It was a warm March Sunday evening as I stepped out of my front door to alight a flight of steps for dinner at my sister’s place. Everything appeared usual: I was humming a favourite song, my daughter ran in the front toward the gate downstairs and I was cautious as I possibly can as I descended down the first step.
I don’t know about other blind persons, but for me walking on long stairways is fun. Be it walking up or getting down, I enjoy it because stairways are one place where we don’t need anyone’s help. The moment I hit the stairway, I ask, “Where’s the railing?” and follow it without expecting assistance. Believe me, walking alone with absolutely nothing to interrupt you, is a particularly liberating feeling for a blind man. So, I usually take brisk steps and even run if I am confident that the stairway is obstacle free.
The two-floor ascent at office is something I enjoy since they are familiar, and I use my break to walk down to have water. For someone confined to the chair throughout the working hours, this is a welcome relief. But imagine my shock when I was very close one day to kicking a bucket heavy with water!! (It was apparently kept by house keeping person for mopping the stairway.)
I thanked my stars for not falling over the bucket, and plunging seven or eight steps down, which would have surely broken my ankle or knee. People around me started cautioning me almost immediately about how I should be careful – putting out my hand and walking one step at a time and so on. “Do you walk like that?” I asked obviously exasperated by the way people treat me because of my blindness.
The funny thing is that stairways are supposed to be obstacle-free and no one expects a bucketful of water on the middle of the climb. And no one either questioned or instructed the house keeping person not to do it again. “It’s too early to kick the bucket” I joked with a colleague and explained the housekeeper about the dangers of keeping things like buckets on the way.
Back on that Sunday at home, I was getting down the steps and tripped suddenly. I lost control and went on a free fall and dashed my head against a wall in the front of the landing. This was far costlier than the near miss of ‘kicking the bucket’ as I felt lingering pain in my right temple and broke a half-grown wisdom tooth which made me sit through an agonizing dental surgery.
No one can predict accidents and probably that’s why it is accident. I also understand the concerns of people and feel touched when they take a moment to enquire about my condition and offer their genuine support in so many little ways. In fact, that is the best thing about being blind: you are always loved, supported and protected by people you barely know. The condition of blindness in a person evokes kindness in others and so they respond to our situation as if it were something that hurts them.
But when people somehow presume that I am sloppy or must act differently in this situation because of my blindness, I tend not to agree with that. As people without a vital sense, our body has various defense mechanisms to protect us (this is something purely instinctual and reflex) so usually you don’t find a blind person falling over something despite worries of people around him/her. By law of average, even that is bound to fail once in a way, not because the mechanism is faulty, but because our environment is full of unpredictabilities.
Should my blindness be blamed for this? I don’t know. Probably those who read and analyze this may have better answers.
- L Subramani, Bangalore
No comments:
Post a Comment