A Time to Dance(78)

            She flicks her hand as though swatting away a mosquito.

            “Consider it an assignment, Veda.

            There’s a dance recital I want you to attend

            ahead of your birthday.

            Whirling Sufi dervishes will perform.

            And non-classical dancers of other faiths and traditions.

            Watching them will teach you something, I hope.”


I slit the envelope to find three tickets.

            Akka explains, “I thought Govinda might join you.

            And I presume if you went out with a boy in the evening,

            your parents would prefer if someone else came along.”


I can’t wait to invite Govinda.

            But I’m forced to.


Apologizing, Govinda rushes into the study.

            Late.

            Half an hour late.


I shove the tickets akka gave me

            away in my bag.





STRONG

QUIET





Roshan, the only boy in class, surprises me

            by entering stealthily,

            his shoulders slumped,

            his neck drooping almost as low as Uma’s always does.


I crouch beside him and ask what’s wrong.

            He tells me, “My big brother said

            strong boys do sports. Real boys don’t dance.”


“He’s wrong, Roshan. Strong boys are brave enough

            to fight for what they want.

            Strong boys care about Karma and what’s right,

            not following the crowd.

            You tell that to anyone who says

            you’re weak because you like dance. Okay?”


My words seem to reach Roshan.

            He rapidly bounces

            back to his normal, cheerful self.





PLACES

of

PRAYER





I open Paati’s prayer books,

            dust off her brass bell,

            light a stick of incense,

            and sit cross-legged

            on the ground in front of our household altar

            although it’s hard to do with my prosthesis.


I pray I’ll find a way

            to help Uma

            find happiness and confidence through dance.

            And I pray I’ll find my way

            through my tangled mess of feelings for Govinda.


Not a flicker of light penetrates through my confusion.

            But if nothing else,

            if Paati’s soul hasn’t been reincarnated in another body,

            if she’s out there somewhere watching me,

            she’d be happy seeing me fill our house with prayer.

            Wherever she is now,

            maybe my voice can reach her.


Pa joins me on the floor in front of the altar.

            He thanks me

            for keeping Paati’s traditions alive in our home.

            He says he’s glad she planted her faith inside me.





SKIRT