Return Gift

She would be sitting outside the shelter home building, under the only tree that dared to brave the sun glaring down on the old school courtyard. As soon as I push the large, rusty gate open, I would find her fix her gaze on me, and wait patiently as I made my way across the courtyard to where she sat. I would smile, and sync my lips to a muted, “Saaptingala” and gesture with one hand towards my mouth, as she would grab my other hand and literally drag me into the building. Once inside the empty dormitory room, lined only with the meagre belongings of about twenty old destitute women, she would spread a mat on the floor and seat me down on it.

We had a unique connection, this old lady (Ammayamma) and I. She would move her toothless mouth in a multitude of directions, not knowing what sounds emerged from it as she tried to communicate with me. I would attempt to understand what she said, and occasionally needed some help from her roommates. She would be telling me about meeting her son, or having visited the temple the previous day and almost getting hit by an autorickshaw. In turn, I would attempt to communicate with her, using my facial expressions and gesturing skills as vigourously as possible. She often did not understand what I said, but she would always say something in response. Every time I visited, though, she would ensure that she made me understand one thing well; that she came to me with one request – she needed to hear. She wanted to hear!

The caretaker of the Shelter Home told me not to worry about the deaf old lady. After all, she just had a few years left in her, so it wasn’t worth the trouble. But Ammayamma was persistent, and I think she knew that the caretaker wouldn’t do anything about it. She knew I was only a student, but she also knew that I empathized with her even though we were completely different, in age, and in every possible way. So, one day, I made the decision to go ahead and do something about it.

It was stupid to waste time on this, the caretaker had warned me. But I was ready to waste my time, because Ammayamma had believed in me. She gripped my hand in anticipation as she came out of the shelter home with me for her ENT checkup. I had to be careful that she didn’t stand in the way of speeding vehicles on the main road. I treated her as though she were my child. It reminded me of some wise person’s observation that old age was a second childhood.

Following the ENT checkup, I worked for several months on getting her a free hearing aid from the government. It had taken me multiple visits to the Thasildar's office, the Collector's office and the Government Hospital in Chennai. Most of these visits required hours of waiting before someone who claimed to be extremely busy would meet me for a few minutes. Each one of these people would point me in a different direction; they said I had to approach a different person working in a different office. Either that, or the procedure had recently changed, and I needed more documents to avail the government health insurance service. I somehow managed to go through with it all without giving up. But just a few days before the hearing aid could be delivered to her, my field placement with the organization ended.

I could not visit the shelter home for a few months after that, due to exams and a few other academic commitments. I had entrusted the shelter home’s caretaker with the work of following up on the matter if the hearing aid had not been delivered within a few weeks. I waited to hear from the caretaker soon. And indeed, my work had not gone in vain! I received the news over the phone one day. The caretaker, who sounded a little mystified herself, told me that Ammayamma could now hear.

Several months later, I decided to visit the shelter home, not as a field work student, but as a friend this time. As I walked from the bus stop towards the large, rusty gate of the shelter home, I wondered if I would find Ammayamma watching me from her favourite spot under the tree. As I pushed the gate open, instead of seeing a tired old lady watching me from under the tree, I saw an excited little child run towards me. Yes, she was trapped in the wrinkly, brown body of an old lady, but she was definitely a little girl running to meet one of her favourite super stars!

I was soon wrapped in a hug, and I saw tears of joy run down her eyes as she demonstrated to me how her hearing aid worked! I was filled with an emotion I can only describe as fuzzy and warm. I heaved a sigh of contentment as she then latched on to my arm and led me into the dormitory, as always!

PS: This is an article I wrote during a job interview two years ago. It is an adaptive story from my own experience as a field work trainee in Social Work. Although this writeup is crafted solely from my perspective, I did have a field work partner, Billy, who was equally involved in the process of helping Ammayamma.