Anyway, I fretted and worried about his ‘developmental delay’ as I fretted and worried about everything - life was a project and there were milestones to be met. Suvo shrugged it off like he shrugged off any arbitrary social expectations - ‘he’ll speak when he feels like it …. Diya is there to speak for him … there is no problem’. And I got mad at him for not worrying enough as, in my less than wise ways, I equated it to not caring. He shrugged that off too. Grrrr….
Anyway, Aadi did ‘feel like it’ soon enough - four years old he pointed to something, Diya wasn’t around (probably at school) but by then I did not need translation, I knew what he wanted but I wanted him to use his words. So I said ‘No’ and turned to look outside the window so he doesn’t see the frustration in my eyes. And then I heard his tiny sing song voice say ‘why do you keep crushing my heart’ %%^*%+????? I was floored. Developmental delay my @$$. This boy was composing poetry behind my back - literally. His feelings were too big for the words he knew. They needed to catch up and sync before he could articulate.
Then came the thoughts - all in a jumble at first. When he was five, we moved to Texas - in hope of getting away from ‘mergencies and hostables’ that we attributed to Minnesota winters. In Texas, after getting systematically bullied in public school, we moved the kids to private school where they got religiously schooled in ‘science from a specific religion’s point of view’. First there were tears - while Aadi cried and prayed for the one billion lost souls in India who prayed to the wrong god. It was up to him to save them. Such a big task for such a little kid. Then came wonder, quickly followed by disbelief as a ‘miracle’ was performed by his kindergarten teacher in front of his whole class - by invoking god’s son she was able open the lid of a tightly closed jar that she couldn’t open by herself as she had previously demonstrated. After the prayers, the very same jar opened to the wonder of a class full of five year olds ready to put their beliefs into the jar for future safekeeping. And this was made possible just by son of god, imagine then the power of, capital G, God. So Aadi tried to imagine.
By then we had a bedtime ritual of cuddling up with the big questions of ‘how was your day at school’. Diya had reels of information, Aadi would stay quiet until her stories were exhausted, and then maybe share a snippet or two that made an impression for him - that’s how I knew about the miraculous stuff and lost souls which were apparently also discussed in front of the whole class - singling him out @@&%^*€?$& I was struggling to figure out how to help this boy who felt so deeply. How do I help him reconcile the world we threw him into for his own safety with the world he knew growing up in a house of two scientists who questioned everything.
But then, I didn’t have to - one of the nights he waited for his turn and just relaxed into the cuddle and (again without looking at me directly) said ‘I figured it out’, I waited silently for him to continue - I’ve learned that is the key, don’t push or prod, let him arrive on his own terms. And I had to suspend not just words, I had to relax with my whole body and snuggle closer, and then he exhaled and continued - ‘I figured it out - God made Big Bang’. I let that sink in. ‘I told her’, he continued referring to his kindergarten teacher. I waited and then sensing his tension asked - ‘what did she say?’ ‘Nothing. She said nothing, she just looked at me’. ‘Well then you know you are right, you figured it out. There is nothing more to say’, I told him, he relaxed and fell asleep promptly. I stayed awake a long time wondering.
Many years later, now, I am staying awake wondering again. There is a Big Bang in our lives and this boy is not speaking again. I am worried sick literally. But I have to remember. I have to trust. I have to let him arrive on his own terms.
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