Questions To My Guru-Didi
It’s night. I’m not sure if everyone’s asleep yet, but I’m not. I knock on Varangi Didi’s door.
“Come in,” she says.
I open the door—I’m surprised to find it unlocked—and walk in. Didi’s sitting on the bed, and she’s awake too.
“Neend nahin aa rahin,” I say.
“Well, you can come and sit here.” She touches the spot next to her. I climb onto the bed and sit there.
“I’m unable to sleep either,” she says.
I stare at her hand for a while, thinking it’s Mama’s, or Sayra’s, or my cousin sister Simran’s. For me, Simran is someone between Mama and Sayra. She’s in her teens.
“If Mama were here, she’d let me cuddle Sayra and let me ask her questions until I became drowsy and sleepy.” I look up at Didi.
She smiles thinly. “Well, you know someone else who can do that.”
“Can I be cuddled and can I ask questions?” I ask meekly.
She puts an arm around me and pulls me close. “Sure.”
I snuggle into her. It feels so warm and fuzzy. I lean my head against her shoulder. It’s like Mama all over again, and I push down the tears coming to my eyes. Instead, I ask, “Didi?”
“Hm?”
“Who’s the next guest?”
“Sankalp, the next guest may come after the grand premiere, and even I’m not sure who it is. Don’t overthink, baccha.” Didi gently ruffles my hair.
“I’m not. I just wondered.” I yawn. My trick works, but I persist. “Who do you think it is?”
“Mm… I’m betting on Farah Khan and Remo D’Souza.”
I almost bolt from my seat. “No way, that’s big.”
“I told you, it’s what I think. I’m making wild guesses for sure.”
Question two. “Will our grand premiere be great? Like an international concert?” In sleep, I’m not thinking straight.
“Yes, baccha. Our set prop’s going to be huge. And very colourful and it will light up. We’ll check on it first thing tomorrow. Sounds nice?”
I nod. Then comes the third question.
“Didi, do you like props?”
She purses her lips, as if in thought. “Hmm. Well, that’s a little hard to answer… I find props all right if it enhances the dance, but does not take over.”
“What does that mean, Didi?”
“Sankalp, I don’t want to bore you with all that.”
I give her a lopsided grin. “I think it will help me with sleep.”
She shakes her head. “All right. So, in the simplest terms, I mean that as long as the props are there to show your dance of what it is, it is fine. It shouldn’t do the job of the dancer.”
“You mean the prop shouldn’t dance?” I laugh softly.
She chuckles too. “Yes, you could put it that way.”
I yawn again, and sink deeper. As a son’s instinct, my arm reaches to touch her chest. I want to sleep, but I don’t have the strength to get up and go to my room.
“Is it all right if I sleep here, Didi?” I ask.
“Yes, baccha. It’s all right.”
But I don’t get to hear that. I fall asleep too soon, but with a smile on my face for the first time.
Signed,
Melody Vega
I open the door—I’m surprised to find it unlocked—and walk in. Didi’s sitting on the bed, and she’s awake too.
“Neend nahin aa rahin,” I say.
“Well, you can come and sit here.” She touches the spot next to her. I climb onto the bed and sit there.
“I’m unable to sleep either,” she says.
I stare at her hand for a while, thinking it’s Mama’s, or Sayra’s, or my cousin sister Simran’s. For me, Simran is someone between Mama and Sayra. She’s in her teens.
“If Mama were here, she’d let me cuddle Sayra and let me ask her questions until I became drowsy and sleepy.” I look up at Didi.
She smiles thinly. “Well, you know someone else who can do that.”
“Can I be cuddled and can I ask questions?” I ask meekly.
She puts an arm around me and pulls me close. “Sure.”
I snuggle into her. It feels so warm and fuzzy. I lean my head against her shoulder. It’s like Mama all over again, and I push down the tears coming to my eyes. Instead, I ask, “Didi?”
“Hm?”
“Who’s the next guest?”
“Sankalp, the next guest may come after the grand premiere, and even I’m not sure who it is. Don’t overthink, baccha.” Didi gently ruffles my hair.
“I’m not. I just wondered.” I yawn. My trick works, but I persist. “Who do you think it is?”
“Mm… I’m betting on Farah Khan and Remo D’Souza.”
I almost bolt from my seat. “No way, that’s big.”
“I told you, it’s what I think. I’m making wild guesses for sure.”
Question two. “Will our grand premiere be great? Like an international concert?” In sleep, I’m not thinking straight.
“Yes, baccha. Our set prop’s going to be huge. And very colourful and it will light up. We’ll check on it first thing tomorrow. Sounds nice?”
I nod. Then comes the third question.
“Didi, do you like props?”
She purses her lips, as if in thought. “Hmm. Well, that’s a little hard to answer… I find props all right if it enhances the dance, but does not take over.”
“What does that mean, Didi?”
“Sankalp, I don’t want to bore you with all that.”
I give her a lopsided grin. “I think it will help me with sleep.”
She shakes her head. “All right. So, in the simplest terms, I mean that as long as the props are there to show your dance of what it is, it is fine. It shouldn’t do the job of the dancer.”
“You mean the prop shouldn’t dance?” I laugh softly.
She chuckles too. “Yes, you could put it that way.”
I yawn again, and sink deeper. As a son’s instinct, my arm reaches to touch her chest. I want to sleep, but I don’t have the strength to get up and go to my room.
“Is it all right if I sleep here, Didi?” I ask.
“Yes, baccha. It’s all right.”
But I don’t get to hear that. I fall asleep too soon, but with a smile on my face for the first time.
Signed,
Melody Vega
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