“Krishna, it’s time to eat!” Krishna’s little head popped up from the sofa. He eyed the dish in my hand suspiciously. Pulled it towards him. Inhaled, gently. Considered. Then a
“Krishna goes to therapy? What about school?” someone asked me. “He can’t handle school as of now,” I replied. “Oh, how sad. You must try, you know. Don’t say he
“But why me???” I too cried this question out to the universe when Krishna was diagnosed as autistic. And many times after that, whenever it all became just too much
“How do I handle disappointment when my child forgets a skill he knew?” a parent asked me. We were talking about the immense effort we put in to help our
Let me tell you a story about a common misconception: when someone doesn’t respond, they haven’t heard you. Especially when that someone is autistic. “Krishna, blue coloured ball!” CLAP! The
When Krishna was first diagnosed as autistic, I thought I had accepted it—after I got over the disbelief and grief. Yet, when someone spoke to him and he didn’t answer,
“When do you start financial planning for your autistic child?” Yesterday. Because it is never too early to start. The earlier you begin, the more time you give yourself to
I was scared. “Ma’am, I don’t want to…” “Gayatri, why don’t you try? Just once?” I wanted to. Very much. But something held me back, something I did not have
“My son has stopped responding to his name. He has stopped looking me in the eye. I think he’s autistic. But I’m afraid to take him for a diagnosis.” “But
“Krishna, what do birds eat?” “Pija!” replied 2-year-old Krishna, who was eating pizza at the time. “You’re eating pizza, baby, and you’re not a bird. What’s your name?” “Santalagopalakisha!” he
“”After us, then what?” This question popped up in my mind for the nth time yesterday morning, just about this time. I was frantically cleaning the sofa while Krishna’s father
“Let me tell you a story of courage. A story of love.” Yesterday, I was waiting for Krishna to finish his therapy. A blue electric auto purred to a stop