Hello, I’m Ari. I’m 12 and I love collecting superhero figurines, but mother says we cannot afford to buy a full set, so I only get one at a time, on my birthdays. My family consists of my parents, older brother, 14, and younger sister, 9. We live in a small town on the outskirts of Imphal, the capital of Manipur, in north-east India.

For as far back as I can remember, my father used to go to work every morning and return at dusk, covered in dust and cement from his job as a casual labourer at a construction site. My mother stayed home, cooking delicious meals for us, and keeping the house clean faster than my siblings and I could mess it up! The three of us walked to school every day; it was a rather long walk, 45 minutes one way, but it was betterthan waiting for the solitary bus which rarely arrived on time.

All this suddenly changed two years ago, when father did not return from work one day. I still remember that day clearly: my siblings and I arrived home from school to see mother in tears, leaning against the kitchen wall, holding on to her phone tightly.We ran to her and began to shout out questions asking what had happened. With broken words in between great sobs, she managed to tell us that father had suddenly collapsed at the work site and that some of his colleagues had admitted him to a nearby hospital.

After a bit of fighting, my elder brother accompanied mother to hospital, while I was tasked with babysitting my younger sister at home. I think she was secretly worried for father too, cos she didn’t pick a fight with me or try to break my superhero figurines like she ordinarily would. Mother and brother returned very late that night; my sister had fallen asleep after eating the dinner I served for us, and I was on the verge of losing my battle against sleep too. In whispers, they narrated what the doctor had told them: father would come home in a few days, but both his kidneys had stopped working.

Father did return home a few days later, weaker and gaunter than I had ever seen him.He didn’t resume working, though some friends of his from the construction site dropped in after work to visit him occasionally. Instead, thrice a week, he and mother would wake up early and change two buses to get to the big hospital in Imphal, where machines would do the work that father’s kidneys were supposed to do – a process called ‘dialysis’, we were told. I hated those days; I had to get my younger sister ready for school while our older brother packed our lunches and burnt our breakfasts while attempting to heat it up.

“Why can’t someone give daddy a kidney?”, my sister blurted out one evening, in a profound moment of epiphany I did not expect of her. Mother said she should ask the doctor the following day, and I saw a glimmer of hope in her eye. But they returned disappointed the next evening, reporting that the doctor had declared such a transfer between my parents to be difficult and very expensive as they were of ‘different blood groups’ (I need to read more about this!). Weeks turned into months, and the dialysis continued.

Then one day, my uncle (father’s younger cousin brother) came stay with us for awhile. That was a relief for mother, as he took turns with her escorting father to the big hospital for dialysis. Father and uncle returned home particularly excited after one session; the doctor had informed them that they both were of ‘same blood group’ and that uncle could actually donate a kidney to father. We were ecstatic! The next weeks went by in a blur. Mother, father, and uncle were at the big hospital almost every day; “getting many tests done”, they said. I didn’t like being left alone with my siblings, but it was worth it to see father healthy again. But the day before the transfer operation, a neighbour came rushing in, shouting to mother that uncle had met with an accident. He had stepped out that morning to run some errands, and was crossing a road when he was hit by a reckless driver. He was admitted to a local hospital, from where his parents took him back to their village a few days later. With him went father’s hopes of getting a kidney.

Meanwhile, mother had spoken to someone at the big hospital during her frequent visits and managed to secure a contractual job as a security personnel. Which was a good thing, cos I was getting a bit bored of eating only rice every day. One day, she met father’s doctor at the big hospital and spoke to him again, that she had been saving money to pay for part of the very expensive ‘different blood group’ transfer operation. The doctor agreed, and the spate of tests began again.

As we waited for the test results to arrive from Delhi (the national capital, cos we don’t have some specialized machines in our state or even neighbouring states), mother called father from work in a haste, asking him to pack a bag and rush over to the big hospital immediately. My elder brother had a test at school that day, so I got to ride the buses with father and escort him to the big hospital (my first time there!).

Father was wheeled away into an operation theatre to have his kidney transfer operation. While we waited, mother explained that there had been a ‘brain-dead donor’ of ‘same blood group’ as father at the big hospital that day. That person’s family would never receive their loved one back alive, but they had bravely decided to donate both of his/her kidneys, so that my father and another patient could have a chance to live healthily again! I wanted to know who the donor was, but I was told this was not possible. I went outside, gathered some fallen leaves and flowers, and fashioned them into a pretty doll- the unknown donor & my new favourite superhero!

Father’s operation was a success and he should be back to work after 6 months or so. Every day, I look at my new superhero doll and thank that unknown donor for restoring my father in good health to me. Superheroes are just ordinary people who make extraordinary sacrifices!