Finding Our Stars

I was posted as a Duty Medical Officer under the RBSK programme, a scheme aimed at screening school-going children for deficiencies, defects and deformities at an early stage so that they can be treated promptly.

A few children were already there by the time I arrived. Parents were dropping them off, each child neatly dressed, with a handkerchief pinned to their uniform.

One could sense the innocence radiating from their faces—cheeks dusted with talcum powder and the mandatory black pottu to ward off evil spirits.

After the morning prayer, the children were asked to stand in a line for screening. I measured their height and weight and examined them for common conditions—heart murmurs, dental caries, coughs, colds and other health issues.

A few of them were terrified of me.

Of course, we all know where that fear comes from.

For generations, parents have passed down their most powerful weapon:

"Vaalu panna, doctor kitta poi oosi poda solliduven."

Making the job of every pediatrician difficult since time immemorial.

At one point, a few children began making noise. The teacher immediately responded:

"Satham poteenga, doctor sir oosi potruvaru."

I looked at her and thought to myself,

"Et tu, Brute?"

Once the screening was over, it was playtime.

The children scattered across the room, playing with balls, blocks and toys. One little girl walked up to me and asked,

"Mama, neenga doctor-ah?"

"Aama ma," I replied.

Then we began talking.

I asked her name, her favourite colour and her favourite cartoon character.

A few minutes later, I took out my pen and drew a small star on her palm.

The transformation was instant.

Her eyes widened. Her face lit up.

Soon her friends gathered around me, each one extending a tiny palm with great anticipation.

That day, I drew stars, smiley faces and ice creams on dozens of little hands.

And every single child reacted as though they had received a priceless gift.

None of them cared about money, status or possessions.

Their happiness came from something far simpler.

Just a star drawn with a five-rupee ballpoint pen.

As I watched them run around proudly displaying their palms, I felt something stir inside me.

Perhaps it was the child I used to be—the one who found joy in the smallest things.

Isn't it ironic?

As adults, we spend so much time trying to teach children about life.

Yet, more often than not, they end up teaching us.

Childhood is probably the only phase of life where we are free from constant worry. No responsibilities. No deadlines. No burdens.

Maybe that child never truly leaves us.

Maybe we are all still little children living inside grown-up bodies.

Perhaps, every now and then, we should try to find our inner child again.

To rediscover wonder in ordinary things.

To celebrate small joys.

To smile at stars drawn with a cheap pen.

Perhaps we should all find our stars.

"We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory."

— Louise Glück