“I feel like an impostor.” It has not been so long since I heard this comment from a few friends of mine ‘battling’ away their mid-twenties crisis. To be frank, I had no clue about the modern-day usage of the term. Of course, I knew about the literal meaning. But the familiarity with the word was more or less from detective novels describing people who conceal their identities to get away with their crimes. In a day and age where vocabulary is played fast and loose, the word ‘impostor’ has come to mean people who feel like they don’t deserve credit for their hard-earned achievements. Knowing that now, I too have a story to share where I felt like an impostor.
It was at a dance, yup, a dance in Edinburgh. As strange as it sounds, I am excited to share probably one of my top five best memories of all time. During my stay in the hostel in Edinburgh, I met a ton of different people including physicists, athletes, musicians, and PhD grads. Of all the people I met, two girls in particular hold a special place in my heart: Tiziana from Germany and Demi from the Netherlands. When so many people were into partying and pub crawls, these girls remained in the corner, watching the funny charades of the drunken lot. I went up to them and introduced myself as the girl from their dorm. As a side note, I went to Edinburgh with a non-existent itinerary because I think it is super fun to be spontaneous. That would be the lamest way to say that I hate planning. I have suffered a lot. I have missed many trains and buses. Alright, so now, you can understand why it is important for me to pick up recommendations from the people I meet. So, in my usual nonchalant way, we exchanged our plans for the next day. It was not surprising that they had better plans than me. They told me that they were going for Ceilidh dancing and asked me if I wanted to tag along. Ceilidh dancing (pronounced Kay-lee) is a traditional Scottish folk dance. That was all I knew. Dance, you say? I was all in. I mean I had tried haggis and blood pudding in Scotland. So, I can fairly easily pass the test for dancing.
When I asked the girls about the dress code, they told me to wear anything I liked that was comfortable. Hmm…I was dubious as regards to what constitutes appropriate enough for the dance. So, I donned a long black dress which now looking back was a tad bit inappropriate. A cocktail party? I would have slayed it. But a traditional dance? Not so much. But it didn’t matter. I ecstatically set out with them late that evening to join the dance party.
My days in Edinburgh were so fun-filled that most days I forgot about having meals at the proper times. That day too, I hadn’t eaten anything for lunch and I was already starving when I reached there. Drenched in excitement and forgetting about my hunger, I stepped into the “quiet” location hidden away from the buzz of the city in an old building. We were welcomed by two grandpas wearing the cutest Scottish quilts. They collected the entry fee of ten pounds and ushered us in. I peeked in and saw a much bigger crowd than I had expected. My head started spinning when I saw the intricacy of the choreography. It was exhilarating and very athletic. I realized that I would need all the energy I could muster to successfully call it a day. I quickly excused myself and ran outside, looking for an eatery. I just wanted something-- anything to give me the strength to finish at least one dance. I spotted a fish and chips not far away and broke into a run. I quickly grabbed a burger and cola and hastily stuffed it in my mouth on the dark stairway in the Ceilidh place, inviting surprised looks from the passersby. Checking my form in the mirror and satisfactorily chewing a mint in my mouth, I entered the room exuding confidence. But alas! I entered in the middle of a dance and I couldn’t find my friends in a sea of dancing people. Now, I feel silly for being heartbroken and for slouching away in the corner for a while and not being able to find a dance partner right away. I finally mustered the pluck and asked a beautiful lady in her sixties, sitting across the table the question, “How do you find a partner here?”. She smiled at me and asked me to follow her. Perplexed, I did. Suddenly, she started to lead me to the dance. She was such a nice lady with a
gentle smile and soft moves. Being a self-proclaimed dancer myself, I was in shock when I couldn’t keep up with the very mellow choreography of that song. And that was just the beginning.
I thanked her for my first dance. Charged with adrenaline, I rushed to find my friends sitting at a corner table. So, I told myself. This is how it works. It doesn’t matter if you are alone. You are welcome here with open arms. But again, I want to come clean here. I did not feel that way for quite some time. I felt like an impostor and felt that I didn’t belong there. I was one among the only few brown people in that room. I even contemplated going back. But then, I let it go. I let go of those feelings and surrendered myself. I believed that I could have a nice time here only if I trusted my instincts, trusted these people and let go of my fear. I slowly relaxed and looked around the room. I saw some fifty to hundred different people laughing merrily, chatting and sipping on their drinks with a carefree, blissful attitude. I saw people and nothing more. It wasn’t scary. It was natural and human.
Feeling more positive, I looked forward to the next round of dancing. It started after a short break with the caller explaining and decoding every move on a microphone and an in-house band pumping in some heart-rendering, upbeat music reminiscent of the late 18th-century country songs, like the ones in Bridgerton.
So, I danced on and on, with complete strangers. Their eyes were soft and their hearts were warm. There were men in traditional Scottish quilts who were professionals. They aced every move and when the choreography got challenging and fast-paced, they tried their best to break it down easily for the rest of us. Funnily enough, I remember flying in a quilted guy’s arms when I twirled. I should have been embarrassed when people asked me with concern the question, “Are you alright?”. I was more than alright. I was fine and cracking up. I was having the time of my life!
For the final dance, the whole crowd of fifty-something people stood facing one another on the dance floor. We had to twirl around to the end of the room in such a way that we got to partner up with every single person in the crowd. It all happened so quickly that you changed your partner in the blink of an eye. Whenever we met a new person, we exchanged pleasantries. Even when your head is spinning, you compliment them on a nice dress or a cute smile.
Towards the end, I got so high on happiness that my moves took a heart of their own and sprung up to teach the crowd some Bollywood moves. My final dance partner was a tall, blonde, bespectacled lady wearing a red top and a skirt. She reflected every single one of my Bollywood moves of “dance bulbs” and “sweeping the floor”. Finally, when the dance came to an end, she came to me and complimented me saying that I am a very fun person, and she had a really lovely time with me and that I dance very well. My dance that day was not my personal best and I know it. And I am not being modest here. But that was how it was. People were kind and everybody packed a boatload of endorphins into their brains. And what do happy people do? They spread love and happiness!
I remember telling this to the cute girl who sat across my table who was an Edinburgh native,” I envy that you are getting to spend your entire life here. The whole city is magical.” She then told me that she is a regular member of the Ceilidh club. How perfect is that!? Growing up, every day, I realise that you need to surround yourself with love, and if that is too much to ask for, grow a love for yourself within yourself. For me, Ceilidh Club is a love-themed fantasy park. We need more of that in the world. Because, in every single one of those sweet validations and in every choreography that you break your sweat into, you become the truest form of self and a better human being overall. And isn’t life all about that? To live and let live?
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