My Quick Style affliction

Norwegian hip-hop dance group The Quickstyle went viral in India after the group dropped a video of their moves on the famous Bollywood song `Kala Chashma` from the film `Baar Baar Dekho`. Photo Courtesy: Quickstyle`s Instagram

In the cyber-summer of 2022, I fell in love yet again. At each turn of the season, something new on the internet sweeps me off my feet. Jake Gyllenhaal. Make-me-Laugh videos. Travel vloggers. Stand-up acts. The internet is a vast playground and I am easy to lure. These affairs last only a short while before the next flashy thing catches my roving eye. Until Quick Style happened.

Last June, the clip of a Norwegian dance crew performing to Kala Chashma effortlessly attained the status that every YouTube video dreams of.
At Quick Style founding member Suleman Malik's wedding, his twin brother Bilal Malik, best friend Nasir Sirikhan (of Norwegian-Pakistani and Norwegian-Thai origin respectively) and several others of the group (from various backgrounds) performed to a 12-minute-long medley of songs, mostly from Bollywood. A private performance from a private event. A small snippet was uploaded by a Quick Style member on his personal Instagram account and before you could say ‘like share and subscribe', the internet cut loose. India (home to the largest YouTube audience) was floored. Millions of views followed. TikTok went crazy recreating their moves. Reaction videos, fan pages, fan art, memes sprouted like weed. YouTube itself commented ‘Obsessed'.

I saw the clip for the first time with moderate amusement. A fleeting impression among hundreds of other internet impressions. Before long, YouTube shoved the full-length video of their performance down my feed. I kept scrolling. On another day, I clicked it open, did not recognise the first song (Kana Yari from Coke Studio Pakistan) and moved on. On yet another day, I clicked the video open and went past the first, unfamiliar song. The rest, as they like to say in my family, is history.

Twelve months and thousands of viewing hours later, I have to hide from friends and family how much I obsess over Quick Style. With quiet determination and methodical rigour, I have watched all their YouTube content from the last decade, many times over. Norway's Got Talent, America's Got Talent, World of Dance, trailers of dance workshops, interviews, Strawhatz performances, Sorry not Sorry episodes. I told you; it's embarrassing.

My Snapchat account exists only to follow them. At the rate at which I am Google translating their Norwegian comments, I might pick up one more half-baked skill. Abruptly, from someone who knew nothing beyond Bollywood, I now have Iranian songs, Somalian songs, Norwegian songs on my playlist. At every Quick Style interview when they ask ‘How did the group get its name?' I groan ‘Not again'. I have heard this answer only one million times. Let's face it, it's not even such a curious-sounding name. And my deepest life-regret right now is that I discovered them only through the wedding dance. How cool it would have been to be ahead of the curve?

So, in the context of internet romances, this is a fully-committed, long-standing relationship. No casual fling, no one-like stand. Which brings us to the question - what is it about them? What is my pay-off from following a bunch of easy-on-the-eye men from a distant city dance their lives away?

I am forty-one and have no active interest in dance. My last memory of dancing in public is from the age of nine and it's not a happy memory. I am terrified of any context which carries the prospect of dance. Sangeet. Mehendi. New Year's Parties. Nightclubs. Street Festivals. Weekend Offsites. All of these strike a paralysing fear in my heart. So many well-meaning friends have said versions of ‘Just move. There is rhythm inside all of us. You don't need to know anything'. Well, in the list of things I can do without knowing anything, there is drowning.

I was raised in Kerala, in a family and environment that was indifferent to dance. I have not seen my parents, aunts or uncles dance ever. Traditionally, Malayali Hindu weddings are subdued affairs with no dance component. Our movies are not known for their elaborate song and dance sequences like Tamil and Telugu. Unlike Punjabis or Gujaratis, Malayalis are not known for their exuberance or joviality. What is the Malayalee equivalent of celebratory, community dances like the Bhangra, Garbha or Dappan Kuthu?

As a kid growing up in the 80s and 90s, dance meant classical genres like Bharatanatyam and Mohiniyattam. These were serious vocations demanding years of tutelage, governed by centuries-old tradition and canon. There were lighter categories like cinematic dance, performed at annual days and college fests. But even these seemed to be something one does, if one is ‘good' at it, demanding a certain level of training and accomplishment.

Of course, the scene is changing now. One only has to look as far as YouTube shorts, Instagram reels and the number of couples who have incorporated elaborate colourful performances into their wedding celebrations. But I contend we are still a bit dance-shy as a society.
So, dance has always felt unnatural and intimidating to me. And no matter how many Quick Style videos I watch, the inhibition that is hardwired into my psyche as much as the body may never die. Dance requires a certain 'breaking-free' and my instinct and grooming are all about ‘reigning-it-in.'

Yet, pleasure can be had by proxy.

When I watch Quick Style, I see the dance, but it's their joy, their playful energy and their out-and-out enjoyment, that really pops out. It breaks through my porous Android screen and infects every cell of my body. Before I know it, I am smiling ear-to-ear, feeling alive and unbound. As if a mouthful of air has revived me. When I see them rock stages and streets, living rooms and bathrooms alike, I (almost) grasp what it is to feel the pure delight of movement, to liberate yourself from thoughts of ‘Am I looking ridiculous?', and connect with others at a fundamental, kinetic level. To dance because the music is playing and the heart is thumping a little faster. To dance because language is falling short and silence is not an option. To dance because no one is watching or every person on the planet is. And both mean the same.

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