I don’t need anyone’s pity.
“Don’t feel so sorry for me, Kamini.
I’m still your equal.
Even with one leg less.”
“No.” Her lip trembles. “We aren’t equal.
You’re a better person.”
“I’ll be a better dancer again, too,” I say.
She doesn’t seem to hear me.
She’s sobbing too loudly.
I hate how she’s making a scene
out of my misery.
I’m the one who should be crying.
Still, it feels cruel to do nothing but watch
tears wrack her body.
I reach out and pat her back
until she stops shuddering.
Looking at me, she twiddles the free end of her dance sari.
After all these years of ignoring me
she seems to want to start a conversation
though she doesn’t know how.
The skin under my leg hurts so much
I’m scared I’ll start crying.
I wait for her to say something.
Until I’m too tired to control my tears any longer.
Hoping she can’t see them rolling down my cheeks,
I hobble away
as fast as my pain lets me.
NOT BEST
I haul myself up the stairs of our apartment building,
nearly blind to Shobana’s waving hand
nearly deaf to Mrs. Subramaniam’s greetings.
Paati is asleep in her wicker chair, prayer book open on her lap.
Feeling older than Paati,
I walk into our room, take off my leg, towel my limb dry.
My smiley-mouth scar looks bright red
as though it’s got lipstick on.
Chafed by my falls, the skin of my limb is raw.
I’ll need to use crutches again until it’s better.
Paati wakes up when I hobble back into the sitting room.
My voice hollow, I tell her,
“Uday anna doesn’t want to teach me anymore.”
Paati doesn’t say I told you so,
you should have waited for the new leg.
Not that I’d expect her to.
She says something I expect even less.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Veda, that dance teacher of yours didn’t visit your hospital once.
He’s not the only Bharatanatyam teacher.
Not even the best.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard Paati say something insulting
about another person.
I don’t argue.
SACRED
Art
DEFILED
Paati lays a hand on my curls.
“Maybe you should see if Dr. Dhanam has a school.”
“Dr. Dhanam?” Her name sounds vaguely familiar.