The Dyslexic Boy Who Loved Books

 There are some paradoxes in life that are difficult to explain.

One of them is this:

I was born with dyslexia. Yet I have loved books for as long as I can remember.

People often assume that if a child struggles to read, he must dislike books. My life has been exactly the opposite.

Reading was difficult.

Books were irresistible.

“The Delhi Public Library… where my lifelong friendship with books began.”

When I was around ten years old, one of my favourite places in the world was the Delhi Public Library. Every week I would borrow books and bring them home with great excitement. Among my favourites were the abridged and simplified versions of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. I may not have realised it then, but those stories quietly shaped my imagination. They taught me about courage, friendship, sacrifice, duty and the eternal conflict between right and wrong.

What people around me saw was a child who read slowly.

What they did not see was a child who was deeply curious.

For someone with dyslexia, reading is not simply slower. It can feel as though the letters have declared war on you. They move, change places, refuse to stay still, and often make you wonder whether they are your friends or your enemies.

Many years ago, I tried to capture that feeling in a Hindi song. One line still remains very close to my heart:

“मैं इन्हें पढ़ना ही तो चाहता हूँ,
तो इतना क्यों अकड़ते हैं?”

That, perhaps, is the essence of dyslexia.

It is not that we don’t want to read.

We desperately do.

The letters simply don’t cooperate.

School was not easy. Reading took longer than it did for others. Writing was laborious. Examinations were frustrating. Like many dyslexic children, I often wondered why something that seemed effortless for everyone else demanded so much effort from me.

Yet, somewhere deep inside, my love for learning never diminished.

Years later, life took an unexpected turn. After Class XII, during a difficult phase of my life, I joined B.A. English (Honours). One of the very first books I encountered was Homer’s Odyssey. Being dyslexic, it took me several months to finish it. But what a journey it was! That one book opened the doors to Greek mythology and eventually led me to read the Iliad. Even today, whenever a film or documentary based on these great epics is released, I find myself drawn back to that magical world.

Looking back, I realise something important.

Perhaps dyslexia did not make me read fewer books.

It made me read them differently.

I never rushed through a book. I lived with it. I paused. I imagined. I reflected. Every page demanded effort, and perhaps because of that, every page stayed with me a little longer.

Life eventually took me back to medicine. I became an ophthalmologist, a surgeon, a teacher and later a hospital administrator. But my relationship with books never ended. In fact, one of the initiatives closest to my heart has been creating small libraries in our hospital waiting areas, hoping that patients might discover the same joy of reading that once sustained a little boy borrowing books from a public library.

Ironically, today I write articles, poems, songs and blogs.

If someone had told that frightened child who struggled with letters that one day he would enjoy writing, he would probably have laughed.

Or perhaps he wouldn’t have believed them.

Technology has also changed my life. Artificial intelligence has become an extraordinary companion. It hasn’t cured my dyslexia, but it has removed many of the barriers that writing once created. The ideas were always there; expressing them has simply become easier. For me, AI has not replaced creativity—it has liberated it.

If there is one message I would like parents and teachers to take away, it is this:

Please don’t measure a child’s intelligence by the speed at which he reads.

Don’t assume that struggling with words means a lack of curiosity.

Some children fight every sentence they read, yet dream entire worlds in their minds.

Encourage them.

Give them books.

Read with them.

Believe in them.

One day, they may surprise you.

As I look back, I often smile at the little boy who believed that the letters were fighting him.

Perhaps they were.

But life has a wonderful sense of humour.

The very letters that once refused to obey have now become my closest companions.

And maybe that little boy was right when he wrote:

A Song I Wrote Many Years Ago

A few years ago, I wrote this song for a documentary on dyslexia that, unfortunately, was never made. Looking back, I realise that I wasn’t really writing about dyslexia. I was writing about my own childhood.

If this song helps even one child feel understood, or one parent or teacher see dyslexia through a child’s eyes, it will have served its purpose.

"Dyslexiगीत

अक्षर क्यूँ बिगड़ते हैं
क्यूँ मुझसे ये लड़ते हैं
इन्हें पढ़ना ही तो चाहता हूँ
तो इतना क्यूँ अकड़ते हैं 

मोटी मोटी किताबों में
इनकी सेनाएँ बसती हैं
छंद निबंध व्याकरण लिए
मुझ पर आक्रमण करती हैं
युद्ध में इनसे हारूँ तो
अध्यापक क्यूँ बिगड़ते हैं
क्यूँ मुझसे ये लड़ते हैं

छोटी इ हो बड़ी ई हो
आधे पूरे अक्षर हों
भेदभाव मैं करता नहीं
बिन्दू चाँद हलंत मात्रा
क्यूँ इनका स्वर बदलते हैं
क्यूँ कनफ्यूशण करते हैं
क्यूँ मुझसे ये लड़ते हैं

विज्ञान का ज्ञान मुझे है
गणित का गुणबोध मुझे है
गीत संगीत नट नृत्य सभी
मुझसे दोस्ती करते हैं
लेकिन ये दुष्ट अक्षर सब
मेरा जीना दूभर करते हैं
क्यूँ मुझसे ये लड़ते हैं

बड़ा होकर फिर आऊँगा
और अपनी क़लम घुमाऊँगा
कहानी कविता गीत वाक्य
में सरपट तुम्हें नचाऊँगा
अभी तो बच्चा समझ ये
सब मेरे सर पे चड़ते हैं
क्यूँ मुझसे ये लड़ते हैं

अक्षर क्यूँ बिगड़ते हैं
क्यूँ मुँझसे ये लड़ते हैं
इन्हें पड़ना ही तो चाहता हूँ
तो इतना क्यूँ अकड़ते हैं 

क्यूँ मुँझसे ये लड़ते हैं
क्यूँ मुँझसे ये लड़ते हैं"

“बड़ा होकर फिर आऊँगा,
और अपनी कलम घुमाऊँगा…”

He did.

And he never stopped loving books.