A Time to Dance by Padma Venkatraman Read Free Book Online Page B

together a lot.
    Don’t lose your head over the wrong guy
    like my sis.”

CRUTCH FREE
    Walking almost noiselessly,
    free
    of the clomp of crutches,
    walking on my fake leg,
    arms free to swing,
    I feel as happy
    as a pinioned bird whose wings are finally growing.
    But every night, before taking off my limb for sleep,
    I need to keep my crutches within arm’s reach.
    I’ll never be completely
    crutch-free.

NO
Longer
CENTER
    Queuing up behind my classmates
    the first day of exam week,
    I realize no one’s staring at me anymore.
    Either because I blend in better without my noisy crutches
    or because everyone’s wrapped up in their own worries
about doing well.
    A few of my classmates mutter prayers
    as the doors of the long exam hall open.
    â€œGood luck,” Chandra and I wish each other.
    Chandra’s so anxious about exams her voice shakes,
    though, as I tell her, I’m sure she’ll excel.
    The exam supervisor assigns me a seat
    beneath a whirring ceiling fan that does little to ease the heat.
    My residual limb itches with sweat.
    I click my leg off under the desk,
read the question paper, scribble nonstop.
    Three hours later, the exam supervisors announce,
“Drop your pens. Now.”
    Hungry for lunch, I spring halfway up on one leg,
    forgetting the other’s off.
    Sway, clutch the desk to keep from falling,
    sit down, and click my leg back on.

FAR
from the ENVYING CIRCLE
    Elated I’m nobody at school again,
    eager to be somebody at dance class again,
    I celebrate the end of exam week
    by going to see my dance teacher
    to prove to myself and to him
    that I can keep on dancing.
    â€œShouldn’t you wait for the better leg?” Paati asks.
    I have waited
    as patiently as a cactus waits for rain in the desert.
    Jim will be pleasantly surprised when we meet next and I say,
    â€œI’m dancing already.”
    He might even be so happy
    he hugs me.
    Uday anna’s front door is open,
    and when I enter,
    Uday anna whips around.
    â€œShe’s walking!” Kamini says.
    â€œCome in. Sit down.” Uday anna motions to a chair.
    â€œWe’ve missed you.”
    Missed me so much you didn’t visit?
    I don’t ask.
    Insulting him won’t get me what I want.
    I need to use my anger to fuel my dance.
    â€œI’ve missed dance,” I tell him. “But now I’m well
    enough to start again.”
    â€œYou’ve lost your leg!” He shakes his head
    as though I’ve lost my mind.
    â€œSir, haven’t you heard of Sudha Chandran?
    She danced with an old-style Jaipur foot.
    And I’m getting a far better prosthesis than hers. Soon.”
    â€œVeda, we must be practical—” Uday anna’s reluctance
    goads me on. I say,
    â€œI
    can
    dance.
    Even on
this
leg.”
    Feeling Kamini’s eyes on me,
    I turn to glare at her.
    To my surprise, she shows me the symbol for friendship,
    Keelaka hasta mudra
:
    the little fingers of her hands bent and locked together.
    In her expression I see
    no hint of envy.
    She must be confident we’ll never compete again.
    Even the other girls stare at me
    expectant,
    not jealous.
    I’ll show them.
    I assume the basic Bharatanatyam stance:
    half-
mandi
.
    Toes turned out sideways, heels slightly apart, I lower my hips, bend my knees,
    shape my legs into the sides of a diamond.
    I raise my right foot, bring it down,
    raise my left foot, bring it down.
    Thaiya thai, thaiya thai.
In slowest speed,
    I can easily do
    the first exercise every Bharatanatyam dancer learns.
    Kamini says, “Very good.” The girls clap.
    â€œVeda?” Uday anna says. “You forgot to salute the earth.”
    Practice or performance, every Bharatanatyam dancer
    must begin and end
    every session by apologizing to the earth,
    which dancers kick and stamp.
    In my hurry to prove myself, I forgot to go through the motions.
    â€œSorry, Uday anna,” I mumble, “I’ll do it now.”
    My