Revathy Menon, Our Lady Queen of the Missions School – Well Done!

It was a warm summer evening, I sat on a wooden bench in the public park, the wind playing with the curls in my hair. My eyes were filled with tears. They splashed down my cheeks, only to be wiped away by my right hand.

My uncle and my aunt had met with an accident and had been admitted to the ICU of a reputed hospital. I couldn’t bring myself to believe that my aunt and my uncle were so near death. My parents were busying, calling on the best doctors in Kolkata and ringing up others relatives to tell them about this mishap which had occurred.

Suddenly, i sensed someone is presence right behind me. A little girl of about four came up to me and sat down on the bench. Noticing my tears, she looked at me again, this time enquiringly, a look of warmth and love in her eyes. I wanted to lighten myself, to give up all my troubles, but …but I did not want to burden a four year old with my problems – a four year old who would prefer to jump and play with her friends.

However, I couldn’t keep my tears back. The girl’s warmth brought back memories of my aunt and my uncle, and I was so miserable that I started to cry. I am not ashamed to say that I cried till my face became red. The child looked at me, perplexed. Then it seemed like she had understood. She gave me a bright albeit, toothless smile and a warm hug.

A hug. Yes. That’s what I wanted. I wanted somebody who d tell me that I wasn’t alone. The child had a paper in her hand, which she thrust into mine. I opened it as she looked expectantly at my face. It said, “I am deaf, but that makes me more sensitive to your feelings.”

Surprised, I looked around for her, but she wasn’t there anymore. HOW DID SHE KNOW?

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