OVERCOMING DISABILITIES
That was the same determination I saw in Husaina Banu. Daughter of a local Muslim trader, she was afflicated by polio at a very young age. She was almost immobile. Several sessions in the local physiotherapy centre of RTU which her father ensured she never missed, had ensured that she could at least start walking slowly and with difficulty, with the help of callipers and crutches. It was indeed a heart warming sight. In an area notorious for female infanticide where it was also not uncommon for girl children to be abandoned or ignored, Husaina Banu’s father was truly inspiring, thanks to whose motivation, many other children with physical disability were also brought out of their homes, the charming Selvi being one of them. One should have seen the delight on her face when, slowly, but surely, she took her first steps, on her own, with a pair of crutches and callipers, almost 6 years after she was born!
Over a period of time, I saw Husaina and Selvi also carrying their own school bags, politely refusing help from their schoolmates, confident that they had overcome a major hurdle in their lives. Husaina excelled in studies, Selvi in drawing and artwork. Husaina was a good singer too. Her mellifluous voice wafted through the morning school assemblies. Invariably, she lead the other children in reciting the morning prayers in school. Shahbuddin’s pride in the recognition that his daughter had gained, was perceptible as he would lean against one of the school pillars, beaming, to hear his daughter beautiful voice over the school’s public address system. And Selvi’s father Murugan never stopped smiling each time he saw Selvi making her way to school, on her own, confident that she could be quite independent.
And then, there was Saravanan. How could one ever forget him ? He was about 7 when I first met him in 1989 during my stint with RTU. Hailing from a poor dalit family, I had got used to his peeping through my office window in the morning while he was on his way to school. His bright eyes and his toothy smile lit up his dark, handsome face as he would shout out a ‘Good morning saaaar (sir)’ ! to me each morning. Saravanan, like Husaina Banu and Selvi, was a regular at the physiotherapy centre. Dutifully, he would arrive in the morning, on his father’s old bicycle. For those who worked in the unit too, it was a routine for them to be greeted by his loud ‘Good morning acca (elder sister in Tamil)’ and ‘Good morning anne (brother in Tamil)’ greetings, after which he would get down to his exercises and the oil massages. His was a very serious case of locomotor disability. At home, he would be moving, crawling about, on all fours. No disability could ever dent his enthusiasm for mischief though!
One day, he was taken to a nearby hospital, where a generous orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Karuppaiah, known for his philanthropy, performed a crucial hip operation. It took several weeks of recuperation. One fine day, it was Saravanan’s D-day. For the first time in his life, he would not be carried to school.
He allowed his father to bring him on his old bicycle only till the campus gate. Gingerly, he got off the bicycle with his father’s help and started walking – his first steps ever since he was born. His hips, fresh from the operation, ached, and he grimaced. The callipers felt as if it weighed a ton, but Saravanan’s determination was clearly visible on this face. It seemed he needed all his strength to move the crutches, first the right, then the left – all of which yielded the one result he wanted….the step forward, the first one, on his own! He grimaced again, but you could not miss the grit and determination on his face. He waved cheerfully at those in the physiotherapy unit which was nearest to the campus gate. It was a good 200 meters’ walk to his school, straight down from the campus gate. His father had ensured that they come in early enough so that Saravanan could tread this long distance to be in time for the morning assembly.
As he passed the office blocks, the handloom weaving unit, the batik unit on his way to the school, all work seemed to come to a standstill. All eyes were on Saravanan, popular as he was, but more than that, for them to witness a big day in his life……for each wanted to witness that great moment in Saravanan’s life. Finally, he was almost there. A final right turn near a handpump on the campus that would take him to the school ground where children would have assembled for their morning prayers. It had taken him almost half-an-hour for him to cover the distance of a mere 200 meters - but which, for him, seemed a monumental effort that day, with just an occasional support from his father, who accompanied him, happiness and pride very visible on his face as he witnessed his son walking……for the first time !
It was quiet on the ground where about 250 children had assembled solemnly for their prayers, unaware of this great moment in Saravanan’s life. Suddenly, a group of children who formed the rear rows of the assembly, sighted Saravanan inching towards them, with his father right behind, holding his school bag. “Hey, look here! Saravanan has started walking”, one of them shouted excitedly, even while the teachers were trying to quieten the assembly for the morning prayers. Heads turned. Saravanan’s smile widened to see his school mates, who were undoubtedly astonished! And it happened all of a sudden …….they broke into an impromptu applause. It was like a standing ovation. Children and teachers, and some parents who had escorted their children to school applauded. It was a mixture of joy, surprise and relief. By now, Saravanan was tired. His legs were giving way. His hands were stiff. But the sudden applause seemed to rejuvenate him. He looked up, proud and happy. His smile widened, his dark face brightened. He knew he had achieved something. There were many moist eyes....... !
Saravanan’s determination, and that of Husaina Banu and Selvi, did not go unnoticed. The children of their school were witness to these determined children overcoming their physical disabilities and seemed, in a way, to send out a clear message. The children too were empathetic. They were there to help when required, but in a very unobtrusive and non-patronising way.
Sita (name changed) was different. What struck one about her was her cheerfulness and her big bright eyes. But she was different. She was abandoned and found in a bus stop by some villagers because of her severe disability. Her head was disproportionately large. She did not seem to have much control over her body, and especially the limbs - clearly, it would have been very difficult for her to walk even when she grew up. Her speech was incoherent and her gaze unsteady. But she had a sharp mind. Initially, there was some concern about how she could be taken care of and if any of the foster mothers would be able to take care of. That’s when Parvati, one of the foster mothers, volunteered to be Sita’s foster mother. She was confident she could provide all the love and care that was required to develop Sita’s capabilities.
Sita started visiting the physiotherapy centre for her exercises and massage that could strengthen her limbs. She was only two then. Gradually, as she became more comfortable in her new surroundings, and as she picked up new words, she became talkative. Initially, it sounded like meaningless chatter as the words got twisted as she started speaking. Slowly, it became clearer. She started recognising people by name. She would shout out aloud to Ramesh as he did the rounds of the foster homes for regular maintenance work. Ramesh mama (uncle) was her favourite mama. He always had time for her - for Ramesh, Sita was very special ! She would climb on his back, ruffle his hair, put both her arms lovingly around him and keep pleading with him not to go. I made it a point to visit her as frequently as possible, largely because I loved meeting her and listening to her latest chatter, and partly to escape being admonished by her. “You did not come to see me”, she would say if she didn’t see me for a couple of days.
I met Sita after a gap of five years, in 1998. “Do you know me”? I asked. She came close to me. I did seem familiar to her. She put her hand on my shoulder, kept gazing at me for a few minutes. She then looked at my wife. And then back to me. “Girish mama !”, she exclaimed, “and Sandhya aththai (aunty)” ! She was delighted. And then she started talking, excitedly as ever. “Where were you? Why didn’t you come to see me? I am going to school now………” I was not surprised that I felt a lump in my throat ! We always knew she was sharp .... and smart !
That was the same determination I saw in Husaina Banu. Daughter of a local Muslim trader, she was afflicated by polio at a very young age. She was almost immobile. Several sessions in the local physiotherapy centre of RTU which her father ensured she never missed, had ensured that she could at least start walking slowly and with difficulty, with the help of callipers and crutches. It was indeed a heart warming sight. In an area notorious for female infanticide where it was also not uncommon for girl children to be abandoned or ignored, Husaina Banu’s father was truly inspiring, thanks to whose motivation, many other children with physical disability were also brought out of their homes, the charming Selvi being one of them. One should have seen the delight on her face when, slowly, but surely, she took her first steps, on her own, with a pair of crutches and callipers, almost 6 years after she was born!
Over a period of time, I saw Husaina and Selvi also carrying their own school bags, politely refusing help from their schoolmates, confident that they had overcome a major hurdle in their lives. Husaina excelled in studies, Selvi in drawing and artwork. Husaina was a good singer too. Her mellifluous voice wafted through the morning school assemblies. Invariably, she lead the other children in reciting the morning prayers in school. Shahbuddin’s pride in the recognition that his daughter had gained, was perceptible as he would lean against one of the school pillars, beaming, to hear his daughter beautiful voice over the school’s public address system. And Selvi’s father Murugan never stopped smiling each time he saw Selvi making her way to school, on her own, confident that she could be quite independent.
And then, there was Saravanan. How could one ever forget him ? He was about 7 when I first met him in 1989 during my stint with RTU. Hailing from a poor dalit family, I had got used to his peeping through my office window in the morning while he was on his way to school. His bright eyes and his toothy smile lit up his dark, handsome face as he would shout out a ‘Good morning saaaar (sir)’ ! to me each morning. Saravanan, like Husaina Banu and Selvi, was a regular at the physiotherapy centre. Dutifully, he would arrive in the morning, on his father’s old bicycle. For those who worked in the unit too, it was a routine for them to be greeted by his loud ‘Good morning acca (elder sister in Tamil)’ and ‘Good morning anne (brother in Tamil)’ greetings, after which he would get down to his exercises and the oil massages. His was a very serious case of locomotor disability. At home, he would be moving, crawling about, on all fours. No disability could ever dent his enthusiasm for mischief though!
One day, he was taken to a nearby hospital, where a generous orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Karuppaiah, known for his philanthropy, performed a crucial hip operation. It took several weeks of recuperation. One fine day, it was Saravanan’s D-day. For the first time in his life, he would not be carried to school.
He allowed his father to bring him on his old bicycle only till the campus gate. Gingerly, he got off the bicycle with his father’s help and started walking – his first steps ever since he was born. His hips, fresh from the operation, ached, and he grimaced. The callipers felt as if it weighed a ton, but Saravanan’s determination was clearly visible on this face. It seemed he needed all his strength to move the crutches, first the right, then the left – all of which yielded the one result he wanted….the step forward, the first one, on his own! He grimaced again, but you could not miss the grit and determination on his face. He waved cheerfully at those in the physiotherapy unit which was nearest to the campus gate. It was a good 200 meters’ walk to his school, straight down from the campus gate. His father had ensured that they come in early enough so that Saravanan could tread this long distance to be in time for the morning assembly.
As he passed the office blocks, the handloom weaving unit, the batik unit on his way to the school, all work seemed to come to a standstill. All eyes were on Saravanan, popular as he was, but more than that, for them to witness a big day in his life……for each wanted to witness that great moment in Saravanan’s life. Finally, he was almost there. A final right turn near a handpump on the campus that would take him to the school ground where children would have assembled for their morning prayers. It had taken him almost half-an-hour for him to cover the distance of a mere 200 meters - but which, for him, seemed a monumental effort that day, with just an occasional support from his father, who accompanied him, happiness and pride very visible on his face as he witnessed his son walking……for the first time !
It was quiet on the ground where about 250 children had assembled solemnly for their prayers, unaware of this great moment in Saravanan’s life. Suddenly, a group of children who formed the rear rows of the assembly, sighted Saravanan inching towards them, with his father right behind, holding his school bag. “Hey, look here! Saravanan has started walking”, one of them shouted excitedly, even while the teachers were trying to quieten the assembly for the morning prayers. Heads turned. Saravanan’s smile widened to see his school mates, who were undoubtedly astonished! And it happened all of a sudden …….they broke into an impromptu applause. It was like a standing ovation. Children and teachers, and some parents who had escorted their children to school applauded. It was a mixture of joy, surprise and relief. By now, Saravanan was tired. His legs were giving way. His hands were stiff. But the sudden applause seemed to rejuvenate him. He looked up, proud and happy. His smile widened, his dark face brightened. He knew he had achieved something. There were many moist eyes....... !
Saravanan’s determination, and that of Husaina Banu and Selvi, did not go unnoticed. The children of their school were witness to these determined children overcoming their physical disabilities and seemed, in a way, to send out a clear message. The children too were empathetic. They were there to help when required, but in a very unobtrusive and non-patronising way.
Sita (name changed) was different. What struck one about her was her cheerfulness and her big bright eyes. But she was different. She was abandoned and found in a bus stop by some villagers because of her severe disability. Her head was disproportionately large. She did not seem to have much control over her body, and especially the limbs - clearly, it would have been very difficult for her to walk even when she grew up. Her speech was incoherent and her gaze unsteady. But she had a sharp mind. Initially, there was some concern about how she could be taken care of and if any of the foster mothers would be able to take care of. That’s when Parvati, one of the foster mothers, volunteered to be Sita’s foster mother. She was confident she could provide all the love and care that was required to develop Sita’s capabilities.
Sita started visiting the physiotherapy centre for her exercises and massage that could strengthen her limbs. She was only two then. Gradually, as she became more comfortable in her new surroundings, and as she picked up new words, she became talkative. Initially, it sounded like meaningless chatter as the words got twisted as she started speaking. Slowly, it became clearer. She started recognising people by name. She would shout out aloud to Ramesh as he did the rounds of the foster homes for regular maintenance work. Ramesh mama (uncle) was her favourite mama. He always had time for her - for Ramesh, Sita was very special ! She would climb on his back, ruffle his hair, put both her arms lovingly around him and keep pleading with him not to go. I made it a point to visit her as frequently as possible, largely because I loved meeting her and listening to her latest chatter, and partly to escape being admonished by her. “You did not come to see me”, she would say if she didn’t see me for a couple of days.
I met Sita after a gap of five years, in 1998. “Do you know me”? I asked. She came close to me. I did seem familiar to her. She put her hand on my shoulder, kept gazing at me for a few minutes. She then looked at my wife. And then back to me. “Girish mama !”, she exclaimed, “and Sandhya aththai (aunty)” ! She was delighted. And then she started talking, excitedly as ever. “Where were you? Why didn’t you come to see me? I am going to school now………” I was not surprised that I felt a lump in my throat ! We always knew she was sharp .... and smart !
Girish chetta,
ReplyDeleteThe narration is awesome and the determination and confidence of saravanan will make any one who reads this more determinant and confident...There is a lot to learn from this narration..It was really worth reading..please go ahead with your superb work..