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A Time to Dance(90)

By:Padma Venkatraman


            “There are three kinds of love, Veda.

            A healthy love of one’s physical self,

            compassion for others,

            and an experience of God.

            Most of my students take decades

            to experience these loves through dance.

            Yet you are already starting to understand all three.

            So I shall do all I can to ensure

            your wish to become a dancer is fulfilled.”


I want to say—do—something to thank her.

            But my tongue and my hands and my head

            feel too heavy with joy

            to move.


“A guru is a kind of parent.

            And although you are not my daughter now,

            perhaps you were in a previous life.

            Or will be in a future one.”

            Akka rests a hand briefly on my forehead.

            Then she leaves.





STRETCHING AHEAD





As I leave the stage beneath the banyan tree,

            I see

            Govinda racing up the drive toward me.


“Veda, I got your note and I came to tell you

            news I hope you’ll be happy about.

            I’m sorry it took me so long to share this with you

            but it hasn’t been easy.”

            Govinda’s tone is nervous,

            words streaming out faster than usual.

            “With akka’s help, I found a dance scholarship

            with room and board.

            I told my parents I was going to move out and take it.

            My dad threw a fit.

            He threatened to cut me out of his will.

            But my mom sided with me

            and my dad’s made peace.

            Maybe my finding that scholarship

            finally made them both see

            what dance meant to me.”


“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!

            But akka never said a word about all this.

            Radhika didn’t either.”


“Only because I wanted to tell you myself, Veda.

            I needed to work things out. Trust I’d be able to do it.

            Please don’t be angry—

            I won’t keep things from you again.”


“You’re always keeping things from me,” I tease.

            “I never knew you were a talented artist

            until you sent me those sketches on my birthday.”


“You liked my sketches?

            Will you come with me sometime for a cup of coffee?

            I’d have asked you out earlier,” he rushes on,

            “except I felt I didn’t deserve you.

            You’re so strong and such a fighter.

            I was always doing exactly what my parents wanted.