La Danse Indienne

(inspired by a version of Henri Matisse’s ‘La Danse’ that I drew)

By Riya Rajeev

We bask in the glory of

La Danse Indienne,

Where I can fold into the 

Pleats of a loose pink dhoti,

Getting lost in the satin,

Hanging low in its hammock.

We toss all our stories

In the circle and then

They ring in the bells on our feet

And trickle down our faces

Like the start of a river through soil.

My lehenga hangs around me,

And its translucency might

Let you see the soul in me,

Whilst its glitter and gleam 

Might blind you just enough

To stop you seeing me how you want to see me;

As

Not quite whole.

Not quite one or the other,

Like my ‘O’s are not right

Like they lack all this colour,

But my skin is red soil

And you refuse to discover

All the seeds beneath it

Laid down by my Mother 

Tongue,

But also, my mother’s tongue,

Teaching me how to speak 

Three languages at once.

By the burning sun 

And all the things we’ve done

To be tropical plants

That still bloom when winter comes.

By the queen’s vowels,

By the Motherland’s consonants,

By the empowerment, and the anger, and the resistance.

By the liberty

And the fight in me,

By the pop and R&B

And the ‘70s B4U songs in Hindi.

By this duality.

So I’ll bask in the glory of

La Danse Indienne,

I’ll stomp who I am with every step

Don’t you see?

It’s like my hips are possessed

By my ancestors.

I’ll tell my own story

In this circle and then

Show you how I could just as easily

Be a Matisse

As I could a Sher Gil.

Nachegi ye rani*,

I will dance.

Because in this circle 

There’s no room for your boxes,

We’ve cleared the space

So we can dance.

And be both things.

And be everything.

*This queen will dance.