This Kajrare song seems to have become a phenomenon. When I first heard it, at the risk of sounding non-descript, I’d say that I found it ‘cute’. Unfortunately, then on, I heard it again, and again, and again. As irritating as someone continuously saying ‘And then?’, I’d say. Slaughter by repition. The impact it has on women, it seems, is another story.
Consider my plight, when after a few lifesaving rock songs at Dublin on early Sunday morning, afterwe will rock you (yes, yes, overkill again), the DJ smoothly made a transition to Kajrare after a solo drumbeat. Hands up in the air, with fingers communicating the ‘rock on, dude’ sign, eyelids firmly shut and mouth open, in a not too authentic state of ecstasy, I was shaken out of my reverie by a girlie Kajrare voice. Arms quickly dropped down to the sides, eyes darted around half embarrassed, mind commanded legs to do an about turn, up the steps that led to the dance floor. I’m not at home with Hindi music. And I’m particularly averse to overcrowded dance floors that don’t give me space to play. However, there was a problem. My dance partner came around and blocked my path, gyrating rather, ahem, sluttily. Around me, all over the dance floor, women followed suit, doing thumkas or whatever they call those steps. Most men seemed to dance in their usual manner, while some actually danced in a manner not dissimilar to that of the women. I swear – it was right out of a hindi movie. Me? I just tussled her hair, grinned and walked out. I needed a swig of rum.
Ze Smitten Kitten claims that there’s a wannabe item dancer in her. Going by Buzz in Gurgaon on Friday and Dublin on Saturday, I’d sat that that’s true of quite a few women. There’s also a male fantasy that may be an appropriate mention here. So:
Naach! *cracks whip*