#PTP
The Story so far –
Hari, Sunita, and their son are the new neighbours to Arun’s family. But their son, Rohan, wreaks havoc in the neighbourhood causing discomfort to everyone. The owners unanimously decide to make them move out and plan to convene a meeting for the same. But, Arun, after getting to know the reason behind the boy’s hyperactive behaviour, decides to help out.
***
“Autism or hyperactivity, whatever the disease is. The kid is such a bad influence for other children in the community, Arun. His insanity may spread,” bellowed the sexagenarian Mr Sharma, glaring at me as if his fury would burn me down to embers. “He is a misfit!” He dared to continue frowning at Rohan’s parents.
Rohan, the seven-year-old in question, sat at the hall’s corner. My heart went out to him as I saw him struggling to get rid of his father’s grip. Hari’s gaze faltered. Sunita looked away. Ironically, except for Hari’s landlord, all our apartment owners had gathered for the meeting to discuss how to get them vacated from the community.
“Calling a child insane is offensive, Mr Sharma,” I replied. I was equally annoyed by his lack of knowledge, but I was not interested in a shouting match.
Lack of knowledge? Wasn’t I also in the same boat, unaware of what was beneath the surface of all that eccentric behaviour?
I had promised myself to help the kid as I hugged him in that crowded train. But then, man proposes; God disposes. The next scene was testimony to that good old proverb.
Mr Sharma broke into a sudden sweat, apparently, to the point that his white shirt almost started dripping. That was the last thing that made sense before the entire hall turned into a blur of cries, screeching chairs, and frantic phone calls.
The old man tried to stand up but fell flat on his belly. His wife screamed and ran to his side, rolled him over and started fanning him with her sari. All the attendees had gathered around him the next second. In the hustle and bustle, I noticed something odd. The man had not fainted. It was indeed more serious.
“He’s not breathing. Can someone dial for an ambulance?” I called out. My words slurred out of panic.
Amidst all the commotion and growing anxiety, while nobody was fully conscious of what was happening or what was going to happen next, a little guy pushed through the crowd and ran towards me. He looked straight into my eyes and gave me an all-knowing smile. Before I could even gather myself at his eye contact and contrasting emotion, he placed his small hands one above the other at the centre of the unconscious man’s ribs.
What he did next left us all stumped. Realisation dawned. The child whom Mr Sharma called a misfit was attempting to save his life. We call ourselves matured adults, but none of us in the hall could even think of a possible first-aid.
Panic. Anxiety. Fear. Call it whatever. We only waited for help, but didn’t choose to help.
Reality hit hard. Why didn’t any of us try giving CPR?
As Rohan tried giving chest compressions to the dying man, his parents ran to their child and hugged him. His mother kissed him all over his face and cried happy tears.
Hari nodded to his son and removed his hands, knowing too well that a seven-year-old’s hand pressure might not be sufficient for resuscitation. He started giving continuous compressions so effectively that he was running out of breath. After a couple of minutes, Hari moved on to give rescue-breaths by prying open Mr Sharma’s mouth, while Sunita did the chest compressions. They continued giving CPR for the next few minutes, while we watched in awe.
Awe was an understatement. We all looked at them with reverence.
Weren’t they the same couple who were harassed in public about the child’s behaviour? Fate has its own way of teaching people, indeed.
“The ambulance is here,” someone announced from the entrance. A stretcher arrived, and three paramedics rushed in. One of them patted Hari’s back to move aside. He smiled and gave way. They shifted him onto the stretcher and pushed through the hall to make it to the ambulance quickly. His wife and another neighbour followed them.
A deafening silence ensued as we grappled with the gravity of what a harmless meeting had turned into. Slow murmurs erupted as one after the other started leaving. But, not before hugging little Rohan and sending warm smiles to his parents.
Acceptance was on its way. They were quite the saviours of the day.
***
“CPR sessions for the parents are part of Rohan’s occupational therapy, Arun. Some children like him may have breathing complications often. So, they teach us all. The kids are also supposed to be part of the training. Looks like Rohan had been a keen observer.” Hari confessed, looking fondly at his child, as we ambled to the balcony watching my son and Rohan run around, toppling a potted plant on their way. Damages did not count as trouble now that they were family.
A week after the most eventful meeting, we had invited them home for lunch.
“I guess Mr Sharma is indebted to you for life. So says the old man too.”
Hari smiled. Never an expressive guy. More a silent man with such profundity.
“The paramedics and the doctors were all in praise of you. Your timely first-aid had been so crucial in saving his life.”
“I’ll never claim the credit, Arun. Rohan initiated. We just persisted with it. He’s the true hero,” remarked Hari, as he noticed his child clean up spilt soil and put it back into another pot.
Rohan was and would always be.
***
Author’s Note:-
CPR stands for Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation. It is an emergency life-saving procedure that is given as first-aid to someone whose heartbeat has stopped. It involves giving continuous chest compressions and rescue-breaths through the mouth of the person. It is essential that everyone learns this simple yet effective technique. Children from 9-10 years of age can be taught about this procedure. I read posts and articles on how even differently-abled children right from the age of seven can perform CPR with adequate practice.
I treat my story as a simple ode to a good friend and an extremely talented colleague of mine who lost his life because medical help was delayed. None in the crowd could give him the essential first-aid. Not their fault. The reason was the lack of awareness. Precious 30 minutes were lost until he was taken to the hospital. No surgery or treatment could help him. If only he were given the timely first-aid, he might be here with us now.
