Saturday Aug 25'2012
6:20pm
One of my student's father passed away today. I was coming out from the metro when I saw her on the stairs. Usually so bubbly and happy, she looked empty. Latika. She says to me, Chelsea I am sorry but I don't think I can attend class today. My father has just expired. Expired. It took me a moment to register what this meant. My father has just expired. What a strange way to phrase something like this. Expired. Like we are all walking around with a date stamped to our backs, waiting till our time is up. I looked at her. Standing alone on the other side of the railing, completely swallowed by space. He usual large frame looking so small, her skin more pale than mine. Latika was the first student to make any kind of impression on me, the first I recognized. She asked me at the end of our first class if fat girls were allowed to do ballet too, her eyes gleaming with hope. What do I say to that? Fat primas? Ya, that's why I'm a world renowned ballet dancer. Of course they can do ballet, anyone can do ballet if their heart is in it. And you're not fat! A huge grin consumed her face, spreading her tiny, plump lips as wide as her eyes. I looked at her again now, those eyes instantly flooding with tears the moment the word "expired" leaves her mouth. Oh my god. What do I say? I wish I could lie to her, sugar coat something like the fat ballerinas to bring that glowing smile back to her ghost like face. But I have nothing. She is spilling sadness all over the metro stairs and all I can think to do is hug her. This woman I barely know, in the middle of the Delhi metro station. I hug her so tightly, even I am thrown by the embrace. How does this happen? A girl walks to ballet class and then her dad is gone. Just like that. Expired. I hold on for a moment longer then let her fall out of my arms. She felt like nothing. Weightless.
If it's ok, I think I need to go home.
Yes, of course! Go, be with your family. I wanted to say more, but what do you say? We are strangers. I should have done more. Done something. I made sure she found an auto and watched her drive away. I should have had Mukesh call the company car. I should have gone with her? How do you know what should be done? I wish I had done more. But I just watched her drive off. I couldn't imagine how it would feel to make that drive home. To know what you're driving towards. As Mukesh and I walked the rest of the way to class, I felt heavy. Like hugging Latika had stripped her of all matter and weighted it on me. Like she left herself behind. What an incredible sad feeling. To expire. I keep seeing her drowning eyes. She is probably my age but today she looked just years old. Just a child.
My heart is with her.
6:20pm
One of my student's father passed away today. I was coming out from the metro when I saw her on the stairs. Usually so bubbly and happy, she looked empty. Latika. She says to me, Chelsea I am sorry but I don't think I can attend class today. My father has just expired. Expired. It took me a moment to register what this meant. My father has just expired. What a strange way to phrase something like this. Expired. Like we are all walking around with a date stamped to our backs, waiting till our time is up. I looked at her. Standing alone on the other side of the railing, completely swallowed by space. He usual large frame looking so small, her skin more pale than mine. Latika was the first student to make any kind of impression on me, the first I recognized. She asked me at the end of our first class if fat girls were allowed to do ballet too, her eyes gleaming with hope. What do I say to that? Fat primas? Ya, that's why I'm a world renowned ballet dancer. Of course they can do ballet, anyone can do ballet if their heart is in it. And you're not fat! A huge grin consumed her face, spreading her tiny, plump lips as wide as her eyes. I looked at her again now, those eyes instantly flooding with tears the moment the word "expired" leaves her mouth. Oh my god. What do I say? I wish I could lie to her, sugar coat something like the fat ballerinas to bring that glowing smile back to her ghost like face. But I have nothing. She is spilling sadness all over the metro stairs and all I can think to do is hug her. This woman I barely know, in the middle of the Delhi metro station. I hug her so tightly, even I am thrown by the embrace. How does this happen? A girl walks to ballet class and then her dad is gone. Just like that. Expired. I hold on for a moment longer then let her fall out of my arms. She felt like nothing. Weightless.
If it's ok, I think I need to go home.
Yes, of course! Go, be with your family. I wanted to say more, but what do you say? We are strangers. I should have done more. Done something. I made sure she found an auto and watched her drive away. I should have had Mukesh call the company car. I should have gone with her? How do you know what should be done? I wish I had done more. But I just watched her drive off. I couldn't imagine how it would feel to make that drive home. To know what you're driving towards. As Mukesh and I walked the rest of the way to class, I felt heavy. Like hugging Latika had stripped her of all matter and weighted it on me. Like she left herself behind. What an incredible sad feeling. To expire. I keep seeing her drowning eyes. She is probably my age but today she looked just years old. Just a child.
My heart is with her.
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