Being there for the girl and letting her vent out...
I picture myself sitting out there in the
school grounds and imagine trying a dialogue with the little girl. How would
the conversation go… I can recall my own response to people. Wonder why I was so
rude most of the times. Was it the bitterness of being born with a club foot?
If I could go into the past then the
following conversation would have taken place for sure. GM is the grown up me
and the LM is the little me.
GM: Hi. How are you?
GM: Can we be friends?
GM: Are you afraid of strangers?
GM: Are you afraid to talk to me?
GM: Can we talk? I would like to talk to
you for some time.
LM: You are grown up. What can we talk
about? It will get boring.
GM: Do you talk much with the children
around you? You seem to be very quite sitting out here alone
LM: I don’t talk much with the children
because they talk about everything silly and also they don’t clearly say what
they want to. They are so afraid to say many things. And with the elders it is
that they think I will not understand what they are saying. I hate the silly
talk they give. They are so foolish thinking they are fooling me. I just
pretend to believe them. Whereas inside I know they are liars and they don’t
mean what they say.
GM: What makes you feel all the grownups
LM: They do lie a lot. Don’t they?
Especially, when they want to have their way with me. Initially they tried to
instill fear in me by talking about the dark creatures and devils and God. But
I am not a fool. I am not afraid of the ghosts. But I did play my part on them.
I made them run scared by making my own tales of seeing ghosts. And also I take
advantage of them by escaping doing chores I don’t like by saying I am scared
to go there or to do that.
GM: I see you are happy now. You are
smiling and that’s makes you look so cute.
LM: I am not cute. My elder sister is cute
and beautiful. At home everybody says that. And she too is so proud of her
looks. Takes so much time to dress up herself. You know I have a disability in
my right leg. I can’t be cute. Can I?
GM: Hey! Come on dear. Who says so? May be
your sister is cute but that doesn’t mean you are not. I know you have a
disability but then that doesn’t mean you can’t be beautiful. You manage to
walk and play with a foot which is not properly developed and that proves you
have ability and not disability. Beauty is something which is not just having
straight limbs and pretty features. It has lot more to it. You will know when
you grow up. You are really a wonderful child and everybody has to accept it.
LM: But they don’t. No is one happy with
me. Why? My mother weeps on my birthdays, saying I am older by a year now and
still I have not come free of the disability. I really don’t like that
stupidity in my mother. How does she expect the disability in my foot to just go
away without my parents doing anything about it? We do need doctor’s help to
get cured isn’t it? But these two silly people have come to a holy man so that
he will work a miracle and I will be cured. I am not sick to be cured. This is
a disability involving my bones. But they say miracles do happen only one
should have strong faith. I just hope by some miracle they will become sensible
and give me proper treatment and help walk like everybody else. There are some
children who tease me by limping like me. I feel so hurt inside then. But I
never give them the pleasure of knowing they have hurt me. I can’t help it then
when I hate my parents momentarily for being so stupid and not making my life
better for me. I have just found out that people appreciate very much the kids
who are good at their studies. Good marks mean appreciation. So now on my aim
is to score good marks. I need to be appreciated. God could have been more
generous with me but he hasn’t been. I have to work to be appreciated. Whereas,
my sister or kid brother do not have to work hard at all. They are loved for
the way they are. She for being cute, the first child, and he for being a boy.
All I get is sympathies which I hate so much. I don’t want to be looked down
upon like a helpless little child. I am not so. I am in many ways more capable
then other kids of my age. Still they cry over my fate. I feel guilty at times
of making my parents sad and being a problem child to them. But I can’t help
it. Can I? So I will now try to make them happy by scoring good marks in the
coming exams. I know I can do it very easily with little effort because I can
memorize and understand everything so quickly. I will try to be less naughty. I
don’t want to throw tantrums to seek attention anymore. I will concentrate on
books now on. They are very interesting and there are a lot of them around. I
love the stories and incidents they tell me. I love books because they are same
to everyone. They impart the same information to everyone who reads them
That is not what actually happened, but I know
trying to talk to me would have been the same no matter who was trying. Trying those
dialogues with myself seems to have worked out. I could see the way I was
looking at things back then. Growing up was tough on me. It was not easy. Let me how this continues to be.