My Dancing Debut

For the benefit of those who may not have read them before, I thought of posting some of my old articles that were published elsewhere.  Today, I want to tell viewers how I made my dancing debut.

Lucky

My Dancing Debut 

More than five decades ago when we were young schoolboys, we didn't give much thought to ballroom dancing. But on leaving school and entering medical college, we soon discovered that learning to dance is a must, if one were to advance socially. At least that is what was drilled into us by our all-knowing seniors. I remember the day in the early sixties when one evening, I myself walked in gingerly with three of my medical student buddies, to Vivil de Kauwe’s Dance Studios in Kollupitiya. The urgent desire to grasp the fundamentals was that the biggest social event in a medical student's calendar, the annual Block Dance, was just around the corner.   

As tradition goes, our seniors had given us a thorough orientation as to what goes on and what is to be expected at social gatherings such as the Block Dance. “You will not be able to make any headway with any of the girls if you are unable to get on the floor with them”. To us juniors, that was the Gospel Truth. The vision of great things to come made us part with our scarce pocket money to acquire the much needed skills. 

Thanks to Vivil de Kauwe (and his pretty assistant), we learnt the basics. Oozing with confidence, we were ready for the Block Dance, which usually followed the Block Concert where the Block Juniors like us were to take centre stage. The effect of liberal doses of alcohol imbibed during our concert performance had not completely worn off when it was time for us to shower and change into our kits for the Dance. Transport was at hand and it was just a quick trip to the "Bloem" for a bath and scrub.

But we still needed booster doses of the same stuff (I cannot remember now whether it was "Gal" or "Pol" arrack) to gather sufficient courage to “approach” a girl of our choice. So the binge continued. On that night of nights, equipped as I was with my newly acquired dancing skills and fortified by the fiery liquid refreshment, I was brimming with courage (Dutch or Sri Lankan) and much needed confidence. I had no difficulty in extending my hand and asking the girl I was eyeing that evening “May I have this dance with you?” I was thrilled beyond belief when she readily obliged. So began a night of fun, floating around on the floor of King George’s Hall, with a girl in my arms in the semi darkness, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

 

Anti climax

It was only the next morning that I found to my utter dismay, that I had not been able to make it to the Dance after all. Some time after our great block concert performance, I had “passed out”. The rest of it was only a dream.

Author's note: What I have written above is partly fiction. I remember very well that I did make it to the Dance after all. To put the record straight, I must confess that in my lifetime, it was only on one occasion that I had “passed out” after overstepping the mark. Or to give it straight, drinking excessively. More about that memorable drinking episode later.

Lakshman Abeyagunawardene