A Weed of Mine

Atrayee fictionalises a real-life experience about how an autistic child chose her, tugging on to the pallu of her saree. The paroxysms of emotions and his acceptance make him bloom. Read more in the Special Feature, exclusively for Different Truths.

‘Let me sow the seed and water it. Let it sprout first. Who knows, the one we all are considering a weed can be an ornamental plant as well. Neither flowering nor bearing a sweet fruit; rather making a bleak corner beautiful.’

Wondering, who am I? Then, let me disclose this sweet and sour slice of my life.

Draped in printed chiffons, ears dangling with trendy earrings, youngest amidst all the silver hairline teachers; I became the fulcrum of everyone’s attention since the day of my inception. Not on my face value, but for certain chapters of my life, I would never want anyone to read. I traded with something people apparently dread.

It was my second job. To sound it audibly, it was my second chance to clap a hand on something to warrant my own bread. Whilst in the first tread of Tuberculosis research, one fine day, an innate mutant gene of mine whipped up and I was robbed of my research career. Sessions of chemo and radiation therapies consumed many a moon. Instead of wasting time on my hospital bed, I capitalised in an education management course, which in due time bore a sweet fruit too. I was absorbed in a secondary school. Not in the guise of a canonical teacher, but to spiff up its demeanour in public through participation in national and international events. To my surprise, students reaped accolades. Call it a Midas touch or an effective and channelised guidance; and overnight, I, although not prescribed with any role in the timetable received the titular tag. Teacher.

My name was often whispered in the school corridors. Sometimes in a slanted pronunciation, sometimes with the prefixes like new or black earring followed by the word, teacher. Nevertheless, there sat out a corner, beautiful, pristine, full of life and utterly careless to my being. The Kindergarten section. I often had to cross their classrooms while making way to my designated place. Secretly stealing a glance of their unsullied faces, picking up their gripes in that muddled mix of English and mother tongue, largely made my days. I was in a very different profession I had aspired for. Still, I slowly started enjoying my work; more for the suppleness in the air.

One week had passed after the school reopened. While walking to my room, I felt my saree struck with something. Turned back, and there stood a small kid clasping my saree in his hand. Round face with a dense mop of hair cropped in a typical army-cut, chubbier than almost everyone in his class and his eyes; an ethereal glitter and never halted at one place. Most importantly, never looking at me. I had seen him before. Very often rather. Standing outside his classroom holding ears or kneeled down for not paying attention to his lessons was a routine for him.

‘What happened Krishna? You want anything?’ I fondled his hair and asked. Never accustomed to deal with kids, I was very apprehensive with my words. He didn’t speak a word. Just tightened his clasp.

‘He won’t speak a word Atrayee. Useless fellow.’ His class teacher spoke from her chair. A trained teacher, carting an experience of 15 years, she undeniably remained a better judge. Still, tagging a four-year-old as useless, wasn’t it unpalatable? Bungling to belie a senior, I could just paste a decorous smile.

I turned to the kid and asked. ‘Why don’t you speak Krishna?’

He glanced at me with a presto and smiled. For the first time. And walked down to my room holding my saree. Since that day, Krishna got a new routine. Laidback towards the basic purpose of his schooling, he spent four hours outside his classroom ricocheting like a pendulum and catching hold of me whenever I crossed him. Never a word uttered, but a complacent smile whenever I spoke. And the smile widened with a chocolate.

Again, I became a matter of talk in the staffroom. Some were surprised by Krishna’s fondness towards me while few blamed me for bribing him with a chocolate. But, there breathed a few who wished to throw away this unusual kid lest he should spoil the others.

Final examination was nearing. Hence, the scope of competitions faded away and the students heaved over their curriculum. I, on the other hand, was allotted a new role to help out the teachers in their duty. In a few days, I noticed Krishna’s mother making the round in the school quite frequently. Lending an ear to the simmering thoughts amongst the staff, I realised Krishna was stamped as an abnormal child, unfit for a regular school. It was true. There certainly lay an issue with Krishna. Very much different from his other inmates. And perhaps, he was meant for a special school. Despite all these, Krishna’s mother stomached a fervent denial. She brushed off all those reigning ideologies regarding her son. Very much palpable for a parent whose other child was a star kid in the same school.

The air was slowly turning foetid as Krishna’s mother impeached his teacher’s patience and abilities. Beside all these, there lingered an added complexity. Krishna’s family was one of the trustees of the school. The situation was too delicate. Sticky wickets stood between the teachers and the admin department. Till then, I was just an onlooker. Receiving all the happenings as a part of break gossips.

Suddenly one day, I was made an integral part of the issue. Why? Because Krishna’s mother heard something like saree teacher who was very good. She wished to meet me. After an exhaustive discussion what I perceived was, Krishna’s mother did not wish to lose a year. She cursorily accepted Krishna’s odd traits, still lodged a hope on me. That episode didn’t culminate there. Peerless teachers couldn’t stomach the whole concept. I was never entitled to teach anyone. No matter what my academic excellence rendered, I was never a certified teacher. I held a Masters in Microbiology and a Management degree, though in the field of education. On the money, my job was to make education a fruitful business.

In the thick of all the mousy miens, I accepted the chance, rebelling against all those acclaimed professionals and rooting for the worried mother and of course the Principal of the school.

A never-sprouted seed was placed in my hand. Seniors consoled me not to worry if Krishna failed. Seriously? He had just spent four years on earth and people around were hooked on his success rate. Wasn’t it hilarious?

I had three months in hand to teach some lessons. Not to my recently acquired student but to those who considered him a useless weed. I sought few special permissions; like, no specific date for any examination. In a span of five days, Krishna should be allowed to appear for whichever subject he wished to. Secondly, Krishna should be left alone with me. In case of proofs, a CCTV camera was any way operative in every room.

Honestly, Krishna’s parents were ready to take him out of this school but not on a bitter note. They just wished to prove that their child wasn’t unacceptable. And our noble Principal acknowledged their concern.

If anyone wished to borrow some magnificent moments of my life, one could take those five days. Krishna’s eyes would be focussed on the floor, one hand holding my saree and the other fidgeting with my maroon coloured wristwatch.

On the very first day, I kept on asking him for an English rhyme. Fifteen minutes later, suddenly he spelled out one, two, and three. I realised he wished for mathematics that day. When handed him the paper to write, his eyes stared at the chalk pieces. I gave him a pink colour chalk. If there was serenity anywhere that day, it lay on his unsullied smile. Krishna wrote his Mathematics examination that day. Not on the paper but on the board.

The second day, Krishna favoured the rhymes. However, every line was repeating until I initiated the next line. The third day, he didn’t come. I waited eagerly. Somehow, there bloomed a peculiar attachment to him. When enquired with the Principal, I was told that he refused to come to school that day. The fourth day, he came earlier than me. With his repetitive swinging, he finished his discourses on Hindi rhymes, object identification, ABCDs and few more. Yes. All in one day. And before leaving, Krishna looked into my eyes for the first time and smiled. The smile of acceptance, the joy of being someone close with a subtle touch of affection. Adding to my pleasure, his last day was for colouring. Apart from scratching his head every now and then, Krishna was sunken into his pastel colours and diligently painted a parrot blue. However, the beak remained red.

In a month’s time, I was awarded my work experience certificate with a bold mention about handling Krishna. And that mooning seed of mine bade adieu to the school forever; in pursuit of someone who would accept him as he was.

Krishna was diagnosed on the autistic spectrum. He was an outcast from our prevailed normalcy. He was a useless wry weed. However, this weed of mine had bloomed. Though a weird way, still, it was fresh, beautiful and unique. And I believe that weed is beautifying some corner of this world.

As my knowledge goes, every crop needs an exclusive treatment to grow. Similarly, every human needs an exclusive treatment, but only after inclusion. Today, as I annex my memories with this month of autism I prefer to stroll on this beautiful quote of Adele Devine. “Children with Autism stand out, like a rainbow.”

Photos from the Internet

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