Nataraja - Lord of the dance

Anjana Arulthas, 11

Lucas Vale Primary School, London

“Umama!”

The phone is echoey and glitchy, it always is, but a gushing stream of warm Tamil greets and rushes over me. Grandma gets so excited and speaks so fast! After the bomb none of the phones worked. We’d waited days for news. Mum became so quiet. The boys never seem to notice, and Dad works so hard, he has three jobs. I notice. Mum and I read one another like a mirror.

‘Kutti!”

I melt when Grandma calls me that, I am a little girl again.

‘’Mum, Mum. It’s Grandma!’’

Mum rushes to the phone, slipping effortlessly to Tamil, her voice bursting with relief. She is flushed, is she crying? I retreat to the front room where Aajay and Jaiden are squabbling over who is best at football (it’s me! ) they are football crazy- we all support Arsenal!

I put my hand on Mummy’s shoulder, she smiles at me and hands me back the phone.

‘’Umama,’’

‘’Rasakutti,’’

I am shimmering with the paprika heat, the rich green trees, the fragrance of your Kottu Rotti spicing the air. That is me, the little girl, in my orange and dark blue floating lenga, a Tamil princess. My aunties, my cousins, grandma and great grandma, uncles, friends, and even more aunties! The women dancing together, spinning gold, crimson, mint and royal blue- flecked with gold and shining glass, bangles chiming as they whirl. Tamil love songs old and new, happy and sad -laughing, chattering. We are together and we dance.

I dance afrobeat at school- they are love songs too. If I close my eyes the music runs through me. It is just girls dancing, grandma. This is my London tribe- Nigerian, Jamaican, Ghanaian , Columbian, Congolese and a Sri Lankan. You would have been proud- when we danced on stage, they cheered us and clapped and sang along. I am practicing a Tamil dance to show you when I see you, Umama. You will cook for us again and I will eat until my belly is so full. I miss you.

The days when the air was too thick and hot to breathe, sticking with sweat, the ceiling fan pushing the hot air. I was so frightened of the old toilet, cockroaches scuttling, crunching beneath my feet. The snake in the garage, mosquitoes sucking me at night and the itching bumps raised in the morning. Umama, you rubbed cream into the angry little stabs, and they healed beneath your cool fingers. I miss you.

Your voice is music to me, Umama, my tongue clumsily in Tamil. I cannot find the words to say the things in my heart. It is so different here, you are so far away, your voice so thin and so distant. I wish you had been here for my coming of age. I know you bless me Umama, I will make you proud, I will make mummy proud. I don’t want to grow older without you. I will dance for you. I miss you.