Sweating and swearing my way into the office one typically hot afternoon in Chennai, I saw two young men in the middle of the room, looking rather lost. One of them was blind, I noticed. I walked up to them and asked if they were there to submit a press release, assuming that they were from the Blind Students' Association looking for publicity for some activity of the organisation.

I was distracted during the first few moments of my interaction with them. Then I was fascinated by the way the boy with the white cane stared right at me. Making eye contact, in a manner of speaking.

"I am an internee here and this is my brother Prakash," Subramani introduced himself. Was he also an internee here? "No, he will be my scribe and guide. He is awaiting the results of his B.Sc. final exams," he said, as Prakash shylyacknowledged the introduction.

The initial surprise at having a visually impaired internee on the job was soon lost to an overwhelming respect for Subramani's brother. A very shy and retiring young man, he had pledged his entire summer vacation and his social life to help his elder brother in his first contact with the workplace. Subramani, in contrast, could hold an hour-long conversation on just about anything. The entire news-gathering department initially admired Subramani, for he was fighting against almost insurmountable odds to make a favourable impression with his meticulous work. But within a few days, it was about Prakash that everyone wondered.

Could a human bond be so strong? Even if it was one between brothers?

The two young men became something of a cynosure for everybody. We would hear the tapping of the blind brother's cane and turn and smile to see the younger one's arm around the older's shoulders, very subtly hinting at the existence of a step here or a door there, obstacles to benegotiated.

Seeing them at work was even more interesting. Sometimes Subramani would take the assistance of a tape recorder but more often than not, he would pay rapt attention to every word spoken at a meeting and dictate it all to his brother afterwards, verbatim. At the end of the programme, a complete report would be dictated. If it was a free hour, Subramani would sit at a computer terminal and feel his way around the keyboard. If not, Prakash would type out his report for him.

This internee stood out, more so because most of the other journalism internees did not show even a tenth of his enthusiasm. No special favours were extended to him, nor was he accorded unusual privileges. He had no use for them.

"Where is the telephone? To my right? Is it a push-button model?"No way was he going to allow you to dial the number for him.

The most amazing thing about Subramani was his ability to make `eye contact'. It was so uncanny that one of us even asked him if he had a faint vision. He gave a toothysmile, "I lost my sight only some years ago because of retinitis pigmentosa (it's an irreversible condition). So I follow the voice and know where to catch the eye."

It was an experience for us, as much for him, to go on assignments together. Always, there was a barrage of questions. "What sort of bike do you ride? What colour is it? Is the place to the right or left?"

All the while, his brother's arms would hold on to him tight...