Hasan was a hyper child. In school, his teachers would often hold special meetings about his unruly behaviour with the principal, administrators and, of course, his parents. At home uncles, aunts, cousins and even grandparents at times would complain about him to his parents or scold or berate him directly. ‘Hyper’, ‘ADHD’, ‘wild’, ‘unruly’ — these were some of the words everyone around him, even his parents, would use to label him.

Of course, his behaviour was the natural result of electronic media onslaught, his diet, his circle of friends and the pressures of a busy and demanding life, asking for perfection in all aspects of life from both him and his parents. When the normal curiosity and energy of a seven-year-old was being hemmed in by adults who wanted him to behave like a 30-year-old gentleman in a club, this rebellious reaction was bound to occur. When free-flowing wind comes up against a barrier instead of being allowed to blow its course, it pounds the walls that try to contain it.

One weekend Hasan and his family were at a restaurant. Hasan was required to sit like a sophisticated mature person in front of silver cutlery when he would rather be swimming in a sea of plastic balls. At his parents’ orders, he had to sit quietly with his arms folded in his lap and wait for the other guests and their children to arrive. He sat bored, dejected and uninterested.

Soon the first guests arrived, a family of parents with a five-year-old son and a three-year-old daughter. The daughter was immediately settled in a high chair in front of her iPad. She sat glued to the cartoon movie throughout the meal.

But the five-year-old son would not sit still. Hasan was sitting on the sofa and this boy first climbed all over Hasan as he ran from one end of the sofa to the other. Then he climbed up and down the sofa trying to go under and across the table to the other side. Then he tried climbing into the gap between the wall and the sofa.

Hasan was being squished, pinched, trampled and pushed around by this activity, and his body started aching. Finally he could take it no more. “Can you please sit on the sofa?” he asked the child patiently. “Why are you jumping around like this?”

The penny dropped.

Everyone at the table looked at Hasan in amazement. In that moment Hasan grew up by about five years. The boy, who used to bounce off the walls in classrooms, at home, and even in the mosque, suddenly saw himself with clarity. For the first time, Hasan saw how his hyper behaviour affected others. And he also understood the reason for this behaviour.

While the adults laughed and talked between themselves and the girl was busy on the iPad, Hasan sat dejected, feeling unseen and unwanted. He was bored and agitated and was jumping like a gorilla pushing against his cage walls. What Hasan did next surprised everyone. Instead of fighting with the boy, or labelling him ‘unruly’ or scolding him, Hasan drew him to his side, speaking to him kindly.

“Would you like to play?” Hasan asked the boy with genuine interest. And Hasan then engaged him in talk and play that showed real love and care. The boy responded at once to this warmth. He smiled and started talking about his school and friends. The two boys spent the rest of the time playing and talking about their favourite toys, super heroes and movie moments.

Two things had happened that evening.

First, Hasan saw his own behaviour and decided to fix it. And second, when the adults saw this interaction, they saw their own poor behaviour and were quite embarrassed. At that moment they realised Hasan was probably a better adult than them. They realised that the problem lay all along with their own attitude. They had been dealing with Hasan with anger, impatience, disinterest and neglect. Hasan wasn’t a problem child really. All he had wanted was some genuine human interaction. All he had needed was some love. And he was quick to see this need in the other boy that evening and respond to it the right way.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 9th, 2016