at a freak show.
GECKOS,
GHOST CRABS,
and REGENERATION
Lumbering at last into the bedroom I share with Paati,
I collapse on my bed.
A gecko stares at me,
its large eyes almost popping out of its sockets.
Waving its yellow-brown tail from side to side
like an admonishing finger,
it chirps, “Th-th-th.”
I shake a crutch at the gecko. “Shut up!
I’m going to dance again!”
Clucking with fear, it turns tail and scurries
toward the open window.
Before racing onto the branch
of the pipul tree that brushes against the windowpane,
the gecko drops its tail on the sill.
Feeling slightly sick, I watch the dismembered part
seesawing up and down—as if alive—
while the tailless gecko disappears up the tree.
Once, at the beach, when I was a child,
Ma pointed at tiny ghost crabs scuttling along the seashore
and said, “If one leg is bitten off by a predator,
crabs can regenerate that lost leg.”
Pa added, “Geckos can regrow their tails.”
I thought—how magical,
how wonderful.
Paati comes in and places my Shiva statue
on the table between our two beds.
I want to throw it out of the window
at the gecko that’s chirping loudly
as if to brag about powers
it has
and I lack.
SOUNDS
of
LAUGHTER
Chandra drops in,
apologizing for having been away so long. “I was busy.”
“Busy doing what?” I demand.
She sighs. “Okay. I wasn’t busy. It’s just
I don’t know if it helps when I visit.”
“I don’t know either.”
“I feel I should come.”
“Coming to see me on my sick bed is your duty?”
“So what if it’s a duty?” Chandra shakes her head. “Don’t friends
have a duty to each other? Don’t you see I want to help?”
“I hate seeing you walk,” I say.
It’s a relief to finally confess that.
And relief to hear
Chandra snap, “Fine. Sit and stew in your self-pity.”
But then, softening her tone, she goes on,
“Sorry. I understand how you feel.”
“You can’t understand, Chandra.”
“True. I guess I can’t imagine
being in your