Table of Content:

1. The Exam that Changed Everything

2. The Desire to Persevere

3. The Silence of the System

4. A New Path Forward

5. Lessons and Regrets

6. To Students and Readers Alike

At the age of 19, I was on the brink of a life I had always envisioned. I had just entered Delhi University, one of India’s most prestigious institutions, where I was set to study Computer Science, a subject I loved and excelled in. As a young student, this seemed like the gateway to an exciting and fulfilling future. But life, as it turned out, had other plans.

Six months into my first year, a strange fog clouded my world. One morning, I woke up and found my vision blurred. What began as a mild inconvenience quickly spiraled into a medical mystery. My parents and I embarked on a journey through endless doctor visits, tests, and hospital stays, only to end up with inconclusive diagnoses. In those early days, my vision loss felt like an impermanent roadblock, something I could overcome with time. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The Exam That Changed Everything

Amidst all this uncertainty, my first-year finals loomed. My mind, still set on academic achievement, urged me to sit for these exams. I was naive enough to believe that if I could just get through them, everything would fall back into place. But when I sat down to take my C++ programming exam, it became clear that nothing was the same. My eyes struggled to focus on the paper, and I found myself writing my answers in massive, childlike letters. The exam ended with a pounding headache and a sinking realization that my academic journey would not be the one I had envisioned.

I passed that exam, but the others were a lost cause. Between the mounting health issues and the sheer exhaustion of trying to read and write as my sight faded, I had to abandon the rest. This was my first break-up with conventional education—a system that seemed ill-prepared for someone like me.

The Desire to Persevere

Despite everything, I refused to give up. I decided to repeat the year, fueled by a deep love for my subject and the belief that passion and commitment would make up for any challenges. The second year started with fresh hope. I found a friend willing to help, spending hours with me in the library, reading texts out loud so I could grasp the material through his voice. For the first time, I was adapting—learning to absorb knowledge through sound instead of sight. But when the exams rolled around, reality struck again.

With lines on the page becoming elusive, I approached the college administration, seeking accommodations. Their response? A simple suggestion to use a scribe. I was told that was the best they could offer. Naively, I accepted, thinking it would work. But it didn’t. Once again, I flunked. This time, it wasn’t just because of my vision but because I lacked the proper resources and study aids to keep up with the demanding syllabus.

The Silence of the System

As I look back, I find myself more frustrated by the silence than the struggle. My family, caught in their own worries about my mental well-being and future, was at a loss. They had little experience with disability and, in their own way, were doing all they could to support me emotionally. But the university, a place that prided itself on being inclusive and forward-thinking, remained largely indifferent.

From faculty to administration, everyone knew about my situation. And yet, no one stepped up with solutions, alternative resources, or even empathy. It was a system designed for the able-bodied, with little room for anyone who didn’t fit the mold. In hindsight, I realize that universities have a responsibility to provide more than token accommodations. Large-print texts, audio-based lessons, text-to-speech software—these are not luxuries but necessities for students with disabilities.

A New Path Forward

After two failed attempts, I finally let go of the dreams I had built around Computer Science. I was heartbroken, but my desire for learning didn’t die. At 20, I didn’t know how to live a life that didn’t involve academia, so I decided to find a path that would allow me to learn, even if it meant letting go of my original plans.

I enrolled in a vocational college, choosing a course that required minimal reading. I threw myself into Event Management, a field I had never considered, and excelled. Three years later, I emerged with dual degrees and several awards for outstanding performance. I had adapted. I had built a new life. But it was not the life I had once imagined.

Lessons and Regrets

I learned to make lemonade out of lemons, as they say, but the truth is, I still feel the sting of missed opportunities. I missed out on the college experience I had dreamed of, on the intellectual challenge I had craved. I learned many things along the way—resilience, adaptability, self-reliance—but I couldn’t shake the sense of loss.

If I had known then what I know now, my journey might have been different. Accessible technology like screen readers, magnifiers, and text-to-audio software could have been the bridge I needed to pursue my dreams in Computer Science. Universities must do more for students with disabilities. They must offer accommodations that go beyond the basics, to level the playing field and make higher education truly accessible.

To Students and Readers Alike

To any student out there facing similar struggles, remember that you’re not alone, and you are not the only one responsible for your success. We live in a society where people are supposed to support one another, and it’s okay to ask for the help you deserve. You have the right to accommodations, the right to resources, and the right to education.

To those who are not disabled, this is not a story about someone else. We all know someone living with a disability. It might be a friend, a family member, a colleague, or even an acquaintance. Don’t let them restrict their lives because of circumstances that can be mitigated. Look up resources, offer support, and give them that initial push. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to make a monumental difference.

In a world not designed for people like me, I learned to adapt and thrive in ways I hadn’t anticipated. And while I still mourn the path I couldn’t take, I am here to say that with the right support and resources, there is always another way forward.