Special

Special is the kind of word,
So often said, so often heard.
But it does what it’s meant to do,
When it’s describing special you.

I drop my baby boy with my mom before walking to the bus stop to board the usual bus that takes me to my office. Today like every other day I did the same.

As I walk my eyes constantly search for that special someone. My heart feels heavy, where is that special person? That smile? Nowhere in sight. I somehow feel very sad. My day will not be the same if I don’t see that person.

Wondering whom I’m talking about. I’m talking about Kavitha, the special child in my neighbourhood. Innocent, always smiling and special. That’s what she is to me. I would never ever refer to her as retarded.

As I start from home I turn back and look to see if she is coming. If she sees me from far she smiles and runs as fast as she can to catch up. She needs help to cross the road, the road where drivers mercilessly speed away without any concern for the pedestrians.

I hold her hand and she hangs on, a firm clasp. I watch the road cautiously and take her along to the other side where again she smiles at me and waits for her school bus to come.

Today I couldn’t find her anywhere. I sadly crossed the road and waited for my bus. Few minutes later I saw her coming. She reached the end of the road and looked to the left, then to the right. I saw her face, scared and anxious. She saw me across the road and smiled. I didn’t wait a second longer. I darted across the road to her and held her hand. She grinned. Then slowly we walked across the road.

Happy and relaxed I said bye to her and boarded my bus. Tomorrow I shall meet her again. That special person who makes my day.