Malnutrition so ravaged his little mind that the seizures began. His mother — out of food and out of options, but full of love — wrapped him in a blanket and kissed him one last time.
She saved his life.
She placed him outside a police station and waited. She hoped. Maybe she even prayed to one or many gods — that her boy would be found and loved, fed and healed.
And he is. Today, he’s my son.
He eats Cheerios at my kitchen table instead of parathas at hers. He throws a mean fastball and does better on spelling tests than I ever did — his mind and body have healed well.
He loves to read, pretend he’s Batman, and get mail from his friend Ranjith in India.
Ranjith is growing up in the same small Indian village where Sambhaji lived. My son is Ranjith’s sponsor, pen pal, friend.