When my son Anirban was first diagnosed with autism, my world felt like it had come to a halt. I remember sitting in the doctor’s office, hearing words like “developmental delay” and “sensory processing,” and feeling completely unprepared for what lay ahead. As a mother, I wanted nothing but happiness for my child, and the uncertainty of how to provide that left me overwhelmed. I cried on the way home that day, worried about whether I was strong enough to be the mom Anirban needed.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past few years, it’s that love and resilience have a way of surprising you. Anirban has always been my little bundle of sunshine. Even on the hardest days, his laughter could light up a room. One of his favorite activities is trampolining—he loves the rhythmic bouncing, the feeling of freedom it gives him. Watching him jump, his face full of pure joy, reminds me that happiness doesn’t have to follow a specific path. It’s in the small moments, the giggles, and the leaps, both literal and metaphorical.
In the early days, however, it wasn’t easy to hold onto that perspective. I worried about how Anirban would fit into a world that often doesn’t understand neurodiversity. I felt isolated, unsure of where to turn for support. That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only parent navigating these waters. Kolkata is a bustling city, but for families like ours, it often felt like there was no space for our children to truly belong.
One afternoon, as I watched Anirban bounce on his trampoline, an idea began to form. If I couldn’t find a safe, welcoming space for neurodiverse kids, why not create one? I reached out to a few other parents I’d met at therapy sessions, and together we started a small playgroup in a local park. At first, it was just a handful of children, each with their unique quirks and challenges, but also an incredible capacity for joy. The parents would sit together, sharing stories, fears, and hopes, while the kids played freely, no judgments, no stares—just acceptance.
What began as a casual gathering quickly grew into something much bigger. More families joined, and we found ourselves becoming a community. We organized sensory-friendly activities, like art sessions and music therapy. Anirban, of course, was thrilled whenever we brought out a portable trampoline. Watching him and the other children bounce and laugh together became a symbol of what we were building—resilience, joy, and a sense of belonging.
Through this journey, I’ve learned so much, not just about autism but about strength and love. Anirban has taught me to see the world differently, to celebrate progress in all its forms. His milestones might look different from those of other kids, but they’re no less remarkable. The first time he said “I love you, Ma,” I cried tears of gratitude. Those three words, spoken in his own time and way, meant everything.
Our playgroup has now grown into a small but thriving support network. We’ve hosted awareness campaigns in our neighborhood, encouraging more people to understand and embrace neurodiversity. Seeing the impact on both the children and their parents has been deeply fulfilling. What started as a simple desire to help my son find friends has blossomed into a mission to create a more inclusive community.
Today, when I look back on that day in the doctor’s office, I wish I could tell my past self that it’s going to be okay. That while the journey might be challenging, it will also be filled with moments of pure, unfiltered joy. Anirban’s laughter is my daily reminder of that.
If you’re a parent navigating a similar path, know that you’re not alone. Together, we can create spaces where our children can shine, just as they are. And sometimes, in those spaces, you’ll find yourself bouncing back to joy, just like my Anirban on his trampoline.
