I’d dance thakka thakka thai,
into scents of cumin, coriander, and red chili.
Wrap my arms around Paati’s plush body.
At night I’d hear music
in the buzz of hungry mosquitoes
swarming outside my mosquito net,
in the whir of the overhead fan
swaying from the ceiling.
In the gray-green hospital room
silence
stretches.
ASHES
Light fades. Night falls.
But darkness doesn’t shroud the sight
of my half leg
from my mind’s unblinking eye.
Under the sheets my hands reach
like a tongue that can’t stop playing with a loose tooth.
Over and over the rough bandages my fingers run,
trying to smooth over
reality.
In the morning I feel Paati’s hands kneading my temples.
Not even her touch soothes me.
Murmuring a prayer,
she places the bronze idol of Shiva I won at the competition
on my bedside table.
“Mukam karothi vachalam; pangum langayathe girim.”
God’s grace moves the mute to eloquence
and inspires the lame to climb mountains.
I glance at my dancing Shiva,
His left leg raised parallel to the earth,
His right leg crushing the demon of ignorance,
His inner hands juxtaposed, palms flat,
His outer hands
holding aloft the fire of creation and destruction,
and a drum
keeping time to the music of His eternal dance.
I try to repeat Paati’s prayer. I strain my ears to hear
His music.
It feels like Shiva destroyed my universes of possibility,
like He’s dancing
on the ashes
of my snatched-away dreams.
NAMELESS
“Veda, you’ve got a roommate,” a nurse announces.
A woman with a mop of gray hair
gives me a yellow-toothed smile.
“I heard you lost your leg. How?”
I don’t want this stuffy space invaded.
Especially not by a chatty old woman.
I don’t answer.
“Talking will help you heal, you know.
They cut my toes off. Diabetes.
Now tell me about you.”
I give her more silence.
“What’s your full name, girl?
Veda what?
You can tell me that, at least, hmm?”
No.