Growing up, I often felt like I was lost in a classroom full of bright, focused children. I’d sit there, staring at the blackboard, but the words never quite stayed still for me. They jumped, blurred, rearranged themselves, and often just refused to make sense. I would lose focus, zone out, and quietly drift away while the teacher’s voice faded into the background.
Each of these—marriage, motherhood or fatherhood, management—can bring you immense joy. They can fill your heart, stretch your limits, and help you grow in ways you never imagined. But they can also sap your energy, throw you off balance, and, if chosen without thought, leave you feeling trapped.
At home, I dreaded reading lessons with my mother. I’d find any excuse to avoid them. I couldn’t explain why—it wasn’t that I didn’t want to learn. I just couldn’t follow along like the others did. But there was one subject I truly looked forward to: Maths.
Years later, life came full circle. I watched my young son, Arun, struggle with writing. At first, it seemed like reluctance. But I saw the same frustration, the same avoidance I used to feel. At the age of eight, he was finally diagnosed with dysgraphia—a learning disability that makes writing incredibly difficult. Around that time, I got myself tested too. And I learned, at last, that I am mildly dyslexic.
In many ways, the strategies I taught myself over the years had helped me compensate. But the diagnosis brought clarity. It made me kinder to myself. It helped me become a more empathetic parent. Because life isn’t easy when you have a learning disability. It’s tough to sit in a classroom where the system isn’t built for how your brain works. It’s hard to feel like you belong.
my mind. I developed a sharp memory and a way to “see” the bigger picture. I ended up cracking the CAT exam. Twice. And eventually made it to IIM Bangalore. All the while, I never knew I had dyslexia. I only knew that reading never came easy, and I always had to work around it.