Being a Teacher

My roles reversed this week as I became the dance instructor rather than the student, as I normally am. I held a bhangra dance class at Griffith Park, waaaayyy back in the interior. I think people get frustrated that it's kinda hard to find, but dancing around people picnicing, dogs poopings and random people drumming isn't as palatable. I got nervous this time cuz so many people signed up on the meetup. I've now decided that there is generally a 60% show rate: 23 signed up, 14 showed. I was totally cool with that. 

Alot of ownership comes with teaching. These people took time out of their day to come here to learn something from me. I don't know them, I may never see them again. But at that given moment, I am their teacher. 

After starting, the discrepancy in dance experience amongst students becomes glaringly apparent. Do I point out the one who's having a hard time and instruct or will they get self-conscious? One guy comes in very laxidazical. Do I push him to step up and give it a genuine try or let him go? All of a sudden my "inner-Katherine Kuniraman" is evoked. Katherine was my bharat natyum (classical Indian dance) dance teacher growing up. She made me cry, she made all us little girls cry. But she also whipped our ass into shape. We would stretch our arms tight, squat with thighs quivering for extended periods of time and jump with precision on her demand. Her demand was not vocal, rather it was barked through the beat of her wooden stick banging on her wooden box. I envied the slivers flying off her wooden box, as they had successfully escaped her wrath. Despite all the fear and turmoil, I am only left with deep respect and regard for my teacher. She was ethically and morally and disciplined in a way that made sense to me, at a time when not much else did. 

As I am standing there teaching my bhangra class, I find myself clapping my hands to keep beat and watching everyone carefully; I want them all to get it down great. I push a little, but pull back with applause and supportive words. Then we continue forward. We got a very nice routine down, only shy one step I intended to put in. At the end I realized we all had learned a one to two minute routine and most everyone was doing quite a fine job at it. I felt proud of what I had taught them. Interestingly, it is hard to imagine how they felt. I can rationalize it out, but feeling it is another thing. 

The following day I switched roles, back to my familiar position as the student. I watched keenly, admiring how Christian Oveido handled a salsa class of thirty students. I learned from him: make sure everyone can see you, good comedic timing is good for moral and easing the tension while learning. Most importantly, I, the student, left there fulfilled by learning new skills, challenging my body and expressing myself through a new(er) dance form. 

Dancing is a community effort: You teach because you really feel you have something to offer and gain gratification in seeing others learn in front of you. You learn, like you receive a gift. Someone gave their time to enrich your life. It's a positive cycle: someone gives to you so you give to someone else.

It's Okay for You, But Not for You.

President Obama (I still get chills when I say that), had his first prime-time press conference last night. He tosses words out like he's making a gourmet omelet with them. His ability to synthesize knowledge, remember five questions and answer them all in order with such eloquence is awesome (in the true sense of the word). 

As he, himself, would advise, no one is perfect and mistakes are bound to happen. However, his oversight to an inherent contradiction is beyond permissive in my eyes. In his words: 

"With respect to nuclear weapons, you know, I don't want to speculate. What I know is this: that if we see a nuclear arms race in a region as volatile as the Middle East, everybody will be in danger. And one of my goals is to prevent nuclear proliferation generally. I think that it's important for the United States, in concert with Russia, to lead the way on this. And, you know, I've mentioned this in conversations with the Russian President, Mr. Medvedev, to let him know that it is important for us to restart the conversations about how we can start reducing our nuclear arsenals in an effective way so that -- so that we then have the standing to go to other countries and start stitching back together the nonproliferation treaties that, frankly, have been weakened over the last several years."

I shake my head rapidly from side to side, clean my ears and look straight again wondering 'Is this not the man that just supported the US-India Nuclear Deal?' In October 2008, George Bush executed one of his "successful" measures prior to running away from the wreckage he would leave behind: Passing the US-India Nuclear Deal. It permitted India to step up and run with the big players in the Nuclear Proliferation Treaty in 1968: USA, UK, France, Russia and China. Within the self-serving treaty is the agreement that no one will try and create nuclear weapons to the level of these five nations as to curb nuclear weapon production. Additionally, Article 1 sites that these five countries agree not to transfer "nuclear weapons or other nuclear explosive devices" and "not in any way to assist, encourage, or induce" a non-nuclear weapon state (NNWS) to acquire nuclear weapons. Therein, lied the conflict, no one could sell to India to further build nuclear weapons unless the treaty was broken. 

Rather quietly, almost brushed under the carpet quiet, Congress & Senate passed through a deal permitting India for open trade. Bush very gregariously smiled with his pen to paper posing for all the cameras, exuding a "see dad, I can do something productive" glow as he, too, signed off on the deal. More importantly, in the heat of the final stages of the election race Obama returned to Senate to vote yes on the Deal. 

Isreal remains ambiguous, opaque to their nuclear creations, North Korea got called out and backed down on their creations and now Iran is under heat. So we play Good Cop/Bad Cop with the world, pushing our agenda and wondering why their is backlash down the road. Meanwhile India, in all its mad bargaining skills, hustled off a great deal with the US. Buisness is booming on the nuclear weapon front as India as it has purchased 6 of its anticipated 40 nuclear reactors by 2032. Some may argue for increased energy efficiency, however in an era of want to "start reducing our nuclear arsenal in an effective way," there lies many alternate, less-precarious, under invested means of maximizing energy use. 

So I may be the unpopular critic, especially against the motherland. However, getting in there like swimwear, when the rest are left to point fingers at is not a point of pride for me. It just now means that India is no longer the unpopular brown kid in the all white school. And, probably, I'll always route for the underdog and remain a voice against the unjust.

Salsa Chronicles #4

I started taking Salsa lessons back in November. I found the art, science, psychology and social elements of salsa so fascinating, I started chronicling them. 

In LA Salsa dancing is quite a scene. I mean, there are multiple options for every single day of the week. Yesterday I tried somewhere new: King King in Hollywood.

I walked into King King at precisely 8:50pm, 20 minutes after class started. "And basic, 1,2,3...5,6,7," the teachers chanted. At first, even this is intimidating. Where did the 4 and 8 go? After three months though, it's like a sanscrit chant: "Om bur braha swaha..." microphone points to the crowd.

So I join in trying not to be presumptive, but also thinking, 'I am the master of the "basic step."' They teach us a "shine step." This is where you break away from your partner and do a little shoulder-shimi or ass-shake. It's good times, but still a point of awkwardness in Salsa dancing, not unlike that first go at conversation on a first date: 

"Do you like living in LA?" he asks. 

"Well I didn't at first. But now I went to hang out at this bar and these people were saying that and I was thinking how retarded they sound. I like famous people," she replies. Wait, where did he go?

If there is one thing I can handle it is dancing by myself. Boom, got the shine step down. It is the coupling up part, however, that is often a point of stress for me. 

"Let's partner up," Rodrigo, my dance teacher, announces.  

Now that my fear and awkwardness has molted, I can shake a tail feather regardless of the guy in front of me. Some of them are Divo-style robotic; so stiff it's almost like popping and locking. Others are still standing motionless in the startup position, but the combination has already finished. Mostly, every guy brings in their own style, trying to maneuver the grace of leading a lady, while mastering a new step at the same time. 

Finally, the class comes to a close and it is free dance time. As I always have come and left alone, this transition from class to free dancing makes my singleness glaringly apparent; I take a seat alone on the side and wait. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see Yosi enter. Here's an interesting cat. He has taught a couple classes in the past. I've always made efforts to forge a friendship with him, however, I find each conversation abruptly haults at Yosi defending himself:

"Yosi, when are you going to head up another Rueda class? I think the interest is there, but everyone may not know it is going on?" I say. 

"Well, I'm too busy to post it everywhere," he defends. 

And conversation close...and slowly walk away. 

So tonight, I can't find it in myself to go up to him, start up conversation and somehow walk away feeling smacked in the face with a tether ball. Arrogance is not a virtue in salsa dancing. 

That is precisely what I learned today. I look up and see the guy who repeatedly pretzeled his arms up the wrong way during class busting a move. 

"I think you only turn, I don't." I inform. 

Correcting someone with you in class, I've come to learn, is a very touchy thing. I know this from being on the receiving end. We all are here to learn and no one can assume themselves to be better than the other. During free dance time, he never came to ask me for a dance. 

"Would you like to dance?" Ari from class inquires. 

"Of course." I reply, thinking 'This is going to be a boring one for sure, I think he's a beginner.'

Before I realized we were scissoring, twisting, twirling. This guy knew what he was doing. Presumptions never pay off on the dance floor. 

Then, I look up, and see Rodrigo approaching, thinking, 'Nice he's coming to chat.' I love this guy. 

"Would you like to dance?" Rodrigo asks extending his arm.

With my internal sirens going off, I reply: "Certainly."  

Before I know it, I am misreading his turns and stumbling over my own two feet. Aeeyye mommy, nothing like a little intimidation to freeze one's capacities. Salsa never works if you think you can't do it. In my defense however, this is the video of the man I danced with. 

Shiane

"She's had a sore throat for quite a few days so I wanted to bring Shiane in to be seen," Shiane's grandmother explains. "We're working on getting her Medi-cal, but it's all been up in the air since her mother left.." her grandmother confesses in follow-up to her chief complaint. "...and we also wanted to discuss her options for counseling," her sentence runs on. 

Ah, the chief complaint turned twenty. Help and concern can't freeze my office clock, but ignoring the problem won't bring time back for Shiane either. Shiane is a sincere, soft-spoken 12 yo girl. She sits obediently on the exam room table, waiting patiently for her grandmother to explain her predicament. Her grandmother explains that Shiane's mom up and left four months ago, so now she lives with her grandmother (actually her step-grandmother, her step-father's mom). 

"Do you know your biological father?" I ask.

"No, I've never met him." she states with out emotion: no resentment, anger or sadness.

I'm saddened to know that yet another child sits without any knowledge of the whereabouts of the man who gave birth to her. I often wonder if the commonness of the problem justifies it being overlooked as a real issue amongst our children. 

In the same day I met Eduardo, a 12 yo boy, whose mother complains of his defiant behavior and rude remarks towards her. I learn quickly that Eduardo is split amongst two homes: his mother's, who has recently reconnected with and extends effort to reach out for her son. The other is his father's, the home he returns to to sleep each night. 

His mother steps out and we talk. I ask about his life at his dad's home.

"He's always out with his girlfriend," he begins to explain.

"Her kids jump on my bed and throw the stuff in my drawers all over my room," he states with resentment. 

"You wish your dad would spend more time with you?" I ask. The tears beat his words to the punch.

Eduardo leaves me wondering, what is the lesser of two evils? A physically present but totally negligent father or no father at all. 

Returning to my interview with Shiane:   

"How do you feel about your mother?" I ask. 

"She and I were best friends before she left," she explains, "Now I keep the blanket she made with me to feel like she's there." 

Once again Shiane's voice is devoid of emotion, especially anger or sadness. Rather I hear a sense of acceptance, permission to allow her mother to be as she may. This is what always hits me the hardest. Children are so forgiving of their parents. They long for a mother and a father to love them, more so, a person for them to cherish and love. 

I am reminded of something Mintee recently told me: "We are all imperfect people." So I remind myself of that with everyone who walks into the office. After all, most of are doing the best we can with what we have. But it is hard not to ask for more sometimes. I just think that every child deserves a mentally, physically and emotionally present father and mother.