Trending #Iamnotenough
When Aksara looked towards the camera, in the hope of the perfect shot, Trisha freaked. "No, no, not like that, turn towards the left. Chin up, don't I always tell you to keep your chin up?" A trembling Aksara could not immediately follow her mother's instruction; she was unable to. She was feeling sick, the air conditioning, and the lights, her layers of makeup and costume made her feel suffocated, as if thousands of hands were trying to squeeze her. But she had to be perfect for the photoshoot, and she had to smile —a stretched, fake smile —to make her mother proud, to make her audience clap for her, and to make her trending on social media. After all, she had to fulfil everyone's expectations, as many people's love, toil, and hope lay in her success. Her entire family —her mother, Trisha, her alcoholic father, Varun, and her unemployed older brother, Tushar— everyone was waiting for her to win and win.
Dance was a way for her to release- to release her anger and pain. She knew her father loved her the most, but he loved his bottle of wine more than that. So, when her mother and brother used to find fault in everything she did, he sat there silently, tears rolling down his cheeks, but no words were spoken. In the beginning, he tried to object; he used to come and take her away from them, but when her success as a dancer transformed his bottle of country liquor into an imported one, he stopped intervening. Instead, he sat there, silently, drinking more and more. Why couldn't he speak up? Why couldn't he take her away from them? What made him stop?
She knew her performance was not the only factor determining her win. It was social media that decided who was more talented. The winners were selected based on who was trending more. So, she had to be there for her audience all the time, on Lives, Reels and day-to-day videos. Her mother instructed her on what to wear in every interaction and how to present herself, being polite and faking a smile. Trisha was a failed actress. She had done bits and pieces of roles in some films and shows. By the time Aksara was born, she was too tired to struggle for her big break. She ran a dance school and had gained a few students, thanks to her additional title as a Bollywood choreographer, which was listed on the pamphlet. She was good at teaching, and to her joy, Aksara, whom she had mostly neglected, started taking an interest in dance. She would sit in the class and imitate the students, much to the older students' dislike. But the shrewd Trisha noticed and discovered her golden egg-laying hen. With the emergence of reality shows, her way to fame and name became easier. While she had surpassed her age to try anew, her daughter could do that for her. So, the gruelling training began, and with it, the application to various Dance Reality shows. Aksara, a graceful dancer, did not dishearten her. She could make her place in every show that her mother applied for. After winning some small shows, it was time for Trisha to try her daughter's luck for bigger ones, on a national level. And she could manage some backdoor entries too, thanks to her connections in TV channels. A 14-year-old Aksara used to ask, "Why, Mummy? I can audition fairly; why do we have to enter this way?" Trisha snapped, "Shut up, moron, you only do as I say, this will guarantee your entry. Once you enter, then you show them your talent." Her expressions- as if she were going to dance before the judges. While dancing was not a problem for Aksara, she could dance anytime, anywhere, to any music. Her issue was with the other aspects: the scripted dialogues, the scripted sad stories, her mother's mock tales of sacrifice, her brother's "giving up his education" so she could shine, and the boring photo shoots, where she looked almost unreal on camera. Why did they have to do these? Then there was maintaining her social media channels, which Tushar managed, and along with that came brand endorsements from soaps, incense, jewellery, clothes, hotels, and more. She became the family's ATM. And that made her trending. That helped her gain more followers and votes, winning some shows.
Now here she was today, in an international show, the pressure was high, the competition tough, and she was the favourite from India. She had to be more agile and fit to reach the international standards. The International channel had appointed special trainers and choreographers for the show. There was a very strict panel of trainers, along with appointed nutritionists and physical fitness coaches. She didn't have time to catch her breath. Her dance recitals were becoming more like gymnastics, which she did not enjoy. But she knew she had to do it. She had to do everything that she was told to do. Because at the end of the day, she had to be trending, to win.
Her mother's pride was skyrocketing now; her bank balance was increasing just like her collection of designer wear. Aksara, tired of this fake show, just wanted to dance the way she wanted to, carefree, without being judged by millions of viewers. But she did not have a choice. She remembered that other day, when her body was fuming with fever, she asked her mother to grant a leave from practice. But Trisha didn't listen; instead, she screamed, "Are you crazy? You are going to ruin everything at this point? Look, girl, I am not going to let you do that, you understand? I have given up everything for you and your success. The only thing you will have to do is win. Even a single day of No-show would make you lose followers. How can you trend if you lose followers? How can you win if you don't trend?" She grabbed her phone and showed her some of the comments on her pictures. "See, so many people want you to win, would you fail them?"
Aksara was looking at the mirror, but she could not see herself anymore. She saw a 15-year-old girl wearing heavy makeup and revealing clothing, which made her look like a 20-year-old. She did not want this, but she had to be here for the sake of others. She did not remember the last time she had gone to school or spoken to any of her friends. She envied their lives. She was tired of her mother's constant "win-win-win" mantra. They were in China now, for the final rounds. Her father and brother did not come. Her father had called a couple of days back. She knew he was missing her. He said, "Take care, Aksu." She knew he was crying; he understood her pain but chose to remain silent. Trisha did not approve of their calling each other. According to her, these kinds of sad phone calls were only distractions. She might lose focus if she called home so often. All that mattered to her was trending and winning. Aksara was a medal for her, no longer a daughter.
They had to be there for the finals for the next 4 days. There was one day off in between for the contestants to spend some time outside, travelling the city. The other contestants from India and their families were planning a short trip around the city together. Vibhan, one of the contestants, told her and asked her to join too. But Trisha was not ready. "If we go out with every other random dancer, how would you be exclusive?" "Mummy, they too are equally talented and made their way to the finals. How are they, random dancers?" The shrewd Trisha bent in front of her daughter, "This is your chance, dear, get hold of those trainers and ask them to help you polish the steps that you think you need to. The more you practice, the more your chances of winning increase. Once you win, I promise we will go on a 15-day trip to Europe. You, your brother, and I. Leave these petty people here; let them go and crowd on the streets like shameless tourists."
Aksara did not know what to say. At her mother's pestering, she ventured into the trainers' arena and found Savvy, one of the choreographer's assistants, practising there alone. "Aksara from India, "Savvy smiled at her. "What brings you here?" "Actually, I was wondering if I could practice some of the steps that I was finding difficult!" Aksara said, looking out for Brian, their choreographer. "Oh, Brian has taken a day off, but I am there. You tell me. What can I do for you, my little lady?" A bit hesitant, Aksara agreed, and they started practising together. Aksara was not feeling right from the beginning. There was something in Savvy's touch that made her very uncomfortable. Whenever there was any close step, Savvy, as if intentionally, tried to touch her inappropriately. She had danced with many people before, but had never felt like this. When, at one of the steps, Savvy intentionally kissed her left ear from behind, she resisted. "What are you doing? Back off." Aksara was furious. "Come on, little girl. No one will know."
Savvy hissed, grabbing her hand and tightening his fist around her wrist. A panicky Aksara screamed. Trisha came there and looked at them. Savvy was still holding her hand. "Aksara, come back, you fool." As she ran to her mother, crying, Trisha slapped her, "You can't even control yourself, stupid girl." A startled Aksara started sobbing, "Mummy, he was misbehaving with me. We should inform the organisers. “We can't do that. They would raise a thousand questions about why you came here on an off day, and what you were doing with the choreographer's assistant." Aksara did not know what to say; she was in no way at fault. Why was she being blamed? But she realised that she was alone, all alone. Her mother was there, with her, but not for her.
At night, before going to bed, Trisha came to her room, "Come, I have arranged for a special photoshoot." "Why at this time, mommy? I am tired, I want to sleep." Aksara was genuinely tired, and she needed some time to come to terms with and face the reality after the incident with Savvy. That man was still roaming freely, and here she was, hushed. "You are not trending today. We would publish the pictures on your account, and once you start trending, your chances of winning will also increase. We have just 2 days left for the finals. Come on and get dressed. Unwillingly, she had to change into one of her dancing suits. Luckily, the photographer was kind enough to take long shots with somewhat dark tones, so she did not have to put on makeup. It was midnight by the time they finished.
The next day passed like a whirlwind. They had practice sessions, photo shoots, and numerous other activities that Aksara lost count of. The contestants were asked to bond with each other the entire day. She was talking to Vibhan the most. He was from Chandigarh and had won some competitions before. He knew her from her earlier wins and social media presence. He was teasing her about one of her latest brand endorsements for a shampoo. "You don't do any endorsements?" asked Aksara. "No, both my parents and I hate that. You tend to lose focus once you start diverting your attention to making money. I love dance, and I want to dance." "You don't want to win?" "I just want to dance well, to be happy, if that makes me win, then double happy." "What if I win?" "Triple happy." Laughed Vibhan.
Finally, the final day came. Aksara wore a black costume with a sleek updo. She had black lipstick on for her performance. She was not nervous; in fact, she was feeling very light. What if she had thought the same way as Vibhan, right from the beginning? She should dance for her happiness, not for trending or winning. The acts began, and Vibhan sat beside her in the lounge where the contestants waited for their turn. Just before her performance, he gave her a sweet, "Here, take it. It would give you good luck." A happy Aksara ate the sweet and was called for her turn on the stage. She started gracefully. In the beginning, everything was going smoothly until all of a sudden, her head started to spin. She was feeling weak in her knees and slipped at one of the speedy turns, straight to the floor, unconscious.
Aksara got up to find herself on a bed. Trisha was crying profusely near her. She called her in a feeble voice, "Mummy," "Your mummy is dead." Snapped Trisha, "Stupid girl, can't take care of yourself. You ruined everything. You know that Indian boy, Vibhan, won. And look at you, lying on a bed, here." "Mummy Vibhan gave me a sweet to eat before my performance. I think there was something in it." "Don't blame your failure on others, you have ruined everything… all my sacrifice and hard work…all gone in vain." She started crying hysterically. Aksara looked at the wall silently; trust, empathy, love, and care were mere words to her now. Nothing made sense anymore. She knew Vibhan tricked her; her mother would not believe it, and she never did. Her life would become miserable now after she returned home, feeling like a loser. Her brother would taunt her more, her mother would scream at her more, and her father would drink more. She was a failure, a loser. She failed everyone, her family, her followers. She was not trending anymore.
Aksara got up from the bed. Her mother was still crying, paying no attention when she left the room. She went into the lift and pressed the top-floor button. She had to go up to the top; then she might be trending and winning. She came to the terrace. The wind was strong there, and she shivered, but she kept walking. She reached the edge of the terrace, and the low wall felt like a barrier between her and her win. She stood on the wall, at the extreme edge and extended her right leg. Here she was coming to win, "Look, mommy, I'm going to win, see I am trending #IAmNotEnough."
This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop
This story was an entry in Penmancy's Short Story contest
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