Sign language is not a favour. It is access. It is love
Muskan Bhatia's poetic essay on how she has struggled to be understood and belong in a world that doesn't communicate in sign language; media recommendations, and opportunities
Dear Readers,
Thanks so much for writing in with your thoughts on the benevolent ableism piece in the previous issue. Sharing a few below:
”This is an article that I will be citing frequently in my own papers and workshops, because it is such truth.” Sara Shunkwiler, Disability Belonging & STEM Equity Advocate.
Priti, I've been reading your newsletter for quite awhile now and I am always impressed at the well-considered writing and insights. My disability is non-apparent and as someone who only learned I had a disability about 10 years ago, I still struggle to know what I need to succeed in a society not built for neurodivergent people, let alone those with physical disabilities. I especially appreciated Nas Campanella’s piece that you shared. Jodi Hausen, author of the newsletter, More Than Normal: Breaking Down Barriers of Disability.
Powerful and a brilliant brilliant article 👏🏼👏🏼. So validating, unapologetic and brutally honest. Thank you for reminding me that I am not alone in this abled world. Aishwarya Balasubramanian, disabled South Asian writer.
[Logo ID: On a bright purple background, two white hand illustrations form an open rectangular frame. Inside the frame, the words ‘Reframing Disability’ are written in white text, symbolising a fresh perspective on disability.]
This issue is dedicated to Sign Language!
We’re just about to step into the International Week of Deaf Awareness — a time to celebrate Deaf culture — and honour the International Day of Sign Languages.
In the past year, sign language and Deaf inclusion have taken some strides in India and beyond. Google DeepMind’s launch of SignGemma, its most advanced model yet for translating sign language into spoken text, marks a breakthrough in bridging communication barriers, though it is still optimised mainly for American Sign Language and English.
Back home in India, Assam became the first state to offer Indian Sign Language (ISL) as an elective in Class 11, and is training hoteliers, homestay owners, guides, and tour operators in ISL to make tourism more welcoming for Deaf travellers. Accessibility is expanding in sports too, with IPL cricket commentary now regularly available in ISL, and education is catching up through PM E-Vidya Channel 31, which translates NCERT textbooks into ISL for students.
Cultural spaces are also becoming more inclusive, from Chris Martin’s Mumbai concert offering ISL interpretation and vibrating vests for deaf fans to Indian rappers incorporating sign language into their performances.
While we celebrate these changes, we must also ask: what is being done to help Deaf individuals truly belong?
In a poetic essay for Reframing Disability, Muskan Bhatia, a young Deaf woman, writes about battling loneliness every day in a world that doesn’t speak her language. She shares her dream of a world where Deaf people are not just accommodated, but where they feel at home.
[Description: Muskan, an Indian woman with long dark hair with brown highlights, signs her essay. She is dressed in a black V-neck T-shirt.]
Muskan is a Deaf advocate working at the intersections of sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR), mental health, gender equality, and accessibility rights. She is a proficient Deaf Interpreter and an actress, using performance to embody untold Deaf experiences and bring visibility to lives too often erased. As a researcher and activist, she pushes for systemic change, amplifying truths that many choose to overlook.
Born Deaf to Deaf parents, she grew up in a rich visual world where communication flowed naturally and the unique identity of being deaf was celebrated. This strong foundation has shaped her voice - one that now challenges systems, built without Deaf people in mind.
ID: Muskan, a young Indian woman with long dark hair with brown highlights, is standing in front of blooming pink hydrangeas, with trees and a small white gazebo in the background. She is wearing a black suit, looking to her left and smiling.
Sign language is not a favour. It is justice and dignity
By Muskan Bhatia
I walk into a room - a disability event, a training, a space that promises, "Everyone is welcome."
I see ramps. Crutches. Braille materials. White canes tapping against the floor. I see people laughing, hugging, exchanging stories. The room is full of support. Belonging. Community.
Until the conversations begin.
And the silence wraps itself around me like a prison.
Because I am Deaf. I use sign language.
And no one else does.
Yes, there are interpreters. Brilliant, skilled, compassionate interpreters. They stand beside me for the workshops. They sign the keynotes, the breakout sessions, and even during my conversations with others during lunch.
But, are 30 minutes of lunch enough to build a connection? To truly bond? To joke, reflect, share dreams? No.
And when lunch ends, when the interpreters rest as they deserve to, I disappear.
The conversations continue, but not for me. People make plans, swap numbers, tell stories, build connections, all without me.
So what do I do?
I pull out my phone.
I scroll. I take photos. Of walls. Of smiles I can’t share. Of anything to avoid loneliness.
I try to look busy, because looking excluded is more painful than looking distracted.
And people stare. They don’t ask. They don’t come closer. They assume I’m shy, antisocial, or just glued to my phone.
But I’m not avoiding them.
I’m surviving them.
This silence, this invisibility. It’s not new. I’ve known it for 25 years.
I remember moving in with my hearing family for a short while. I watched them talk around dinner tables, laugh in the living room, bond deeply. I was there, but only in body.
All I got were the basics: "What do you want to eat?" "What do we need to buy from the store?" "What time are we leaving?"
That was my language diet. Logistics. Tasks. Never the warmth of shared jokes, secrets, or family history.
And I cried.
Because they were living life. And I was just trying to survive it.
And it didn’t stop at home.
In college, for three years, I talked to no one in my class. No one.
At first, they tried to sign. They smiled. They looked curious.
But after that, silence.
I was not part of study groups. Not invited to hangouts. Not in photos, not in jokes, not in memories.
Just physically present, academically surviving, socially erased.
They moved on with their friendships.
I moved deeper into my phone.
Three years. Without a single real conversation.
I joined a yoga class full of hope. I thought maybe this time - with new people and a calmer environment. I’d make a friend.
No one talked to me.
They smiled politely. But no one asked how I was or what I needed.
They had no idea what to do, and I had no one to ask.
So I copied others, watched closely, guessed postures, and faked calm.
I wasn’t included. I was overlooked in silence.
Even in so-called inclusive rooms, I’m on the outside looking in.
When I’m among disabled people, I often get this: “We’re all disabled here. We understand each other.” But most disabled people don’t know sign language.
That is not inclusion. That is an illusion. That is a well-meaning exclusion.
Inclusion isn’t physical presence.
Inclusion is emotional access.
Inclusion is communication.
Inclusion is language.
Let me make it undeniable
Sign language is not optional. It is an emergency.
This isn’t about preferences. It’s about survival.
Imagine: You’re in the ER, pain surging through your body but you can’t describe it.
You’re in danger, trying to warn someone but your words don’t land.
You’re overwhelmed with joy, desperate to share and no one understands.
That is our every day.
I am tired of being tolerated.
I want to belong.
I want to laugh without delay.
Cry without translation.
Connect.
Disagree.
Dream - in my language.
Sign language must be everywhere.
In schools.
On television.
In healthcare.
In public safety.
Taught to doctors.
Nurses.
Police.
Teachers.
Event organizers.
Friends.
Families.
Strangers.
Because one day, you will meet someone like me.
And we deserve more than your patience.
We deserve your effort.
We deserve a full conversation.
If the world finally treated sign language like the emergency it is,
It would feel like the biggest celebration in human history.
Not just for 100 years.
But for the billion years we were left behind.
The sky would shout back:
"We see you. We hear you. You matter."
Because that's how long we've waited.
If I had the power - the kind of power that moves mountains and rewrites history
I would pass a law so fierce, so undeniable, that every person on this planet would be required to learn sign language.
Because this is bigger than language. It is justice. It is dignity. It is survival.
That’s the world I dream of - a world where silence is broken, where no one is left invisible, where belonging is guaranteed.
If I had that power, I wouldn’t hesitate. I would change the world right now, not later. Because lives depend on it.
Sign language is not a favour.
It is not a feature.
It is not for later.
It is breath.
It is access.
It is love.
It is now.
So if you believe in inclusion then learn our language.
With your hands.
With your heart.
With your time.
Sign language is not optional.
It is an emergency.
And the world must treat it like one. Now.
Editor’s note: In her essay, Muskan speaks of the “Dinner Table Syndrome, a phenomenon in which deaf people are left out of social conversations, leading to feelings of profound isolation”. Kanika Agarwal, a Deaf educator, has written about the Dinner Table Syndrome for the ‘Insights’ newsletter.
Media Recommendations
Read
In her must-read piece, What’s the curb-cut effect, Jodi Hausen emphasises how universal design benefits everyone, and discusses “the difference between accommodation (an adaptive afterthought) and accessibility (designed for everybody from the get-go).”
Listen
Can creativity help mental health? Science proves it, and this podcast from Wellcome’s “When Science Finds a Way” reports. Now, don’t swap your weekly artwork routine for watching a TV Series if you wish to reap benefits!
Watch
In The Curious Case of….’ s episode on Therapy, Ira Khan, the founder of Agatsu Foundation, interviews psychotherapist Radhika Bapat, a dialogue that helped me understand so many things about how therapy works. Look out for insights on what ‘validation’ by your psychotherapist means, the expectations you can have from therapy, and ways to communicate them. And yes, the video has Indian Sign Language!
Events
Mental Health in Journalism Summit
I’ve registered for The Self Investigation’s Mental Health in Journalism Summit, to be held online from 8th to 10th October. Among other things, I’m looking forward to sessions such as “The Stress for Survival: Being a Freelance Journalist, Beyond Bylines: The Mental toll of Awards, Fellowships and ‘Making It’ in Journalism” and “How Can Neurodiversity Be a Superpower for Journalism”.
Echoes of Silence
If you’re in Mumbai on 23rd September, don’t miss this Deaf-led exhibition curated by Dr Alim Chandani at Kala Ghoda, followed by a Visual Vernacular performance nearby. All details in this post.
Opportunities
Rising Flame is holding a Pitch Fest at The International Purple Fest on 10th October 2025 in Goa, for entrepreneurs living with disabilities. The top 10 finalists will get a stall at the Purple Fest Exhibition to showcase their work, and the top three will be awarded prize money.
Deadline to apply: 23rd September 2025
The Inclusion Ke Sitaare Awards aim to recognise and honour Indian individuals or organisations that have made a meaningful impact by embracing and integrating neurodivergent individuals, especially those with Intellectual Disability, in their personal and professional lives.
Deadline: 10th Oct 25
An online OTT screenwriting weekend course by the organisation, Yes We Too Can, will be held from 25th October to 23rd November 2025.
For: Persons with locomotor disabilities
Last date to apply: 11th October 2025
Find all information on Facebook.
Thanks for reading this issue. As always, share your thoughts by hitting reply or engaging with me on LinkedIn and Instagram. Reframing Disability has an Instagram account too - follow and engage!
Warmly,
Priti
Must read and must be shared. It's high time we speak on emotional access to the whole damn abled world and damn to ableism-capitalism-colonial ruins every single time.
Aw, Priti, thanks for the shout out!!