February 23, 2026
It was a normal day - March 23, 2025.
I was on a regular charity visit to one of the five orphanages, with the team. We had done many such visits before, praying with the children, sharing a meal, offering encouragement.
That day felt no different.
Until I met her.
She was about six or seven years old - cheerful, confident, and full of life. She was first brought to us in a wheelchair to greet the guests. But over the next hour, I noticed something remarkable.
She did not remain in the wheelchair.
Instead, she moved all around the premises, comfortably on her knees almost like a professional who had mastered her own way of navigating the world. It didn’t seem like a struggle for her.
She prayed with us.
She sang with us.
She ate with us.
And through it all, she smiled - a radiant smile that I still see to this day.
When she was born, her tiny feet had already begun telling a difficult story. She had been diagnosed with Clubfoot, a congenital condition where both feet turn inward and downward. Without proper treatment, it can make standing and walking extremely difficult.
But that day, watching her move so freely on her knees, something stirred within me.
I realized that while she had learned to live on her knees, she deserved the chance to stand on her feet. She deserved the opportunity to run, to play freely, to walk into her future with confidence.
As we were leaving the home, I gently spoke to the Administrator, simply took his visiting card and kept it in my pocket.
We stepped outside, gathered as a team, took a group picture, and journeyed back to our homes.
Life resumed.
But that small visiting card did not.
Over the next six months, it moved from one place to another in my home — from a drawer to a table, from a book to a cupboard - as if quietly reminding me of something unfinished. Each time I saw it, I remembered her smile.
During this time, August 28, I lost my Dad.
The pain of losing him created a silence within me that words could not fill. Life slowed down. Priorities shifted. Grief has a way of making even the simplest actions feel heavy.
And so, each time I saw that card, I postponed the call.
Until one day, through the weight of loss and reflection, I gathered the courage.
I called the Administrator and expressed my desire to help this child, a child whose name I still did not know. He responded warmly. Hope was born in that conversation. Yet another month passed before I called him again, after once more searching for that same card.
This time, I asked if any treatment had been done. He told me she had been taken to a hospital. The expenses were around Rs 20,000, which he had borne personally. The doctors had examined her, but there were no follow-ups.
Days passed. And so did time.
I spoke to a few acquaintances about supporting her. There was encouragement. Good intentions.
Yet days still passed.
A Turning Point
The following month, I searched for the card again. This time, I saved his number in my phone.
“I think we must do something,” I told him. “I will explore the next steps.”
One concern lingered - the cost. Surgeries, hospital stays, travel, recovery - it all sounded overwhelming.
Then something unexpected happened.
I reached out to my classmates’ through a WhatsApp group and explained her situation. To my surprise, they told me that such feet can indeed be corrected. One of them, mentioned that there are hospitals that specialize in treating these conditions and regularly perform such surgeries.
That message changed everything.
Without wasting time, I obtained the contact details of the doctor. What began as a simple inquiry soon became the turning point in her life.
The doctor we connected with did not just see a medical case — he saw a child with a future. In many ways, he turned out to be a saviour for her. But he was not alone.
With him stood a dedicated team committed to restoring not just mobility, but dignity and hope. They have been transforming lives one after another — correcting, healing, rebuilding — and the count still growing.
After examining her on Nov 18, 2025, he assured us that her condition was curable.
His confidence was not casual. It was certain.
For month, perhaps years, we had silently accepted her condition as permanent. And now, we were being told that she could walk.
The Journey Begins
What followed were journeys of faith.
The hospital was nearly 90 kms away for them. Travel meant trains and buses. Each time, an older inmate and the Administrator took turns carrying her to the hospital.
The first visit was for plastering.
The second on Nov 27th, 2025 was for surgery.
The four doctors and medical staff that performed the procedure lasted nearly five hours. We waited in anticipation, praying for everyone in the Operation Theatre, and above all, for her. Every minute felt longer than the last.
When the surgery was completed, relief washed over us.
But recovery brought pain.
And yet, even in her utmost discomfort - the smile remained. That same radiant smile.
The hospital team did more than treat her medically. They provided hygienic accommodation, nutritious meals, medications, supportive accessories, custom-built shoes after recovery, structured physiotherapy, and above all, dignity, love, and care.
They did not just correct her feet.
They restored her future.
The Moment That Changed Everything
Then came the day that once seemed impossible.
She stood.
Carefully. Unsteadily. But independently.
Soon these careful steps will turn into confident walking and we wouldn’t be surprised to see her run, play, and participate like any other child her age. The condition that once threatened to define her life is now only a chapter in her story - not the whole book.
She is no longer “the child with clubfoot.”
She is strength.
She is resilience.
She is possibility.
What a Smile Can Do
Looking back, I often think about that visiting card.
How easily it could have been thrown away.
How easily the moment could have passed.
How easily her condition could have remained unchanged.
Sometimes, changing a life does not begin with grand plans or large funding.
It begins with a smile that stays in your heart.
A small card that refuses to stay still.
A quiet decision that says, We must try.
Her journey reminds us that early intervention changes lives, that consistent support builds confidence, and that every girl or boy deserves equal healthcare and opportunity.
Today, as we see her trying to walk without support, few may know the distance she has travelled.
But those who witnessed her journey understand something deeper:
Helping someone take their first step may be the smallest act - yet it can transform an entire lifetime.
And every time I see her walk, I am reminded - Some smiles are not meant to be forgotten.