Being special

Society decides to open special schools, but can segregation breed harmony? 

The special school was a stone’s throw, and I would pass it every day of my school life with childlike interest. Upon joining high school, I opted for psychology as one subject. Between a choice of two years of voluntary teaching at the special school or an ordinary school, I decided on the former simply because for me, it was a relic from the past.

The first lesson was unforgettable. A girl of 14 caught my attention with her constant scribbling. Her strokes were swift, and the pencil was pushed right into the heart of the paper.

The teacher explained that the girl was autistic. I nodded wisely, having mugged up the definition of autism by heart. The pretty girl knocked me out of my senses.

I approached her but made the terrible mistake of getting too close in our first meeting, rendering her insecure and anxious. She taught me such a lesson that since then, I give every child I meet some space and get close only after testing the waters. I had scurried towards her and rested my hand upon hers to guide the pencil. Thump! She hammered my palm with tremendous energy and stared at my tear-filled eyes.

I was afraid to go back for a few evenings, but then the sense of duty prevailed. I saw the efforts of teachers and students leading to minuscule victories. My interactions within the particular school made me comprehend the beautiful truths of love and life. The children were brilliantly woven into an intricate pattern of selfless love united by special powers to feel and heal. From them, I learned to look beyond the sham of my worldly relationships and yearn for raw and earthy bondings.

Readings on symptoms of autism gave me terms such as delayed speech, slow development, poor eye contact, unexpected reactions to change, and sensitivity to tastes and smells, but today, I see their symptoms as unique gifts. By societal standards, autism is debilitating. Still, in the true sense, fast development and efficient speech have hardly given us anything to rejoice about — being ostentatious marketing tools. Our rapid growth comes by pulling others down the ladder.

While autism defers our grasp over education, are we even convinced of the soundness of our education? We spend the youthful half of our life mugging strange theories and the other exhausted half realising its senselessness. The degrees earned are incapable of preventing nervous breakdowns, depression and suicides. Our jobs are despotic, hierarchical mazes stifling creativity and breeding nepotism.