Now, please, come down, little one.”
I’m halfway down the ladder when Pa and Ma rush back in.
Pa prostrates, laying his squat body flat on the stone floor, thanking God.
Ma thanks the priest,
words of gratitude bursting from her like sobs.
“Searched—the other four temples—couldn’t find her—
so scared—what if she’d left the temple complex—
run outside the walls—into the city—”
As we leave, Ma’s thin fingers pinch my shoulders
tight as tongs roasting rotis over an open flame.
Pa scolds, “You could have burst your head
climbing a ladder like that!”
My head is bursting
with images
of stone dancers come alive, the tips of their bare toes twirling,
with sounds
of the tiny bells on their anklets twinkling
with music.
HOPING
and
WAITING
I race upstairs,
kick my sandals off outside our front door,
burst into our apartment. “I’m in the finals!”
My grandmother, Paati,
surges out of the kitchen like a ship in full sail,
her white sari dazzling
in the afternoon light that streams through our open windows.
I fling my arms around her.
Drink in the spicy-sweet basil-and-aloe scent of her soap.
Paati doesn’t say congratulations. She doesn’t need to.
I feel her words in the warmth of her hug.
“I knew you’d make it.” Pa plucks me
out of Paati’s embrace into his arms.
“Finals of what?” Ma says.
I’ve only been talking
about the Bharatanatyam dance competition
for months.
Mostly to Paati, and to Pa, but Ma’s hearing is perfect
and we don’t live in a palace with soundproof walls.
Paati retreats into the kitchen.
Paati’s told me she doesn’t think it’s her place
to interfere with her son and daughter-in-law.
Pa’s eyes rove from Ma to me.
He’s caught in the middle as always.
Ma’s diamond earrings
—the only reminder of her wealthy past—
flash at me like angry eyes.
“Veda, you need to study hard.
If you don’t do well in your exams this year—”
For once, my voice doesn’t stick in my throat. “I am studying hard.
To be a dancer.
I’m not planning to become an engineer. Or a doctor.”
Or any other profession Ma finds respectable.