In retrospect, there were a couple of things amiss, like Sahil’s aversion to body contact. Unlike other children, Sahil would never impulsively hug me, neither would he like being hugged. Then there was Sahil’s obsession with tidiness by the time he turned two. I still remember the incident at Siddhivinayak temple where Sahil sat down and arranged the untidy heap of shoes and sandals at the entrance into a single, tidy line. At that point, we dismissed it as one of his quirks.

Sahil was surpassing every milestone for his age. I was pleasantly surprised when his teachers at the playschool told me that Sahil could pick up all the nursery rhymes sitting in another room, apart from the rest of the children. Today, we know that acute hearing and aloofness are two glaring symptoms of autism, but back then, the first niggling doubt to shatter our picture perfect world was the teacher’s suggestion that Sahil might have a hearing problem. His lack of response gave rise to such speculations in the playgroup.

Close observation showed that Sahil was different from other children. For instance, he had no comprehension of the rules of a game. If he was playing hide and seek with me, instead of trying to find me, he’d come and hide next to me. His lack of communication and social skills were a cause of concern to us, yet it did not worry us because my brother, a doctor, reassured us that he was simply a slow learner.

It was only when Sahil underwent tests for his ‘hearing problem’ that the doctor suspected that he might have autism. My brother-in-law then referred us to Dr Brajesh Udani, a leading specialist at Hinduja Hospital. Our visit there in 1992 confirmed that our son was autistic but the word had no meaning to us.

I believed that Sahil would go to a normal school and lead a normal life, only he’d never be socially adept and responsive. It was only when I read the first line of a book on autism given to me by Udani that I began to comprehend the magnitude of the problem. ‘‘A life-long mental disability,’’ the book said, and my world came crashing down. Then began the cycle of guilt and questioning — why did this have to happen to me? Slowly, I realised that it was destiny, and the reason it happened to me was that I had the strength and determination to ensure that Sahil put in the very best he was capable of. Even then, it took me two years to accept the fact that Sahil would never be ‘normal’.

I gave up everything I was doing to focus on Sahil. Pursuing my career as a freelance writer meant that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on Sahil. My life’s purpose now was to make things better for him, for us...

In 1995, Sahil and I attended a training course on autism at the Bangalore Children’s Hospital. I saw a lot of children there with a range of similar disorders. Seeing so many parents going through the same experience made me feel a little less scared, a little less lonely.

The course also helped me communicate with my son, who had by now lost all power of speech. On our return to Mumbai, we began our never-ending quest for the perfect school. Even though Sahil is now going to the SPJ Sadhana school for special children, which is trying its best to meet his needs, I realise there will never be an ideal school for him. It will have to be a joint effort between parents and schools to help the child achieve his or her potential. With each passing day, I find it increasingly difficult to tackle the curiosity of passersby. Explaining that Sahil is not ‘paagal’ is a draining experience. Now I find it easier to just say ‘yes’... at least they leave us alone.

As a parent, I have learnt that it helps to channelise a child’s attention and energy into something he enjoys doing. In Sahil’s case, it was painting he enjoyed and it is through this that he has earned some measure of independence (Sahil has painted an assortment of scarves, table mats, napkins and cushion covers, which will make their way to the next exhibition by the Forum for Autism).

I want to make Sahil a role model for other children. In spite of his limitations he has been able to achieve so much. I just hope that the infrastructure in the city for autistic children improves to allow each of them to attain some level of self- sufficiency and dignity.