A Time to Dance(9)

            I climb into the van that’s waiting to take

            dancers, teachers, and musicians

            home.

            As I settle into a seat behind the driver,

            Kamini climbs in.


She walks past me without a word of congratulations,

            cozies up with our lanky drummer a few seats back.

            Her voice floats into my ears,

            “. . . Veda’s dance . . . technically okay but emotionally flat

            and spiritually lacking,

            don’t you think?”


Kamini—of all people—talking about spirituality!

            Nearly every day when we were children

            she’d whine and pester Uday anna:

            “How long must we only move our feet?

            When can we wear jewelry?

            When can we wear silk dance dresses?”


But maybe I

            have

            been dancing differently

            since I first started performing onstage.


Have I lost

            the kind of joy

            I felt dancing as a child?


The van lurches forward.

            My thoughts race back.





BACK WHEN





Pa said,

            after our pilgrimage to the temple of the dancing God,

            I tried balancing one-legged—imitating Shiva’s pose—

            over and over until my bruised skin

            was as green as Goddess Meenakshi’s.

            So he took me to Uday anna.

            Uday anna drummed his hairy fingers on his desk,

            worrying I was too young.

            Pa said, “Test her.

            See how well

            she keeps time.”

            Intrigued, Uday anna sat cross-legged on the floor.

            Tapped out the simplest beat:

            thaiya thai, thaiya thai,

            one two, one two,

            right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.

            My feet followed his rhythm.

            He set more complex steps.

            My feet matched his tempo.

            To Pa, he whispered,

            “Yes.”


As a child,

            the rhythmic syllables of Bharatanatyam beats

            spoke a magical language that let me

            slip back

            into the awe I first felt

            when I touched the celestial dancers’ carved feet

            on our pilgrimage to the temple of the dancing God.

            Maybe my dance lost depth

            as I gained height.


Then

            as I danced

            the world grew big, wondrous, beautiful.