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“I like watching TV. I play with the other children in the forest quarters”

We at EGS are used to disabled persons or their parents describing how they live with and manage their disabilities. So we were stumped when Rojalia Kerketta (46) laughingly told us, “What to say? He is like any other child. There is nothing different about him.” Nothing different? Eight-year-old Joy was born with deafness, wasn’t he? Yes, he neither hears nor speaks but “he is fine” she keeps repeating. It made us reflect on how people generally perceive disability as a hierarchy, with deafness causing the least concern – it is considered far ‘worse’ if you can’t move, or walk, or see, or if your brain doesn’t function as it is supposed to.
 
Rojalia, her husband Xavier Kerketta (53) and their only child Joy live in the forest department quarters in Nilambur (RV) village in North and Middle Andaman. Xavier goes into the forest to “take care of an elephant” while Rojalia manages the home. The couple has had little formal education.
 
When Joy was a baby he made noises but it wasn’t until he turned two – when he still hadn’t spoken or responded – that his parents realised something was amiss. After taking him to a government hospital they discovered he could not hear, and as a result, could not speak. Adapting quickly, the family began communicating with him through gestures, which soon became their everyday norm. Joy was prescribed a hearing aid, but the battery would often run out and replacing it required a trip to Port Blair. Eventually, they stopped using it. The community around Joy communicates with him through gestures.
 
The couple further ‘normalised’ their son by admitting him to a mainstream government school three years ago. Each morning, Rojalia gets Joy ready and together they make the short journey – about five minutes by bus or a fifteen-minute walk. She drops him off and picks him up daily. He is in Class 2 and she is content with his being able to “easily identify fruits, vegetables, animals and birds in his book”. She has heard about a special school in Port Blair but “it is too far from home” so she hasn’t given it much thought.
 
Blissfully ignorant about his academic prospects as he advances to higher grades, Rojalia is just happy he follows a routine, plays with his friends, and enjoys watching TV and eating chocolates and ice cream that his father buys him when they go out. No different from any other child, right? But we can’t help wondering what would happen as he grows older, as social contact shifts from the physical to the intellectual. He might continue to memorise his lessons and write exams, but would he understand ideas, concepts? Friendships based on childhood fun and frolic will blossom only with emotional growth, of which conversation is a vital part.
 
If the special school in Port Blair has a teacher of Indian Sign Language, it might foster genuine connections between Joy and other Deaf children. He could be an active part of the Deaf community. On the other hand, none of us can make a judgement call about what would be ‘better’ for him, or denigrate his parents for not allowing him to ‘thrive’. He might face increasing isolation as he reaches adulthood but be content with his own company. With a foreshortened academic career, he might engage himself in manual labour, perhaps surrounded by nature, finding his own shade of happiness. Joy could find joy in unexpected ways. He might turn out to be different, after all.