Sight Suresh D.O.S- 31/07/15 Even though I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, I felt the warm golden gleam of the sunlight pressing against my eyelids. It was time to wake up. I sat up as my bed creaked and took in the beauty of my room. The sunlight gave life to my room. And as it breathed I saw the minute particles of dust floating about. I got up and looked out the window. The busy streets of Chennai already began to bustle. Like a colony of multi-coloured steel ants cluttering a narrow creek in the
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Sight of the beautiful world around me was the only happiness in my life. I learnt this from my grandfather. He was a blind cancer patient. And he used to hate every moment of it. “It’s so dark Taaru…” he used to mutter “you don’t know how lucky you are. It’s so empty… life… without sight.” My grandfather being the charmingly adamant man he was, refused to be transferred to the hospital. “Simple back pain I have and you want to send me to hospital… Nonsense… I will stay right here in my bed and rest.” But eventually things got so bad that he had to be shifted to the ICU. Before he was transferred to the hospital, I would sit beside him every evening after school, without fail. He made it a religious discipline that I describe, vividly, all the happenings of the day. Since he was blind and since he could not move around much, I was his eyes. I used to tell him about everything: the breakfast Amma made for me, the scenic bus ride to school, about my observation of other classmates during lunchbreak, about the walk home. I told him everything. He lost his eyesight at 73, and soon his life a couple of years later. All those evenings spent with him made me aware that these two odd-looking globules we call eyes are the greatest gifts that God has bestowed upon man. And in this way, I looked at life, standing in awe and marvel and the colourful wreck of a world around me. But to others, like my family, classmates, and teachers, I seemed to be a dull and silent boy. Only thatha understood me; only
Sight of the beautiful world around me was the only happiness in my life. I learnt this from my grandfather. He was a blind cancer patient. And he used to hate every moment of it. “It’s so dark Taaru…” he used to mutter “you don’t know how lucky you are. It’s so empty… life… without sight.” My grandfather being the charmingly adamant man he was, refused to be transferred to the hospital. “Simple back pain I have and you want to send me to hospital… Nonsense… I will stay right here in my bed and rest.” But eventually things got so bad that he had to be shifted to the ICU. Before he was transferred to the hospital, I would sit beside him every evening after school, without fail. He made it a religious discipline that I describe, vividly, all the happenings of the day. Since he was blind and since he could not move around much, I was his eyes. I used to tell him about everything: the breakfast Amma made for me, the scenic bus ride to school, about my observation of other classmates during lunchbreak, about the walk home. I told him everything. He lost his eyesight at 73, and soon his life a couple of years later. All those evenings spent with him made me aware that these two odd-looking globules we call eyes are the greatest gifts that God has bestowed upon man. And in this way, I looked at life, standing in awe and marvel and the colourful wreck of a world around me. But to others, like my family, classmates, and teachers, I seemed to be a dull and silent boy. Only thatha understood me; only