I have been teaching preschool at an orphanage here, run by the Ashraya Foundation. They run an orphanage, five creches (or day schools) inside of labor colonies, a women’s shelter, and a school for high offender boys in jail. Nomita runs the shelter and is a strong, intelligent and grounded woman, well known in the community. Ashraya adopts out 95% of the kids and works with agencies places like Italy, Australia and the US. Most special needs babies and kids go to the US.

 

In the preschool, there are usually 10-13 kids, each with their own 18-36 month toddler characteristics. Because they are institutionalized - they have interesting issues like they don’t cry and they are not sure what to do with crayons. At the same time, they love to play chase and clap their hands and pick up dangerous sticks and put them in their mouths (like all toddlers.) And they really like blocks.

 

In the preschool, there is Neraj. He is two months younger than Atticus. He was born with one thumb on a hand and five very tiny fingers on the other. He has one small foot and no foot on the other leg. He has crazy out of control hair and loves motion - like cars, people running by, being held and twirled in circles. He is a sweet boy, but the only one without a family in my preschool class.  One day, Shesha (the other teacher) told me that Neraj was trying to walk. He was up on  what he had trying to move around. He even within a few days had gotten himself to push a chair.

 

So, some arrangements were made. If Neraj was willing to try walking then we needed to find him feet. His first few visits to the doctor were almost unbearable - the poor kid had never been in a car - well he had when he was first taken to the doctor at 2 months. And he never left the orphanage grounds. I can imagine that being in a car would be scary if you weren’t used to it. After a couple of outings and me figuring out that tv (baby einstein) can turn around even the most persistent crier, he calmed down. Atticus came along to one doctor visit and he watched him and said “Hi Neraj” a lot. He didn’t get jealous or upset when I carried Neraj or held him on my lap in the car.

 

When Neraj was finally ready for his foot fitting, I brought Berkeley just to see how she would do. She wasn’t jealous either but curious as to why Neraj wasn’t going in a car seat like her. Enthusiastically, she told Neraj that he was going to get new feet. And when he would cry, she would innocently say “It’s alright Neraj. We are going to get you some feet and then take you back to your mommy.” When he tried on his feet at the doctor, Neraj was skeptical but willing. He tried to walk to fast like a really thirsty person who has just been handed a cool glass of water.  It was an amazing sight. seriously. I was blind and now I see type of moment.

 

When we arrived back at Ashraya, I was told that a woman in the US had just accepted and been approved to adopt Neraj. She sounds like a great person and she is excited to bring Neraj into her family. So, in one day Neraj got feet and a mom. It was a great day.

 

 

A little note: This is the first of many, many stories about the kids at Ashraya. I have put off writing about it. I am not sure why. And I don’t know which to share and which not to. Like how do I write about the day I got to go in the special room where they keep the days old babies. Or about the time Berkeley came to see where Neraj sleeps and I walked out even more confused about the absolutely arbitrary placement of kids in the world. Berkeley with me. These kids with their situations. . . . . .  Or the story of Ravina, the most beautiful blind baby in the world. Or about the 16 year old girl who came to live at Ashraya to have her baby . . . . .

 

I think why I hesitate is that these stories typically and understandably produce sadness and pity. But being with the kids doesn’t evoke this at all. It feels like hope. Hope as an action word. They make me want to do things, try harder to make a difference; to be less of a cynic and more of an optimist.  Hopefully some of it will come through.