Skip to main content

Love makes them whole

There's a couple I see sometimes, on my walks around Richard's Park. They are both physically challenged and both use crutches. They come there on his specially modified two-wheeler. And then they sit together for hours, on one of the park ledges.

I notice them because they are always oblivious to the rest of the world. Curious onlookers do watch--because, well, as a people, we are often not sensitive in such matters. And the couple obviously do attract attention, because, well, they look different, with their crutches placed neatly next to them, and because they always sit embracing each other.

To be honest, I feel I am violating their privacy if I even look at them. And yet and yet, I find them immensely inspiring too. For one thing, they are so comfortable with each other. I've seen them sit there for about an hour or so, till twilight darkens into night, talking to each other, laughing, and just being together. They seem to share a connection that the rest of us able-bodied people, can only grasp at. It's like they find the whole world in each other's eyes and that is a truly rare gift.

Life is obviously not easy for them. Negotiating it as a disabled person must be so much more challenging in ways I cannot even imagine. But they have each other. And for them, that I think, is enough.
 




Comments

Well written post..Keep writing :-)
Thank you so much. :-)

Popular posts from this blog

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.

A meltdown

Some days ago, I had what you might call, a meltdown. I went from anger to intense anguish in moments. I worked myself up into a frenzy. I wanted to lash out at my family. Hurl words that would wound and scar. I wanted to hurt myself.. Physically harm my own self or something/someone else. I wanted to break things,something... Anything would do, I felt, at that moment. Just to cope with the heaving emotions inside. Just so I could make sense of what I was feeling. So, I shouted at my loved ones. At my son for something he did or didn't do. At my husband for slights real and imagined. For angry words we have exchanged over the years. For everything we have ever done to each other. Then, I shut myself up in a room Immersed myself in all that was and is torn and tormented inside And I cried my heart out. I ended up with a migraine that day. But later, when I calmed down, I felt better. But more than that, I found that my family still loves me. My young son s...