3rd Sunaina Vallamkonda, “The Injury”

The Injury

Although you wouldn’t know it by looking at any pictures taken, there’s definitely one dance that’s the most prominent in my memory. To be completely honest, I don’t remember the dance itself. However, I can tell you in vivid detail about the moments that occurred right before the dance started and as soon as it ended.

I remember sitting in the third row of seats in the auditorium with the group of girls performing with me. Since we all started Bharatnatyam around the same time, and we were all around the same age, we always danced together. Because of this, we became a tight-knit group of friends, often joking around together. That is what we were doing as we sat in those auditorium seats, waiting for our turn to perform. We were young; I was only eight. How could we be expected to sit through hours of classical performances? So instead, we took to whispering among ourselves quietly, our heads all huddled together as if we were plotting something sinister. We thought we were as cool as the older kids, with our hair done up, our makeup all fancy and those lavish costumes. The fans stretched out between our legs, opening as we went into something akin to a plie—the gold detailing on the bands wrapping up our legs over the shoulder. I remember our startled looks when one of the moms approached, only to be relieved when she was just telling us that we were to go backstage.

I looked over at my friends, wondering where they were putting their shoes, asking if they would leave their shoes under their seats or carry them backstage. Now shoes may not seem like a significant detail but believe me, they were a major faux pas in the Bharatnatyam world.

If there’s one thing you should know about Bharatanatyam, it’s that you should never wear any sort of footwear. I’m not entirely sure of the reason why, but it is very offensive to wear your shoes into a Bharatnatyam studio, let alone dance in them. In fact, you aren’t even allowed to wear socks when you dance; the only acceptable footwear is your bare feet.

All of my friends decided to leave their shoes under their chairs, and honestly, looking back, I should have done the same. However, I was a prissy little girl who didn’t want to get her feet dirty in the unhygienic hallways of the

high school we were in. For this reason, I chose to wear my shoes backstage and remove them right before we started to perform. Yet, I sincerely had overestimated my ability to keep my mind on track.

See, these shoes weren’t chunky runners or uncomfortable dress shoes; these were sketcher slip-ons. The kind that almost makes you forget you’re wearing shoes at all. A fact that I thoroughly understood as I stepped on stage, my shoes still firmly attached to my feet.

I was quick to recognize my situation, but by then, it was too late. I was onstage with what felt like millions of eyes on me. For all I knew, no one had seen my shoes at all, and if I ran offstage to change them, I would just be calling attention to myself. Maybe I could just leave them behind me, I thought, discreetly step out of them before the music starts. Then the opening notes began to play, and the decision had been made for me. I was to dance the number with my shoes on.

Keep in mind that we were still young children and that this was a Bharatnatyam dance. This meant there were no ‘transitions’ where I would be offstage. Because if I could get offstage, even for just a moment, those shoes would’ve been thrown off my feet instantly. Once again, they were slip-ons; it wouldn’t take much effort. I wasn’t even wearing socks! As it was, however, I was stuck for the entire performance. Never before had ten minutes felt so long.

Though I must say, as soon as it ended, I wished it lasted an eternity. Because now I had to face my parents and dance teacher, who had no doubt caught my error. At first, I ignored the so-called elephant in the room, running towards my parents to hear my praises. However, as soon as it was brought up, I was pushed to tears. In my mind, only an idiot could forget something as simple as taking off their shoes. I think the adults had experience with this sort of mishap, though, because they were quick to come up with an excuse for me and reassure me that everything was okay.

If you were to ask anyone in the audience why I was wearing my shoes on that fateful day, they will no doubt all tell you the same thing: I had a foot injury, and the only way I could dance was if I kept my shoes on. In fact, even to this day, not one of them knows any better.

As I said before, this dance is probably the most memorable, but it’s also the only one I remember if I’m being entirely honest. Over time all of these dances have blurred into one muddled memory, all but this one. So maybe me wearing my shoes wasn’t a lapse of judgement; perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. So I could have one distinct memory from all of those years of dance. Although, if we’re being honest, I think it’s just my curse to remember every single one of my mishaps.

Sunaina Vallamkonda—3rd Place, 11/12 Non-Fiction