He was 15 years old. The boy belonged to a family of professionals – His mother was a doctor and his father a lawyer. One of his brothers was studying to be an engineer, and his sister was already a qualified doctor. It was like a family motto – ‘Educate yourself to become someone in the world, whether you like it or not.’

But Kevin was an exception. He had absolutely no interest in the horrid professions and sad corporate life. It really wasn’t meant for him. He couldn’t force himself to study, could barely stay put for 15 minutes in one place. He wasn’t stupid, just hyperactive. He felt he had another call in life. He had one love, one interest, one passion. It was ballet. He loved the soulful music, the throes of rhythm that oscillated and echoed off the theatre walls. That enchanting contortion and complete control of the body and soul, with which one told a story to thousands in the audience– it just fascinated him. He was the youngest in his class at school, and his voice had not cracked yet. This, along with the fact that he went for ballet lessons,, made him quite the scapegoat. Everybody taunted and teased him; he was never completely accepted into a group, neither at school, nor at home. His father and brother ribbed him cruelly about how he was wasting away his future. ’It is no respectable hobby for a budding man’, they said. He was hurt, yes. There were times he wondered whether his life was worth living. Many a times he would contemplate ending it all.

Eventually, his family realized that his fondness for ballet was more than just a hobby, and that he intended to pursue a carrier in it. This led his to father cut him off, stopped his allowance, hoping that would ‘knock sense’ into the boy. Kevin moved out of his home that day, and looked around for a job. He found one at a refueling station, where he worked evening and nights to pay the fees for his lessons, and buy some fodder for his stomach. Needless to say, he excelled. He had a fine and fit body, and a willingness to learn. His teachers immediately recognized his potential, and polished it out. At 19, he was already getting famous for his heart rending performances.

This was over three years ago. I, a petty journalist, stood right next to him now. The lights were out, and the stadium was quiet, when he agreed to spare me a few minutes of his time, and tell me more about himself. ‘Oh, well… that’s all there is to it. Not much of a story, I’m afraid’, he tells me with his eyes twinkling. ’I’m just an ordinary fellow, who had the common sense to respond to the call that was rung out at me. Oh! There’s my cue, it was nice talking to you. I hope I don’t mess up. Why don’t you stay for the show?’ He shook my hands; always the impeccable manners. ’Wait!’, I yelled, as he walked away. ’What about your family?’

Oh, there’s dad and mom, sitting by the bleachers’, he said, pointing at an elderly couple nearby who were all smiles. ’They learned pretty quickly I was a goner about this. So they stopped discouraging me.’

All the lights went on, and the audience roared, as he stepped onto the stage.

I stood in the shadows and admired the man, who had the courage to do what most of us can’t.

Answer the Call.

Featured Image Credits: https://www.123rf.com/photo_18728054_men-ballet-legs-in-the-fifth-position.html

About The Author

Kavya Joseph

Just a girl on a quest to understand herself and her country.

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