Climbing to the Sun

I have become far too attached and I have no idea what to do about it. My solution today was not to go to the orphanage and use the time to write instead. I have been going every morning and I am totally addicted. I have found such an energy with Gita and I look forward too much to seeing her everyday. By the evening I am still singing stupid tunes or tapping random sounds out. I think of her and think of her life and her options and how beautiful she is and it makes me happy and sad. I hear sounds – so many more sounds than I have been conscious of before, and this is not just because Kolkata is a noisy noisy place, but because she makes me Listen.

Yesterday was a particularly powerful day. As usual I found her sleeping on her plastic rocking chair/ dining table. I used to wonder if it was because her and Ana had been given too much medication, which is why they are the only kids (and usually the most active 'disabled' ones) who find it so difficult to wake up in the mornings. But apparently the only medication that they receive is a vitamin complex syrup. Perhaps seeing no light makes the little bodies harder to adapt from night to day...

I try to tickle her awake and tap on her table and eventually she reaches for my hands, places hers on the outside of mine and begins to push them together. Clap Clap Clap.

Their breakfast appears. All of the 'disabled' children eat food which has been turned into mush, but Gita is one of the only children (along with Pete, a lovely boy who also happens to have Downs Syndrome) who eats the same food as the active children – but again only after it has been 'mushed'. I tie a bib around her neck, which isn't easy as she lifts up her hands to try and find mine. Today she is wearing a particularly fancy dress, which means that breakfast is likely to be a particularly messy affair.

Gita and Ana are always wearing matching outfits, both of which are shiny and bright. A new volunteer asks me if they are sisters, which I guess is an improvement from my first day when I thought they were brothers. Regardless of this unconventional uniform, new volunteers often subconsciously pair off children with the same disability, same haircut and same sex, as siblings. But I guess its because these children often share the same traits. Gita and Ana both sway from side to side, or kick their legs, while both of the baby Princesses (Sharma and Josephine) are both so light, with floppy arms and legs and matching white leather 'adapted' shoes. I guess its tough for these little people to create their identity when none can talk, choose their clothes, have any personal belongings and are seen first as a diagnosis and then second as a child.

I take a steel bowl containing two plain biscuits, pour in warm milk from a bottle and then 'mush'. The first spoonful is always the hardest and then once she has tasted the food on her lips the next spoonfuls are easier to deposit. I shout “Gita” to her followed by “Kana”. Biscuit mush is now on her lips and her arms have began to wave around her ears. I have to be careful to keep the bowl out of firing range while at the same time keep it posed ready to catch any rejected mush if she decides to lock her jaw shut. This morning I have it easy and Gita doesn't need so much persuading, and after one month I have learned that the key is continuous interaction.

“Give me a G - G!” I shout at her and bring the tea spoon to her half open mouth.

“Give me a I - I!” and so it continues until I have spealt her name tens of times and the milky mushy biscuit bowl is now shared between her tummy, her face and the table.

“Hurrah! Wonderful! Hurrah!”. I pour the remaining milk into a plastic cup and I put her hands around it. She takes it and brings it to her mouth. Finishing all the contents but leaving the edge of the cup pressed against her lips. I try to pull it down but she resists and presses her face against its rim. She needs to learn how to feed herself, but first she needs more confidence with food. I have no idea why blind children find it hard to eat – in fact maybe they don't – but Gita and Ana certainly do. I guess it must be very strange putting something you can't see into your mouth. I have been trying to help her to use the spoon herself, but whenever I pass it to her she just throws it down on the floor, preempting the ding by quickly placing her hands over her ears. I am hoping that once she is able to eat on her own perhaps she will be moved over to the 'active' section. At the moment she is surrounded by children and babies who can hardly move, when her only 'disability' is the absence of sight.

In the past month I have been trying to make her more independent. When I first came she would walk by shifting her weight from one foot to the other, meaning that she wouldn't go forward just side to side unless she was pulled. Now she will happily totter slightly behind me as we hold hands and whenever she lifts up her second hand to join her first hand I take it away and direct it to her side. Slowly she is gaining the confidence to walk forwards and occasionally if I stand in front of her and clap and call her name she will take the steps on her own. Today however, she did something amazing. We were walking up and down the stairs. Her 'exercise' which after making myself her personal trainer, I decided was a necessity. This required determination from both of us, as the mashi's aren't always so impressed with my training routine, but thankfully they are often too busy to notice me innocently walking out of the door and up and down the steps to the roof.

“One step; Two step; Three step..” her left hand is still within mine and her right reaches up to touch the cool banister. The steps must be enormous for her. It would be the equivalent of me climbing up a pile of chairs. I am always one step ahead with tension in my arm so she knows to keep moving up. She places so much weight on my hand which I keep trying to transfer to the banister. “Four step; Five step. Six step” At this point we are joined by tiny Monkey Boy from the active section. He races under my feet causing Gita to collapse into me. But as always she makes no sound and just pushes herself back up. The word 'Resilience' doesn't even come close to describe Gita's determination. Tiny Monkey Boy is trying to pull down a large piece of plywood from the stone landing. I manage to reach up and hold the plywood with my right hand disabling Tiny Monkey Boy. Tiny Monkey Boy throws his weight towards the plywood. I tell Tiny Monkey Boy to stop which he replies to with a big toothy grin. I grab his arm and pluck him into the air and turn around to realise that I have let go of Gita. She has reached around to join her left hand with her right on the banister. She has one left foot raised above the step reaches forward and then deposits it safely and securely. She leans into the banister and pulls up her other leg. I am left standing mesmerized, with a Tiny Monkey Boy dangling in my hand. "Seven step, Eighth step” I shout trying not to let my hysteria distract her “Nine step, Ten step.” I am close to tears. I deposit Monkey Boy (who immediately returns to his own personal mission of attack and destroy) and grab Gita: “Gita!!!! Well Done! Gita! You are AMAZING! Well done!!” I am so happy. This shows she can easily walk on her own. I am so so so proud of her. I lead her onto the roof pick her up and swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing her around. Feet lifted off the ground and dress floating outwards like a flying ball of sun.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee round and round we go. The sun shines down on us, reflecting off the tiny silver pieces on her orange dress and stinging my eyes. She is glowing. She is laughing and laughing and laughing until I no longer have the power to turn her as I am laughing and laughing and laughing.