Esmeralda
The day I started believing in bucket lists coincided with the day salsa became a potential need, not just a want, for me to become adept at. Well…perhaps not salsa initially…it was really the tango that I fell in love with when I first saw it performed by Al Pacino in the much acclaimed ‘the scent of a woman’. Over the subsequent decade or so I felt a really strong urge to learn the tango. It remained an urge at most. I never proceeded to the stage of learning it in order to become a tango expert. Perhaps it was the lack of an equally excited partner to get me to actively pursue the most elegant of dances. After all, it does take two to tango.
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| Photo credit: Riaz Khan, a photographer based in Houston |
One fine night I was chatting with a friend at a restaurant in Rice Village in Houston. We were discussing ‘the itinerant observer project’, a potential book of short stories for which my friend, a freelance photographer, was going to provide a visual piece. We both had our itinerant observer hats on and were deep in conversation when I became distracted by Spanish music emanating from inside the restaurant. This place would come alive on Thursday evenings with Salsa aficionados. Although the music was distinctly Spanish with professional flamenco dancers, castanets et al, it would disintegrate into Tex-Mex with its accompanying salsa dancing, a free for all. Since I was not too much of an expert in either area, I had resumed conversation about humdrum things, when I suddenly realized that I was being addressed by someone.
“You like salsa?” Perhaps that was an unusual question to be asked by a complete stranger of another complete stranger. I would realize later that one dancing soul had merely collided with another.
The lady who had approached me wore a vivacious dress and an animated body language. Her short, stocky build, demeanor, and accent betrayed her Hispanic roots. She appeared to be in her forties, but her real age was far from that, and that too I would learn later.
“Yes! I like salsa”, said I, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically because, honestly speaking, I was not particularly sold on salsa. The woman had asked me with such genuine love, for salsa and not for me, I think, that I did not have the heart to say no.
“Close your eyes, listen to the music and then move to it”, and saying so she did exactly that. Standing outside on the patio of the restaurant right next to the street she started swaying to the music. I attributed her friendliness and disinhibition to inebriety. Till then I had remained sitting at my table, getting more and more amused by her. But the next question took me off guard, and I almost fell off my chair.
“Are you married?”
How does one answer that question at a Tapas restaurant that converts into a salsa bar at nighttime? I heard myself say that I was. And to emphasize marital bliss I flashed my ring finger in her face.
“Sweetheart you don’t have a ring on”, said the presumptive salsa lover.
“Errr….yeah I know but it’s an invisible ring, unlike the one that rules them all and makes you invisible when you wear it…!” I thought that was a smart and triumphant quip, but it drew a blank look from her. My attempt at a joke about THE ring of Tolkien’s ‘the lord of the ring’ fame had fallen flat on its face!
“I’m Esmeralda. Come over to my hair salon after hours. My friend and I teach salsa”. It was then that I happened to notice her young friend smiling shyly, and somewhat embarrassed by this whole conversation.
“This is a sign! Salsa or tango or else…it’s all the same!” I heard a voice within. “This is your opportunity to learn a dance formally and strike one thing off your bucket list!” But then I heard another voice, also from inside: “No! You’re crazy! Remember what happened to you in Istanbul when you walked right into the hands of Erdogan, the trickster? You were supposedly walking into an ancient excavation site per the guide, but got looted and ego-bashed instead”.
I quelled the latter voice because by then I was quite intrigued by the appropriateness of Esmeralda’s name - the character with the same name in ‘the hunchback of Notre Dame’ was also a dancer and a gypsy. Perhaps this Esmeralda in Houston was also a gypsy? So, somewhat indecisively, on a hunch, I got Esmeralda’s number. And I’m glad I did.
After a week of contemplating whether or not I was walking into a trap, I bit the bullet and texted Esmeralda. And she invited me to her lair.
When we met at her salon, Esmeralda had no recollection of our encounter from just a week ago. That certainly strengthened my earlier conclusion about her state when we had last met.
I had assumed that Esmeralda was going to be my teacher. However, her friend, whom I had met the other evening, albeit transiently, was going to be my salsa instructor. My real salsa teacher could not boast Hispanic heritage, either congenital or acquired; her European looks gave away her ancestry. She was a tall beautiful lady, about my age. She was most patient in teaching me the basic steps of salsa. Over the subsequent weeks, my salsa gathered momentum. I would listen to the music while driving and although the Spanish lyrics sounded Greek, my fingers would tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel. Every class I would be mildly chastised by my teacher for not practicing. I could never get myself to just lie to her and say that I had indeed been doing so. In my defense, in my head, I had been practicing constantly.
I think my salsa education ended at the session
I was approached by Esmeralda. By then, after five classes, I had likely been
unofficially promoted to advanced level salsa practitioner. Perhaps of the kind, I saw on a YouTube video link with the God awful name ‘addicted to salsa’. That advancement meant that I had the
privilege to dance with Esmeralda - the queen bee. By then I was over my
hesitation to be close to her (physically) while dancing as well as with the
other ladies. I had also somewhat transitioned to looking them in the eyes
while dancing and not at their feet, or else. When Esmeralda and I danced that
evening she was left breathless and speechless - I think she had tears in her
eyes and I was left with humbling pride that I had made her happy, perhaps with
my dancing skills. The matronly hugging and kissing that followed could not be
refused. Like her salsa, the love flowed right from her heart.
As I reminisce about my journey into salsa and beyond I am amazed how dance has the ability to bring people together.
Esmeralda was from Colombia, the place where salsa originated. Over time I got to learn that other than being a much sought-after hairdresser, she was a mother of four, grandmother of six, and a great grandmother of two! Her love for children was quite impressive – when I told her about my two kids she insisted that I take her birthday cake home to them because the cake, in the shape of a koala bear, would be much more appreciated by them. And that’s exactly what transpired. My actual salsa instructor was from Austria, but she found the waltz of her homeland drab and lackluster compared to the highly expressive salsa that she had adopted as her form of ‘exploration and expression’ for almost two decades. Then there was a dancer from El Salvador who was always elegantly dressed for the evening, although the rest of us were, for the most part, quite rugged in contrast. Her appearance, dress sense, and overall aura did justice to the potential of salsa as an elegant form of self-expression. She was petite, pretty, and fragile, and her wanting to dance with me might have gone a bit to my head. I think she decided to dance with me purely upon Esmeralda’s insistence as the latter wouldn't stop going on and on about how much I had improved in only a few classes. The lady from El Salvador was a superb dancer and in her majestic presence, I made several blunders which she forgave. In the process of getting to know her a bit better through dance, I learned that in addition to her day job at a local university she ran a non-profit for promoting child literacy in Latin America. This was similar to what I was embarked upon. It was fascinating to come across someone like her at an extempore dance session.
There were a few recurrent men as well. The Venezuelan was a good-looking young man whose day job was installing and repairing water furnaces. He was in his element when he fused salsa moves from his beloved Venezuela with salsa from Houston, his adopted homeland. And when he and my salsa teacher danced there were fireworks! He gave me a crash course about the history of salsa, and he also gave me the most important piece of advice, “Practice, practice, practice with young single women at salsa bars in Houston”. I had a hard time heeding those words of wisdom given my erratic and somewhat random work routine. Then there was a middle-aged man who spoke immaculate English with the slightest accent that betrayed his German roots. An electrician by profession, he was extremely well-traveled. His love of salsa made him a magnanimous soul, and I figured that as he would eagerly teach me the fundamental steps of the dance by speaking aloud as I concentrated on my footwork, "1, 2, 3, 4...1, 2, 3, 4...."
And then there was me, the Pakistani itinerant
observer of the dance within and without.
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| #Zalsa finale of course 1 at the Adaptive Fitness Academy, March 2022 |
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