The Lillies in the Fall!

I first learnt the true meaning of  ‘wealth’ when I was studying in my IXth grade in school.

It was a warm September morning. The air smelt of lilies that bloomed during the month in the city of the then ‘Bangalore’. My school was at a distance of about 5Km from my house. It was usual to see students on their way to their schools. Uniforms of different colors, neatly combed hair, polished shoes, lunch boxes of all sizes and shapes. Some traveled in auto rickshaws – jam-packed, eight in a three seater. Some by bus, or should I say ,the foot board of the bus. Some others, in their parent’s vehicle till school and back.

I, however, was one of those who rode their  cycle to school, in a crisp white uniform with a bottle green tie through the fog that once visited the city. It was 8:10 AM,the usual time I left for school. I had always loved the morning ride to school. A sense of freshness bloomed in my mind and body, preparing me for the day ahead.Riding the cycle, imagining it to be a motorbike and wading through the traffic,I reached school well before the school assembly scheduled at 9am.

It was a normal day,the assembly was short and sweet. A Sanskrit prayer ,followed by the National Anthem and a short reading of the headlines from the newspaper concluded the session. The classes began and our class teacher entered the class with the attendance register in hand. One by one ,the classes drifted away until, our Hindi ma’am announced that there would not be anymore classes and instead she would be taking our class for a visit to a ‘Special School’ nearby.We were all full of smiles and joy,not just because we didn’t have to attend classes,but also because we get to go out!

After about 20 mins travel in our school van,we were told to alight from the van and form a queue.We were all thrilled,this was the first time any one of us were visiting a special school.Not many of us even had an idea what the purpose of a special school was! Our Hindi ma’am led us inside the school and told us to wait at the corridor while she went to speak to whom I think was the Principal of that school.

I looked around the school and noticed how unusually silent it was for a school.In fact,even the building and the rooms didn’t match the conventional style.It was more like a house. A corridor that led to a big room that I couldn’t clearly see from where I was standing .On the left hand side was another room,opposite to the Principal’s room,a small one,on the wall was a chart that I could not follow.

Our Hindi Ma’am came back ,accompanied by another elderly lady in a saree,both of them were smiling broad.The woman in the saree then welcomed us and told us that the children studying in their school were ‘different’  and that some were very sensitive to noise,so we were to speak softly. How ever, she added that they love visitors,especially of their age.I heard her say some word like ‘Autism’ . I had heard that before, just not sure where. I didn’t understand a single word she had said, except that we were not to make any noise.Every teacher told us that!

As we entered the big room I had noticed earlier,I saw few kids of our age sitting on chairs placed in no particular order.There were toys,papers and brightly colored books scattered all over the room.When my mind settled and got a better understanding of the room,I noticed something I had missed before,the meaning of the word ‘different’ the lady in the saree had used before.Seated right next to where I was standing ,was a girl of about the same age as we were.She was rotating her head with her eyes closed.She was doing it fast and I think she had not even noticed the visitors in her room.She was in her own world. My Hindi ma’am was trying to strike up a conversation with a boy,who had short hairs with line of grey here and there. He had a child’s eye and was smiling broadly.When someone tried to speak to him,he lowered his head as though in shy. At times,he responded by nodding his head.There was another boy who was gesturing us to sit near him.He couldn’t talk,the lady in saree told us,however, he could understand what we talk and respond by gestures. While three of us went and sat near him,I noticed he was making a sound while trying to communicate with us,what I think was nasal grunts.He too was smiling and his eyes lit up when we sat next to him.They didn’t have many visitors,their principal clarified.

The boy  excitedly showed us a drawing sheet in front of him and few randomly drawn lines of crayons.From his gestures,I could understand that he was trying to explain that he had drawn that and was excited to show it to us.But then suddenly, he picked up a crayon and put it in my hand and pushed the drawing sheet to us.The woman in the saree,who was watching us told us that,the boy wanted to share what he was doing and would like us to join him in coloring.We smiled and drew few colors in the drawing sheet.The boy’s smile became even broader and his innocent eyes filled me with peace.We felt a connection ,a friendship that had sprouted in just a few minutes.The boy had shared what he was doing with someone he had met for the first time and was excited to just talk us. I wondered,when was the last time I had shared something with a stranger,forget strangers,even with some one I knew and was excited to just meet them! They are not ‘different’ , I wanted to say, ‘We are’ ! They have not forgotten to love each other,share and care for each other.We have forgotten that!The growing up years, washed away from us ,what the children in that school have not lost-Humanity.

I heard my Hindi Ma’am singing a old movie song. The boy , with whom she was earlier trying to strike up a conversation,had started clapping his hands ,in no particular rhythm.   The smiles then turned to laughters and every one in the room was filled with joy.

When we returned to our van ,I saw our Hindi ma’am’s eyes filled with tears.I couldn’t cry.I didn’t want to cry,because It was me ,who learnt from them and not the other way around. I was thankful for them.I didn’t feel pity,I was grateful for them.The boy who taught me the value of sharing.The boy who felt shy to talk to us ,but was excited and laughing when our teacher sang.The girl who didn’t notice anything around her,but just kept rotating her head,even while we were leaving. Their parents who looked after them and loved them.The woman in the saree ,who had dedicated her life to teach and spend time with them.Every one taught me something important that day and I realized that the biggest wealth is a life spent loving,sharing and caring for each other.

As the van started to move and we left the school behind, I could still hear them.The nasal grunt,the laughter and the applause.

PS: I wrote this article first, about 11yrs ago on my personal blog. I’m sure there are some grammatical and punctuation errors in the post that I had overlooked as I had written it primarily for my eyes only. I’m sharing it here and is one of my first posts on this platform. I’ll go through this in the next few days and edit out the errors and restructure certain sentences. If you happen to read this in the meanwhile, I thank you for your patience and appreciate your feedback. Thank you!