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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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Your two year old is sitting right next to you; you call out his name…no response; you think he’s a little lost …you call out louder…still no response; you keep increasing your pitch till you can scream no louder. Before you come to a conclusion about his hearing prowess he cocks his ears to the tune of his favourite ad zingle on TV and runs to the other room to watch it! So, he is not deaf after all!
Gradually several other traits catch your attention- unmanageable hyperactivity, never looks at anybody in the eye, delayed speech milestones, toilet training is a nightmare, he gets aggressive even in the absence of any visible provocation, pushes and hits kids particularly the harmless ones younger than him, has an inclination for obsessive compulsive behaviour, indulges in meaningless self-talking, doesn’t interact with kids of his age, is lost in his own world even amidst a crowd and when it comes to being a menace even Denice would be no match for him!
You rush to your paediatrician for an explanation he admits your child has a problem and refers you to a Child Psychologist, Child Psychiatrist, Developmental Paediatrician or a Paediatric Neurologist. Doctors feel inadequate to diagnose the problem as outright autism so they put him in a spectrum of disorders called Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Autism is a severe developmental disorder that begins at birth or the first two and half years of life. The child may look normal but may communicate, interact, behave, and learn in ways that are different from most people. ASD begins during early childhood and lasts throughout a person’s life. The thinking and learning abilities of a child with ASD can vary – from gifted to severely challenged. The child may lie anywhere between mild to moderate to severe on the scale of ASD. The doc will ask you to visit him next after a series of blood tests, an EEG, MRI, BERA test for hearing and immediately take recourse to Occupational Therapy (OT), Special Education and Speech Therapy.
You are devastated. You fail to assess the extent of the crisis and while you are still baffled all the people that you know including your family members rubbish it off as an imaginary problem- “The child is too young. He’ll be okay once he grows up”. Do not succumb to that pressure. Your child is not okay. As he grows older there will be several behaviour and sensory issues that will keep trickling in. You may get confused when your child mouths a few monosyllables; he is not dumb you are relieved; you are happy that he calls out for you but then you notice that he addresses everyone else as mommy too! The therapist tells you “he has speech, you have to give him language”, meaning he can speak but he doesn’t have the words to express himself!
It may be a solace to realize that your child is not the only one. This is a fast rising disorder. The reason for it is yet to be discovered and so the cure is also on the basis of trial and error. Do not be disheartened to hear that there is no cure rather put him through intensive sessions of Occupational therapy, Speech therapy, Special Education and Applied Behaviour Analysis (ABA). Earlier the intervention quicker the integration. You cannot do this alone, the co-operation of not just the entire family but each one who comes in close contact with the child, is required. Please do not expect a miracle. Curse God, you can take the liberty to do so; bouts of frustration is also natural but do not despair. If you do, you drown taking the child with you! Remember, “That which cannot be cured must be endured”, so why not endure it with grace! For your information Bill Gates has Aspergers, a form of Autism and taking the symptoms into consideration perhaps even Albert Einstein had it too!
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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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Most teachers feel that teaching is not a lost art, but the regard for it is a lost tradition. Personally, I feel the there’s been an adulteration in both the relationships. When class-mates reunite even after decades they do recall, especially their school teachers, quite fondly. Some of us are still grateful for what was instilled to us in those class rooms with forty odd students, with a quarter of them mentally absent. Many thought they would catch up via group studies while others were addicted to home tutors. Though I cannot totally take side with the students I do recall several anecdotes which made pupils like or dislike a subject. Often this had nothing to do with the subject.
I started off as an average student, improved myself with time but remained quite content despite never being able to touch the bracket of the brightest ones in the class. I am sure all of us remember making that extra effort to impress teachers we admired, for whatever reason, irrespective of whether we liked or not the subjects taught by them. I once scored a two on ten in mathematics and my teacher threw the notebook on my face, that was the day I took an immense dislike for the subject and all teachers who taught it! I never made an effort to work at it till the class x board exams. I knew this time I could not afford to flunk. Some teachers are known for their success rate and so was Mr. Dinakar. I decided to take a chance. Surrounded by not more than ten students Mr.Dinakar, charming, patient and strict, penetrated the minds of his pupils, ensuring each one relished the brain racking problems. I was so used to flunking in maths every year since the third standard that the 70% in the ICSE board was etched as a big achievement in my life!
Again, History as a subject seemed to be most boring and useless as the teacher himself spoke as if he had just been awakened from a delightful slumber. Neither the subject nor the teacher got their due respect! The failure rate of students in Social Studies was the highest for two consecutive years in the board exams; a little reprimand by the principle and our lady teacher transformed into a patient and accessible mentor from an edgy and irritant one! Needless to say, the students fared much better that year.
I know students thoughtlessly make the lives of teachers miserable at times and it is not always easy to be in the shoes of a teacher. Yet sometimes teachers even in the absence of provocation are blatantly verbal about a student’s attributes which is better left unsaid. I still wonder what made one of my teachers rudely announce in the class that however hard I may try I still can never ever be the topper! Of course that was no news to me, I did not ever intend to!
It is only the ungrateful few who would deny the role of teachers in their lives. Good and bad every incident goes down the memory lane, gets shaped by the unconscious and moulds our personality and interpersonal relations. Definitely, today hardly does anyone look up to the teacher as a “guru” but that does not make the responsibility of the teacher any less!
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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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To me God existed as per my convenience. Complaints were random. “Why me, lord?” was the oft mouthed line even for matters as trivial as a bad hair day. When asked my opinion on the existence of God, as a youngster I would proudly declare, “I am an agnostic.” More so to raise eyebrows about my knowledge of the concept than my impression about Him!
My relationship with Him varied from fear to scorn to awe depending on the situation. Each time I needed help I would bribe Him a coconut in typical Oriya style; and every time things went from bad to worse I would stop bowing before places of worship. Not that I was ever ritualistic enough to enter a temple by choice. I often entered a place of worship more out of curiosity than with an intention to pray. I was always more interested in the history and architecture than the objects of worship. My socialization had something to do with it, perhaps. At the time of exams, just before rushing out of the house my mother would remember that we’ve missed our prayers; taking off the shoes to enter the prayer room was time consuming hence she taught us to bow our heads in a corner of the house in reverence. After all He is omnipresent. This she learned from her grandfather! Soon this became a habit.
With age and increasing intensity of problems I realized there was more to life than a stubborn pimple on the forehead and losing sleep over what people thought of you. More the problems, more was the need to derive strength from a supernatural anchor; till the day I was convinced that miracles do occur!
August 2000, my husband was hit by dengue. His platelet count kept decreasing by the day till the doctors gave up finally one night. I was categorically, kindly informed that the night would be heavy on me. The next morning, his platelet count miraculously shot up and all I managed to say was, “all is well that ends well.”
Three years later he again ended up in the ICU for a totally different reason. The doctors again surrendered before fate; again he defied medical logic and walked out of the hospital in a week!
Two years after that he vomited blood and was rushed to the emergency in St. Stephens Hospital, Delhi. Yet again he was declared a medical miracle as doctors tried to figure out how he was still alive with a platelet count of just 5000! He was Superintendent Tihar Jail and the inmates of jail no. 1 fasted for a day praying for his survival. Around twenty lower staff with B+ blood in their veins thronged the hospital to lend him their platelets. The doctors thought Shamim was a politician while his boss passed off the whole act to be pretence in order to evade the demands of a crucial posting! Well, Shamim’s sample did not match with any of the staff. Now what? None of her business save humanity, the biggest of all commerce, a female technician offered her sample and it matched! On the wall my numb eyes ran over a message, “Oh Jesus, not mine but your wish should be fulfilled!” I smiled; anyways it is always His wish that gets fulfilled. The dragon within armed with the perpetual question “Why me?” somehow failed to appear. I even tried to instigate it; I beckoned it to ask just this once, “Why? Why? Why? Again me?” but the only answer that reverberated from within was “all will be well again”.
The platelets were infused into Shamim and God’s chosen one sprung into action once more. The platelet count however kept fluctuating for reasons unknown. A battery of tests left the doctors nonplussed. This continued for a couple of months till the day when Shamim refused to undergo any further test, even a platelet count. It’s been five years of healthy life since then. Touch wood!
Now it was the turn of the kids. My daughter suddenly developed a nerve problem. Again a series of tests were administered on the bewildered child; the toughest one to handle as a parent was the MRI. For some reason, I was alone, only happy that the roar of the MRI machine silenced my wails as I watched my six year old rotating within it under general anesthesia. But she too recovered after a medication of three years.
Today I am again at the OT helplessly allowing Anwesh, my son, to be taken away from me to be put into a slumber under the dreaded general anesthesia. He has a cyst in the eye lid which needs to be urgently removed. No, the dragon seems to have disappeared altogether. It has now been replaced by strength; the strength of a human to undergo tests and overcome difficulties; the strength to dare tell God that, “I will not give up;” the strength to see my three year old being carried out of the OT unconscious and with a bandaged left eye.
After an hour Anwesh pranced around the ward entertaining other patients; the smile on their lips and the spring in his stride reassured my faith. Not just medical, problems of all variety- emotional, financial, legal, professional- have come hammering down on our lives with disproportionate intensity and I am proud to say that we have overcome them all; not without His blessings however. Today I surprise myself when I subconsciously repeat my maternal grand-mother’s annoying conclusion on all issues, “all is His maya!” Well, if I sound like a believer I think I am happy to be one.
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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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I have a close friend who I am sure must be a common friend to almost all of us- the internet. The restlessness it instigates when the server is down is as if that’s the end of the world. Wonder how mankind survived prior to its invention!
Of course things have become much easier now. Exchange of documents, buying and selling, self-promotion, and extracting information- all this is available merely with the click of a mouse. Communication made easy, physical presence being unnecessary, the internet is a boon in disguise especially for women who in any case have to handle both, work and hearth.
Lost friends are now found through facebook; official communication and chatting takes place simultaneously; the net has it all- friendship, networking, dating, sex, games and all possible information on myriad topics.
You have something relevant to say, start a blog; or you simply want to show off your writing skills still go ahead; you are a conceited person, pass nasty remarks on others’ blogs; go incognito and create a flutter here and there; you are in a foul mood you know exactly where to vent. But is it actually as easy as it sounds? Here too you play the game by its rules.
Never ever let your heart rule your mind. Don’t expect to find a friend in the chat room. A friend of mine loved chatting with two particular persons, till a discrepancy in the conversation rang a bell and she discovered them to be one! A guy I know tried to check the accessibility quotient of his fiancée by interacting with her under a fake name! One Mr. Arora was overwhelmed to find a business partner in London. All paper-work done via mail an excited Mr.Arora shipped off the consignment from Mumbai. The shipment was received with thanks but the moolah never came. Thrilled over the smooth execution of the paper-work, he had not demanded any advance either. Great! Some techno freak hacks into your account and robs you decently or what if he sends weird messages here and there! This and a lot more, we have all heard similar stories I’m sure.
For the children too there’s a whole new exciting world out there- downloading pictures and music, games, eye candy, barred information or even genuine information which makes project work and homework easy. Though largely unsuccessful, most parents try to keep a tab on their child’s internet accessibility. One family in the neighborhood has a specially designed table where the CPU can be locked as and when desired by the parents while in another, the parents disconnect and lock the cable away when they go out! The result- in the first case, the kids are always at the net in a friend’s place while in the latter, they are smart enough to use a spare cable the moment the parents are gone!
It is a little disappointing to pen down the hazards of the net, for we all are far too much in love with it to bear any kind of adverse remarks about it. But once we are aware what a little negligence can lead to, I think it’ll become easier to decide where to tread and where not to. We’ve a choice there, don’t we? Definitely, if handled with prudence this friend can be prevented from transforming into a foe!
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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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The heart has strange ways of connecting to people. Physical proximity does not always serve as the breeding ground for bonding. Many a times we tend to strike a chord with total strangers; so strong a bond that the relationship ceases to appear worldly. My husband, Shamim, is an all heart person. In fact, when it comes to relationships he perhaps forgets that he has a brain too. I stopped being critical about this “personality flaw”, (if I may call it so) once I got convinced that he tends to develop rare divine connections with absolutely unknown people.
During his “Bharat Darshan’ as a probationer his batch was on their way to the Lakshadweep islands. They boarded the ship from Cochin. It was an overnight journey. On the deck he chanced to pick up a conversation with Mr. K.C. Somanathan, an elderly man headed towards Lakshadweep for a family vacation. He took an instant liking for Shamim and his son, KP (Krishna Prasad), endorsed his father’s views. When Shamim mentioned them to me I dismissed it as quite a normal affair. After all, we all get into conversations with co-passengers to while away time.
Incidentally, Shamim was posted to Lakshadweep the same year. Still a student in JNU, I could join him only during the semester break. The flight ticket from Delhi to Cochin was beyond reach then. I booked my ticket in the Trivandrum Rajdhani. The Rajdhani reaches Cochin way past mid-night but I was sure hubby dear would be there. He too had no doubts about it. Little did it occur to us that in a fit of bureaucratic whim his boss would reject the leave application without citing a valid reason for it! His boss was adamant while I was all set to move. The cell phone had yet to invade our lives; I was fortunate enough to receive his phone call before leaving the hostel. I was extremely reluctant to follow his instructions but he convinced me that I could trust KP. “But you hardly know him. How is he going to recognize me? The station would be a busy crowded place,” I tried to argue. Agitated and helpless he insisted, “Just do as I say.”
Did I have a choice? I stepped onto the Cochin platform at 1.30 a.m. A stout, dark, pleasant looking Malayali approached me with an extended hand, “Sasmita? I am KP, hi!” “Hi!” I responded all eyes on the elderly lady behind him. “My mother”, he introduced as if well understanding my fear of treading onto an unknown territory with an unknown male. Still intrigued, I couldn’t help asking, “But how did you recognize me? I expected a placard or something.” To my astonishment he replied, “Well Shamim had explained you will be in jeans, carrying a VIP suitcase.” That was all. Unbelievable! Also surprising was KP’s confidence, “I convinced Shamim that I’ll recognize you, he needn’t worry”. And he did indeed!
I learnt that his mother spoke only Malayalam. On the way home aunty and I only exchanged intermittent smiles. At home, even at that hour, KP’s octogenarian grandmother and father awaited our arrival with concern. That was not all, despite his busy schedule KP not only saw me off safely on the ship but also received me on my return journey and with pleasure carried my heavy luggage to my berth on the train to Delhi! It is not for this pick-up and drop service that the family became so special to us. It is special for the trust, the love and the affection that developed in due course that has sealed the bond. With KP as a son, uncle has no reason to wish that he also had a son like Shamim. Grandma had no reason to embrace an unknown couple as her own. The conversations that ensued between me and the ladies of the house were indeed a delight to watch. They would carry on in Malayalam while I would mIme with a smattering of Hindi and English. “Heart talks to heart, language is for the ears,” how true I thought.
After coming to Delhi the distance dissuades frequent visits but the feelings remain unchanged. Whenever Shamim feels hurt, disappointment and anger when discriminated against he never forgets to remember this Malayali Brahmin family which continues to shower him with undue affection and blessings. In a country shredded with differences of caste, religion, region and language such selfless souls definitely serve as a coolant.
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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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“I am happily married for the past 3 years; I would constantly brag before all and sundry.” “3 years, happy?” pat would oft come the reply. It took quite some time for me to complete the open-ended question- “Married since three years, no issues, still happy?” That’s what they meant. The apprehension of Indians to keep the lineage going! Most importantly, the fear of being deprived of moksha without a male child to light the funeral pyre!
A couple of months later I beamed, “Well! I am expecting!” I thought this would put their apprehensions to rest. How incorrect was I? This being my first pregnancy I immediately flew to my parental abode as per tradition. More so, because my husband was then posted in Lakshadweep, where medical facilities were only basic. Relatives and neighbours streamed in to extract first hand information of things.
To begin with, the news had to be confirmed first. My marriage, almost everybody thought was not only disgraceful but a neighbourhood nuisance. What if their children cite me as an example and follow suit? I completely sympathized with their fear but definitely wouldn’t appreciate being held responsible for others actions. The prognostication that my marriage would not last for more than a couple of months remained unchallenged. More than unbelievable, unbearable was the fact that not only did this evil union between a Hindu Brahmin girl with a Muslim boy out-grew the predicted perishable period, worse still she was here to deliver a legitimate child. Defilement of the society was yet to see such heights! And cursed are the parents who dare nurture this development.
All said and done, nothing much could be done about this predicament. The wise ones hesitantly turned to the next subject- my bloated tummy. Every female visitor arrived with her usual round of queries- “Nausea? Morning sickness? Sleepiness? Craving for sweet or salty food?” I would half-heartedly mutter indistinct replies. Irrespective of my replies, the conclusion of the ladies always was, “Oh! That glow on the face, lucky you, got to be a bonnie boy! God bless child, take care.” At times my whiplash tongue got the better of me and I ceased to be polite. My husband and I being flag holders of the single girl child policy unanimously desired to have a daughter.
On rare occasions I chanced to meet women who would scroll their eyes towards tummy analysis and with a twist of lips nod their heads in dissent, “a girl it is going to be.” After a tip or two on how to brave the situation and with a pretentious heavy heart they would depart, leaving me pleased. My husband was also duly convinced and saddened by the prediction of some of his colleagues that it had to be a male child as the forecast of the “Chinese calendar” never went wrong.
29th March 2000, the day finally arrived. I lay unconscious after the operation. For a couple of seconds I opened my eyes and heard my mother yelling out loud, “Don’t worry, it’s a girl”. The news seeped in to touch my soul, I muttered, “Thank God! Damn you ladies who predicted otherwise”, and sank back to a deep slumber. My husband took a couple of minutes to believe that it indeed is a daughter. Joy knew no bounds after that.
We had no plans of a second child. After seven years he just happened and for my daughter’s sake we decided to take the plunge. With a male child in my arms now my credibility of being a cheer leader for the single girl child has dampened a bit but believe me I knew I struck gold. My daughter’s name Nishka derived from “nishq” meaning gold coin confirms the fact.
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Comments
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Posted on
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
9:52:01 PM
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From
Ashish Gupta
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Posted on
Saturday, July 24, 2010
12:26:38 PM
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From
Ganesh - R
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Posted on
Friday, July 23, 2010
10:51:52 PM
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From
Lakshmi Bhargava
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Posted on
Friday, July 23, 2010
8:01:43 PM
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From
Sasmita S. Akhtar
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Posted on
Friday, July 23, 2010
6:49:42 PM
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From
Ambreen Zaidi
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Posted on
Friday, July 23, 2010
4:00:41 PM
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From
Rakesh Kumar Shrivastava
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Posted on
Friday, July 23, 2010
12:28:24 AM
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From
Johny
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