Muhtasim Fuad
Fuad is passionate about all sorts of art- music, writing, painting.
His nickname is Zeet. He is currently struggling with pre-puberty mustache
It looked like an “A”. “A for Apple, B for Ball and C for Cat,” children replied in chorus as Mrs. Hatcher
employed her utmost effort to teach children the alphabets. Yet, I was the Anomaly. My sole focus would usually be on that single letter, A, the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. Pencil marks etched from one end to the other finally made sense. I had outwitted fate.
I could write.
It’s sad how often you ignore what God has given you. We are all equally guilty for committing the same
crime. Yes, everyone besides me. God had given me three senses while you were given five. Yet, I never
questioned why. In my days at the monastery I could see children playing in the fields although I was
never so fortunate like you to enjoy the calliphony of joy. I could smell the aura of freshly cut grass that
lay supine in the never ending fields. I was yet to inform the others how much I loved it. Then again, my
tongue betrayed me. Yet I was happy. At least I could feel the tingling sensations in the heart like all the
others although I was equally deaf and dumb.
“You moron! Pygmy Loser!” that had become my pet name in class. My ears spared me from
encountering the horror of loud grunts and mockery. I could simply visualize the sardonic smiles, the
grimace in their faces and the devil in their soul. Closing my eyes would eventually placate the revulsion
towards my incompetence and I could resume and prepare myself for the next round. A few minutes
later, history would repeat itself as the saying goes.
As a child I was very unresponsive. My father would often ruthlessly take a swipe at my mother for my
flaws. Three years had gone by and there was still no change. Poverty and lack of attention towards my
helpless state successfully failed to attract any concern from the doctors. When all the other children
uttered their first words “mom” or “dad” I was still in my preliminary state of imagination. The foggy
image of such aberration was crystal clear when at the age of 4, I was diagnosed with ear and tongue
defects.
Mother put her sincere interest and tried her best…..to trash me.
Like a bag of weed I would be left out at home in every social gathering. I had eyes. I could see my
parents dressing meticulously to attend family reunions. I never felt a part of “the family” as everytime I
was caught aback as they surpassed my expectations and left my feeble body within the foundation of
four white walls of my room. My only friends were shadows which frequently disappeared along with
the flickering bulb, leaving me in darkness.
I was a disappointment until they finally disposed me at the train station, naked to the uncertain world
and incomprehensive future. A pamphlet was the first gift I received with delight. It read “Welcome to
Michigan Monastery.”
A tap on the shoulder brought me out of my thoughts. I turned back. Glistening eyes were staring at me
with euphoria. Guru held a bright smile on his face. There was a round of applause. Stating the obvious, I
could not listen but my eyes rested upon the sight of hands enclosing and reopening in harmony – a
picture I could relate to merriment and approval.
I was flabbergasted at the ability I had just acquired.
“I can communicate! I could make my parents proud now! I can return to my the haven I long for-in the
arms of my mother and father just like all the other children!”
Standing at the gates of heaven, tears, hopeful tears flowered down my parched cheeks as a response.
There were tears of triumph, tears you find in elegy, but then came the tears of agony.
I had just formed a letter. It would take years to form words and then sentences. And even then if I did
survive the tyranny, could I regain the seven years of separation? Would I ever be accepted?
Then came the epiphany.
“Wait… Who are my parents? Where am I from? I was only 5 years old when I was cast out! My mind
can only portray vague images of my past!” I screamed, silently, with eyes still wet. I could never find my
way back home. My world demurely processed a new form: from alacrity to apathy; from amiability to
animosity, from abstract to affliction.
At this sight, maybe there were gasps of horror. Maybe there was an outbreak of confusion among my
classmates but I focused selfishly upon myself. What else could I do? I was simply deaf and dumb!
This new life would be an elegy. I was certain.