Authors: Padma Venkatraman
A Time to Dance (16 page)
of
LOSING
At home, I find Paati in her wicker chair, rubbing her temples,
looking as though she has a headache.
I fetch the sesame oil to massage away her pains,
the way she'd do mine.
“Akka says I need to show the pain of humanity better,
though I'm only onstage for a few minutes in the first role.
And she cast me as GautamiâI don't know why,
given she isn't pleased
with how I play the first role.”
Paati says, “Losing someone you love
probably isn't so different from losing a part of your body.
I doubt many other students
know pain as well as you do.”
Dhanam akka says she
wants me to work on my part.
With her. Alone.
Akka leads me to the hall where we first met
and motions me to a chair.
She touches the red dot at the center of her forehead.
“Veda, do you know why we wear a potu?”
Her tone is gentle.
And the last thing I expected
was for her to ask me a question.
I'm too surprised to answer.
“The dot symbolizes your third eye,” she says.
“We wear it to remind ourselves
to look with knowledge and compassion,
as a true guru would.
When we use our inner eye,
we see with our minds and our hearts.
We see truth; we see beauty; we see Shiva.
Inside you, Veda, I sense the flame of extraordinary courage,
but not enough compassion.
If you must dance, the way I want my students to,
you must learn to be compassionate.
To yourself
and to others.
Acknowledge your pain.
Allow yourself to feel your loss.”
I don't mind pushing my body to test my balance.
I don't want to push my mind
back into that cold pit where the accident led me.
But if that's what it takes to dance again,
I'll make myself relive
the tree coming closer
the smells of burnt rubber, of vomit, of blood.
Screaming
silence.
Shivering, almost doubled over, I take a step
down into the space where light is an enemy
but not even darkness shrouds my terror.
Another step
into hospital corridors
winding like snakes.
I enter my writhing mass of fear, horror, desperation.
And stay there.
Tears streak down my cheeks.
Seen through tears my new foot seems softer,
my five stiff toes blurred at the edges.
Akka stretches her arms out toward me.
And I realize
she's showing me I'm strong enough to reenter the pit of despair
because she wants to help me
climb all the way out.
and
GECKOS
Govinda is waiting for me
on the empty stage under the banyan tree.
He asks, “How did your session with akka go?”
“Draining and strengthening. Both.
Thanks for waiting for me, but I know it's late, Govinda.
I understand if you don't have time to work with me today.”
“You understand?” His voice
sounds as rich and deep when he teases
as it does when he's serious. “Miracles do happen.
My demon is softening. She's understanding.”
“I thought I was your little sister. Not your demon.”
Govinda doesn't clarify where I stand in his affections.
He grins and waves a gift-wrapped package in front of my face. “For you.”
“Why? It's not my birthday or anything.” I reach for it.
Govinda snatches it away just as my fingers touch the ribbon.
“It's not your birthday or anything?
Maybe I should wait and give it to you later.”
“Give it here.” I dart forward.
“Come and get it,” he taunts, quickening his pace,
keeping the package just out of my reach.
He makes me chase him,
then lets me pin him against the banyan's trunk.
“I got you to run fast.
That, in itself, should count as a lesson,” he says,
raising the package high above his head.
We tussle for it. A button on his shirt pops
and I feel the bare skin of my waist
press against his skin.
The package feels hotter than a handful of flames.
I let go.
Govinda hands it to me.
I untie the ribbon and open the package.
Inside is a bright yellow paper kite
in the shape of some four-legged animal with a long tail.
“Like it? I made it.”
I love how uncertain he looks.
And most of all
that he spent time and effort to make me something.
“It's beautiful, Govinda. Is it a
. . . gecko?”
He groans. “My sister thought it was, too.
It's meant to be a dragon.”
“Geckos are sort of like real-life dragons.
Kind of magical, you know?
They have the power to regrow lost tails.”
My words surprise me but it's good to find
I'm no longer envious of animals
whose powers of regeneration I lack.
“I don't know how to fly kites, though.”
“If there's a field near your place and your parents don't mind,
I could come by and teach you,” he offers.
He's so focused on me,
I feel I can see his soul shining
in the depths of his eyes.
of
FEELING
I'm in the bedroom
trying to choose the prettiest dot to wear on my forehead
when I hear Pa welcome Govinda in.
My heart thuds
as though I'm dancing in the third and fastest speed.
Govinda's voice is offset by a high-pitched childish one.
He's brought his sister along.
I try not to feel too disappointed.
We will still have time together,
he did make me a gift for no reason,
and bringing her shows how nice he is to everyone.
Mrs. Subramaniam's eyes pop out of their sockets
when she sees me and Govinda
walking out of our building together.
I realize I've never seen Shobana
or even any of her older daughters with a boy.
Until they were engaged.
When we reach the field,
Govinda whispers, “Sorry I brought Leela.
I have a hard time saying no to her.”
“You're a sweet older brother.
Nothing wrong with that,” I say.
A caged look comes over Govinda's face.
“I'm still having a hard time saying no
to what my parents want me to do with my life, too, though.
I hate disturbing the peace and that's not always good.”
I try to lighten his mood.
“You'd prefer to be a demon like me?”
“I actually would.” He touches my chin with a forefinger.
“I'd love to be brave enough, clear enough,
to show them how much I want to be a dancer.
Every time the topic comes up, my pa and ma tell me
how hard they've worked
so I could have a comfortable life,
how long it took to establish their firm and make it flourish,
how it's my duty to earn well
so I can look after them in their old age
and my duty to look after their legacy that I'll inherit.”
“Maybe you should try having an accident.
Worked well with me and my ma.”
Shaking his head, Govinda smiles.
“Can't believe you can joke about that!”
Leela interrupts us,
yanking at Govinda's arm and yelling, “Help me fly my kite!”
He ruffles her hair.
Leela shrieks, “I'm flying, I'm flying,”
as they launch her kite into the clear sky.
It's my turn next.
“Keep the string taut.” Govinda shouts instructions at me.
I feel a gust of air catch my kite, lift it, then suddenly drop away,
almost sending it crashing into the trees.
I reel the line in.
The yellow paper tail loops, swirls,
climbs until it's a tiny golden streak,
long tail glittering.
I take tiny steps, forward and back.
The sun warms my face and I feel the wind racing
as if my kite is carrying me into the sky.
I feel small. Light.
Hear a tinkling tune in my earsâhigh and sweetâ
the sound of silver bells.
I almost feel the way I did as a child, dancing.
Govinda says, as though he can read my mind,
“That's what the best dancers do.
They focus on dance.
They forget their feet, their bodies,
their dancer selves.
They let dance tug their souls upward.
And as they rise,
they lift their audiences closer to heaven, too.”
Joyful music plays in my head all the next day. But
when I come home from school,
an ambulance is screeching
away from our building.
“Paati collapsed,” I hear Ma say.
“Pa's in the ambulance with her.”
The music stops.
Mrs. Subramaniam runs out of her apartment.
I hear her shocked voice
asking what happened, which hospital.
Calling a taxi to rush us there.
My tongue is frozen.
Chandra told me once about absolute zero,
a temperature cold enough to bring
the universe to a standstill.
My heart feels like it's at absolute zero.
Pa meets me and Ma in the hospital waiting room,
his cheeks shrunk with worry.
Heart attack, he says, but she survived.
Thank God. Ma sobs.
Pa and Ma lean against one another.
Shivering, I sink into a chair.