Dance without music

The wait outside the radiology centre was long. And, I couldn't help notice the young boy sitting next to me texting fervently. He shifted his gaze from the device only when the response from the other party took longer or so I assumed. A Michael Schumacher in typing, I thought seeing his fingers scorch through the keys. As the radiologist came out calling his name, he exchanged a cheerful and knowing smile while getting up. My heart skipped a beat as the boy moved forward to accept the report. Both his knees were bent to the inside and he had to clutch his right knee to move. As he disappeared into one of the consulting rooms, I could see him smile at the hospital staff. Obviously, he wasn't new to the place or the people. At the other end of the hall, a mother was urging her son to walk up to the exit. The young boy was wearing braces on both the legs and pushing himself to see the automatic door open and close as people walked in and out. As he walked up to her, there was joy and a sense of accomplishment in her face. The people waiting at the hall who were witness to the act would have certainly given a standing ovation had it not been a hospital. Instead, they all chose to look at each other and share a smile. Life is what we make of it. Every visit to the hospital made me slip into dumps. Every meeting with the doctor built up hope. And, every time I saw kids with disability, it occurred to me that the pain I am undergoing is simply nothing compared to what they were undergoing. As I stepped out, I was reminded of what Ronald Reagan said, "Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music."

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