Switching Partners

A 1980's black and white pixel faded memory. A 1980's stage set with bright coloured lights. Lights flicker across and so do two little hearts mine and Alan's. We are hardly four, then, our greatest delight  the forthcoming school day fete. Being part of a so called convent culture(frankly speaking perhaps the colonial leftovers),we are trained by the anglicized nuns. A ball room dance in a quiet little Indian town. There are six pairs of us, vijay and*****, Hafsa and******, Ramesh and****, Anand and****,Prem and***** And finally Alan and me. We enjoy the moments me smelling his paris perfume as he possessively twirls my little arm in his and me the poorest dancer failing to rest against his little beating heart. But inspite of being a poor dancer  I am Alan's favourite companion and of course special to me but then I unlike him am not very keen on either dancing or in the only one concept as much as I am thinking of how many chocolates dad would get me the evening. And I guess because I am a poor dancer and Alan is a gentleman of grace at his well paced steps,  the exasperated dance teacher decides to take me away from him. She pairs me up with Prem first but me and Prem are sworn enemies. So within seconds the ballroom becomes  a restroom. So the reverend decides to pair me up with Vijay. And the dude like me is slow, dreamy and a slipshod dancer and so the dance teacher is happy with having fit the jigsaw. Neither the reverend nor the dance teacher notice the way two little hearts shatter at the solution. But less sincere me is too fast in adapting to my new partner and he and I mess an art form with our lack of aesthetic sense. And as I dance with my new partner, I notice the darkened eyes of my sincere companion.
 Alan twirls his new lady with ease, a natural dancer but he is looking at me. And am sure she cannot smell his paris perfume because he holds her away, the twirl, a very cold twirl. Am happy he does not twirl her well but sad I can no longer smell his paris perfume. Alan grows unusually silent. We speak less and less.  I feel sad he doesn't say anything during recess but then as I am not as sincere as him I settle my grief on delicious choco nuts and in the choco cookies vijay gives me.
 And finally the big day dawns. The nuns and teachers dress us up. The girls are covered with coatings of coloured lipstick, powdered noses, cheeks and the boys are powdered up too and in fact have a moustache drawn with black sticky stuff. I smile away less affected by the tragedy of switching partners while Alan does not smile anymore than he looks at his new lady. Unawares after the fete, our parents(mine and Alan's) being close family friends celebrate our togetherness. In fact they take our snapshots with our new partners. All of them enjoy except me and Alan but we keep our great tragedy verbally silent.  I treat it like a lost cake and he treats it like  a lost heart.
 Next day, we are back to our normal life of rhymes, reading test, handwriting tests and snacks hour. Alan and me sit beside and after a pensive silence he says in an angry tone,"I never want to see you again with coloured lips or coloured cheeks" I glare at him and then I too speak out a week long held emotion, " And I dont' want to see your black sticky yucky moustache ever again". We sit quiet again startled at our outbursts and then he gives me his share of the choco cake(a week long denied). We smell paris perfume again  and watch Jealousy and Possessiveness dance away. I hate dancing ever since.