Super Star Deepa

Taller and skinner, but a little more in this world. Still a fighter but with less spark; and incredibly rounded shoulders to prove it. As I walked through the disabled section I found Deepa laying on in a cot, with her feet nearly around the back of her head making indeterminable sounds. Impossible to know if she remembered me, but without a doubt that she remembered my bracelets. Fingers rolling the blue beads on each of my wrists, and then searching for the strap of my dive computer – flick flick flick. Pulling my arm closer to her ear as she enjoyed the hidden musical instruments disguised as random junk. Singing Indiana Jones to her as she used my body to pull hers up, I felt a relief that I was back where I was supposed to be. Smiling inside and laughing loudly. It was so good to see Deepa, and to see that she was ok. She has made some 'improvements'. More sounds are coming out of her mouth – sporadically and only when she wants. But it is clear that Climber Girl definitely broke down some verbal barriers. She whispers 'Deepa' into the air and between the 'la la la la la's' moves her mouth towards other sounds. She clearly knows the meaning of the English instructions, 'sit down', 'stand up' and 'step' but still decides not to make them part of her spoken vocabulary.

Leading her out of the room of screams and shouts, we walked towards the stairs. Remembering our first meeting when I would be practically dragging her across the floor, as she would stubbornly refuse to bend her knees, and then now watching as she confidently grabbed the bannister and flew up each step. She didn't need my guidance to negotiate her way around the concrete corner and take the final step up onto the orphanage roof. Striding between the hanging laundry she slowed her pace as we reached the edge, standing high above bustling A.C Bose road below. Resisting the temptation to protect her from every bump and bang, she gently hit the wall with her head but seemed to be expecting it and without a sound, began to feel for the hanging wire which she still loves to play with. Standing behind her I found myself gently allowing her to lean back onto my legs as I bent my knees into her back, trying to pull her shoulders towards me. I am not sure why she has developed this tendency to curl into herself. Protection? Not knowing any other way? Despite my careful persistence of trying to relax her shoulders, and despite her natural yogic tendency's she is not a student who I can advise and move. Besides, she is so tense, and I really hate to feel the tension she silently holds inside of her bony body. She resists my attempts, so I resort to the big bouncy ball tactic. I bounce the ball up and down and she immediately turns and reaches out, following the sounds with her hands. For a moment my mind is back in Bali, at my blindfold yoga workshop when participants sat listening to the rolling of the ball, as it was randomly rolled around the circle. But now, back to Deepa, as she allows her body to be repositioned with her back to the giant bouncy ball which I throw her over backwards. She grins widely as I lift her arms over her head, and her shoulders finally relax. She giggles and laughs and before long I am tickling her as we share a contagious energy.

I try and remember the games we used to play, and after we have row row rowed our boats across the floor, and she has fallen off our imaginary horse into the 'deep blue sea', we sit clapping and tapping and copying the others vibrations. The way she moves her hands to explore the potential sound of any unidentified object is incredibly intricate. She seems to 'drum' objects with the palm of her hand, the base of her fingers and her fingertips – simultaneously. It is a sensitivity which is incredibly difficult to duplicate, and even now I sit her hitting the keys of the laptop, wondering how she can control the flexibility of her entire hand in such a way. I disobey orders and give a gift of a bracelet of multicoloured bells. She pulls it straight up her arm and protects it with her other hand, tinging gently with each finger. There is a volunteer who is a retired music teacher. I ask her to sing Deepa a song, and she happily does so, while Deepa begins to sway from side to side. Her love for music is clearly evident. I listen as Deepa begins to copy the notes, while German Grandmother and I share a smile with our eyes. She is following the tune perfectly and although I need to be told this after, she easily reached the tricky notes. Her ability to follow rhythm and to copy tones is incredible, and I laugh at the irony of my inability to sing the same song in the same key twice.

My aunt emailed me yesterday:

I was thinking about Deepa whilst I have been ironing, I think about all sorts of things when I am ironing. I would like to send her a present, do you think that would be allowed by the orphanage. If so, what do you suggest for a little blind girl?

I replied with the words “something musical” while in my head, I wished for another music teacher, with a full set of percussion instruments, who might know the secret to bringing Deepa fully into the World. My aunts words remain on replay in my head; What do I suggest for a little blind girl? I wish someone would tell me how I can do more for her.

It's wonderful to see her again.