Like a flower in the sky

OCT 08 -
When I was a child, I used to rejoice each time Dashain was near. Like any other child in the neighbourhood, I used to run around with a bright kite in my hand and count down the days till Ghatasthapana. The best part of the festival was the day of tika, when my sister and I excitedly waited for our gifts.

As I grew up, I realized I wasn’t the only child who loved Dashain. Children loved the festival, and this continues even today. The children at Sungava institute are no different.

Sungava is a climber; a beautiful flower that grows with the support of the trunk of a strong tree. The symbolic name itself speaks of the girls who bloom at the institute—they are afflicted with mental disorders such as Autism and Down’s syndrome. The children have thus grown physically, but they haven’t still developed their mental capacities, and depend on the support and guidance of strong tree trunks—their family members and others who help them at the institute.

This institute, located on the top floor of a five-storey building at Jamal, is equally buzzing with the onset of Dashain. At any other time, this centre has an entirely different atmosphere; in its two rooms, the teachers—who are also parents of the 16 girls who come here—provide vocational training and teach them basic life skills. These innocent girls, with smiles on their faces, love this humble accommodation and come here every morning to spend the rest of the day.

For Gunjana, Binija, Sama and Shrabhha, Dashain is all about new clothes, flowers, fruits, good food, and kites. “I go to my mama ghar (maternal home) and Dakshinkali; I put tika and also play the swing,” says 16-year-old Binija. Sama, who is 30, seems more excited about the new dresses, particularly the blue kurta she bought at New Road for Dashain. “We get to eat chicken and mutton,” 23-year-old Shrabha adds excitedly; Gunjana takes the conversation towards Tihar, and the four girls begin talking about the beautiful lights, the mandaps, and Bhai Tika.

But not all the girls here share the same excitement. Luza, Sanju, Rachana and Unita kept smiling while I spoke to them; they couldn’t put their feelings into words, and perhaps didn’t fully understand why the others were excited. They nodded their heads when I spoke to them, but there wasn’t any further communication from their sides. “For all of you,” Binu Shrestha, mother of Shrabhha, points at me, “Growing up is all about becoming independent and thinking by yourself.

For us, our only hope is that our daughters can one day take care of themselves.”

It torments the mothers to see their children this way; there isn’t much they can do, except assist them in any way they can. Still, the one constant fear among the mothers is that “Who will take care of them when I am gone?” Urmila Suwal, mother of Unita, tells me how other mothers snatch their children away when one of them comes near her daughter. “They don’t even let their children touch my daughter,” she says, “For us, they are still our children. But others don’t understand this.”

Still, the mothers are doing all they can to make Dashain special for the children. “They get really happy when the festival approaches,” says Tara Kamal, another mother whose daughter, Ratina, stays at home most of the time. Tara takes her daughter along wherever she goes—shopping, meeting relatives for tika, or anywhere else. 

The children at Sungava, just like the flower itself, need a lot of nurturing and love. The mothers do the best they can, and the strain sometimes shows on their faces. Still, they continue to be patient, give the children the love and care that they need, and live in the hope that their daughters too can celebrate the joy of living the way everyone else celebrates Dashain.