“Sir, you are very courageous- writing all that you do even after getting married. I am a great fan of yours,” Tarun said laughing heartily.

“No, Tarun. It is not his courage, it is my tolerance in allowing him to do so” I smiled back defiantly and Tarun burst out into further fits of laughter. Tarun was talking about husbands mention of “the wife” and anecdotes on “her” in his columns.  I was not amused. The humor meant at entertaining his readers did not always throw me in very good light or so I thought. Often his readers barely recognized “the wife” from his columns when they met me.

The candle on the table threw a warm light through the glass stand, softly illuminating the surroundings while making Tarun’s eyes sparkle in merriment, through the thick black rimmed glasses he wore. He laughed from the core of his heart and honestly, I had never seen or heard a heartier laugh than his, as we sat there in the semi darkness, on the tables by the Chinese Fishing Nets on the beach at Fort Cochin. We were in Fort Cochin for a day on our way to Munnar sometime last April.

Tarun who lived in Cochin was a regular reader of husband’s columns and blog. He said that he would meet us there. They had corresponded on several occasions via email. On reaching Cochin, we called him and all we heard at the other end was some grunts and sounds. We called again, but this time the sounds only seemed more urgent. We decided to give up, thinking that Tarun might be busy or may not really be coming all the way from Ernakulam to Fort Cochin an hour or so away just to meet us.

We had barely disconnected when the phone rang again and a heavy, older voice said, “Sir, this is Tarun’s father. He is not able to speak clearly as a result, his words often sound pretty garbled over the telephone. He is so excited to be able to meet you. Can he come over this evening and meet you by the sea, close to the Chinese fishing nets? He says he will recognize you instantly from your picture on the blog” 

 “Sure my wife and I will be there at 6Pm”. They hung up after that, we went out to explore the Dutch Colony Cochin, and it was indeed beautiful.

At 5.30 Pm, we reached the seaside, where the Chinese fishing nets are cast. We took a table at one of the many open-air eateries, selling fresh fish and sat down. The sun was gradually coming down on us in a beautiful pinkish, yellow ball and the warm summer sea breeze caressed our cheeks. In a while just after the  fresh Lobsters, fish and prawn that I had selected from the fishermen there came on the table grilled and inviting, a gentleman came up to our table and extending his hand said “I am Tarun’s father”.  I looked up, and husband shook the man’s hand asking, “Where is Tarun”?

“He is there, in the car looking at us as we speak. I will just go and get him”. Looking in the direction of his pointed finger, we saw Tarun’s beaming face.

I remained at the table, though standing while Tarun was lifted out of the car manually by his father and placed on the wheelchair, which had first been positioned, before the car door. Even from afar, I could see the glow in Tarun’s eyes. His face lit up on seeing the person of his admiration. As they came closer I moved ahead to go and shake Tarun’s hand. I was so embarrassed when his father said, “He cannot lift his hand”. Tarun’s face on his blog flashed in front of me. His beautiful words and writing, rushed to my consciousness. I knew he was physically challenged but I wondered how he wrote all of that. He must be dictating it to someone I thought.

I looked down to find Tarun lifting the fingers of his right hand on his lap upward, towards me and I bent and held them on his lap in a gesture of a handshake, one that he could best manage. “I saw you from the car and recognized Sir immediately”. Tarun said beaming, though he took a long time to complete the sentence. I did not understand what he said but was unable to hide my facial expressions. I remained silent but nodded and smiled. His father immediately picked up the cue seeing my expression and repeated what Tarun said.  Tarun can just about move his fingers, mouth and tongue enough to manage to talk with great effort.  Tarun’s disability is over 90%.

Sitting at the table as our conversation with Tarun progressed I got used to his speech and was able to follow him. “People miss the punch in my jokes,” he laughed. “ Often I say something really humorous and witty but by the time people understand what I said or meant, the impact is lost and it sounds like a PJ (poor joke).  I laughed immediately and thanked God for letting me understand his words so as not to let Tarun down again. “You entertain us with your humorous writing Tarun; I have read your blogs. You are witty, humorous and full of life. It is a loss for those who cannot laugh at your words and humor”

Tarun’s father went on to tell us how Tarun was born healthy and normal like any of us and was so, until he was twelve years. In the course of a year after his twelfth birthday, he gradually slipped into the disability that he is in now after a neurological failure brought upon by complex factors.  “At first, Tarun was devastated, angry with god and the world. He refused to talk, smile or ever go out of the house. His eyes constantly seemed to question me “why me Papa?” and his mother was always in tears and stopped praying to God”.

Husband and I sat there, listening to Tarun’s story. We had known that Tarun was physically challenged, figuring it out in bits and pieces from his blogs but had no clue to the extent.

“You write beautifully Tarun,” I said smiling at him in complete amazement.

“Not like Sir” was the prompt and gleeful reply.

“He keeps the keyboard on his knee and types, balancing his palm on it as he is just able to move his fingers. In fact a visit from a teacher of a Special institute was instrumental in forcing him to complete his studies there and with their help was able to get a job in a reputed organization as a proof reader”. His father complied. “Thanks to my teacher’s recommendation or I would have been peeling potatoes in some kitchen,” Tarun laughed heartily and I looked on in awe and admiration.

Why do we think that all, a physically challenged person can do is make handicrafts, incense sticks or pack some candles? I wondered. There is so much that they can contribute to, if given a chance. They have the intelligence, tenacity, sincerity and perseverance far superior to what, we who consider ourselves normal have.  “You are so brave, both of you” I said looking from one to the other of father and son. I smiled at the irony- we had come here to meet a fan of husband’s and we were going to leave here as his biggest fan.

After a sumptuous dinner of all things fresh, the sea breeze playing with our hair, we helped a happy Tarun into the car. Wishing him and his father the very best of love and life we strolled back to our hotel nearby, as their car drove away with Tarun still looking out, smiling at us. Tarun’s deep, child like gurgle, the laughter that rose from the depth of his soul and lit up his eyes and his face still rings in my ears.

His nearly thirty years, out of which 18 were spent confined to his wheelchair certainly gave him more to be cheerful, happy and laugh about than as many of mine spent in freedom and so called normalcy. Why am I not able to laugh so light heartedly as Tarun can? Am I not able to count and find more of God’s blessings than Tarun?  I wondered as I lay awake long into the night.