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Rajarshi Mukhopadhyay

When Silence Speaks - The Way My Mother Taught Me

Paper

Men and women are puzzled by everything I do. My parents and those who love
me, are embarrassed and worried. Doctors use different terms to describe me. I just
wonder.

I think about the little boy who had a way of expressing himself, not through speech
but through a frustrated temper tantrum. The language was known but it did not
relate to anything.

Hand Flapping

The hand had made a strange relationship with its shadow, and he fluttered it and
spent hours, content with the lone company of his shadow. And his worries
stopped. He shut away the world and felt secure in the presence of the shadow.
Nights were terrible. He searched everywhere for his shadow. He flapped to call it,
there was nothing but darkness. He cried for it betrayed by the friend.

Temper Tantrums

The next friend was the mother's lap, which had warmth and readiness. It reached
such a point that he was in a state of panic if somebody else tried to pick him up.
Even new roads, the garden and people were frightening.

His mother used to sing and he appreciated the songs - words in tune. The songs
were memorised and repeated over and over again. His tantrums stopped when he
heard the songs. His mother was too relieved to discover it. So she did not foresee
that in public places her song therapy would not work. By now he got used to her
'voice that sang'. He threw up a tantrum when she spoke to him or to anybody else.
One day, he found that when her lips moved the song was heard. That looked
easy. For a few days after that, he was in front of a mirror finding out a way to move
his lips - pleading them to move in a silent way. But it did not flutter or move like
mother's. All his image did was stare back. That was a terrible jolt. Another
frustration - and a great fear grew.

His father carried him and walked on the roads, as he refused to walk. Father had
to take him through the same route. It was already frightening to go to new places
and see new roads. He felt miserable when father stopped to talk to somebody.
Temper tantrums resulted, and lasted until he got exhausted. 'Why are you making
the child weep?' a voice was directed to his father, also exhausted and nervous by
the sudden outburst of the son, but he was too humble to answer back. He tried to
hurry homewards.

Several days later, mother discovered that he would have a fear if they tried a new
route. One day he was disturbed to find a different map of clouds overhead. It was
a great disappointment, as he had memorised the previous day's sky.

The New House

The boy, two and half years old was shocked to hear that his father had to move to
a new house. He tried to show in his own way, how disappointed he was. It was
painful. Mother took him there at least once a day, so that he could get used to the
place and feel better and better about the house. But the boy cried louder and
louder. The sorrow turned to anger. The parents were given every possible advice.

Object - Picture Relationship

It was a terrible feeling to be in the new house. The toys looked so different and
frightening that the boy stopped playing with them. He could not find any
association between things that changed places. A picture of a dog on the book
could be identified as a dog, but a street dog could not be identified. It took years,
and a lot of practice by him and the patience of his mother who kept on asking him
questions, comparing pictures of a dog or a cow with the living beasts on the roads
and the zoo, to overcome this. A book with the pictures of animals was their
companion till he understood it.

Mentally Retarded

Time was running out and the parents took the boy to a speech therapist. He was a
bit impatient to handle a two years eleven months old boy and declared after ten
minutes observation that he was sorry to say that the boy was mentally retarded.
The mother staggered back to the hotel room, hugged her son and wept bitterly.
The boy was sad too but could not show any feeling of pain. This is a major
problem that the boy still faces. It needs to be mentioned that the boy had laughed
at times when situations were sad. He wondered why he was not crying in a
situation like that.

There was his mother weeping for a very uncertain future and there was the boy
flapping with contentment. That was the last time he saw his mother so helpless, so
afraid, so defeated.

School

'Let us put him in a school' decided the parents, 'He would socialise with other
children and begin to talk. So the boy went to the school. He tried to show how
much he disliked going there. But his mother had reasons for her determination.
The boy was no less stubborn. Every day he started to shout louder and louder on
his way to school and at school. 'It will stop after some days', thought everybody.
But the intensity of the three year one month old boy's voice was increasing every
day, tiring out the patience of everyone.

'Sorry, he is not yet ready for a school', the mother was told by the teacher.

Tricycle

It was thought that a tricycle would be of much help to the boy. The boy sat while
the parents took turns to push the cycle from behind. They giggled and argued
about how long they should each push. The boy sat passively without even trying
to hold the handle, so that the person who was pushing from behind had to hold
the handle too, in order to keep the cycle on the track. They soon got tired.. After a
few days, mother asked the boy to try the pedals. There was no response. 'Come
on son, try pushing your legs', she encouraged. 'Yes son, push the pedals with
your feet and chase me!' The look on her face that was so full of expectation was
slowly changing to disappointment, them to anger and then to determination.

'Come on' the boy silently ordered his legs. The legs would not move and they both
got worried and angry.

Yes, both mother and son were frustrated. She thought that her son was being
stubborn and was unwilling to try. But she was determined. She began to catch
hold of his feet and push them over the pedals and dragged the pedals as she sat
and walked backwards, complaining, and grumbling that her remarkable 'sparrow
walk' in the backward direction would leave her with a crooked spine. She made the
boy practice the cycling movement sitting on a chair whenever she got exhausted.
By the end of the day, the boy was independently riding the tricycle.

Autism!

The boy went to the Institute where the Clinical Psychologist after studying him, told
the parents that they had an "AUTISTIC" son.

"It is a state when the child is so withdrawn that he is unable to understand what is
going on around him."

"What should we do now?" asked the parents.

"Try to keep him busy", said the lady.

Occupation

That month's task was to keep the boy busy and not let him be alone. The parents
searched the markets for some suitable toys that would keep the boy occupied for a
long time. There was a set of ten bowls big to small of different sizes. They had five
different colours. Two bowls had identical colours. The boy had to keep them in
such a way that a pillar could be made. The boy had also to match the identical
colours - blue with blue and so on. He loved it from the very beginning. The first
motivation he ever had! Sets of other building blocks were brought. The boy made
pillars and staircases with them. His mother taught him how two parallel pillars when
joined by a bar at the top made a gate. Soon, along with the pillars and gate, the
boy was making zig-zags also. He also learnt to make patterns with burnt
matchsticks, for example - rows of squares and crosses. But he was not interested
when they joined, head end to tail and to show him the 'train'. The boy did not find
that worth building.

Soon new sets of games were brought. One was 'Mixing Fixing'. The cavities with
different shapes were there, and the boy had to fit into them blocks of exact shape.
He learnt it fast, and improved his time with it. He eagerly waited for new toys. The
next game was a four piece jig-saw puzzle. It took no time for the boy to do it. He
waited for the next game.

By the end of the third week, he was able to handle blocks, shapes and jigsaw
puzzles of pieces eight in number. He went to the psychologist for the second time.
"I did not expect so much improvement in an autistic child!" said the impressed lady.


Training

The mother was so relieved that soon her son would be able to do more desirable
things, that she began to lead a Spartan life. She got up a 4 A.M. finished her bath
and half her cooking and then prepared a 'goal' for the day. By 7 o'clock the boy
was up. After breakfast, the task began. There was no chance for the boy to get
lost in his thoughts.

'Pick up the thing'!

If the boy tried to look away she hit him hard. That went on for days together. It
worked. The boy became more attentive to her speech, and could follow her
commands better. His father was unable to bear the sight, but he had great trust in
his wife. So he went to another room without a comment.

Breakthrough!

"What are you looking at the calendar for?" asked the mother.

The boy loved to watch the different calendars of different rooms and then recall
the numbers. He also compared them. He spent a lot of time, gazing at the
numbers. He found a kind of pattern in them. He wondered how the figures bent
and straightened up, curled and sometimes broke. The boy wondered whether they
were like pieces of strings, which would straighten up or curl up. He laughed at the
thought.

The Calendar

"Should we see the calendar?" the mother asked the boy. She put him to her left
side and began reading the numbers. The she copied them in bright colours, on a
separate page, letting the boy compare the shapes. She pointed at a number that
she had written - for example 14. The boy had to find it on the calendar. When she
was satisfied, she asked him to point at number 14 all by himself - which the boy
was able to do. Surprised and encouraged, she asked him all the other numbers
one by one. The boy was eager to show.

Celebration

10th of April 1992 it was. There was a kind of celebration in the family of three. The
parents began to dream about the better times ahead. The boy formed loops, lines
and circles called sixes, ones and zeroes in his mind. The difference was that he
knew what they were called. Next day, he learnt to recognise the numbers till
hundred. The boy was so interested that he was ready to learn more. He was ready
for the new world that was in front of him.

Mother wanted to try out the alphabets in the same way. They were learnt fast. The
boy knew by the end of the day that he had a wonderful memory - something to be
proud of.

That week brought the dawn of hope to the parents, and the boy too found an
interest to communicate.

Learning Language

'Once upon a time, there was a crow,' mother began her story. She drew a crow on
a page. The boy loved colours. Although the crow was black, she made the words
she wrote look colourful and bright. She began her first lesson through the story
about the 'thirsty crow'. It was a well - planned lesson. The boy could actually feel
the heat of the midday sun and the dry landscape. The crow became his favourite
bird. Black became his favourite colour for a while. He could 'feel' the variety of
other colours mocking the darkness of the black.

Train Journey

The year 1992 was about to close, and winter was at the door. The parents were
wondering where next to take the boy. Then decided to take him to a reputed
hospital -The Christian Medical College Hospital in Vellore.

The train journey to South India was long and full of happenings. The parents had
a tough time to cope with the boy's rules, which made him get upset and panic at
anything that he felt was unusual. For example, whenever the train stopped in the
middle, he got upset and created a lot of discomfort to the people around by crying
loudly. He got upset every time he saw a particular person passing by his seat. He
threw up a tantrum when the direction of the train changed. He cried with fear
thinking that they were probably going back.

There were curious looks and suggestions from people. The train reached the
station after two long days.

C.M.C. Hospital

The hospital was a place of hope. The boy was taken to the neurology section. The
doctors were surprised at the ability of the boy. They asked him to point at his body
parts, but the boy could not do it. Not that he was ignorant of the parts of the
human body, but he was unable to point and identify them in his own self. Pointing
at objects was difficult too, as he pointed only at the letters on the board and could
not generalise it with the other things. Then the doctors asked the other way round.
They touched his legs and hands and so on. They asked him to point on the board.
This he did with ease.

He hated the place. It had too much openness. Openness disturbed him. He could
not bear it, and started throwing tantrums out of fear. The fear of open spaces
disturbed him and continued to haunt him for years. He hated places that were full
of freedom and got hyperactive.

The more awkward he became, the more suspicious the psychiatrist became
regarding his intelligence. They suspected that the mother was trying to play up a
trick. "I came here to find help for my son and not to show you any magic," replied
the mother, angry and worried.

He started making a continuous clicking sound, with his tongue. It made the doctors
conclude that he had AUTISM of a 'moderate level'. There was no use teaching him
as he may not be able to write.

Mother was very upset. But she gets the brightest ideas when she is under strain.
'Necessity is the mother of invention' she boasts.

She noted down all the points that made him AUTISTIC. Eye contact problem,
unable to point at objects. The boy led somebody by the hand to get some object.
He could not use any gestures or express his feelings. He was hyperactive, could
not imitate, and many more drawbacks that made the boy get the label.

The Taskmaster

Mother started her task the next day. She took the boy's hand and made a pointing
posture with it. She kept a few objects like a book, a glass, a shirt and other
common things. "As you do with the alphabet, show me the objects I name". A
difficulty was developing when the object was kept behind him, as he could not turn
and point.

Now it was 'her' turn to throw a tantrum!

The boy needed time for an ability like that. The mother understood that there was
too much pressure on the child. Mother said she won't accept the fact that there
was no 'use' teaching the boy, and she was certain that with right motivation he
would be able to write also. Father was depressed too. Whatever the doctors told
him was discouraging. The boy had never seen his parents argue so much.

He was sent to All India Institute of Speech Hearing. Since he did not co-operate
with the hearing ability test, he was sent to the psychology section for evaluation.
The two clinical psychologists who saw him, ignored the fact that he had a way to
communicate by pointing and forming words from the alphabet.

Writing

As people were skeptical about the boy's abilities, his mother insisted that he
should write. She brought him a pencil and a paper. She drew a line. The boy
showed reluctance to hold the pencil. Any new activity terrified him. He kept his grip
on the pencil so loose that every time his mother gave it to him, he dropped it.

But mother was equally stubborn. She tied the pencil to his hand with a rubber
band, so that he could not shake it off. She kept him sitting at the same place till he
drew the lines. By the end of the day, the boy was drawing not only horizontal lines,
but vertical lines too. A notebook was given to him and he soon filled it up with
lines. But there was more to be done.

He needed to move onwards. He needed to write. But he was unable to copy and
mother was throwing a tantrum. She was not ready to give up.

'Let me hold your shoulder like I used to when you started pointing and
communicating', she said, trying to find a way. This time it was easy for the boy to
write, as he could feel the presence of the hand, his own hand linked to his body,
at the shoulder point, where his mother was holding him. The boy could relate his
thoughts to words and express them by pointing or writing only when somebody
held his shoulder.

Changes

Anger due to change in routine, change in the paths, change in bus routes,
change in the position while walking or sitting, turned to temper tantrums and they
took hours to stop. His mother was the usual victim as the people asked her why
her son was crying. She knew that the boy was crying for the change in her position
of walking. He wanted her to walk by his right, while she was determined to walk by
his left to show him that she was more stubborn.

"He wants another ice cream", came the mother's prompt reply, and further
questions were thus avoided.

Catch and Chase Game

The catch and chase game was also having a problem for the boy, as he could not
chase anybody, though he enjoyed somebody chasing him. The difficulty was
overcome when his mother held a biscuit in her hand and taught the boy how to
chase the 'person', by slowly fading the biscuit.

Colouring

The same month mother taught him colouring. That born teacher could never keep
herself away from teaching. The colouring books were bought, and he had to colour
the pictures exactly the way in which the sample drawings were coloured.. He sat
with them for long hours. At first, he coloured for the sake of keeping himself
occupied, but slowly, he began to enjoy the activity. Then he learnt tracing and
copying The boy found great difficulty in copying out figures like a circle or a square.
Mother had to hold his hands and make him draw the figures, as the boy was slowly
beginning to understand 'how' to do it.

HOW??

"How shall I play?'

'Can't you talk?'

'How shall I talk?'

'Can't you listen to us?'

'How shall I listen to you?'

'Will you try?'

'Yes, I will try, but TEACH me how to try".

Mother got the point and panicked. "How shall I teach you how to try?" -she asked
her son helplessly.

Give and Take Game

It was in the same month when mother taught him how to catch a ball. She made
him stand very close to her. When the boy was told to 'give' the ball, he placed it on
mother's hand. She immediately gave it back to him.

The boy could concentrate better and better in the activity with practice and
repetition. When she was satisfied with his concentration, she slowly began to step
backwards and instead of placing the ball in his hand, she threw it towards him. He
caught the ball. When she asked him to throw it back to her, he was puzzled. He
walked to her, and placed the ball on her hand, then walked back to his position to
catch the ball again. He was not able to imitate the act of 'throwing' the ball. He
understood 'what' throwing was, but could not use his hands to do so.

The next day she took the ball to the 'Therapy Park' of the Institute. She threw the
rubber ball at the wall of the slide. The ball returned to her hand. She asked him to
try. The boy eagerly did and was surprised to see that it was easy.

He had learnt how to throw the ball!

The boy had a tendency to resist any new activity and mother was introducing too
many new things at the same time. He felt she was being a bit cruel as she told him
- "Our one day should be equal to two days".

She was tired and yet could not afford to be tired. She started her walks on the
roads and bus stops, markets and parks.

Teaching and Learning

She showed him the sky of the evening, the colours and the architects of the colour
formation - the dust particles, explaining the dispersion of sunlight. He began to
appreciate the sunset, the earth under the evening sky, and the market slowly
being lit up with bulbs.

Designs

Designs and colours fascinated him for a long while. He wanted to use the sketch
pens for the designs as the inks were brighter and were easy to use. Mother drew a
sample design at first on the top of the page. He filled the rest of the page with four
rows of the same design. He felt very relaxed as beauty and repetition made him
happy. They were simple curves and lines. Yet repeating then made them look so
pretty. The boy felt proud of his designs, he went through them whenever he found
time.

But there was a drawback in his drawings, as he could only copy designs but could
not be creative.

Greed

He would pick up any object that attracted his physical self, through its colour, smell
and appearance. Picking up objects often made mother very embarrassed specially
when the object was food. So they decided to eat outside once a week, every
Saturday. She would also have a good time, as she really did not like the 'everyday'
cooking. She chose a 'neat' restaurant for the Saturdays. As she placed the order,
she made sure that the boy sat properly. It was very difficult to wait, but the
constant assurance from her was very useful that he was behaving like a 'perfect
gentleman' and he was making her proud.

The boy got used to eating out with other people eating near him. He no longer
picked up objects. He learnt to wait as his mother bought the things from the market
and learnt not to walk away from her, as getting lost could be dangerous.

Where Is My Voice?

"Mother I can't find my voice", said the boy, very desperate. The idea came to
mother like a battery charged in a torch. She told him to relax and asked him to sit
with a loose body.

Then she did 'it' with all her suddenness. She gave him a push from the back on his
chest. The boy was not prepared for the push, and he gave a sound "uh!" as air
pushed out of his mouth due to the reflex action of the push.

"There! Your voice is found! Now with each push, you will find it," she told him. Then
for the next ten minutes, they did the voice- finding process. She then kept a glass
of water in front to him. "Now with every push I give you, find your voice and ask me
to give to you water".

She gave the boy the first push, and the boy said 'uh!" meaning 'I'. At the second
push he said "wah", the first part of the word 'want'. Then with the third push, he
said "tuh", the later part of the word 'wan't'. Similarly with the next two pushes, he
said "wuh" and "tuh" for the word 'water'. Mother gave him the water, asking him
what he wanted to do with it. Then she gave him a push and the boy said "druh",
the first part of the word 'drink', then with the next push, he said 'th' replacing the 'k'
sound with 'th!' Mother was not very keen on the pronunciation. She was glad that
the way was found to get some verbal output from him.

"Why didn't we try it before?" she regretted, after the boy answered her question,
"what is two times five?" and pushed him. The boy replied "tuh" for 'ten'.

What? Who?

In the next two days, the boy got used to her questions as they did some picture
reading ranging between 'what' and 'who'. But she yet did not ask the 'why'
questions because she did not want the speech to bore him with double promotion
and triple promotion of long sentences.

At first, it was just a reminder as 'switch on your voice and answer'. At first the
answers were one worded. The person questioning knew the answer to the "what is
this?" or "who is this?"

How? Why?

Slowly the 'how?' and 'why' were begun by mother. One push and some nods were
needed to time the answer.

But growth is the rule of any beginning.

Epilogue

Today, the fragmented self of hand and body parts which I once saw myself as,
have unified to a living 'me', striving for a complete 'me'. Not in the abstract
existence of the impossible world of dreams but a hope for a concrete dream of this
book to reach those who would like to understand us through me.

If this book is able to light even one little flame, I would be able to see my dream
take its shape.

One day I dream that we can grow in a matured society where nobody would be
'normal or abnormal' but just human beings, accepting any other human being -
ready to grow together.

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