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Life’s about chasing dreams

The drama group on stage is sporting black Tees with the word ‘dis’ crossed out and ‘Ability’ written in clear font. The message couldn’t have been clearer, though the play had not 
yet begun.

Performed at the University of Wollongong last month (among other venues), the show was a witty account of moving past barriers and preconceived notions of what people with special needs can do. And who better to put that across than a striking cast consisting of two on wheelchairs, four hearing-impaired, one suffering developmental delay, one autistic and one with a rare form of dwarfism?

Group coordinator Neena Nizar, who also teaches at The Modern High School, said the idea for the group started when there was a drama event held and their special needs school was not called to participate. “The general notion was that we could not perform. So we got together and discussed ideas. It turned out everyone had abilities they wanted to showcase — and that’s how Ability was formed.”

After the show, this writer spoke to a few cast members to find out how they deal with their disabilities — and instead found a team bursting with dreams and abilities like every other youngster their age, with incredibly positive spirits that could put many an able-bodied soul to shame.

Music genius

Standing off-stage, 15-year-old Karthik Kumar fidgeted as he watched the rest of his teammates perform their play. Soon it would be his turn to take the stage. When he finally did though and the music began, the restlessness stopped and he performed a fitting rendition of John Lennon’s Imagine, a song about a world without boundaries — and one he’d learnt in just 10 minutes.

That is Karthik’s gift. He may be autistic but music, for him, transcends that barrier to transport him to a different world altogether. A student at Al Noor Training Centre for Children with Special Needs, he has memorised about 2,500 songs in all, can play the keyboard and guitar, and has even featured on TV shows in the past.

Despite his musical abilities, however, social interaction for the teenager is “almost zero” and he cannot communicate at all. His mom Rajeswari Krishnamurthy speaks on his behalf. “There are a lot of things he still cannot describe, like pain,” she explains. “He knows his family and a few close friends. At school, he’s ok with his peers but there’s no emotional attachment to the children and anything out of routine disturbs him.”

But when it comes to music (“in any form”), the entire equation changes. Karthik — whose parents had taken him to meet AR Rahman, who was “very impressed” with his pitch — often listens to songs, downloads lyrics and then sings them. He can read and write in English and Tamil — but he doesn’t understand what the words mean. “My mom loves using his skills for these radio competitions,” laughs Rajeswari. “They play songs for less than 10 seconds and ask you to guess which ones they are. And Karthik does — even songs that are not of his generation.”

While there are certain fears he harbours, such as of certain colours and the hibiscus flower, he has no fear of performing to crowds. “We’re happy with the way he is,” says his mother. “But we do want him to have a respectful life of his own someday, where he’ll be able to earn and stand up for himself. There are certain oddities with him but he’s a wonderful boy.”

Dreaming big

Twelve-year-old twins Rohan and Rohit Khiara are a whacky combo of cocky and cheerful, sharing a rapport that swings from teasing each other to completing the other’s sentences. Rohit dreams of becoming a rapper like his role model Eminem and wrote his own rap song for the group’s stage show while Rohan, who uses a wheelchair to get around due to his cerebral palsy, longs to be a cricketer someday.

“He bowls quite well actually,” says Rohit, supportively. “He’s a huge cricket fan — either glued to the TV or watching 1980 matches; he doesn’t care. Plus, he’s memorised almost every cricket statistic since 2000 and what…?” he trails off, looking askance at his sibling.

“2007,” Rohan offers, helpfully.

Give me a favourite statistic then, I prod.

It’s Rohit who answers with: “Tendulkar’s 200?”

Rohan’s grin is so wide it’s contagious. “He said it,” he almost sings. “Tendulkar’s 200.”

“When?” Rohit asks, with the bored air of an agent who’s seen one too many cricket-crazy fans.

“March 12, 2009,” came the shy reply.

“Against?”

“South Africa.”

“Time?” Rohit pursues, but his twin is giggling uncontrollably by now. “Think it was around 5 o’clock?”

“Nooo,” Rohan manages to protest. “It was 7pm.”

Rohit throws me a see-what-I-mean look and I have to concede.

Playing to large audiences was more fun than worrying for the two students who attend The Winchester School in Jebel Ali. So to anyone who assumes the stage is no place for people with special needs, Rohit has a sharp retort: “They’re wrong. People always tell me not to judge a book by its cover. Why should you judge someone without looking into his heart?”

“Tell people to look at you the way you want them to and not the way they already do,” interjects Rohan. “Or as Eminem said,” Rohit adds, “‘Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not beautiful.’”

Hear them out

Without his Blackberry, Zambian-born Victor Sitali is lost. The same goes for Rohit Manek, his best friend from Mumbai. Not because they’re being typical 21-year-olds, but because their smartphones actually function as lifelines for the two hearing-impaired youths to their otherwise silent worlds. Their mutual friend, 42-year-old Rubina Kola — who works as an accountant at the Indian Community Welfare Committee — is similarly challenged but gets by a little better, thanks to her proficiency in American Sign Language.

“We got Blackberries for all of them for this very reason,” says Neena, translating for them. “Otherwise, it’s very difficult for them to understand people or vice versa and that becomes frustrating.” Signing, Rubina says she dreams of a day when the language becomes so widespread in Dubai, everyone can sign with her. “Now that they’re working, both Rubina and Rohit find it difficult as there’s no patience or tolerance among most people to want to understand them,” says Neena.

Rohit, who currently works as a chef at Emirates Towers and hopes to be a famous one someday, says when they first started the drama group, people saw him only as someone who couldn’t hear. Now they approach him and want to know more about him.

It makes him feel good, though preparing for the drama didn’t really need much practice. “It’s my life story,” he points out. “What’s to practise?”

We look over at Victor, with his hair in cornrows and his tall frame, lounging coolly on the couch, Blackberry in hand. What’s it like for him, I ask. They sign the question, but he only smiles and answers with a shrug. The other three burst into laughter.

“Nothing bothers him,” explains Neena. “He’s got a very chilled out approach to life so even his condition doesn’t really bother him. We got him hearing aids but he turns them off. He’s just one cool dude.”

A year before — and this was before he joined Dubai-based art studio Mawaheb from Beautiful People — Victor didn’t know he was an artist. Earlier in the day, he’d already impressed the audience with his speed painting skills. As Rihanna’s Please Don’t Stop the Music thumped through the auditorium speakers, fingers, brushes and paints flew as he worked fast on his canvas. When the music — and Victor — stopped, there was polite applause as we surveyed his work. But then they flipped the painting upside down, and there were gasps of surprise followed by loud applause as we recognised the familiar side profile of the Barbadian hitmaker herself — Rihanna. Now, Neena says, his paintings are selling internationally. Scrolling through the image gallery on Victor’s phone, I can see why. Here was a ‘dude’ with some serious talent.

Does he have any other dreams for the near future? Victor is silent a moment, then gestures playfully to his ring finger. There’s more laughter but Neena didn’t have to translate this one. “He’d like to get married soon,” she confirms, as he gives another of what’s becoming his trademark shrug.

It’s time to wrap up one of the most enjoyable afternoons I’d had in a while. Thank you, I sign, wishing I knew how to say more. I receive three sets of ‘You’re welcome’ signed enthusiastically in return. Guess they heard me anyway.

karen@khaleejtimes.com

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