Pappu Might Dance Saala

Here comes a dark secret from the labyrinth that is yours truly. A secret revealed only to a chosen few. A secret so sacrosanct , that it could rattle the very foundations of logic and reason. A secret that even God did not realize he was creating. Here goes – I like to dance!

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! You? Dance? As in move ? Actually move? Physical labour?

Yes! Me! Move….wiggle …jiggle…whatever you call it?

YOU? Seriously? You’re kidding right…

Nuh-uh….I like to dance!

The above was a conversation between I and me. Yes! It is true, despite the extra burden I carry around…yours truly is quite enthusiastic about dancing. Alas, I must whine that the thin world has not given me the chance to do so. Well…because I look ugly doing it! There are something’s fat guys were not built to do, for everything else, there’s Mastercard to buy that size-me-up meal at McDonalds.

The college internal events team sent out mails to everyone looking to enroll for a ballroom dance workshop. Yours truly was quite excited as finally he may have the guts to actually attend a formal dance class. Alas, the mailer said that one was expected to enroll with a partner!

The organizer was joking right?

Nope! Turns out he was not! If one does not have a partner, they are expected to send in their names and the girls would pick. Oh well, there goes the dance dream again! Reverting to cocoon and safety of delivering expression trough headbanging and mosh pits.Pappu might never dance saala. BTW, I am sure A.R.Rahman wrote that song, keeping my life as reference. Pappu guitar bajata hain…. Pappu ke paas hain MBA….you get the picture! Oh, Pappu can’t dance saala either!