A Time to Dance(57)

            and me

            into the air.

            I shriek like a delighted child.


Govinda recites the words of a child’s game:

            “Mamarathilla yerade, mangaye parikade.”

            Don’t climb the mango tree, don’t pluck the mango fruit.

            I played this game with Pa, when I was little,

            my tiny feet planted entirely on his,

            his legs lifting me as high as they could,

            bouncing me up and down.

            I’d feel like I was flying.

            Govinda isn’t lifting me nearly as high as Pa did,

            isn’t keeping me in the air as long,

            but I’m older and heavier.

            He must be so strong

            to bear my weight.


“Want you to enjoy

            feeling your body move,” Govinda says,

            “thought it might help your sense of balance, too.”


“Again?” I feel my face flush

            with childish excitement.

            Govinda grins. “I thought you weren’t a kid?”

            I push my lips into an exaggerated pout.

            We laugh and he lifts me once more.

            His muscles tighten with strain.


I shift from side to side,

            stretch,

            rock,

            reorient my body to my new sense of balance.

            Give in to the thrill of almost-falling,

            secure in the shelter of Govinda’s arms.





DEMONS





I stand up after falling from my lunge—

            and say, “Again.”


Govinda shakes his head. “You dance like a demon, Veda.”

            Is he starting another fight?

            But he says, earnestly, “It’s a compliment.”


“If that’s a compliment,” I say,

            “I’d hate to hear your insults.”

            “Your strength, and only your strength,”

            Govinda clarifies, looking worried,

            “reminds me of the demon

            whom Shiva fought,

            the demon whose strength doubled

            whenever he fell to the ground.”


“You have to work a lot harder

            on your compliments.”

            “You inspire me to work harder,” he says,

            “on a lot of things.”


“Such as what?”

            “Such as my life. What I want to accomplish,”

            Govinda explains. “My parents are engineers.

            They want me to take over their engineering firm.

            They don’t understand

            how much I love teaching dance.

            How little I care about making money.”


“My ma was that way,” I say. “Focused on me being an engineer.