My Morning Walk

“Somehow today feels different. It is the same morning, the same park… I feel the steady morning drizzle, water collecting in tiny puddles, a light breeze… A pigeon just ruffles its feathers and comfortably settles on a branch… But the green grass somehow feels softer, lightly tickling my soles… I love my early morning walk.”

Mom always said it was good for eyesight. “Walk barefoot on grass every morning and you’ll never have to wear these”, she’d say pointing to dad’s spectacles. It became a ritual for us. Daily I would accompany her to the park for a barefoot morning walk on the grass. I cherished admiring nature in all her glory. Loved it all… Loved it till I entered my teens.

On the eve of Holi, as we were happily splattering colour everywhere, some of it entered my eyes. In a couple of hours my eyes began to itch and burn as my vision blurred. The docs said that chemicals in the colours had permanently affected my retina. Transplant was the only option. I was blind! And so began the painful journey of endless donor lists, unmatched tissues, the agonizing wait… I slowly learnt to accept my fate.

Everything changed; the school, books, friends, hobbies, everything. But my morning walk still remained constant. I learnt to recognize nature by her sounds. The drop of water, the ruffles of feathers, the grass tickling me… I had my mother through it all. I would often break but she tried being strong for me. She was no longer the vibrant person she used to be but tried hard. Slowly she began suffering from bouts of depression and finally succumbed to it…

“This is my first walk without her. I wonder what is so special about today. Perhaps it is because I’m using a pen instead of a Braille stylus. Or because I’m watching the world through my mother’s eyes…”