Today we are sitting on the floor. We are waiting for lunch. All the other children are strapped into their chairs, each individually being fed. Apart from Ana who is on the floor, curled up, eye lids tightly shut. I am entertaining Gita by banging on the table. “Boom Boom” I sing to her “Boom Ba Ba Ba.” The Tap Tap Thud of our hands on the plastic. Da dad da dra-ra-ra da da. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! Da dad da dra-ra-ra da da. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! I sing to her. Ba ba ba ba ba. AAAAAaaaaah. She replies. I feel a release inside me. A new energy coming from her. Da dad da dra-ra-ra da da. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! Da dad da dra-ra-ra da da. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! I repeat as I Tap and Thud. She has removed her hands from mine and is stroking her face, moving her lips and her Baaaaaaaaaa turns to Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I open my mouth and put my hand over it “AhAhAhAhAh.” She lets me open her palm and place it over her own mouth soon she is also softly producing AhAhAhAhs. And she continues to Br and Ba and Ah. I am laughing through my efforts of encouragement; Ahhhhhhh Baaaaa, Da dad da dra-ra-ra da da. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! Da dad da dra-ra-ra da da. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! She starts to join my laughing. I start to tickle her and shake her so that her laugher vibrates through her own body. She keeps laughing to hear it continue. I pull her onto my lap, her legs outstretched on top of mine, but only reaching my knees. I open my legs and she falls through to the floor. Laughing so contagiously that even a smile breaks over the face of Little Princess Josephine, who rarely does anything but cry. I pull my feet together and she reaches forward for my anklet, feeling the rounded beads and then pulling her own feet together in a mirror image which she cannot see but only feel. I push her forward with my body - “Brrooooooooooooooooom” I growl, and then swing her to the right and backwards and then forwards, with sounds and shouts and taps and bangs and vibrations and laughter sending ripples of smiles around the watching faces of the other children. Brooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom and then screeeach back again. She is laughing.
I am handed a bib and a bowl of mush. I sing Indiana Jones to her (I saw it at the cinema last night) in between tap tap ta ta tap on her table. Her hands reach down to press on mine and I am able to wrap the bib around her neck before she has a chance to object. Next comes the hard part. “Gita Gita!” I begin. I scoop up a tea spoon of mush and while holding her neck slightly back with one hand shake off the contents into her open mouth. Immediately she begins to shake her head. Side-to-Side-to- Side-to-Side. “Gita Gita!” I sing to her. “Gita Gita! I Love You!” I keep singing, letting her know I am there, mixing English words with No-Sense words, which to Gita's Bengali ears and eyes that are filled with darkness, the meaning has little relevance, its only the rhythm which matters. Da Da da-da-d-d DA! My syllables getting louder and louder as the spoon arrives at her lips faster and faster. Her hands are still shaking and head still moving, but she still has an open mouth and the food is still disappearing. “Na Na Na”. She says to me. “Gita Gita I Love You!” I sing back to her. “Na na-n-n-na” she says before I manage to deposit the next load of mush. She does well today. She finishes her lunch and there is only one time were her movements quicker than my reactions as her little arm ended up in her bowl.
I pass her a cup of water. She competently holds it to her lips and tips back the cup. If only she could eat so confidently. “Brrrrrrrr.” She tells me. I realise she is blowing bubbles into the remainder of her water. As always we fight for re-possession of the empty cup. I wash her face with a damp cloth and then pull her up “One Two Three.” Her legs follow the demands which I made of her arms. We walk over to her cot and I begin another small routine which I have replaced from the usual 'lifting and depositing' of 'dis-abled' children. I pull down the bars and place her hands on the bed. Next I reach down and place both of her feet on the bottom bar of the cot so that she is now about 10cm from the ground. I lift up her knee and place it on her mattress. As if on auto-pilot she grabs the mattress and pulls herself up into her bed.
Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring! The bell rings. “Auntie Auntie” a mashi quickly motions for me to leave. I whisper a Good Bye to Gita. I turn away – I turn back. Gita is sitting facing me. Hand brushing over her lips “brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr” I am not sure if she has yet sensed my distance. I Wave another Good Bye. I smile. A stupid wave. I walk away, hands by my side, ears wide open.
There is a new sound which Gita helped me to find today. It was a sound which I heard for the very first time; it was the sound of Gita's Voice.
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