Since I started blogging, I feel a need to relate every new emotion to a blog entry!! So here I go narrating my experince with my mom!
I like all kinds of music as long as they dont hurt my ears. But I really an passionate towards folk music from any place in the world. Being born and brought up in Tamilnadu, I follow the tamil filmi folk a lot. Thus, one fine day I came across a song in the Airtel Super Singer competition. Yeah, in a competition where the chief guest was singing this particular song. Since I was away from home, [in Germany] I didn't know it before then. The song had a huge applause at the end. So I went into youtube to see the original video of it only to get thoroughly shocked! One can find the video here.
I thought the songs choreography was a bit too raw. So I showed to my mom to see her reactions. Guess what.. here comes the shock of my life! She says, "Oh this kind of dance. They do in the villages around midnight. This the local club dance!" As a girl who has never been to village side festivals, this was new to me. I then realised that every place has its own kind of everything!
At this point I am not sure what to feel about it. But I realise that every place has its unique form in every art. We just need to find it, cherish it and not insult it! After all, we have our own club dance among others!
1 comment:
I wouldn't have believed it if you hadn't mentioned your mom's comment. I dare not refute them, because their eyes have seen the world more than us.
A word here - this dance is from a movie, and in movie things are blown out of proportions (almost always). The way it is portrayed, it looks more obscene than what it actually would be in the villages. The fact that your mother does not find anything strange is because she is really not concentrating on every moves the dancers are making. For example, if I were to read a book and a section is well known to me, I would rather skim through it rather than read it word-by-word.
Conclusion: I share your thoughts on the choreography. It is raw.
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