Apologizing as usual.
“I hate studying,” he adds, quietly.
“I miss being with you like we used to.
Wish I could study less and dance more.”
He misses being with me!
“Govinda, akka gave me tickets. To a dance recital.
Can you come?”
Without even checking his calendar, he shakes his head.
“I’m so sorry, Veda. I wish I could.
My parents wouldn’t understand
if I took an entire evening off for a dance concert.
Not right now.”
After those magical moments we shared by the lotus pond,
both hearing the same music in our minds;
after dancing so close together at Radhika’s party
—was I wrong to feel our friendship
was deepening into more?
“Veda, I’m so behind on mathematics.
I have so much to catch up on.
I love dance. But it isn’t my life.”
Govinda sounds like he’s reading a speech
written by someone else,
trying to convince himself it’s true,
and failing.
“What is your life, Govinda?
Whatever your parents tell you it should be?”
“Veda, please. Try to understand,” he pleads,
“I like you. A lot. But I’m not like you.”
Didn’t I want Govinda to say he liked me?
Shouldn’t I be happy?
But the moment feels all wrong.
I want him to repeat it,
say it strongly.
Wanting him to reassure me
that he likes me enough
he’ll never give up our time together,
I say, “I can work on my own, Govinda.
So you’ll have more time to study.”
But my words
don’t work the way I want.
Govinda nods. Says softly, “It’s probably good
for you to work on your own for a while.
We’ll still find ways to meet.
I promise.”
I shrug
as though
I don’t care
if we see each other again.
Because I feel
like a heap of discarded clothing.
RED DOT
That night, I crawl to Paati’s trunk
and I take one of her saris back to bed with me.
Paati was soft—soft as her sari.
Yet also strong.
Govinda’s softness I love,
but his caving in to his parents I don’t even like.
His need to please them seems stronger
than his need—for dance and me—both.