Most of my friends give me more credit than I actually deserve. They think that I'm a wonder kid. The truth is that there a gazillion things I cannot do for the life of me. I am a flawed being. Topping my 'can't do list' is dance. I can't dance even at gun point!

My hands and legs just don't seem to co-ordinate. You can imagine the consequences when I try to dance. I personally hate seeing it!

I was pretty much okay with everything I tried in my childhood but when I stepped into teens, my body started slowing down when compared to my brain. As time passed, dance and I grew far apart. There was no necessity for it too and I was okay with it. Except for the occasional spasms of envy I had when I saw my mates perform, there were no problems at all. I was grateful for it. I kept telling myself that my Lord didn't give me anything that a muslimah doesn't need.

My bubble didn't last for long. There came a time I had to perform. There was no way out. It was my investiture ceremony where I recieved my badge. I was lost...

"Bushra, not that way. Like this. It is like this", Shruti exclaimed for the hundredth time as she twirled around showing me the right way of doing it.

She was choreographing the dance and it was collapsing because of me. I wasn't to be blaimed. Man, I was created that way. Blame it on manufacturing defect (My mom who was nine months with me fell down. Exactly the scenario of Happy Feet!) Shruti was my fellow captain. Being extremely sweet, she made the steps simple so that I would be able to grasp it. But my capablity was a different story.

After a hundred practice sessions, it was D day. Nine girls were dressed in brand new sports uniform.

Did I tell you about the sports uniform? No? Then I should tell you this. Till I was in tenth grade, the prefects had white pleated skirts with strips of their house colours. Their shirts were pretty cool too. I always felt like grabbing it from them and putting it on when I saw them wearing it. When I was finally selected to be one among them, I was actually ecstatic. You could tell that one of the reasons was that I could wear that pretty skirt finally. We always make elaborate plan but it ends up somewhere else. When I became the prefect, the authorities changed the skirts for us. From pleated skirts, it became wrap-around skirts! Imagine my horror.

The day before the investiture ceremony, I wasn't able to sleep wondering whether my skirt would come off when I march. Some girl I was.

The auditorium was filled with high school girls and the parents of prefects were invited too! I was clad in my new wrap-around skirt, new shirt, new gloves and was sporting my flag. And then it began.

The slow march was painfully slow. So slow that I was glad when it was over. After the marching and handing over our flags, we had to perform and I grew nervous when I had to step on stage. Never in the life of me had I been nervous to be on stage. It had always been my feat. This crazy dance was making me do non sensical things.

I was afraid that I'd forget my steps. I was afraid that I'd step on someone's feet. I was afraid that I'd make a fool of myself. I was afraid of every single thing related to dance. It was a miracle that I even completed the dance without sabotaging my reputation. As a group dance, it was alright but for those who singled me out in watching, it was really a disaster!

When everything got over, I met a friend who asked me,"What on earth did you do there Bushra?"

My mom on the other hand, couldn't stop laughing. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she was proud of me. Yet, my dear sisters and brothers (if any), she didn't stop mocking me for the rest of the day. She said I was mixing flour on stage! Leave it to my mother to insult me in unique ways.

I can't even imagine how disastrous my dance would have been. My mom still mocks me about it. She forgets about the stunt she performed twenty years ago and I have to remind her all over again.

The dance I performed will never be forgotten, though I've already forgotten the steps by now! That was my dance. My chicken dance!

Dance and I still don't go togther. We are still miles apart. And I still console myself that Allah never gave me anything which a muslimah doesn't need! Oh! What a relief!

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