Confused Determination

It is so confusing trying to figure out the most effective tactics to coax words out of Deepa's mouth. At the moment she is incredibly receptive but very possessive. It is a fine line to tread; and one which I am continuously aware may be creating expectations on both sides. This time one year ago I was heart broken to leave Kolkata. More specifically, I felt that I was abandoning Deepa, and as anyone who spent time will remember, my desertion weighed heavily, invading the then present and fixating a little of my consciousness right here in Kolkata.

One year later – precisely because I left, gathered support and ideas, refreshed and renewed – I find myself back in Sishu Bahavan, and working back within the Missionaries of Charities institution but with my own personal mandate. With incredible gratitude to the flow of Time for bringing me on this return journey, I still find myself immersed in the familiar and uncomfortable emotions of confusion and self imposed responsibility. The more time I spend with Deepa, the stronger the connection between us grows. Especially due to the absence of sight and speech, we have developed an intricate system of alternative communication. We have a routine of exploring the roof top or park each morning. On the roof Deepa will pull me over to the ledge, climb up the three steps which bring her to my height and then confidently swing her body in front of mine as I am forced to sit with her hanging off my lap. Total trust. If I am not where she thinks I am, she will fall to the ground. This is a game she loved last year, and one which never failed to end in uncontrollable laughter as I hang her upside down and pull her back up again.

Another favourite game of hers is to dance; whenever there is any rhythm she will sway from side to side, reverting into her straight legged rhythmic step which will increase in length depending on whether she is dancing solo or hand in hand with a volunteer. She loves to hold hands – perhaps because it is another source of entertainment, as she repetitively flicks the strap of my dive computer, and pokes her finger into the small loop of my worn spare hair-band. Perhaps it is because this is really the only contact she has with others. Or more realistically, perhaps its because hands are her eyes – if she follows carefully she won't walk into walls, or trip down steps. But if she is hand to hand she feels safe and with an incredible degree of courage which I know would be impossible to achieve with a blindfolded sighted person. For example, Deepa will grab my hands tightly and twist under my arms, demanding to be bent fowards, picked up and spun around. Ultimately she will find my feet with hers and step on top of them, forcing me to waltz her across the floor. Again it is her unwavering trust which is humbling although it is easy to forget.

Deepa still finds no interest in 'playing' with the other children. This might be a result of her previous traumas, as kids come and inadvertently 'steal' her toys, which she has little defence against apart from screaming and holding on tight. Indeed she will usually scream very loudly well aware that once out of her grasp, unless the toy is musical, she will have little chance of retrieving it. Maybe this is why she will push away any attempts of the kids to include her in their games. However, her aversion to playmates has taken one step further. I walk around the nursery holding baby Netu's hands as she lurches forward into the unknown, and loves every minute. Deepa will be holding onto the tales of my apron and seems happy to follow. However, if Netu demands too much attention, Deepa will reach around and attempt to disengage our hands. Totally unaware of the sudden attack, Netu will let out a furious screech and stomp the little legs which she is still learning to completely control.

However, the nature of the nursery – and in particular the inactive section of which Deepa is still resident – is not particularly conducive to child to child interaction. The majority of Deepa's neighbours are chair bound and dependent on volunteers to lift them out of the chair and into the cot or onto the mat. They spend most of their days staring around the room, or fighting off the continuous round of food and drink. Meanwhile, volunteers 'play' or rather entertain the children in a very isolated way – rarely interacting with each other. It is therefore logical that Deepa feels much more comfortable in my company then with any of the interlopers from the 'active section'. Meanwhile, the more we work together, the more responsive Deepa is becoming.

For the last three weeks, Deepa has fed herself lunch every afternoon. This may not seem like much of an achievement for a six year old, but for Deepa this is huge. Previously, I have had to take her hand in mine and guided each spoonful into her mouth – and this was the result of hours of persistence to break the habit of being spoon fed every meal at a super fast rate. But today – over the duration of a miraculous hour – Deepa carefully ate an entire bowl of rice and daal by herself. After every mouthful, I always sing a 'well done Deepa!' or an 'Amazing Deepa', or 'Deepa is so amazing, clever, super smart' – you get the picture – not just to try and urge Deepa towards the empty bowl finish line, but to advertise her acheivements to the disbelievers around me. In fact my dedication to Deepa's lunch is always so intense, and my cheer leading chants so persuasive, that the massi's have began to restrain their usual shouts for us to join their fast food race. As time has continued Deepa has been left to finish her lunch at her own speed, and even the usual protests against my extended morning session have dried up. Now I usually manage to continue my one woman fan club long after the other volunteers have left for their own lunch, otherwise a massi would come and take over, and it would be back to Deepa sitting like a goldfish – opening and closing her mouth in order to consume the food being ploughed in.

Each day I am so proud of Deepa, and feel that her confidence to feed herself is an incredible achievement of the past two months of work. It is an indication that she is progressing, and perhaps my tactics are actually having some lasting results other than a morning of laughter and sound exploration. But with it, I realise that I am again in total awe of this little girl, who lives so bravely and courageously despite being blind to the reality around her. I want to help her to my fullest potential, and yet I know I can't stay here forever, and even if I could, I am no expert. Ironically, even though it is Time who carried me here, I know that eventually it is also Time who will pull me away with the lull of future plans and alternative loyalties. I am continuously swinning in the confusing philosophies of the impact of social work and of course by the race of life, itself whispering its mantra of 'too much to do and too little time'. The larger reality is that my efforts to help Deepa own her space, and unlock her voice are met with baby babbling, or more often then not silence. My frustrations that she is wearing a nappy go unheeded as apparently there is no time for potty training. The system she is owned by, tightly guards the space for freedom of creatively which perhaps may allow her to flourish. Instead, I am left feeling an incredible admiration wrapped in a sentiment of respect and love while not knowing what to do to really make a fulfilling and lasting improvement to her quality of life? The variables for improvement seem so extensive and complicated that even if I had unlimited funding and expert knowledge perhaps it would still not be enough.

Can Deepa take control of her life while growing up in a tightly controlled and preoccupied environment? To what extent are the Missionaries of Charity prepared to facilitate a future for her; as without their consented efforts am I just trying to build a castle out of sand? Despite these doubts, what I do know is that I have a wonderful six year old friend, who may lack eyes, but who possesses incredible potential which I – unlike many others - refuse not to see. I am just not sure where to look for the solution.