You can almost see the embarrassment. The cringed face, the mild gasp and the slightly agape mouth.
Every time someone assumes that he/she ought to scream into my ears because I’m blind, I cringe in pain.
Yes, when the person screams standing close by and almost into my ear, I get disoriented. The cooing sound goes on in my head for a second or two and taking control of the situation is quite an effort. When it happens in a busy street, it almost puts me in danger.
Some years ago, I stood at the intersection of two busy roads close to my office where the sidewalk is encroached by peanut sellers and hawkers of everything from magazines to knickknacks. Blinded by a gradual vision loss condition, I still have troubles walking on an absolute straight line and veered dangerously to the edge of the sidewalk. On some occasions, like that day, I was just a step away from toppling into the moving traffic.
“Where do you want to go?”
The voice was close to my right ear. Too close, in fact, that I felt the air gushing from the man’s lungs tickle my earlobes. On top of the steady woosh of whirring vehicles around, the voice hit my eardrums like an exploding bomb. He doubled the pain by holding my arms tighter than necessary.
I usually stuff large balls of cotton into my ears to protect myself from noise pollution, about which nobody cares in India. Having to use headphones for close to eight hours at work and also for operating my talking smartphone, I deploy my hearing sense more than usual. It leaves me exhausted at the end of a busy day. So noise would disorient me completely when I’ve such encounters.
“I…wan…nt to cross the road,” I said, still reeling from pain and shock.
“Where do you want to go?” the man shouted again, busting my eardrum.
Helplessness and pain balled into frustration and I yelled back: “Please stop shouting. I can hear clearly. I’m only blind.”
Before I could return to my senses and explain my challenges, the man had long gone. I was sure he had mistaken my yelling for anger and rudeness. I pictured him muttering “how dare you insult me? How can you be rude to someone who wanted to help?”
I knew it because it happened too frequently. I’m not the kind to be hard on myself about this, but I always wanted to make sure I communicated my challenges clearly to the able-bodied person. This was one occasion I failed, but there’re other moments, especially when the person walking me across a busy road or helping me board a train, when I could tell them to hold my left hand instead of my right since I needed to operate my white cane freely.
And yes, I’ve told them not to shout since I could hear well with a smile, ensuring that my words weren’t mistaken for an insult.
How to communicate your disability?
*Communication is a two-way street and there’s no point in either of us failing to get the point. The best we can do is to try understanding them to make it easier for them to understand us. So, the first thing we should do is not to wait for them to ask questions. Be upfront in telling them that your disability doesn’t allow you to do certain things. We think this’s easy and people often do it. But the biggest challenge with communication is assumptions. That’s something we can’t afford.
*If you’ve an invisible disability, carry with you an identification or a badge of some kind so that you can show to people when they misunderstand you, accuse you of being a faker, or get violent. Remember that we should do everything within the realm of possibilities to defuse any potentially explosive situation. Anything beyond that isn’t in our control. Taking initiatives will also tell the other person that our disability doesn’t prevent us from seizing control of the situation.
*If you’re in a party, create role plays, fun and games around understanding your disability. Nearly ten years ago, I worked with a bunch of blind people who enacted street plays and skits in the big shopping malls of our city to create awareness. I still remember a woman telling me on the sidelines of the event that it taught her many things about blindness and disability.
*Use technology to the extent possible. Bring everything on to the show from power wheelchairs to special apps that would allow the deaf to make people around them understand what they’re saying (simple texting will also do the job).
I never failed to power up my appearance or presentations in big events with all the technology aids that I’ve. Using Siri (the software on iPhone that performs voice command) to dial friends or save numbers leaves able-bodied peers suitably impressed. They’re quite unlikely to leave you with any negative impressions of your disability. That doesn’t mean you overdo the tech thing and make them think you’re some kind of super being. Underscore your limitations wherever possible.
One of the greatest ways you grow up and out of your disability is by never losing confidence. While it doesn’t necessarily mean adventurism or false bravado, you’d do well to use any slight advantage you may have to assure the able-bodied people around you that you’re quite capable of handling things. That would probably be the best way to spread awareness about our disability and how we can manage things better.
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