I want to Walk, by Ambika Pandit, New Delhi

Born, raised, and currently residing in New Delhi, Ambika is a journalist by profession and storyteller by nature, eager to learn something new every day, in the school of life.

Gripping the sides of her walker, my sister puts one foot forward while the other wobbles a bit ‘til it firmly lands on the ground to mark a step.

"One more round," she says, before flipping the walker to walk down the corridor all over again.

Her physiotherapist walks behind her to prevent a fall. This has been her daily routine for years and remains so even now. She walks past the living room chatting with the physio, not once losing focus. The duo analyze all that needs to be done to make her biggest dream a reality. The desire to be independent thrives in her, as she hopes to one day walk without any support, to experience the freedom of a path that her own feet will choose to explore. 

Nothing in life, not even the fear and gloom of a pandemic, can dampen her spirits and her resolve. 

It will be 40 years next year since my younger sibling started her struggle with cerebral palsy as a newborn. Much has changed since then, with regular therapy and patience. She believes the change has helped her grow, dream, and stand up on her two feet to move sometimes with a walker and at other times with a little assistance. There are also those blissful, unassisted short steps each day that require the determination and fearlessness needed to climb a steep cliff.  

I think of her calm persona while going through the day's news updates, mostly depressing stories of COVID-19. To push away the uncertainty, I look out the living room window and soak in the October sunshine, the beauty of the garden protected by the circular canopy of a flowering Champa tree.

"It has been nearly eight months since you stepped out of the house," I say to her, as she sits down and quietly starts preparing for an hour-long journey. Every evening, a story is born and told as art on crisp, white drawing sheets nicely stacked in a drawer of the elegant teak wood table. On a shelf, piles of colored sheets frayed at the edges hold her memories of quarantine and before.  

I wait anxiously for her to speak. She looks at me and says softly, "I think it will be a year by the time I get to step out."  

Our eyes meet, there is silence. She continues with her routine, moving her wheelchair into position to get going with her drawing. Clasping her pencil between her fingers, she brings alive a scenic beach. The sunrise is the highlight.

"When will the virus go?" she asks all of sudden. 

"Are you scared of it?" I ask.

She responds promptly and without any doubt:

"No… not for myself, but I worry for others around me as they need to go out. I want the virus to go away… until then, I know my confinement is my only safety net."    

About the photo: My sister, Jyotika Kumar, loves to draw and paint. This image is one of her recent works, created during the pandemic.

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(This story was prepared for an “Imagine Another World” online storytelling workshop held October 16, 2020.)

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