This is not a story...

This is not a story. The words that follow, however, do tell the tragic tale of a young child.

A few days ago, a desperate man carrying a four year old boy came to show the boy to me. He was shattered. His son was unusually quiet for a four year old. This gentle and troubled man was trying to figure out how on earth God above could do this to him?! How could God subject his innocent child to this... this...

He lives in Haldwani. The gentle hills and pleasant weather transform an ordinary existence into a life in paradise. Four years ago, when he was blessed with a healthy baby boy, he was overjoyed. This thin and lean man who works with the local police force and is known to be one of the gentlest officers on the Force. He is God fearing and prayer is a part of his daily life just as breathing and bathing... both, unconscious and intentional.

Each milestone that his son achieved was a source of joy to this simple man. Quite aptly, he named the boy Harsh... joy... The first lisping words were recorded on this committed father's memory, the first tottering steps made him instinctively reach out and hug his son tight.

Now his wife was expecting their second child. Things would get a little difficult. Both children would love and caring in equal measure. Infact, the older child would need more from him as the mother would get busy caring for the new-born baby. Life was bliss...

Kya huaa?! What happened to this heaven on earth? To this paradise? Kya apni nazar lag gai? Was it his own doing? Had he been less than grateful to Almighty for his good fortune? Had he been lacking somewhere?

Harsh was not well- he seemed to be going through a routine childhood viral fever; but was more sick than 'routine' illnesses could affect a child. There being no doctors around, his father found out from a local chemist if he could give anything to his ailing son. The Chemist obliged.

By now Harsh was unable to step off the bed. The minute he put his feet on the floor, he fell- unable to balance himself. He also complained of unbearable noise in his ears. everyone thought that Harsh was sick and would recover soon. It did not occur to anyone to seek an Ear specialist's opinion. Nobody thought anything special needed to be done. No one knew what to do. In retrospect- valuable time was ticking away. Had the child been brought to expert medical care of a trained ENT Surgeon, the story line would have been different!

Within three days, Harsh's world had been transformed. His fever came down. He was no longer dizzy. There was no noise in his ears... and... no sound, too... Now there was complete silence. The child's hearing nerves had been attacked by the virus and had succumbed.

Harsh. four years, who had been playing with local lads and running in the foothills less than a week ago; laughing and jumping - now had become deaf. How could this happen?

I saw the child- fair of skin and healthy in body, in his fathers arms. He was looking frail and fragile. He kept watching- waiting for some sound to penetrate the silence he had been thrown into. There was nothing.

I cried... I have a son who is four years old. I cried... I needed to do something- anything for him. A cochlear Implant- an electronic devise that can function as the ear would need to be implanted into this tiny skull. He could hear. He would.

However, a single implant costs lakhs. Where would the money come from?

How would the parents manage the rigorous post implant speech rehabillitation... with the new baby in their arms... how would they divide their time between the two children?

No easy answers here. A lot of difficult questions. Hopefully, we will be able to find the answers with the family. Hopefully Harsh will be well again. Hopefully Harsh will hear again. Hopefully Harsh will be harshit ( joyous) once more...

Hopefully...
Hopefully...