A solitary boy stood at the chawl terrace. No, he was a man technically, but with such a palpable air of innocence that calling him a thirty- something ‘boy’ felt more apt. I smiled at him, not the tentative smile I reserve for strangers, but a warm one. It seemed right, afterall. He averted his gaze swiftly. He registered my smiling face, but dedidely looked ahead, ignoring me. He looked wary.
“Who is he?”, I asked my roommates, entering my new home for the year wearily. “He’s Ninaad.” (name changed) “He works at the psychiatric clinic next door”, answered one of them. “The doctor has told us he has autism”, added the second in a hushed tone, as if imparting a secret. That earned a speaking tilt of my chin. It explained why he did not return my smile. “Its a form of maddness, isn’t it? You would know, since you are studying Psychology”. I was shaken out of my reviere by that question.
“It is not a madness”, I said, somewhat offended. “It is a condition that primarily impairs social functioning.” “Whatever does that mean?”, screeched another roommate. I began asking them a volley of questions, “Have you ever seen him interract with any of the patients willingly?” “Never!”, came the answer. “How long has he been working here?”, “A couple of years maybe”. “And has he ever been comfortable talking to any of you?” That earned wide eyes and insightful looks from all four of them. “You know how Disha here (name changed) knows the whole of Dadar because she likes socializing so much? And how Sakshi (name changed) is quite a social being, but not all the time? Or how I prefer solitude, but I can function in social situations if needed? Do you see the range of how each of us thrives on different levels of social engagement? Well, Ninaad is somewhere on the farthest corner of one extreme. His lack of want for social engagement is present to a point where it creates problems in his life, and for those around him, too. “He is also a bit odd otherwise, you know”, one of them couldn’t help adding. “The other day he wouldn’t let me sit on a stool because it was his. Now that’s childish!” I smiled kindly. “That’s another part of autism–rigidity in behaviour. Set patterns, routines, demands that things must be a certain way. These persons can also be sensitive to certain sensory input. You know how it feels to scratch a black board with your nails?” “Uugghh!! I can’t bear the feeling”, replied a voice agitated with memory. “That is exactly how these persons might feel about noises, textures, smells that all of us tolerate easily, and even relish.” “How can we help Ninaad?”, one of them asked with an adorably sincere frown on her brow. Smoothening her brow gently with my fingers, I said, “Just respect the limits his brain, and his body have set for him; Maybe help him navigate through situations when it becomes too much. That is all we can do in our capacity, I guess.”
The realization that a boy with autism was successfully employed in someone’s care, filled my heart with proxy gratitude. Over the span of next ten months, I came to observe Ninaad closely. He would stand at the chawl terrace when the crowd of patients subsided, and find himself a secluded corner when the crowd swelled. All of his superiors were always inclusive of him, respecting his needs and accomodating his concerns. A similar picture on a much larger scale can be seen at ‘Tridal’, a rehabilitation project for persons with schizophrenia, by the Institute for Psychological Health, Thane. (For more about Tridal, visit here.)
After painstakingly reading uptill here, you might wonder why this story of someone, who became a dear friend, finds a place in a blog dedicated to vocational discussions. Humour me just a bit more.
VEDH has inspired many to choose a vocation that is in line with their deepest desires and aptitude. It has compelled us to pour quality in our work. It has taught us to sow something that the entire society would reap.
All our careers could be fulfilling, but they might not be exceptional in a strictly conventional sense. Living as we do, working as we work, careers are not designed in isolation. We keep on borrowing bricks from our loved ones, colleagues, mentors as we go, and build steps and flights of stairs with our own sweat and blood in the process. It is simple to understand; As the charming Joey from F.R.I.E.N.D.S would put it, “It is all about giving, receiving, having and sharing.”
For Ninaad, the compassion and understanding of his colleagues was a brick he needed to borrow. For someone else, it could be sound advice or a few words of support. For an expectant mother, or a caregiver, it could be shared work load.
A utopian picture would be: borrow when needed, and lend without being asked for it. Fashion your own career, as you unknowing fashion others’. How wonderful would it look- steps of different heights and widths, some neat and some unruly, built in a fraternal spirit that goes beyond measurements!
-Ketaki Joshi, Thane.
VEDH गुजगोष्टी 