I could not believe that I had interacted with so many people and, having zero time to assess their flaws in the middle of this maddening dance, was going with the flow and having fun.Regardless of who they were, or where they came from, everyone seemed to like that there were no torturous lessons, no fear of failure, and zero judgments.A lot of them, like me, had taken heed to the description on the Facebook page that said you could come alone and you could be a total beginner. Over the course of the evening, a room full of strangers was slowly transforming into a room full of friendly faces. Some came here for the dance, but a whole lot were looking for a fun diversion. Then someone turned up the tempo of the jazz. I eagerly waited for someone to ask me for a dance, and sometimes I made eyes till they did. For the rest, it was a fun night.com.The instruction part of the night was soon over, and everybody was asked to take turns dancing with various people in the room.

This was when it became really fun. It was total anarchy!My legs hurt from dancing, my jaw ached from smiling, and I was sweating from head to toe, I did not want to stop dancing. I was flung around, spun, and awkwardly moved from one step to another.By then I had figured why this event was so popular and why it had drawn so many people every Sunday night for over a year. Sure, we’re not averse to meeting strangers today, but in the digital age, it feels more normal for us to swipe our way through the process. Alone, with two left feet and a perfect wallflower attitude, I walked into a Lindy Hop Social curious to find out what a ’20s American dance form was doing in South Mumbai.The instructor led us, tap, tap, tapping electric faucet Manufacturers our way through two hours of a beginners’ class.The awkwardness of standing next to strangers was slowly fading.My sense of regret grew when a man in a beret walked into the centre of the room and asked people to choose random partners of the opposite sex.As the clock drew closer to midnight, the crowds started thinning.Lindy Hop is easy to learn, and you can be spontaneous with a lot of the movements – as long as you get the basics right, of course. So I didn’t imagine I would see a lot of people at a Lindy Hop Social on a Sunday evening.

No numbers were exchanged, and there was only one Facebook friend request. Sometimes I just stood and watched while my partner, a better dancer, did fancy moves that I could barely imitate. Some had even made an effort to dress up a little bit, keeping with the jazz theme. There was slow jazz playing as we giggled and tried to keep up. I was surprised – the little room above a club was filled with mostly young people, all shuffling in corners. Just like me. Some stepped on my feet; I bumped into a lot more. But the room got warmer and the smiles a little friendlier as we danced along.

Then someone turned up the tempo of the jazz. A lot of people come by themselves and leave having made friends. There was small talk while I nervously tried to avoid stepping on my partner’s legs. He says that in a city so huge, it can be tough to find groups to socialise with. Wonder if I’ll sign up for the dance classes now!By arrangement with thecitystory. I realised that, deep down, I hadn’t come here because of any love for dance.A social seems like an idea from a bygone time. Lindy Hop is easy to learn, and you can be spontaneous with a lot of the movements – as long as you get the basics right, of course. It’s a party without the need for mingling, very little need for awkward small talk or knowing anyone. In a culture where it’s not easy to make friends of the opposite sex by just going out, these events gave people that avenue and an alternate form of socialising. It was more curiosity – would people have fun alone at a dance party in this city? I had patted myself on the back for having made the brave move to come by myself, but now I was going to have to dance, matching steps with a person who I’d met merely seconds ago. One or two even snuck in a salsa or jive move. I certainly didn’t feel like a dance professional, but I was sweaty and content. I hadn’t even touched my phone for four hours now.

There was a general nervousness running through the room as people scanned each other as if there was a collective realisation among the newbies that maybe a dance form from the ’20s did not a fun party make. Some told me not to hop (it’s called Lindy Hop, man, what else will I do!), some wouldn’t let me stop dancing. A social is a perfect setting where the steps are easy and the dance uninhabited. A few people came by and waved goodbye with a smile. The awkwardness of standing next to strangers was slowly fading. Chaitanya Senapathi, instructor, organiser, and administrator at these socials, agrees

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