Broken Eyes

This afternoon I volunteered at Shishu Bhavan. It is a House specifically for young children who are orphans or at least might as well be as have been left by their families, sometimes, newly born and laying at the gate entrance. After my reactions to Kalighat I decided that perhaps working with young children might provide the sense of 'hope' which I needed in order to continue. Sure enough the nursery provided a dramatic contrast to the ward at Kaligaot. Loud children's music came booming out of every corner and colours and toys were everywhere. Inflatable animals hung from the ceiling, and the many rows of barred cots were decorated with stuffed animals of all sizes and descriptions. I negotiated my way between the racing toddlers and walked between the corridor of cots to the play station for disabled children. There were five female volunteers all sitting on the floor and with children draped over them. Many were severely disabled and unable to move without aid. Others were walking with the aid of leg braces. Again an apron was donned and I was told to play with “Gita”. I took the little hand which reached towards me and before long we were both jumping to the sounds of Happy Birthday or whatever else came out of the music system. I rubbing my face on my shoulder to remove the sweat, as both hands were firmly engaged by Gita. I was unable to persuade Gita to make one verbal sound all day - with the exception of laughing, which she did with such ease I wondered why all of us born with sound body and mind don't walk around laughing every second of every day? I also have no idea how old Gita is, only that she came up to my knees, and was incredibly easy to make smile. Each child has a folder with their details and conditions listed, but Gita felt that it was more important that we dance rather than let me spend time shifting through paper. I even made the stupid mistake of initially calling her a “strong little man” as the Italian volunteer who had introduced us confused her prefixes and called “her” a “he”. Besides, Gita's “condition” was visibly obvious, as her little eyes remained tightly closed.

We bounced along until I was presented with tiny tot Julie, who sat like a princess amid a regal carriage of a plastic bike, drawn by a plastic bear. Gita took control from Mr Bear and walked behind the princess pushing her along. It was a challenge to convince Gita to push as she had an inclination to rock from leg to leg while standing in the same place. Once again the role of 'carer' rather than 'facilitator' was difficult to avoid and I had to constantly stop myself from leading, as we meandered backwards and forwards, between the cots and “active” children; many of whom were vying for my attention by providing entertainment to Princess Julie and a unwelcome obstacle to Gita, who responded by leaning back against my legs. One little girl decided it really was her 'turn' to push the princess by frequently biting my hands. Hmmm. Eventually Gita and I managed to distract her with the help of a large plastic ball identical to one I used for abdominal crunches. After Gita and I walked the equivalent of a mini walkathon it was time to for Princess Julie to have her afternoon lemon water. I picked her out of her carriage as her stick legs dangled at awkward angels pulled down by her little orthopedic shoes. She was tiny, and could not have been more than 12 to 18 months old. I sat crossed legged on a cot and the first challenge of my afternoon began. Bottle in hand. She refused to drink. She cried. I distracted her with a plastic crocodile. The tears stopped, but the juice just poured out of her mouth and dibbled down her pretty white dress. An Indian Massi (carer) took control, and before long she was watered from the inside and not out. I then had the pleasure of meeting Jamie. A blind boy who seemed the only child able to speak or to understand a little English. Without a doubt he was an incredibly gifted little person (the only age marker I can share is that he came to just above my knees). He asked continuous questions and would not stop until he was satisfied with the answers.

“Auntie Auntie whats this?” He called to me. He took my hand and placed it on top of the carriage bear. Mr Bear was wearing a plastic hat, which once upon a time had worked as a button causing his eyes to blink and a plastic tongue to poke out from his empty plastic mouth. I told him it was a button. What for Auntie? What does it do? He insisted as he pushed the 'hat'. I took his hand and led it over Mr Bears frozen face. "It is to make the eyes move and the tongue come out of the lips" I explained. “Eyes Auntie? Where Auntie? Eyes Where?” I led his little hands to feel inside the empty holes of Mr Bear's empty eyes as he pushed the button again. “Its broken” I told him. Jamie was unimpressed and began to search for the 'electric guitar' and off he wandered, feeling his way through the maze of children, toys and cots.

A bell rang and the play station was cleared with lightening efficiency as toys were replaced by specially adapted baby chairs. Children were tied or strapped in, and dinner was served. I sat down next to one little girl, picked up her food and spoon and began to feed her. No go. No way. She cried. Then she screamed. I looked around. There was no reaction from the other volunteers or from the Massis, who proceeded to feed the children seated opposite them without even a whimper. I tried again. Food went flying. I tried again and again. But no. Eventually, a volunteer turned to me and said, “she's used to being held when she's fed, she hates the chair. Try one of those over there.” She motioned to pop stair Gita who was now in possession of Jamie's prized guitar and another little blind child. “Their easier” I was reassured. I let Gita enjoy her new found talent and gained the attention of the other child by tapping the tray in front of her. Soon he joined in and I felt a renewed sense of optimism. Spoon to mouth – mouth firmly clamped. Hmmm. I tried everything. Zoooooom. Bringing a smile in order to trick the spoon inside the laughing mouth, but nothing would work. “Impossible!” Another volunteer shouted over. “Impossible. He will never eat.

I moved chairs again and tapped a beat to Gita's automatic toy guitar. She loved the buttons and the tunes and refused to put it down, but as I wanted to feed her and not the instrument, eventually she agreed. Again nothing. No open mouth, no swallow. Just a firm resolution that today she would not be feed by Bex. Gradually the other children were washed and taken upstairs to the flat roof. Their outdoor playground. Gita and I remained. Cold food in hand, guitar on the floor. And then as if by magic a massi appeared, took the bowl under Gita's chin, tipped her head backwards, and gave her the fasted food I have ever seen. Within seconds the bowl was cleared and not even one wince of refusal from pop star Gita. Shocked, amazed, thankful and disheartened I took Gita to join the other children.

Jamie raced around the roof. He wanted the bike. “The small one Aunty.” He eventually found it with no help from me. Another child was riding it. A massive grin appeared on Jamie's face as he sped across the roof, pushing the bike with a child still on top of it. He is incredible. Gita and I rocked/walked around for a while trying to avoid the other children rushing around not looking where they are going. Unlike Jamie, Gita seemed completely reliant on me to keep her from being floored. I solved the problem by lifting her up. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. Wheeeeeeeeeee. Gita howling with laughter, me with dizziness. She pulled my wrist closer to her as she pushed the tiny round beads on my wrist backwards and forwards. She was almost touching her ear to them as I realised she was listening to the tiny rattling sound she was making with her tiny fingers.

As I type a song by The Thievery Corporation comes on my play list. The track title flashes up on my laptop, “Heavan's gonna burn your eyes.” I want to stop my mind from thinking. I close my eyes, lift my wrist to my ear, and roll the beads. Raat-tat-tat. Raat-tat- tat.