A Short Story through my narrative:  

It was 19th January 2026, a bright sunny day, kind of unusual for the frosty winter seasons. I was quite excited to interact and make a rapport with the diagnosed children. Frankly speaking, at first, I was nervous to meet them. Wondering if I could make the desired first impression with any one of them. When we reached our designated ‘Asha ka Jharna’ school for special needs children, my heart was throbbing in my ears. 

The building was old and rusty. I’ve almost null knowledge of architecture but let me try to put it in words how it looked like, it was divided in two buildings connected at the ends or may I put it this way that it had a structure like when you open a book half in 90 degrees placing it horizontal manner, while the ends still are joint. In between the distance of those two buildings a garden or more like a playground for children to play, there stood some eye pleasing greenery, plants were planted in a symmetric manner running along the walls outlining the school area.  

The familiar scent of freshly watered grass filled my lungs as soon as I sat my foot in. I naively smiled at every child, in hope of making a good reputation with one of my possibly potential subjects. There was this elderly looking maiden helping and serving the children as well as teachers out. She offered us chai and some biscuits with a gentle smile spread wide across her face. When our professors were done talking with the principal of the school we finally got to interact with the children. I went straight to a classroom I was targeting since the beginning as I found myself somewhere getting engaged in the activities of a boy who kept staring at me. Alas! I wasn’t able to make the rapport with him as a bunch of students came rushing in, distracting him away from our conversation.

Sulking, because I was so close to achieving my rapport with the subject.  

I dragged myself into the room next door. When I entered the room, I spotted a boy whom I assumed was somewhat welcoming. Without further delay I went over to his desk. As I expected he was hospitable. I instantly formed a good acquaintance with him. When I was able to crack the toughest nut and most key steps to intervene with the subject, by telling my little information to him like my name, age and all.

“What is your name?” I said while grinning.

[Due to the privacy issues, I can’t state his actual name, so I gave him a nickname. That is Master Ham.] “What is your favorite color,” I asked him. “This one!” he stuttered as he picked up a purple crayon. “Why so?” I asked. 

“Because I like it.” He replied without a thought.

I let out a chuckle at his innocence.  

“There may be a reason why you like this specific color. Do you have any reason?” I stated. He just lowered his head in response, so I dropped the persuasion of this topic any further. 

“Okay…. So do you like coloring or drawing?” I attempted to change the topic.

He nodded fiercely.

“Would you like to come and color the drawings out in the garden?” I chuckled. He gathered his crayons and stood right up. It was then I noticed that he not only had difficulty in speech but also a little bit with his legs too. I helped him with our way out. 

Although he did fall once or thrice but nothing could dim the light off his face. Eyes shining bright and that never fading smile. When we settled down, after finding a suitable dry place which was comfortable as well, I opened my notebook’s pin page. He was quite curious about everything around him and had a keen interest in his surroundings. 

“What is this?” He repeatedly asked me while uprooting grass with his fist. 

“It’s grass.” I had to say each time. 

“So, what should I draw for you?" 

“A pigeon.” He said with excitement glimmering in his voice. 

“Do you like pigeons?" 

“Yeah!” he answered. 

“Why?” I asked. 

“Because it can fly,” he said, lowering his eyes. 

“Oh! So, what do you like about pigeons…. That it could fly?” I added the last part after a second of his no response. He simply nodded. 

“So, you would like to fly some day?” I put it on. He shook his head in refusal right away. “Why? You don’t want to fly?” I questioned.

“I’m scared of heights.”

So naïve one must think when a child would say those words, but I don’t know why, but the first thing I thought at that moment was that, although he still loved and admired birds, he didn’t want to be in its shoes. 

“Does it ever get or feel hurt?” he asked me, directing my attention back to him. 

“Why, yes if you will hurt it, it would certainly feel hurt, like you feel hurt when you’re wounded, it would also feel the same.” I told him. 

Although he did nod, I doubt that he would be able to remember what I just told him. “He is diagnosed with Autism.” His caretaker or his teacher spoke as he stood by to keep a watch on all children. 

Master Ham was busy coloring the pigeon I drew for him. 

“How old are you?” I asked him. He lifted his eyes swiftly looking directly into my eyes then trailed back to continue coloring. 

“Eleven.” He said after taking his time. 

“Oh! You are quite intelligent for your age.” I praised him. 

He had only passed a smile to me. I continued trying to take information out of him, careful not to offend him in any way, but he was very cooperative and perhaps liked my company. “Do you like listening to stories?” I asked him. 

“Yes.” He replied. 

“Would you like to listen to a king’s story?”  

“Yeah.” 

“Have you heard of Emperor Akbar?” 

He denied. 

“He was a great emperor,” 

He listened attentively.

“Once he fell sick, physicians advised him to sleep well, but he couldn’t seem to fall asleep.” I continued. “Everyone tried to make him fall asleep by telling him bedtime stories, but every time the story came to an end, he got furious as he wished to listen to moreitit.” 

I lost his attention quite a few times in between as his eyes wandered to the students around him. “He is clearly getting bored of your story.” Said one of my friends from behind me, she was dealing with her subject. 

“Are you feeling uninterested?” I asked Master Ham. 

He denied. 

“Okay then where was I…” I thought of wrapping up the story in a brief summary. “So, to solve that issue Birbal came up with a clever idea and told a story about a mother bird feeding her chick getting up every morning wandering to find insects and food for them.” I tried to paint my voice with amusement. “The twist was that this story never ended as the bird would rise again, another day to find food for her chicks. And when the bird will die one day, then her chicks will grow up and continue  this never-ending cycle of life.” 

He let out a soft chuckle along with me. 

“Draw a parrot for me.” He pointed towards the page. 

“You like a parrot too?” 

“Yes.” He had now stopped filling in the drawings. 

“I assume you got a thing for birds.” I started sketching a parrot. 

When I noticed him from the corner of my eyes he was nodding. 

“Why exactly do you love birds? Is it because they can fly or they are free or maybe because you see them everywhere?” I tried to drop hints so that he could open up. 

“I like them as I see them everywhere and they have free will.” I was taken back; those were the words of a mere child. 

“So then why are you scared to fly?” 

“I’m scared that I might fall, get hurt and die.”

“Why are you afraid of death?” I voiced my intrusive thoughts, knowing fully there was no sanity to ask a child that.  “I don’t want to be separated from my family.” He answered by making brief eye contact. 

That little soul in front of me had the mind of a philosopher who wanted to know about everything he saw,  he questioned everything. Even us, whom society calls ‘normal,’ mostly don’t care, think, or questions everything like Master Ham did. 

“Does it also get hurt?” He said with eyes filled with a million questions, which I possibly can’t answer. “Well, yes everything that has a life gets hurt at some point and feels everything that you feel.” “Oh! Do you also get hurt?” 

My eyes widened in amazement, then the corner of my lips turned up wards curling into a smile. “Yeah, I also get hurt and I even cry, when I feel like it.” 

“Really?” He stared at me in disbelief. 

“Yeah. Can’t I cry?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Can you draw a canary for me?” he asked me after a few heartbeats. 

“A what…?” I didn’t catch his words. 

“You know that one bird which stays in a cage and sings beautifully. A canary.” “Oh, A canary.” I repeated after him. 

“Yes, please draw it for me.” 

“Okay, here you go.” I handed over the notebook as soon as I was done. 

“Did you have lunch Master Ham?” The same teacher who told me about Master Ham’s autism asked him from behind. Master Ham seemed uneasy at that question.  He then softly refused. 

“Why so? What did you do, tell Didi.” Sir asked him to confess to me. 

Master Ham looked down out of shame.

 “He pissed in his pants this morning on the bus. This is the fifth time in a row this week. He won’t ask his mum to assist him out.” Sir told me after Master Ham didn’t speak up. 

“Oh? It’s not a biggie, right? From now onwards Master Ham will be a good boy.” I said, reading Master Ham’s face. 

He nodded in relief. 

“Would you like to play now? Or dance perhaps?” I asked him. 

Although he seemed excited as well as eager to play and dance, he wouldn’t stand up even after I encouraged him. 

Later on, I realized that he couldn’t stand still for long and sometimes he can’t even walk properly. First when we came out in the garden, back then I had thought that maybe because he was overjoyed to play outside that was the reason for his fall. 

When finally, I was able to convince him to play a game of arranging balls. 

“First pick out all the white balls and put them in this basket.” I sort of commanded him but rather in a polite way. 

He was enthusiastic about this new stimulus. I noted that he did recognise the colours when another boy interrupted him by mixing his arranged white balls with other colored ones.  

Master Ham did get frustrated as he knew the other boy was picking the wrong balls out. “Should I hit him?” he asked me with the purest form of innocence I came across with. “No, you feel hurt if someone hits you, right? Then he will also get hurt if you hit him.” I beamed. “Okay, I won’t hurt him.” 

I acknowledged that he was good at taking commands very well. He was well behaved, mannered, and obedient. 

My professors called us all to a hall for group activity, mainly dance. We all made a queue and entered the hall. The music was busting, not the kind of loud that makes your ears hurt and head go crazy like the club’s. It was moderate and was somewhere lost in the giggles of children.

Master Ham got all excited that he was jumping out of his seat attempting to dance but he knew he couldn’t, so I stood beside him to keep a watch on him. 

Now after a good fifteen minutes of dance we wrapped up and were all set to return to our university. As a final act of bidding farewell to the children our professor gave them a pack of lassi and some packets of snacks. Their smile was the sweetest thing, that I feel I was fortunate enough to observe, it still holds a special place in the back of my head leaving its never fading imprints.  

I learned many things that day. We humans are very strange and fragile beings. We can’t seem to acknowledge the feelings and sentiments of others to that extent that we should. The most pitted person in our eyes is ‘ourselves.’ Maybe we are made this way, as we can only feel the storms and worlds inside ourselves because we are going through it, but when the same, lesser, or greater problem falls upon someone else we just brush off their feelings. 

Master Ham taught me that although he wants all the skies and green grasslands to himself, he still feels for others. He wants to fly, sing and be free but still he is scared to fall and be hurt. Like we all are. He admired the beauty of nature and its beings. “The disabled children are the closest to god as they possess the kindest heart of them all.” After meeting him, this statement given by my parents, seemed to be true. I believe, maybe that’s the reason why we call them ‘special.’ 

Author: Udyantika Sura

Date: _1/21/2026_ 

Mody University of Science and Technology, Lakshmangarh, Rajasthan.

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