Beauty Editor
A few days ago, Prime Minister Narendra Modi made a disparaging remark at IIT Roorkee about dyslexia. A student had revealed how she developed a system that would aid students with dyslexia, to which PM Modi replied: ‘would it help a 40-year-old?’, making an apparent jab at his political opponent. The remark was in bad taste and has drawn ire from parents and students alike. If you don’t get what the fuss is about, or have very little understanding of what living with a learning disability is like--let me tell you, how it has shaped me. How it affected me, every step of the way...
Let’s begin at the beginning
I grew up in the 90s and finished school in the early 2000s. A millennial who remembers the last decade of the 20th century vividly--I’ve seen dial-up internet and cellphones the size of bricks, which were only owned by men in suits. While I didn’t have dyslexia (a disorder where you can’t read letters properly and the words all seem jumbled up), I suffered at the hands of dyscalculia--an inability to carry out basic mathematics.
Ever since I could remember, my report cards always bore a big red F when it came to maths. At the end of the year, an additional stamp of “condone and passed’’ would grace it. While I excelled in social studies and English, often scoring high marks, it was maths that always brought me down. Open days would often fill me up with dread. Hell, one time my report card reached the principal’s office, where I received a tongue lashing about my results. I even entertained thoughts of running away from home, scared shitless of what my parents would say. After all, additional tuitions and extra-coaching classes had also not been able to fix my problem with the subject.
I was kept back in the sixth grade, and I still remember how much shame that brought me. I dreaded going back to school, and the words ‘failure’ would jump out at me whenever I would read books or newspapers. I still remember walking into the classroom to hushed voices and sceptical looks. My face was hot, and I just couldn’t look up. I hid out during lunch hour, and ate alone in a far corner of the school. This affected my confidence--I felt ashamed and didn’t want to interact with anyone in my extended family, who during the summer holidays would always ask, “Which class are you in?” All this at the age of 10!
I eventually made friends and managed to become the school prefect. Till I reached class 10th, at which point my tony South Mumbai convent school--obsessed with cent per cent results--asked my mother to take me to a local government hospital to identify if I had any learning disabilities. Initially, I was reluctant--after all, I was 14, and the last thing I wanted was to be branded a ‘special child’. After much hemming and hawing, I went and did a series of tests with trained doctors and teachers who told me that I had dyscalculia. Finally, I realized that my inability to not be able to perform in maths was not because I was dumb or didn’t pay attention. My brain couldn’t grasp these concepts, and it wasn’t my fault at all!
At the same time, I resented my school for not helping me identify this condition earlier. Had they helped me instead of scolding me, I would have had slightly-less stressful final few years in school. My stress levels during exam time were so high that I would end up missing my periods for two to three months at a time.
The shame of repeating a school year has lived with me all my life. Many a time, I have cited my birth date as the reason why I am a class behind. I was born too late in the year, I would say... schools wouldn’t admit me! I have lied to everyone, hiding the real reason. I revealed the truth to my husband only after a year of being married. I still can’t do basic maths, and always ask my friends ‘to do the maths for me’ while splitting the bill. Since you can’t do simple mental maths when you have dyscalculia, I have had to rely on slyly opening the calculator on my phone to calculate whether or not the cab driver gave me the right amount of change. Sometimes, I have had to let go of that change, because the cabbie was in a tearing hurry and I couldn’t whip out my phone in time. I was laughed at by a grocer’s lad who was all of 14 or 15, when he saw me calculate how much change I would get back from him on my phone. He didn’t hesitate in telling me how much it would be, smugly basking in the fact that he, an uneducated boy, could arrive at the answer before me.
So, you see, PM Modi’s remarks got me riled up--because no one understands the shame, self-doubt, feeling of failure, ridicule, and the thoughts you entertain of running away or perhaps even suicide. It’s easy to dismiss this as frivolous, not a serious condition--but it has a crippling effect on your self-worth.
Today, I’m in a better place. I have a flourishing career, a loving family of my own, and I excel in my field. I have become more confident, and I have the gumption to take on anything that is thrown at me--so don’t stop me. But, if you must, stop our political leaders for mocking things they don’t understand.
