The members of my beloved batch, a batch strengthened by a sincere camaraderie and the incomparable familiarity of thirteen years stands in circular formation.
At the first line, we pump our fists at hip level, looking up at the sky, supposedly for “hope” (though honestly, guys, I never understood that), while bobbing our heads in pure anticipation.
"I like dollars. I like pesos. I like pounds. I like euro. I like corona. I like yen. I like rupee. Girl my friend, I like my money."
And when the polyphony starts, my skillful batchmates are at it like so:
But I, who lack the knowledge and skill remain outside the batch circle and, shall we say, “break it down” the only, and undoubtedly awful, way I know how:
My point? My dancing skills, or complete lack of such, do not justify the utter appreciation I have for my batch.
And also that, today was epic. An irreplaceable memory. Even if my incapabilities made me feel like an idiot.
(Undeniably, I dance like a flailing stroke victim.)
I love you guys.