Just curious to know - has anyone from here ever visited/toured this school? Sounds like an institution that is doing some wonderful work Masha’Allah.
Daring the darkness, braving the silence, Zia Mutaher and Jamshyd Masud
DAWN, 22 May 2003
Every morning, he wakes up to the sound of birds chirping on the tree outside his window, but he has never seen a sparrow take off from it’s perch, or a butterfly flutter it’s coloured wings. Are roses really red and pretty pink, even brightly orange or somewhat sad and yellow? How would he know the difference, for all Sohail has seen since the time of his birth, is an all embracing darkness. 16-year-old Sohail was born blind.
But thanks to the Ida Rieu School for the Blind and Deaf, today Sohail is a student of class 6. He has learnt to work on the Braille computer and his fingers are equally adept on the musical keyboard. He may not be able to see, but he is fond of music. Jawwad Ahmad happens to be his favourite singer and his Uchiyan Majajan Wali is a song close to Sohail’s singing heart and smiling lips.
“And why not?” asks Qudsia Khan, the principal of the special education complex and a vocal advocate of the rights of its special children. The largest institution of its kind in the country, it is run by the Ida Rieu Welfare Association, which was established in 1922. This was exactly a year after the death of the Irish lady, Ida Augusta Rieu, who was the wife of Sind’s British Commissioner, J.L. Rieu.
An ardent social worker, it was she who had initiated the plan of a school for the blind in Karachi, during her stay in the province (1899-1921). Her dream could not be realized during her lifetime, for lack of funds. When she died, Parsi, Hindu and Muslim, as well as British philanthropists, all got together to make Ida Rieu’s dream come true.
Gold and silver trophies stand tall and proud in her office, as Qudsia Khan tells me that the institution which had started with only two blind pupils today has an enrollment of 200 blind and 550 deaf students, who are given instruction by a faculty of about a 100 teachers. With the introduction of degree classes, the complex has expanded. Old structures have been demolished and modern blocks have come up, housing school and college buildings. Thanks to the generous help given by local philanthropists, all educational facilities are provided free of cost.
The Dr Panjwani School Complex for the blind was inaugurated in January 2000, and the Shirin Keshani School for the Deaf, in February 2003. Around 70 blind boys and girls are housed in the Infaq House for boys and Sarah Mujahid Girls Hostel, respectively. The Hatim Alavi Memorial Library has the largest Braille collection in the country.
The principal tells me that the management initially faced much criticism for the modern design and decor of the newly-constructed blocks. But the dedicated team stood its ground. Their critics said: Why take the trouble to hang pictures and flowers, when these children cannot see. They stressed upon the fact that many came from poor rural backgrounds. But we asked them if it is necessary for a child born in a poor man’s house to spend the rest of his life in poverty. These children may not be able to see and hear, but they do have a strong aesthetic sense.
Growing up in a pleasant surrounding would enable them to strive for the same, once they leave from here. And the students here have vindicated our stand. Today, there is hardly a public or private college in Karachi which does not have a former student of our blind school as lecturer, teaching those with normal sight. Many of our deaf students are successfully employed in computer firms and advertising agencies. They are no more dependent on their families. “Aap unhein dekhen to hairan reh jayen” (you will be amazed to see them), she stresses her point.
I am amazed, as I am taken around the complex by Syed Shafiuddin, a senior teacher. The montessori section is fully carpeted with stuffed toys and models of fruits and vegetables, which enable children to distinguish objects, through their highly receptive sense of touch. The music class displays an array of musical instruments. There are drums and harmoniums, guitars and keyboards. Life-size posters of Ricky Martin and Junaid Jamshed.
I recall the voice in Mushtaq Gazdar’s documentary on the institution, titled O Little World, which says that those who cannot see, adore the sound of music. I am told that the theme song in the documentary, Choti Si Dunya, Ai Piyari Dunya was composed by the students of the school, under the guidance of Sir Salim Qureshy (an ex-student), who has done Masters in Education and now teaches at the school.
Then there is 16-year-old Waqar Yunus who tells me with pride that he plays cricket and Pakistan’s National Blind Cricket team had won the Blind Cricket World Cup, at Chennai (India) in December 2002.
Shahid Siddiq, 28, a former student, secured second position in Karachi University’s Masters in English Literature examination (1998). Today, he sits at the head of a degree class, at a local college. Students with normal sight listen with intent ears as their blind teacher delves into the lines of Shakespeare’s Hamlet - “To be, or not to be; that is the question.”
The special children of Ida Rieu have found their answer. They refuse to be taken as children of a lesser god. Their answer is: “To be!”
Suroor _Ca 