shreds.
R was, is and seemingly possibly will remain the love of my life, my soul mate. A soul mate not as my ex-boyfriend, lover, husband et al. Soul mate for simply being present in my life. His soul was enough to make up for his and mine. We were 1 in the truest sense of the word. I did the math and let it become two separate broken pieces.
One could never tell where he or I ended and the other started as 2 separate beings in the flesh. We were the envy of all around us. I loved being his trophy and his arm candy.. His lady love right from the chaatwaala in 2^nd street @ Shastri Nagar to the Marriott and WESTIN. Every laundry shop, grocery store, general store, shops, maintenance etc. identified me as Mrs. Ratish Nair (not even to-be). I was in heaven. A girl couldn’t ask for more love, security, validation and someone who kept her virtually 24x7 on a pedestal. He was to be the best husband and the most doting father I would have ever pictured of him. I knew him and he knew me. I had it all.
But like all fairy tales, this one too had its pitfalls. We were so compartmentalized in our bubble that the bubble became world-resistant. We could not function without each other. Apart from our professional commitments, which were galaxies apart, everything about us screamed identical twins. Yet within our bubble, we balanced each other beautifully. I handled his eccentricities and he my cat-like qualities. I was prissy, moody, childish, childlike, stupid, curious, hyperactive, and always craving his attention. The best part was he loved giving me attention. That he had eyes for me would be an understatement. He was my personal surveillance unit. No one knew me as well as he did to the point of predicting dead-on what was expected of me next. He was prince charming in all his glory and yet he was the humble one who rolled in the mud and cement and tears and my stubbornness. I was the fish and he the bull. Yet I absorbed and reflected all his qualities and he turned into the Piscean. He role played beautifully and knew when my ‘yes’ meant ‘no’ and my ‘no’ meant ‘yes’. In the words of my mother, no one could and would control me like he could. He achieved what my own family couldn’t in the years they tried. He turned me from a tomboyish mess of a blob into a beautiful fairy-tale overnight. I went from unnoticed to straight on the billboard at Times Square, NY. For the 1sttime in my life, I had others envy me for nearly everything including his presence in my life. I felt excessively undeserving of him and in that haste of thought and emotion I did innumerable unbelievable things just to show my love and my dedication… except our tunes were different. I was so handicapped without him that I couldn’t buy a toothbrush without him. This would later become a harsh reality when I broke down 1ce just buying a plain ol’ toothbrush. For me he was the pink diamond in the mines of diamond around the world. The kind that Solomon Vandy would risk his life for and treasure to buy him back his freedom and his family in the face of adversity. R was indeed my rose pink diamond.
Why oh why do I not have him now? Compartmentalization for both and unsensitization for me. I had been bitten by the 6yr itch and how. I wanted to scratch the bubble and just peak out. Following his resistance to what he predicted would be the end of our innocence; I tore a gaping hole and jumped right out into anything and everything. I behaved like a juvenile delinquent, a runaway, a reckless teen on a mindful mission to rebel against the good and bad that R would have thought or projected for me. He cried, he suffered, he regretted the bird in cage syndrome and he paid for it. He forgave, accepted, and moulded himself. But my overexposed mind was no longer kind to this poor unsuspecting soul and he was no longer the charming prince I fell in love with. I tried and tried to bring that feeling back, recreation attempts fell flat like a poorly timed pudding in the oven that looks pretty for but a few seconds and then caves in revealing the gooey mixture that never made it. Around this time, I also got a lot of attn. from the opp. side of the boundary. I knew I couldn’t venture there but the attn. was exhilarating and only reinforced my stubbornness to be out there and not come back. I have to say that 99.99% guys would leave and flee but he stayed on. He believed and prayed and wished and hoped. He worked and worked and chased and worked. Today when I look back I see the most patient man ever. The kind that are shot down only to be valued and appreciated much too late in life. I ran around like a wild cat knowing well I was shadowed and covered from all of life’s harms… until there was no one chasing me i.e. R.
R nearly is a creation from the big guy up there. I always wondered where he gathered all that …. whatever good things he had, from. He almost made me look like a confirmed sinner. I felt that last evening when I asked him to meet me for dinner. From sheer heartbreak, he was leaving the country for good I understand. He wore the shirt that resembled the one I loved most. The brown in his shirt matched his coffee brown skin and I missed his shoulders that had embraced and supported me a countless times in good and ugly. He seemed so sure and yet made the least eye contact (his eyes had the kindest warmest look ever). I stared at him almost to the point of shamelessness. I was so taken in by him and questions and sentences ran helter skelter in my mind like people running from a burning bldg. I knew it was over from the moment he arrived and shook my hand and then reciprocated the awkward hug I gave him. He talked a lot about his work and plans and all. I couldn’t help but watch this new person carefully hiding the being I had loved more than my life. I had dressed up for the dinner. I wanted to look pretty, not attractive. I wanted to make an effort to show that I had thought about this dinner…. Farewell dinner. Midway when he took a call from friends and work I msgd my twin and alter ego Supresa that I just realized what a bloody hell of a mistake I made by letting him go. I fought tears through entré and main course as I pretended to dish out some strange giggles and even take a single picture of him. A picture of US was out of bounds now. I mustered the courage to apologize for the heartache that caused to both him and me and for not having faith in him to continue. He was gracious and awkward and didn’t lash back. He was soooo mature. I shrunk under the table, almost. I felt small and lost and again like the girl who couldn’t buy toothbrush without him around. He was now the one I let go and I am the one that got away. 
I see now that I chose to play the villain where I considered someone else the villain for nearly a year. It takes a lot of heart smashing to admit ur mistakes and contributions to something like this and hope to survive it. I hope I survive it. It’s been the worst night and morning in a while where you feel your heart racing (literally) and feel the need to jump into the ice cold Pacific and swim against all odds to make it to the shore. Possibly the cold would numb every physiological tell-tale sign of my heart break and the adrenaline would give me the strength to get through the mess I contributed to… I love R, always will…

Song playing... Coldplay - every tear is a waterfall...

Obstinate feline...



 She moved and danced. To feel the edge of her hips and the ripples of the belly as they swayed in trance. She took a few steps back and lunged 3 forward because she felt a sense of suffocation in the 1 square tile she initiated this trance. No one was watching or so she thought. But then again she wanted her emotions to be on display. Have someone watch her secretly. Cup her face into his hands large enough to fit in and feel like you could sleep there. Have him breathe ever so gently down her neck almost like letting her know that he was right there but not quite locking her in an unbreakable embrace. Now she was confused. Her mood swayed from wanting the unbreakable embrace to wanting to be free as and when she wanted.

This was the boy the man she wanted. She prayed and swayed and swished her way through for. Now he was here and she second guessed her thoughts. She ran. She was the commitment phobic disease that was spreading to him and not the other way around. She wanted him to make a mistake; make her feel like she could step over him and it was ok to do so. But he was indeed perfect. He was flawed and he was perfect that way. He was a rogue ruffian who had taken to her in the most delicate manner possible and treated her like a rare glass prism with colors and magic streaming through. One slight err and she would crash and break and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. That’s what he projected and that’s what he possibly thought of her. She would’ve liked to believe that given the soft kisses and delicate moments. But she impersonated herself as the feline warrior. Walked like she owned it all and that the world was at her feet or should reconsider their stand if they weren’t at her feet. She had the power to have it all and have most of it she did.

She ran. She always ran. Physically, emotionally and hypothetically. She loved the chase and the run. The pulsating beat against the sound of the asphalt under her feet. She ran because that’s where her emotions were on 100% display. She could run through a good cry and behave like nothing happened. She ran most from the ones she loved. She thought she was avoiding being hurt or influenced by them. She didn’t know she was running from herself being whatever they fell in love with. Her running was her excitement, her victory dance and her exaltation that she was loved back by the one she loved. Oh no! its confirmed and its right there in her palm. Now what!!!

Would her love fail her? Would her love make her feel like there was better to love or that she deserved better to love? She was exhausted. She couldn’t save her best for last. After all when does one really know the last is the best. What is the ‘best last’? she started hurting the ones she loved. She fought and picked and nitty-grittied it. She decided distance was far safer than being close enough and making eye contact. She thought it easier to break away from than make a way to paradise. She tried seeing the sense that was being seen by others but it was blind to her. she just couldn’t sketch the outline of what was forward. She could only sketch what she hoped would be forward.

He loved her. He showed her he loved her but didn’t know if she loved him back. He didn’t give up and that irked her. But again if he did give up, he would strengthen her belief that he eventually did. She was a wild one waiting for the right owner to tame her, grace her and sway her. Waiting for the right hand on her firmly holding her down despite the large glassy stare but softening as she knew it was for her best and then rewarding her with some love as she purred back. That kiss so gentle passionate and firmly gripped. Warm flush and glow; forgetting where her body ended and his started.

She still waits and sways and runs and prays. She still walks and talks like she knows the what nots. She is difficult and fire but love is quite plainly her only desire!!

Maa's arms

‘Maa’ I wailed when I fell of the stool

Yet she glanced and turned her head away

I was 4 and little did I know

That glance meant the wound wasn’t that grave.

I got older and the glances lessened

My trials and tribulations

Were of far more sophistication

At least that’s what I thought

When I struggled through

In Ma’s arms I found comfort and mute

Her hugs were silent

The right touch and strength

In them I found solace

A force I couldn’t bend

Such depth such warmth

Affirmation and a pinch of pride

‘It was ok to let go’

Whatever that was made me cry

Silence became the cue

But her arms were the cure

I would close my eyes

In the darkness I would be lost

For that moment of time

No world berated

Only ma’s arms became

The sole of my existence

Sometimes I tease this nonchalant habit

An indulgence of sorts where I‘m lost

Maa never wonders why I succumb

She just waits for me

Patient and undone.

Mágico no oásis

I sit like an oasis. My torso representing the tall date palms and my legs forming a diamond shape. In the midst of the pool is the purest form of innocence. The luxury of purity is his alone. He plays. Not scared of the depth. Not worried about the locked shores. Not intimidated by the palms looming over him. He plays. He explores in that limited resource. But he still finds amusement and preoccupation there. He tries his hand at something and looks all around him. He looks up finally. Seeking approval, looking for a kind eye - a branch that will almost stoop over him and bless him. Let him know he is safe and he is right in his own little way. He pauses for a bit - reasons only known to him. Is he distracted? Did something else catch his attention? Or is he thinking? His little mind brimming with curiosity and holding true to its reputation - a sponge.

Meanwhile I look down. In my mind's eye I see what he sees now. But not after I equally deliberate and wonder at his curiosity. Does he love me? Does he feel safe? Does he trust me? Does he know he can trust me? If he does trust me, is that a burden or a boon?

A child's curiosity is as much fascinating as it is frightening to resolve. Those hungry eyes that latch on to yours and do not flinch because they are sure you have the answers. It is indeed a boon and a boost to the ego to know you have the answers. And when you don't, even though you won’t be judged, you are harsher upon your conscious than is allowed.

I rest my chin upon his head. It’s small and warm and has a comforting baby scent. The connect is instant. He grabs my fingers and plays and is almost giving me instructions how to use them. He stops and gazes into the infinite. Again that look and curiosity. Again I’m perturbed. What is in that little mind with a wild vast imagination? I almost want to scoop him up and rest him on my shoulder and comfort him into a long deep sleep. How cruel of me. All he wants to do is explore. The clock has barely started on his life here and I am already planning his nap. This time in the oasis I created for him, I can’t guarantee again or many times over. But it is important to him.

During the above train of thought, he has done something: created in the sands. And now he seeks my approval. He is an animal. He can sense my breath and heartbeat. He will know instantly if I am disapproving or fake or genuine; almost like he can smell it on me and he will feed off that sense. It is important that this phase be as transparent and genuine as can be. With care and love and unflinching attention I marvel at him and shower him with my approval. I don’t think I have ever cared enough to instantly commit so much of my time and energy to anything else as much as I did in this moment. My mind, my heart, my vision, my senses were all commanded by this little creature - this beautiful being.

As he smiles, gleefully giggles and latches on to me I feel a rush of relief and content. Relief that I created something beautiful for him and content that selfishly I had stolen that moment for me.

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.. 

Batizado 2010

I have to begin by saying I am envious of the Batizados’ I missed but I am grateful for the milestones I am about to cover from here on as a permanent fixture of CDO India which has grown on me like oxygen n food n beer n forro n atabaque n music n roda… everything. I went from a completely unknown and awkward entity at the Khar class to someone people had confidence in and accepted soon enough. My 1st Batizado feeling transitioned from an ‘oh alright a belt ceremony’ to ‘dear lord I have soooo much to do’.

It was last year 2010. Baba started warming us up to having I. Pinoquio, CM Cueca and M. Esquilo for our workshops. He spoke very fondly of Pinoquio as an extraordinary capoeirista, energetic and like a fireball with incredible experience since he joined capoeira at a young age; CM Cueca as his teacher, someone he looked up to and was very honored to have here with us. Honestly I don’t recall much about M. Esquilo but a safe bet would be Saci Lua Cheia (walking encyclopedia on M. Esquilo). Khar class immediately became an overcrowded venue. I was a bit annoyed at 1st at seeing so many people just loitering about taking up space but soon enough the tempo was set. Cabeca (Parikshit) was introduced to us as the Bimba sequence instructor (I laugh now because finally I know the meaning of Bimba). He always called out to us “All my Bimbas come here”… a joke he enjoyed secretly until our ‘early’ realization. I have to say my 1st impression of Cabeca was ‘very strict’. He had an air of authority about him but someone who had incredible knowledge on capoeira. Not only did he patiently teach us each and every one of the 8 sequences he went on to explain the nuances of WHY a kick comes from the left or right, why that esquiva and why a move here and there. He timed us, grilled us, drilled us, killed us… I loved it. We met outside in the park on off days to practice the 8 sequences in pitch darkness but Cabeca made it a point to be there whether it was 1 of us or all 8-10 pairs. There was a sense of friendly competition as we stayed glued to our partners and wanted to excel. Danceira :D was my partner and we practiced in her compound, on the club house roof, in the club house and everywhere. Apart from the Bimba sequences there were other groups of Bimba throws and Bimba take downs involving advanced students. Everyone trained intensely through November and December. I met many of the old students and bonded with them. It’s incredible how ‘at home’ you feel once you walk through the doors even after a prolonged absence.

The classes got more intense and pushed us to the limit. This was the time when I experienced my breath giving out and limbs and body parts aching that I probably hadn’t pushed earlier. But it was all incredible. Afro and maculele was taken by Diamante and Espaguete and we had a super fun time. Music – this was the time when you couldn’t hide in the background and just clap pretending to not know the words. The music is as much an important part of the roda as all the elements involved. Music provided us the axe, the intensity, the drive and singing loudly and clearly.. getting the lyrics right, trying simpler instruments.

Let me tell you I was not at all prepared for what to expect when the heavyweights of capoeira finally touched down in Mumbai one after the other. They were incredible, their stories, their songs, their fluidity… hell even the ghinga was so diverse. Each workshop at 1st felt very short but once we were into it, we were gasping for air, water and some more learning. The most memorable for me was the class I. Pinoquio took on the ground floor of SS Sahney, the class CM Cueca took at Juhu (Oyster room) and M. Esquilo at our regular Khar venue. Songs that have stuck by me were ‘o si si’ by Pinoquio, ‘Sem dende’ by CM Cueca and ‘capoeira que en si noi´by M. Esquilo. The added bonus was having M. Chicote, Pantera and Armelle with us. It was a huuuggee family and I had forgotten all other elements of my life except capoeira and Batizado. This was the time I even socialized with the group outside of the class and saw an incredibly different side to all the people I now recognized as family. Was no longer awkward or nervous. I was involved in the preparations and everything that I could get my hands on.

Batizado day was amazing. The energy was high and very much in the air. When I see the videos and pictures it seems like days but in reality it felt like blink and miss. Everything just swished by… we rushed through costume changes and face paint and rodas. The most significant and important moment for me was getting my cordao. I remember waiting forever and pushing others to go ahead of me. Didn’t know how that would prolong or make it special. Noone from my family was expected to come so the moment was left to me to be special. I entered and played a lovely game with M. Esquilo. I refused to be taken down…. Ppfffttt arrogance of a beginner. Eventually he did. I just stood there frozen as he smiled ever so widely and tied my cordao. I walked out and felt so…… THAT’S IT. It’s over. My 1st green cordao moment is OVER… ☹ and then someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned to find my father standing there. He had made it. He told me he saw everything from the start and he was proud of me. He would never question why I spent so much time training or such late hours all week. I only remember trying to listen to him between sobs (I didn’t know I was crying). Thereafter it was a rollercoaster. I was sooooo happy. The grand finale of the batizado was grander and soooo much fun. The music the axe was very very high. The party that followed (graciously hosted by Manteiga at Fat Cat Cafe) and all the fun and frolic that remained for days after until they all returned home and the quiet descended on us HEAVILY. As of today its 17 days to that experience again. I will have a new story VERY different from my 1st batizado.

Thy broken knee wont break the feline spirit!!

“Respect and treat your body well now... for it will teach you much harsher lessons later when you least expect it... the foremost being PATIENCE and ENDURANCE!”

It’s been nothing less of a struggle. Each class or each day I realize what I really did to my body. While talking to a friend the other day it dawned on me that not a day has gone by that I have sat down on the side to just calm down. The only times in my life so far that I do recall doing absolutely nothing at all were when I was ill. Let me tell you my definition of ill – flu, cough, cold and the likes is the pansy version of ‘ill’. My kind of illness always had me out of action in the severest form; even kissing death and having myself resuscitated back to life. As much as I was out to prove that I can be just as good as the boys, if not better, I wasn’t keeping tab of the times I subjected my temple (my body) to extreme wear and tear.

Present day capoeira class is a far different cry from what it was a few months ago or even a year ago:

• I was never sitting down or chatting with anyone in classrooms to take a break. Now I need to take a break or else it will break me either physically or emotionally.
• I was always at the front of the class – a habit my mum instilled in me. “Stay in the front and you will be able to see and hear better. You will be forced to concentrate because the ones behind you will follow you whether you are right or wrong.” Now I am at the back as I do not want to pose as a hindrance to anyone in terms of sight, space or capability.
• I was fast, not so sloppy and able to keep up with the pace come what may. Now I am slow, yet picking up each time I am letting off. All my moves look retarded and then there are points in the workout or class that I realize I can’t even ‘bloody’ try cuz its not recommended.
• I tried everything. Just so I could do it better and also that I could push myself and test the limits of what the human body can go through. My teacher’s voice keeps ringing in my head always about the delicate nature of Indian girls and how you cannot push them hard (I don’t blame him for I see it everyday). I wasn't one of them.
• And even in all of that chaos in class, the noise and activities I find myself slipping, momentarily maybe for a fraction, into a “what the @##$%&” situation. I look at someone else doing it all wrong and fight the urge to go do it myself and show how it’s done. But I simply can’t. I see someone else do it effortlessly and I find myself going into envy stage.  

My friends, family, peers have all been very patient and accommodating of my injury and the aftermath. People have slowed down for me, waited for me and encouraged me. I was afraid of slipping into the oblivion of their memories but that did not happen and I thank god for that. But every once in a while a few good words don’t do much. I still struggle and have to be patient because it is a need and not an option. I also now have to argue my way through those who blame capoeira for my recent stint. I assure them that its normal for active people to go through some form of injury and that does not amount to giving it up. One will then just live in fear the rest of their lives. I ignore the ones that do not 'get it' and move on because I have a lot left to accomplish and learn. I do like that I have learnt much in this time out such as music and developed other skills. I don’t think I would have dedicated this phase to them all because I was too busy huffing and puffing through life and complaining when the huff-puff got to me. 

The Batizado which is my main focus now is not the end of the world or some championship title. But I run into anxiety thinking I will be the only entity there who is not 100%. I am pushing myself to get there but even I have the common sense to know that medical science won’t allow me to abuse my body anymore. There will be many Batizados and many Capoeirandos and many beautiful people. 

A great memory from CDO India Batizado 2010. My favorite people in a single frame <3

Patience and endurance…. Patience and endurance… patience and endurance…. AXÉ TOTAL!