A Time to Dance(80)

            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.