Ummeed Waali Dhoop…

Today was Aarav’s Open Day in school. As always, it was a delight to see the young kids sing, dance, and display amazing yoga poses. Aarav was part of the ensemble where the entire class sang and danced with hand gestures. I stood to the side to capture a video and predictably teared up. A few parents gave me puzzled looks. I knew they were wondering what’s so emotional about the open day. How could I ever explain to anyone that every time I watch Aarav perform or complete a task in front of an audience, all I can think of is what a long, long way we have come. It is impossible to put into words the gratitude that overwhelms me when I see him, and contrast it with the baby I held in my arms, not knowing if I would still be able to hold him the next day. It has been a battle of mammoth proportions, and an ongoing one, but every such performance shows me that if we have reached here, we will get further too.

The kids had all put up stalls displaying their models and speaking about them. I stood there watching as Aarav explained what his model was. The sun was bright and the grounds full of colour and sound. It took me back to when we attended Ayana’s annual day at her playschool. She was just three and dressed as a bright sunflower. I was six months pregnant with Aarav. And as she stood on stage, the song rang out,

“Ummeed waali dhoop, Sunshine waali aasha
Rone ki wajah hai kam, Hansne ke bahane zyada
Zidd hai muskuraayenge, Khush rehne ka hai waada
Umeed wali dhoop, Sunshine wali aasha.

Tum dil se agar puchhoge, Woh khush rehna hi chahe
Jab sache mann se maango, Toh khul jaati hai raahein
Toh khul ke khushi lutaao, Ye kya aadha-aadha
Umeedon wali dhoop, Sunshine Wali aasha”

With each beat, Aarav kicked vigorously in my tummy. I remember laughing and telling mom that the baby loves this song! Little did I know then just how much we would need to hold onto this umeed wali dhoop.

I observed something today. Aarav’s presence is not like the bright, scorching sun that forces you to acknowledge it. Instead, his rays are the kind that warm you up gradually, till you suddenly realize that you are in the sun. He doesn’t demand attention, and yet you can't ignore him. In a ground full of confident, noisy kids, he stands apart quietly, waiting till you notice him. And once you do, you can’t walk past without acknowledging him. One of his teachers told me today, “We are lucky to have him in our school.” And I believe that with all my heart. He has to walk his chosen path, but along the way he is teaching so much to so many people.  

Life sucks. There are never any answers to the “whys” and the “what ifs”. But maybe what each of us needs to hold on to in our darkest hours is a sunshine wali asha that says, “Jab sache mann se maango, Toh khul jaati hai raahein.”

 

 

  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Choose to Be...

I have had several people ask me recently why I have stopped writing my blog posts. While I make the usual excuses of lack of time, the truth is, I am no longer sure what to say. My blogging journey started six years ago, sitting by Aarav’s hospital bed. Even then, I believed that everything that began must have an end, and my blogs, too, would end with the grand finale of Aarav’s recovery. Six years later, I know better. While we have come a long, long way from where we started, the road ahead seems equally stretched out and indistinct. When Aarav’s physiotherapist tells me that there are some things beyond the scope of medicine, I find myself wondering- what if we have used up our share of miracles in bringing him to this point? What if this is it? The what-ifs are plenty, far more than the answers. And then, I tell myself that there is so much to be thankful for. I just need to choose what to be. Aarav is a delight. Bringing him up is a journey I wouldn’t trade for anything. H...
Read more

Life

One of the routes I take frequently crosses a cremation ground. Most of the time, I zip past, but sometimes when the traffic slows, I find myself looking around. People rush past the place without giving it a second glance, then stop to bow at the temple right next door. And that is where I feel the dichotomy of our lives lies. We forget that for each of us, at some given point, the cremation ground is our final destination. Everything else is interim. I see people coming out of the ground, heads bowed, carrying the sorrow of having seen the final rites of a loved one. For those few moments they are aware of how fleeting life is. But within a few moments, the irritability returns on their faces, arguments break out over parking and traffic, and the cremation ground stands forgotten.   A few days ago, a close friend told me that her father had been diagnosed with a malignant tumour. There were no warning signs, nothing to prepare them; just a regular check-up that tilted the wor...
Read more