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| If I can see it, then I can do it If I just believe it, there's nothing to it I believe I can fly I believe I can touch the sky! |
By Esha Meher
It's a Monday afternoon, and the humidity in the air makes me want to crib perpetually. I dig into my bag for my notebook, finding an old scrunchie that I use without thinking to tie my hair back. The air smells of the sultry moisture, of rain that is tempting us but isn't coming down in torrents. After battling terrible traffic and a slight headache, I step out of my ride, cursing my luck. Except, in a few minutes, I’m about to have the best day of my life. With that, I make my way into this pretty blue building, called I Can Flyy, or ICF, as we like to call it. ICF works with a range of children who face a spectrum of diagnoses with respect to alignments.
It's a Monday afternoon, and the humidity in the air makes me want to crib perpetually. I dig into my bag for my notebook, finding an old scrunchie that I use without thinking to tie my hair back. The air smells of the sultry moisture, of rain that is tempting us but isn't coming down in torrents. After battling terrible traffic and a slight headache, I step out of my ride, cursing my luck. Except, in a few minutes, I’m about to have the best day of my life. With that, I make my way into this pretty blue building, called I Can Flyy, or ICF, as we like to call it. ICF works with a range of children who face a spectrum of diagnoses with respect to alignments.
Today, I'm
scheduled to converse with a few of these young adults, on the eve of the
launch of a café, slated to be run by them. I often get asked, as to what is so
special about the kids of ICF. Special? Did I say? Well, yes, in the mainstream
language, these children are special, differently-abled or a hundred different
medical terms that are thrown in the air - a melange of letters that rigidly
sit into labels. But those rigid labels fly in the air, as they meander into a
rhythm: one where the lyric is dictated by one child, to be echoed by the
other. Unplanned, magical and charming.
I enter the
pink room and sit down on the wooden floor, slightly nervous. Armed with an
awkward smile, my notebook and the questions I have in tow, I look up at the
beaming faces: fifteen of them sit looking up at me, smiles locked in their
faces.
I had
questions. They had answers: monosyllablic ones, ones that imitated what the
first person said, simple smiles, and lots of unspoken words through their
eyes.
"What do
you do when you go back home?" I ask. "Kapde badalte hain, khaate
hain, aur sote hain!" they chimed, each in turn, telling me in Hindi that
they change, eat and sleep. Except for little Khushboo. Her bright eyes and her
musical voice have a lyrical verse to offer. "Kapde badalte hain, khaate
hain, aur sote hain, phir padosi ke ghar jaate hain!" She said the same
thing, except adding that she visits her neighbour. I'm amused. She visits her
neighbour's house? I look around me, to see just as many puzzled faces.
"Kyun?" I ask her. Why? "Kyunki padosi ke ghar mein babu hai,
na?" Turns out, that her neighbour has a baby. In that precious moment, I
learned that we are coded to give love.
From another
corner, I see Shreya. A feisty young woman who can't grip anything - so
writing, painting or using her hands comes with a challenge. I ask Shreya who
her friend is. She smiles at me, a beautiful, benevolent charm settling on her
face. From the corner of my eyes, I see Vidushi, sitting next to Shreya,
looking at Shreya and pointing at herself. In that precious moment, I learned
that we mustn't be inhibited to ask for love.
I ask them
then, what they like to do after school. The first answer I get from a young
lad is "Dance achcha lagta hai!" And as if it was a domino I had
knocked that pushed into the remaining in line, I hear the same words echoing -
all until one young man tells me that he hates math. In that precious moment, I
learned that love can be shared.
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| Every student can learn, just not on the same day or the same way. |
Irina sits in
a corner, sulking. I am told, she doesn’t respond to questions unless she is an
extremely happy frame of mind. This day, wasn’t one of them. “Irina, ki bhalo
lage tor?” (Irina, what do you like?) I ask her in Bengali. She looks down,
focusing on the invisible patterns on the tiled floor. I shoot a second, asking
if she liked movies. And there, she was. With a slight smile on her face, she
looked up for a fraction of a second and almost whispered, “Shahrukh Khan bhalo
lage,” before going back to her scrutiny of the floor. I learnt, love and
happiness comes in various faces and forms, we don’t necessarily have to be
acquainted to one, to love one.
Saloni sits
quietly, watching all of this. Medically, they say that she can't differentiate
between emotions. If you say Vidushi, she'd say Vidushi was her best friend. If
you name Khushboo to her, she'd say Khushboo was her best friend. If you showed
her Shreya, she'd say Shreya was her best friend. Saloni smiles gently at me,
and we hold the gaze. In that precious moment, I learned that love is an
unspoken bond and no medical scale can measure matters of the heart.
They say,
happiness is often found in the most unexpected of places. And today, I found
it, in the unassuming and oblivious faces of the kids who sat before me.
Nothing in this world ailed them. They hadn’t read books or appreciated
critiques of pieces, but they understood and toyed with something we often
dread to touch ------ unconditional love.
My stint at
ICF had been a decision on a whim. Little did I know, that the lessons I’d take
back from these individuals would be the ones beyond the walls of transcription
and mechanical understanding of what they were saying. It’s an emotion and a
feeling, which made me outlive my initial plan of working there for just 30
days. For an hour at ICF taught me compassion, empathy, love, warmth and
acceptance, it was this hour that transcended time, place, routines and
timelines. 30 or 300, as they say, certain moments outlive years of living. And
we live in quest of only these.
About I Can Flyy:
I Can Flyy is a vocational training institute for Special Needs
Individuals situated in the city of Joy- Kolkata. The individuals therein are
trained in Life Skills, Data Entry, Art and Craft and Bakery Preparations and
Packaging. The vision of this institute was to empower these special needs
young adults with independence and a sense of self worth, both in terms of
finances and skills. An immediate product of this vocational training was seen
through the conception of Café I Can Flyy, which is a sheltered workplace
utilising the training the young adults received at the institute.
Address: 4B
Valmikee Street, Kolkata 700026. (Near Maddox Square)
Contact:
08017067567