I knew it was going to be a tough day. It was my last day at Sishu Bhavan after all – well at least for a while – and digesting the day which is about to finish, I know I have made the right choice by taking some time out. I think I am near bursting point. I am super charged, with an incredible amount of energy but it is taking a huge amount of effort to continue to direct this energy in a positive way. The last few weeks have been intense, and the last few days a culmination of failed expectations and potentialities. I have visited, called and emailed Bengali speech therapists, ngos fighting for the rights of blind kids and yoga therapy centres. I have made personal visits to as any Sisters from the Missionaries of Chairty as I could, planting the seeds of hope and the vision/illusion of a support base. I have tried to share my experiences with other long term volunteers at Sishu Bhavan, hoping that they will be motivated to continue the work with Deepa while I am away. I have updated the folder I made for her last year, showing her progress so that any new volunteers will know exactly where she is at: that she can eat her own food, that she can change her clothes, that she can find her bed, chair, the park. But our connection is unique, and I know she will be lucky to find a volunteer who will be willing to fight for her as I try to, or even to find someone who will try to teach her rather than pick her up and put her down, change her nappy and feed her lunch. The easy life is to go with the flow, and at Sishu Bhavan that usually means turning a blind eye to 'uncomfortable' events, avoiding confrontation and following orders. I have not done that, and it requires much diplomacy and continuous lessons in patience and perseverance and at times unavoidable confrontations.
Ultimately what I have tried to do during these past few weeks is to dedicate as much of my energy as I could to Deepa, without creating reliance on her part. It has been tricky as the dividing line drawn between spending intense and quality time with her and facilitating more permanent and productive opportunities has become faded and the goals blurred. I have such a faith in Deepa's ability to speak precisely because of all the time we have spent together. I feel her potential. The way she sits with me, walks and dances, laughs and trusts me has brought our communication to a much deeper and more sensitive level. And when I compare it to other relationships I have with friends and family, which is often founded on words and visual responses, I realise my friendship with Deepa is totally unique.
We know each other through subtle senses, and ironically, as I am trying to open Deepa up to 'our' way of talking, she has began to communicate in a much softer and at times much more 'truthful' ways. I know she knows me, and likewise, I know her – her tempers, her anger, her love for action and activity, but also her sensitivity masked by incomprehension. And yet during all of our sessions, our games, tears and laughter, she has still to utter more than a broader range of sounds and a impressive collection of tunes – Deepa has still to talk.
Meanwhile, the other half of my focus has been to network with those more 'experienced'. With the Special Language Practitioners, with the local ngos and blind educators. Yet with every door which opens, I seem to be surprised with a deep and wide hole over which I need to leap; decisions which would seemingly not exist in a rational world are brought to question, and I have ended up witnessing intense disappointment followed by renewed and reviewed strategies for success.
Today - my last day for a while - I played the clown as the two girls with the most beautiful smiles in the world lay on the floor and jumped their bodies inches off the air in appreciation. Their screams brought a flock of curiosity from the active section, and before I knew it an improvised clowning sketch was transformed into a full blown performance, with the massis stifling giggles and sharing meaningful glances. After I searched and recovered a matching pair of shoes, rescued Deepa from one of the active older girls who has taken to kidnapping her for a run around the nursery, and retreived everything from my pockets from the little Chinese boy and his partner in crime the wide eyed boy, we made it to the stairs.
But this morning, Deepa was in a different place. My friends told me she must have known that I was leaving. I told them she was just somewhere else. But after a few steps she reached up to pull me down and then hooked her arms around my neck and jumped her legs around my waist. She wanted a hug and she would not be put down until she was reassured that I was with her...I intermittently carried her to the park, putting her down whenever a Sister approached I pacified Deepa by swinging her in circles or bending her down to throw her up towards the sun kissed sky. In the park she took me straight to the big swing-for-ten, and then swung her legs over my lap to continue her hug. Today she wanted reassurance from me, she wasn't sad, in fact she spent most of the day in outbursts of laughter, but she wanted to be very close to me.
At the end of the day I took her to the corner and sat her on one of the big yoga balls. I told her I was leaving, but that I loved her. I told her I would be thinking of her and would be back very soon. I told her that she is incredible, brave, strong and amazing. I told her to have courage, as she was not alone, and even though I wouldn't be there to guide her, tickle her or share the world with her, I would still be with her. She tipped herself towards me, rolling off the ball and leaned her head on my shoulder. She placed her hand on my throat to feel the vibrations of my words and listen with her hands. When no more words came, as my thoughts had moved to my eyes, she reached for my wrists and rolled my blue bead bracelet between her pianist fingers. I pushed the bouncey ball down so that she sprang up and she laughed her crazy, beautiful pure and present laugh.
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