HaHaHa!!!

With one foot after the other he carefully paced himself.
Twice to the left and once to the right, he swung his head in opposite directions.
Any sign of fleeting concentration and he would turn back.
Distraught, he would give in.
Tired, he would bow down.

With underarms shaved closely and nicely cleaned, he was determined to tie the silver ornament around his waist lower than intended, for when he lifted his arm it wouldn't fluster the eyes that see them and that silver ornament would actually complement.
The very least he could do?
The very best he could do?
Either way, he was there.

"That has to be a little higher up," like an avalanche his surreal world came crashing down and with no trace disappeared into oblivion.
"Umph, sure, how much more?" he looked around; no less than 12 others; sitting, standing, brushing, tying. The temperature hit him.
"At least some thing would hold up," no, he wasn't saying it.
"So why exactly are we wearing the red instead of the blue?" he knew it was a distraction; to take him off the edge. It wasn't only the floors that were giving him cold feet.
"I don't know, it's his idea. I hate the colour too," the shirtless chap pointed away, just his right arm, for one brief moment and continued fiddling.
"OK, we're up!!!" the 'pointed' yelled out and walked towards the 'pointer'.
"Go!" the 'pointer' scurried off at that cue.
"You can do this ok, you're ready, just remember that out there it's all about having fun."

All about fun wasn't as fun. It was voluntary, this whole scenario, but it wasn't up to par. It wasn't as exciting or as scarcely pleasurable as advertised. Badur knew the problem.

'Expectation leads to disappointment.'

The phrase was all too clichéd for him. He often shrugged it off with cringing and 'faux' nausea. Then it struck him. The idea. Clichés happen, or they wouldn't be named so for they do, again and again.

'I miss you.'
'Listen to your heart.'
'Money can't buy happiness.'
'You dance like Britney Spears.'

They flashed like a tacky multimedia presentation, right where he could see them, intangibly.
The trinkets on his feet were starting to annoy him.
They never had done this before.

'Mangalam bhagavaane Vishnu... mangalam madhushudhanam... mangalam kundarikaaksham, mangalam garudawhaja...'

It was picking up pace now. He would finally make his grand entrance. How can he still not be ecstatic about this?

The 12 others lead way. He entered. And with a thunderous applause he saw faces looking up.
He noticed the light hitting on.
He heard the notes playing wild.
He felt his eyes staring down.
Heart rate skyrocketed.
Stomach plunged.

He grit his teeth and like before....

...with one foot after the other he carefully paced himself... 

......twice to the left and once to the right...... 

.........he swung his head in opposite directions.........

............and continued............

Now it started sinking in.
The music.
The pain in his thighs.
The numb sole of his feet.
His painted face.
The blue colour on his saree.
His bangles the 'pointer' fiddled around with.
His invaluable dancing bells.
His belt yanked high enough.
His clean underarm when he reached to pick up the illusory flower for that surreal garland.

What an idiot he had been!
He was finally an odissi dancer!
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"GET UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's 5 pm. Time for makeup!" the face of the 'pointer' became faintly visible as Badur awoke from slumber.

PS: Bet you didn't see that coming didca'???