Soma

            Soma was surprising to me. I did not know what to expect when I got to Nibo Jibon. All I had heard was that I’d be working with street boys, but that did not mean anything to me. I had imagined that there would be orphan boys who had been taken in by the Missionaries of Charity. I did not expect it to be a home for mentally and physically handicapped children. So when I walked through the gate into the courtyard where the boys spent their time I was surprised. As I walked by the children on the way to the volunteer room in order to drop off my stuff I saw many different people boys. Some were crippled, others had vacant stares. None of the boys seemed capable of higher functions. I went into another room to begin working with children, and that is where I met Soma.

            His most distinct feature was his head. From his eyes down it looked normal. One tooth was shorter than the rest, and slightly crooked. And when he looked at me I was never quite sure if he was looking at me or past me. These differences were easy to overlook compared to the top of his head. Right above his eyes it expanded sideways until it was about twice as wide as it should have been. It was also much taller than normal. This made me think of the protagonist from the recent cartoon movie Megamind. Even with a large head, he was rather short; standing next to me he was shorter than my shoulder.

            As I walked into the room where many children were sitting Soma gestured to me. I was neither sure what he was doing or who he was gesturing to. His palm was facing the ground and he curled his fingers. After being confused for a few seconds I decided action was necessary, and I walked over. He patted the ground next to him. I understood this gesture much better. Sitting next to him he looked very intently, placed the tips of all his fingers together so that his hand formed a cone, and started moving it toward and away from his mouth rapidly. Then, with the most concerned expression, he pointed at me and said, “Eenh?”

            This took the cake for confusing me. I did not know what to think. Was he asking if I wanted to eat? Or if I had eaten? I never found out. He simply kept asking in the same fashion. I decided that the safest answer was “no” since that would not result in me being handed food by a mentally challenged child. When I finally told him no, he looked at me, concerned, and said, “No?” while waving his hand at me. When I confirmed, “No,” he adopted a very pitying expression and said, “Oh…” and took my head in his arm, pulled it into his chest, and patted my head. This interview happened several times throughout my time with Soma, with a different reaction every time. Sometimes he just looked downcast; at others he patted my shoulder and would start rubbing my back. Every time though he seemed extremely saddened by the fact that I said no to his query.

            The more time I spent with Soma, the more I could see his intelligence. When I looked into his eyes he seemed to have plenty of thoughts that he could not express. He also had retention skills that far exceeded the other boys. When one of the workers suggested that he sing, he was very shy about it at first, but then he really started to go for it. Though his lack of clear speech and knowledge of the English language made it impossible for me to understand his words, it was clear to me that he had something that he was saying. And I grew more impressed with his intelligence.

            This also may have had to do with the other boys I was interacting with. While working with the boys, I met children with many different problems. One boy was so deformed that he was permanently confined to a wheelchair, his arms always over his head. His brain was not functioning properly either since he always had this overly-excited look on his face. Another boy would wander around with one hand clasping my arm, the other holding a bottle cap to his mouth. As he walked he would make one of two noises. “Bula bula bula,” was the noise he would make as his one open eye would fixate on the ambulance that was parked in the yard. Or he would make a deep gurgling noise as if he were trying very hard to clear some mucus deep in his throat. The boys in the home had so many problems and looked so strange that in comparison the Down syndrome boy living at the home appeared rather normal.

            There was something more about Soma though. He was not normal looking in the least. Instead, what stood out was his compassion. Helpers were in limited supply. Helpers like me, who spent their time playing with the children, were a treat that was few and far between for the boys. I could only do so much for the boys. So when it came to spending time with them, every boy wanted a small piece of me, including Soma. Soma acted differently however. As I would sit with him he would enjoy my company. When someone else needed attention however, he would immediately give up his position. He was willing to claim my attention, but when he recognized a need greater than his own he would allow for that need to be filled.

            And that need was not necessarily to be taken care of but to be given attention. When sitting with Soma, he would do nice things for me as often as not. I remember sitting next to him and thinking, “He is giving me a hand massage.” I did contemplate trying to massage his hand in return, but decided against since he was always commanding, and if I did not follow his orders exactly, I was gestured at until I complied. Like when we were sitting on the floor together cross-legged and he told me to take off my shoes. I did not understand right away and his actions become more exaggerated until one of the other volunteers told me that he wanted my shoes off. He was very happy after I took them off, but always insisted that they sit behind my back.

            Soma also acted at a protector on several occasions. Due to the mentally unstable nature of the boys, some underestimated their strength and would use that strength on me. Being unwilling to fight with mentally handicapped children, I would not do anything. Soma, however, had no qualms about beating them off. Some of the boys also took interest in my shoes that Soma had asked me to remove. He did not like this at all. So he would tell the other boys, “No!” and take my shoes from them. Then he would hand them to me and tell me where to put them so that they would be safe.

            Soma also became fascinated with my pants. Because of the ground conditions in Kolkata, I had rolled my pants up to just below my knees. This piqued Soma’s interest. He had me sit on a planter so that he could get a clear look at my legs. Then he sat on the ground and started unrolling my pants. He was very methodical about his task. And when he finished, he suddenly became engaged with the zipper. After thoroughly investigating the zipper he rolled them back up. This was impressive to me because he rolled them up to the same exact height, and rolled them better than I did most of the time.

            As I was leaving Nibo Jibon I decided to look into Soma a little bit more. There was a board on the wall that gave information about all of the people living in the homes. It told the name of the boy, their ailment a picture of them and sometimes had a description about them. The diseases ranged from mental retardation to “weakness.” I scanned for Soma and found his picture and learned his name. His ailment was described as “mental retardation.” I thought to myself, “There is no way that is the extent of his problems. He is too smart to be mentally retarded.” Then I looked at the date of birth. It was in 1994. That meant he was eighteen years old, and two years younger than me. But he acted more like my seven-year-old nephew. All of a sudden I found myself agreeing with the sign.