The First Touch

On September 25, 2011, I was nine years old and on my way to a dance rehearsal at the Mandir when I stepped off a curb without looking. A vehicle struck me. I spent weeks in a coma, and when I woke, the right side of my body my hand, my leg, my speech had been changed in ways nobody could fully predict or promise to reverse. The First Touch is my account of the thirteen years that followed: physiotherapy, surgery, and determined effort across Nairobi, Mumbai, Baroda, Ahmedabad, and Anand.
But more than a medical journey, it is the story of every person who held me up along the way my father, who forgave the driver unconditionally in a hospital corridor; my Guru, whose daily calls sustained our family through the darkest weeks; the doctors and therapists who treated me as a whole person; and a university gym trainer who gave his time simply because that is the kind of man he is. I have tried to be honest about the hard parts: the frustration, the plateaus, the sessions that ended in silence.
I have also tried to be honest about the grace, because there was a great deal of it. If you are in the middle of something long and difficult, I wrote this for you. Never give up too early. It is usually the last key in the ring that opens the door.