The remaining class time
flies.
A TIME
to
SPEAK
First day of school after the summer holidays,
I pretend Govinda’s standing behind me
speaking about my perfect stance
as Chandra and I walk toward school.
Inside the building, we part ways for the first time.
She hurries off to join
the science-math-computer-engineering classes.
I walk toward the history-literature-language section
that’s dominated by girls and boys who haven’t got good grades
or much ambition.
In my new classroom, I see Mekha and Meghna.
The twins’ long-ago insults ring in my ears.
Should we start calling cricket stumps something else
because she has a stump?
“Look who’s here!” Mekha calls out. “Veda!
Hey, Veda, does my hair look limp today?”
Meghna sniggers.
I think of the little kids in my dance class
who didn’t know any better
laughing the first time they saw me fall.
Mekha and Meghna aren’t innocent.
They’re nasty girls
who should know better.
The rest of the class is quiet—
waiting to see what I’ll do.
“Some stupid people are
smart enough to hide their stupidity,” I say.
A twitter runs through the class. My classmates are laughing.
At Mekha and Meghna.
I stride past the twins
as if they don’t exist.
NOT ENOUGH
Jim gives me a long, serious look
when I next see him.
“Remember what I said
about having to make some big decisions?
The decision impacts you.”
My heart pirouettes.
“I’ve decided,” he says,
“to return to America.”
I bite my lip so hard it hurts.
“But don’t you worry.
I’ll be leaving you in good hands.”
Not
the hands I want.
“I’ll miss you,” he says,
“but every project comes to an end, you know.”
I should have known.
I can’t believe I was stupid enough
to think he cared for me.
That I was special to him.
“You’ll do great, kiddo.”
“I’m not a kid,” I mutter.
“I know. I know.” He pats the top of my head
as if he’s pacifying a baby. “You’re one special young woman.”
“Not special enough for you,” I blurt.
Jim looks as though an earthquake just struck. “What?”
Awkwardness
hangs
in the space
between us.
I wish the earth would spin backward,
erase the last minute and those words
I never meant to say to his face.
“Veda—I’m sorry if—if anything I said or did made you think—”
I shake my head. It was all me.
My mistake.
I read too much into everything.
Dreamed, imagined, and
let my thoughts get
as out of control as my body.
“Veda,” he says. His tone is kind, patient, gentle.
“It’s normal to get attached to your caregiver.
You’ll get over it soon.”
I sense he’s trying to make me feel better,
though it only makes things worse
to hear Jim say I’m as ordinary
as any other patient.
“We’ll meet before I leave. Okay, Veda?”
His forehead crinkles with concern.
Feeling more like a kid than when he called me kiddo,
I nod my head and
walk out the door he holds open.
BARE
The words not special enough for you ring in my ears
louder and clearer than when I actually blurted them to Jim.
My foolish words even interrupt my sleep,
waking me in the early dawn.
Paati will be up soon.
But this problem she can’t help with.
She wasn’t allowed to think about boys or men.
Except the one her parents arranged for her to marry.
She couldn’t possibly understand
how stupid and confused I feel.
I get my leg on and pace
up and down our balcony.
“Veda?” Ma’s potu
is a smudged red blur on her forehead.
She rubs a bare earlobe with her thumb.
“Ma? Why aren’t you wearing your earrings?”
Ma looks at me with sleep-dimmed eyes.
Dr. Murali said Jim’s project would subsidize the cost,
not cover everything.
I never bothered to think how much my medical bills cost
or where the money to pay them would come from.
“Ma? You sold your diamonds to pay
my bills?”
“When we named you Veda,” Ma says,
“I remembered the four holy books called the Vedas.
I’d forgotten that dance is also called the fifth Veda.
Until after the accident, I didn’t want to accept
you’d chosen that fifth Veda
over any book.
But I should have known
when you and I argued about dance
and I saw your jaw set in the same stubborn line
as mine when I argued with my parents
for permission to marry your pa.
My family wanted me to marry a richer man
so I’d have the security of wealth.
I gave up wealth so I could have this family.
Yet I wanted you to have a well-paid career
that would bring you the comforts I’d once had.”
Ma shakes her head at herself.
“I imagined you’d wear my earrings
on your wedding day.
But that was silly.
Even I didn’t marry wearing my ma’s jewelry.
So, yes, I sold my earrings to pay
our bills.”
Ma reaches for my hand.
Our fingers interlock.
Between us,
shadows shorten and lighten
as the sun creeps higher into the sky.
“For your sake,” Ma says,
“I’d have begged my family for money
if I had no earrings to sell.
Your future matters more than my pride.
After all, you’re my most precious jewel, Veda.”
EXCHANGES
Govinda walks me out of class.
“Akka asked how you were doing.
I said you’re doing so well
we need to start working one-on-one.”
We. Govinda said we.
And he not only thinks of me outside class,
he wants to give me private lessons!
“But—” I hesitate. “It would take up so much of your time.”
“I learn when I teach.
You’d be doing me a favor.”
He looks sincere.
“Or am I not a good enough teacher?”
He sounds hurt.
“You’re an amazing teacher!
The best.”
In the dark pools of Govinda’s eyes
gold f
lecks shimmer like fish scales. “Is that a yes?”
I stop short,
feeling suddenly shy. “Yes.”
“Akka has a carpeted study
she sometimes lets older students use.
If we met there, we wouldn’t have to worry
about you falling on a hard floor.
I’ll ask her if we can use it
and call to schedule a lesson, okay?”
Govinda actually worries about me hurting myself.
I wish my leg would let me twirl with joy.
“Your parents don’t have a problem with boys calling,
do they?”
“No,” I say, though I don’t actually know.
I’ve never given a boy my number before.
He couldn’t like me.
Could he?
A PARTIAL VICTORY
Alone in akka’s carpeted study with me, Govinda chants aloud,
“Thath thai thaam, dhith thai thaam,”
and I try to lunge,
lurch like a drunkard but manage to hold my ground.
“Almost!” Govinda says.
I stamp my foot in frustration.
“Almost means nothing.
A partial victory is a complete defeat.”
“Are you dancing or fighting a war?”
Govinda gives me one of his rare smiles.
If he’s trying to be funny, he’s failing.
“I’m used to winning over my body.
Now I’m always losing to it.”
My tone wipes the grin off Govinda’s face.
“Dance isn’t about winning or losing,” he says,
“it’s about enjoying how your body moves.”
I kick my right leg out so ferociously I almost lose balance.
“This
isn’t
my
body.”
“We all choreograph to our strengths, Veda.
The audience won’t see
what you don’t show them.”
“I don’t want to be a good
handicapped
dancer.
I want to be a good dancer,” I shout.
“You think akka’s body has no
limitations?” Govinda shouts back.
“You think because she’s older and less flexible
she’s not as good a dancer anymore?
Being a good dancer is more
than mastering
every pose there is.”
“We’re not talking about every pose there is.
Because of my leg, some poses are off limits.
Entirely.
So I must master
everything else that’s possible.
Can’t you see that?”
“Some dancers thrill audiences
with exotic poses and excessive speed.
I think you should
care more about entering people’s hearts
and elevating their souls
than about entertaining their minds.
I think you should start
getting over your obsession with what you can or can’t
do physically.
Bharatanatyam dance is not just
about perfecting your body’s skills.”
Govinda sits down and taps out the rhythm
using his block and stick.
Govinda’s words
wound me more deeply
than when Kamini
said my dance wasn’t spiritual enough
after I won the competition.
We don’t speak for the rest of the hour.
I try twisting in the full-sitting pose and leaping into a lunge,
try and fail,
fail many times,
fail spectacularly.
My only accomplishment, when I leave class:
I’ve fought so hard with Govinda,
I’ve had no time to think of being embarrassed about Jim.
AS MANY
Perfect Poses
AS PEOPLE
“Govinda doesn’t understand me!” I complain to Paati.
“He wants me to skip every pose that’s hard
instead of helping me perfect them.
He wants me to skirt hurdles, not leap over them.”
In answer, Paati tells me a story.
“The sage Vyasa once climbed
the snowy peaks of the Himalayas,
where Shiva lives.
Eager to perfect every yoga pose, Vyasa asked Him,
‘How many yoga asanas are there?
I wish to master every pose so I can be the best yogi of all time.’
Shiva replied,
‘There are as many perfect poses as there are people.’
And Vyasa understood that yoga
is about embracing the uniqueness within.
Shiva sees perfection in every sincere effort.
He loves us despite—or maybe because of—
our differences.”
ONLY
Temporarily
ABLE
At the Java Joy café, Chandra jabs her spoon at me.
“How are your private dance lessons going?
Have you been flirting with your dance-teacher boy?”
I choke, scorching the roof of my mouth.
Chandra pats my back until I stop spluttering.
“Flirt? Me? I’m useless with guys.
I blurt out idiotic things in front of them.
Or get angry and push them away.”
“You and Govinda fought?
About what?”
“Govinda insisted everyone has limits
and even able-bodied dancers get old and inflexible.
I got mad
because I’m young and inflexible.”
Telling Chandra what Govinda said,
I realize he wasn’t being unreasonable.
On the TV screen, I see Shastri, whom Ma and Pa said
was the “baby” of the national cricket team
when they were young.
Now he’s an old man sitting in the commentator’s box.
“Call him and apologize,” Chandra advises.
“It must be hard for you to relearn dance, Veda,
but it’s not his fault.
Don’t fight with him. Flirt with him.”
“He’s too serious to flirt with, Chandra.”
“Too serious? Who do you think you are? Ms. Frivolity?”
Chandra lifts another spoonful of froth.
I watch the bubbles burst like weak excuses.
“But the new leg is good?” Chandra asks. “Jim is helping?”
I swirl my teacup so fast, chai slops on the table.
“Chandra, I was so stupid.
I—I—I went and told Jim that I liked him.”
Chandra laughs. “Nice try, Veda. I almost believed you.”
She starts mopping up the spilled chai.
Her disbelief makes me feel worse.
“I’m not kidding, Chandra.
Jim was shocked at first. Then really nice about it.
So nothing creepy happened.
I just feel foolish.”
Chandra gapes.
Finally, she says, “I’m sorry.
That was crazy but it took guts.
More guts than most of us have.”
She hugs me. “It’ll be okay.
Maybe it’s even a good thing you said it.
Gets it off your chest.
Jim was cricket practice; Govinda’s the real match.
Match. Get it?”
She looks so pleased with her pun,
she makes me smile.
; REACHING
OUT
At home, I dial Govinda’s number.
Hang up after two rings.
Silly, silly. I’m not calling to ask him out.
I rehearse my speech:
Govinda, this is Veda. I’m sorry I shouted at you.
I dial and don’t hang up. A woman’s voice answers.
I assume it’s his mother, then realize it’s the maid
because she calls me “ma’am”
and I hear her in the background
addressing Govinda with respect: “Govinda, sir.”
“Hello?” His voice is just as musical on the phone
as it is face-to-face.
“Govinda, this is Veda. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
“That’s okay.”
“See you in class tomorrow?”
“Sure.” It’s a short word.
Too short for me to tell if he’s pleased or not.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Later I wonder
what it’s like to be rich and have a live-in maid
who answers the phone.
I ask Ma if it was hard to give up
her wealthy way of life when she married Pa.
“Giving up money wasn’t hard,” Ma says.
“But though I was never very close to my
parents or siblings,
it was hard that they cut off contact altogether.
Still is.”
A SENSE
of
NORMAL
Jim invites Ma and Pa to come with me
to meet one last time at his office
and go to his farewell party.
“Hello, kiddo.” Jim looks
as friendly as when we first met.
No awkwardness at all.
The gratitude I feel toward him deepens.
He introduces me and Pa and Ma
to the kind-eyed Indian lady who’ll be taking over his “cases,”
though he says, “You’re doing so great, kiddo,
you’ll only need to see her for a few checkups
A Time to Dance Page 9