A Time to Dance(43)

            a sound that fills me with a desperate longing for dance

            the way a wilting plant must long for water.


“Govinda!” akka calls.

            A boy walks out of the classroom.

            His body

            long and muscular. Back perfectly straight.

            A dancer’s body.

            His hair

            a sheet of midnight. Sleek, shiny, shoulder length.

            His eyes

            pools of honey. Deep brown, flecked with gold.


“Govinda, this is Veda,” akka says. “She was a dancer

            but met with an accident

            that cost her her right foot.

            You’ll be helping her relearn dance.”

            If Govinda feels shocked that he’s getting a student who is a below-knee amputee, he doesn’t show it.

            He presses his elegant, clove-dark hands together,

            closes his eyes, and greets me the traditional way. “Namaskaram.”

            His voice matches his looks—deep, rich, smooth.

            The grace with which he bows his head and hands,

            the seriousness with which he says Namaskaram,

            as though he’s chanting a prayer,

            remind me of what the greeting means—

            that he salutes the God within me.


When I return his greeting, pressing my palms together,

            it feels magical instead of mechanical.


Govinda’s gaze meets mine

            and I burn with a desire to dance myself beautiful

            in front of him.





A REAL

SMILE





“Dhanam akka’s the one,” I tell Paati

            as I enter our apartment.

            Breathing heavily, she heaves herself up

            off the floor in front the household altar and says,

            “Your teacher is lucky, Veda.

            She’s found a student who’ll create a new world through dance

            just as Shiva creates new universes through His steps.

            A world where others with special limbs

            will learn to enjoy their beauty.”


First thing Pa asks after he and Ma come home,

            “How was the new dance school, Veda?”

            No surprise there.

            What surprises me is how Ma reacts to my answer.

            She smiles a real smile.





SEEING BEAUTIFUL





In Jim’s office,

            I see a chair covered with a white sheet.

            “Ta-da!” he cries as he whips it off,

            revealing a nearly lifelike limb.

            “Is your new limb to your liking, ma’am?”


My skin tone matches the limb’s hue.

            I stroke it. Something soft as flesh

            fills the space between the metal skeleton and rubber skin.

            I lift the limb.

            It’s lighter than my trial limb.