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.

Physician Burnout: A little madness to keep you sane !

 

Physician, Heal Thyself

Last Sunday, I attended a clinical meeting where there was an interesting debate:

“Is physician burnout an individual problem or a systemic problem?”

Both sides presented compelling arguments. The healthcare system has undoubtedly become more demanding. Long working hours, administrative burden, increasing corporatization, pressure of numbers, financial targets, patient expectations, medico-legal concerns… all of these contribute.

Yet, as I drove back home, I couldn’t stop thinking about another aspect of burnout—one that perhaps receives far less attention.

Maybe the seeds of physician burnout are sown much earlier.

From our childhood, most doctors are conditioned to excel. We are taught to chase marks, ranks, distinctions and medals. We learn to compete, outperform and constantly strive to be better than everyone else.

Years later, the numbers simply change.

Marks become degrees.

Degrees become surgeries.

Surgeries become patient volumes.

Patient volumes become revenue.

But the race never really ends.

Somewhere during this journey, medicine slowly stops being what we do and starts becoming who we are.

And that, I believe, is where the real danger begins.

When we expect medicine to provide us with our identity, our purpose, our recognition, our happiness, our emotional fulfilment and our self-worth, we unknowingly place an impossible burden on one profession.

No profession can carry that weight forever.

Burnout rarely arrives dramatically.

It begins with a whisper.

A quiet feeling that says:

“I’m doing everything I always wanted to do… I have achieved what I had dreamt of… then why am I still not happy?”

That whisper is probably the earliest warning sign.

If we wait until exhaustion becomes breakdown, prevention has already become treatment.

So what can we do?

For me, the answer lies in prevention—not after burnout, but long before it.

1. Redefine your identity.

Be a doctor.

But don’t be only a doctor.

Be a spouse.

A parent.

A friend.

A traveller.

A reader.

A musician.

A biker.

A photographer.

A writer.

Whatever keeps another part of you alive.

The more dimensions your identity has, the less likely one setback can consume your entire existence.

2. Learn the meaning of “enough.”

This may be the hardest lesson.

There comes a point where increasing wealth, status and achievements add very little to our happiness.

Beyond that point, the pursuit itself often starts taking away the very happiness we are trying to create.

Perhaps we need the courage to consciously let go of 10–20% of the endless chase.

Ironically, that small sacrifice may make the remaining 80–90% far more meaningful, productive and enjoyable.

3. Remember that medicine is only the fuel.

I often think of life as an engine.

Medicine is the fuel.

It gives us direction and purpose.

But no engine can run on fuel alone.

It also needs lubrication and cooling.

Without them, friction increases.

Heat builds up.

Eventually the engine fails.

Our hobbies, passions, relationships, rest, laughter and moments of joy are the lubricant and coolant of life.

They are not luxuries.

They are maintenance.

4. Steal time for your passions.

People often say,

“I don’t have time.”

Perhaps we never will.

Maybe we have to steal it.

There may even be a sense of guilt while doing so.

But that time isn’t stolen from medicine.

It is invested in becoming a happier, healthier human being—and therefore, a better doctor.

Profession keeps us sane.

Passion allows us to become delightfully insane.

And I think we need both.

Without a little childlike madness, adulthood becomes unbearably heavy.

5. Respect your body.

Our body is the instrument through which we serve humanity.

We maintain our medical equipment meticulously.

We upgrade technology regularly.

Yet we often neglect the one instrument that matters the most.

Exercise.

Sleep.

Nutrition.

Relaxation.

Meditation.

Recovery.

These are not signs of laziness.

They are professional responsibilities.

If we don’t invest time in our health today, we may be forced to spend far more time as patients tomorrow.

6. Invest in people and places.

Family.

Friends.

Meaningful conversations.

Shared laughter.

Travel.

Mountains.

Forests.

The sea.

Sunrise.

Sunset.

A walk under the trees.

Nature has a remarkable ability to reset the human mind.

Perhaps because that is where we were always meant to belong.

Even within our homes, I believe each one of us should have a small corner that belongs only to us—a quiet space where, even for five minutes, we can simply breathe, reflect and reconnect with ourselves.

7. Live by a philosophy, not merely by targets.

Targets have finish lines.

Philosophy does not.

Targets tell us where we are going.

Philosophy reminds us why we began.

Without a philosophy, life quietly becomes a rat race.

And one day we may discover that although we reached the podium, we somehow lost life itself.

For me, medicine has been one of life’s greatest blessings.

But so have writing, travelling, trekking, motorcycling, music, photography and lifelong learning.

None of these have made me a lesser doctor.

If anything, they have made me a more complete human being.

And I have increasingly come to believe that better human beings almost always become better doctors.

Perhaps the ancient words have never been more relevant than they are today:

“Physician, heal thyself.”

Not because doctors are special.

But because doctors are human.

When education kills …

 

Exam के नम्बर ज़्यादा और Life के कम … 🥲

These days every time I read about a child dying by suicide because of studies… something inside feels deeply wrong with the world we have built.

No child actually wants to die.  

They only want the pressure to stop.

Somewhere we started believing that education is everything.  

And then slowly… marks became more important than learning, performance more important than personality, and comparison more common than conversation.

Truth is — education is overrated.  

And exam marks are grossly overrated.

They have almost no direct relationship with success in real life.  

But they have a very real relationship with anxiety, fear and silence.

We say we are preparing children for the future —  

but are we preparing them for life… or just for an occupation?

Life will give them failure.  

Life will give them rejection.  

Life will hurt them at times.

And that is not a tragedy — that is training.

If we constantly protect them from failure and push only for success, we are not helping them…  

we are weakening them.

A child must learn:

how to lose,

how to cope,

how to stand up again,

how to be okay even when they are not the best.

Learning should be a happy process.  

Not a daily performance review.

We should raise children who know how to live —  

not children who only know how to compete.

Let them play.  

Let them have passions.  

Let them build physical and mental strength.  

Let them experience boredom, disappointment and recovery.

Because a happy child becomes a stable adult.

Before asking: “Kitne aaye?”  

maybe ask: “Tum theek ho?”

Marks improve.  

Careers change.  

Life finds its way.

But a child who feels loved only when successful  

slowly stops feeling safe.

We don’t need perfect children.  

We need emotionally secure humans.

After all…  

the child is the father of the man.

Parents, think. 🙏🏻

Autism and ADHD (and Dyslexia): Disorders or Simply Different?

In recent years, our understanding of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) has evolved significantly. Traditionally, these have been viewed as medical conditions — “disorders” that require correction. But an increasing number of experts and advocates believe that they might simply represent natural variations in human behaviour and brain function, rather than diseases.

The Lens of Neurodiversity

The neurodiversity movement emphasises that human brains are wired differently. Just as we recognise variations in personality, creativity, or intelligence, neurodiversity suggests that traits seen in autism or ADHD are not necessarily flaws — they are different ways of perceiving and interacting with the world.

• Autism: Often linked with deep focus, attention to detail, and unique problem-solving approaches.
• ADHD: Associated with high energy, adaptability, and quick, creative thinking.

These traits can be advantages in the right environment, though our current education and work systems are often structured for “neurotypical” patterns of thinking.

When Is It a Disorder?

Autism and ADHD are classified as disorders when symptoms cause significant difficulties in everyday functioning — for example, severe communication challenges, impulsive actions leading to harm, or inability to manage daily tasks. But in many milder cases, these differences do not require “fixing” — only understanding, support, and acceptance.

Lessons from Nature

Interestingly, similar behavioral variations exist in animals. Some are naturally more focused, while others are more impulsive or exploratory — roles that may benefit the group as a whole. This suggests that behavioral diversity could be an evolutionary strength, not a weakness.

The Way Forward

Perhaps the real question isn’t “What’s wrong with these individuals?” but “How can we create environments where different minds can thrive?”

By recognising and celebrating these differences, we move from a mindset of “cure” to one of inclusion and empowerment.

My views about Dyslexia are the same which I even more strongly feel that is a normal variation rather than a disorder or disability. And I speak from personal experience !

- Dr Sanjay Dhawan