A Symphony Of Colours

Avanti and Shraddha had been married in September 2019, a year after the ban on homosexuality had been repealed in India. Avanti worked at an NGO that cared for autistic children. She was the more patient of the two and was there to calm Shraddha down whenever the latter lost her head over some social issue. Shraddha, an activist and reporter, campaigned for human rights and brought important news under media coverage. At the end of the day, she and Avanti found solace in each other’s company and strived to show people that everyone did not need to think the same way to co-exist; different opinions only enhanced the quality of living.

* * *

“Another communal riot at Seemapuri, Avanti! Five children were mob lynched! No one knows about it,” Shraddha cried out one morning at the breakfast table.

Avanti, who had just bitten into her bread replied, “How did you know then, if no one does?”

“Ritesh told me. He lives there. You know what; I’ll have to go there. People need to know what’s going on.”

 Avanti sighed. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Shraddha replied. “I’m coming to Anandam with you today.”

* * *

Anandam was the NGO where Avanti worked. Upon entering, the two were greeted by almost 20 innocent faces-children who had been abandoned by their parents because of their developmental disorder.

As Avanti was called into the office, Shraddha came out and sat next to Aman, an adorable six-year-old with autism, who was a very keen observer. He talked to Shraddha about all the things he had seen from the terrace that day-the patterns made by the clouds, the wonderful chirping of the birds throughout the day, and how beautiful the sun looked during sunrise.

Shraddha mostly listened. Aman spoke with so much passion that he got confused if someone interrupted him. On the sofa, she could see Mitali playing the harmonica. When she was in the right mood, Mitali could play the harmonica for long stretches. She liked to call herself the next Bob Dylan. Shraddha smiled. The simplicity in the children’s lives struck her.

* * *

Back in the office, Avanti was confronting a parent. Avanti was speaking.

“Mrs. Mehta, have you ever asked your son if he would like to be cured? I know he doesn’t behave like everyone else. But that doesn’t make him worse than any of us! Just because he thinks differently, why would he have a problem?”

“You don’t understand, Avanti. I have to bring him up alone. His father left us as soon as he discovered Kamal had autism. Friends, neighbours, treat him with suspicion when they see him stimming.”

“Autism is not a disability, Mrs. Mehta,” replied Avanti. “It is just a different worldview. Look at Kamal, he can draw. Why can’t we just let him be as he is, he isn’t causing any harm, is he? Why don’t you show your relatives the positive sides he has? Why can’t you be proud of him? Trying to cure him will only threaten him and make him feel undesirable. You don’t want to lose him, do you?”

When Mrs. Mehta left, she was in tears.

* * *

As Avanti stared at the rainbow Kamal had drawn, she was reminded of the time she and Shraddha had come up to their parents. She thought about how India was an abode to so many different ideas and how much tolerance was required in the country. They had to accept each other. They had to celebrate diversity.