Repetition is not the correct word

8th May, 2019

I didn’t hurry to write about that poignant experience. I might have chosen a different, well suited word for that deep emotional experience. For now, that’s the only word coming to my mind. Poignant, especially because after that while talking with Utkarsh, I was in tears- something was choking my throat. I was full of a certain feeling- I didn’t realize until I was talking over the phone. 

Paul Junior had kicked Muwanguzi. Muwanguzi was crying- standing on his crooked feet, with his arms crooked like always. Promise was comforting him. This gave me some hope and relief. She even hugged him- something I myself never did. He was made to sit, back on his wheelchair, still crying out loud. He cannot communicate through language any of what he ever feels- pain being the main content of this. Loneliness, a yearning for some love, touch, and belonging would follow thereafter. He continued to cry out loud, quite loud, looking up at me and shaking his head constantly in pain and in the usual rhythm he makes. He was basically yelling. Water drops running out continuously. And at an equal pace, I was rubbing the fingers of both the hands from his head to his cheeks, his chin-again and again repeatedly. ‘Repetition’ is not the correct description. The movements of my hand was one act. ‘Repetition’ somehow hints at an effort. There was no effort, it was natural. I was right in the moment of calming him down, giving him at intervals some airy pecks of reassurance, consoling. The hundreds of flies that were glued to and around him because of his never ending and fresh wounds were now also in full invitation to sit on my skin and clothes- this was not bothering me at all. I deliberately brought the possibility of his saliva bothering me in case it was about to be dropped/ smeared on my left palm- even this was not making any difference. 

The only thing I could feel was his very tender, very soft, very smooth, supple, also warm cheeks- actually all his skin that I was touching and rubbing against. I held his head against my thigh. I suppose he had to bend a lot and could touch only a small portion, only of his head because he was tied to the chair, like most. He stopped crying after a few minutes. The love and caress had neutralized the pain, the tears. Now, there was a perception of this love separately- he got back his humming sound- as if it was an appreciation for that’s the only speech he has. The sounds do indicate different states of mind, reactions depending upon the length and facial expressions with which they are carried. This time it was short, complemented with his typical smile- not very evident to be understood. Now the next step was his holding of my hand and let it rub the path from his forehead till the bottom part of his cheek.