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3. Looking for a Cure
- Gallaudet University Press
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3 Looking for a Cure ON THE MORNING I WOKE UP DEAF, VAID NARANJAN left about twenty hand-rolled homeopathic pills for me to take. I swallowed one pill, which Bhabhi gave me with warm water, and waited. Bhabhi stood there with the glass in her hand, her face expectant and questioning. “I do not hear anything!” I said disappointedly. She put the glass down, brought her mouth close to my left ear, and I felt some warm air. I shook my head in despair. The pill did not work! Bhabhi moved her open palm up and down in front of her—a gesture for patience. I agreed reluctantly, remembering that homeopathic medicines took time to take effect. In the past, whenever we were sick, we had to swallow Vaid Naranjan’s pills or powdered medication. They always took several days to take effect. Soon though, the pills were gone without any improvement in my hearing. Vaid Naranjan must have told Babuji about his inability to cure me as plans were made to take me to Hoshiarpur, the nearest city, sixteen miles away. Babuji told me of this plan one night. He wrote in Urdu on his left palm with the index finger of his right hand. “We are going to Hoshiarpur tomorrow!” he traced, while I peered at his moving index finger. “Who is there?” I asked, hoping it might mean new hope for me. “There is a doctor. He is good. He might help.” The next morning, I was dressed in several layers of warm clothes for the trip. I was still weak and walked between Ramesh and Sham, holding them for support. We had to stop several times for me to rest between our home and the bazaar where the bus stand was located. I was upset at my weakness. I was also embarrassed; as we passed houses, 7 8 deaf in delhi Front row: Bhua Parvati (Bhua means that she’s my father’s sister), Bhabhi, Babey, Bhua Savitri. Back row: Sister Brahmi, Sister-in-law Karishna, Sister-inlaw Ram Kumari (Sham’s wife), Sister Kamla. Taken in 1964. faces in doors appeared to look at me. Young children not old enough to go to school clung to their mothers, who covered their faces behind veils because of Babuji’s age. As they stared, I told myself, they are looking at the bola, the one and only. Sham and Ramesh went to school after escorting me to the bus stand. The Hoshiarpur bus was to leave at 9:00 in the morning, but did not show up until around 9:45. Like all things in India at that time, buses did not follow the schedule. No one complained, and being late or early was taken for granted. The sixteen-mile trip from Gagret to Hoshiarpur took forty-five minutes even though most of the road was paved. The winding road required the bus to go as slow as five miles an hour. The passengers fell on each other at each steep S-shaped turn, despite hanging on to seat backs and window bars. Babuji held me to keep me steady. He tried to write something on his palm but I looked away. I did not want anyone on the bus to know I was deaf. However, everyone knew Babuji, and he had to explain to them why we were going to Hoshiarpur and from what kind of sickness the little boy was suffering. [18.204.42.89] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 06:03 GMT) looking for a cure 9 Every time I looked up, I saw inquisitive faces staring at me, nodding their heads in sympathy or bewilderment. I ignored their eyes, looking instead at the ceiling or the floor or the back of the seat ahead of me. I wished I could become invisible. Narain, who was attending college at Hoshiarpur, met us at the bus stand. Always a neat dresser, he stood apart from everyone else. I was proud that he was my brother. The people around us looked at Narain, not at me. That was just fine with me. “Wait,” I said to myself. “As soon as I get my hearing back and grow up, I will dress better than Narain when I go to medical college.” We took a bicycle rickshaw to the doctor with Narain following us on his bicycle. The doctor examined me—thermometer, pulse, tongue, ears—and then took out a tuning fork. I had never seen a...