Disability activist Dr Satendra Singh is putting up a good fight

Singh explains what the idea of universal access really entails and explains why infrastructure planning must necessarily involve people with disability

Most of us go through life not paying heed to the accessibility of buildings and public areas, until we, or someone in our midst, need to. It is only while choosing an appropriate restaurant to invite Dr Satendra Singh, the first-ever Indian to win the prestigious Henry Viscardi Achievement Award for leadership in the global disability community, that I realise how insensitive much of the capital’s architecture is. Few elevators, slippery floors, multi-level floor plans and steep ramps — not to speak of the lack of disabled-friendly cars, public transport and more — make life very hard for people with disability (PwD). Eventually I invite him to Chor Bizarre at Delhi’s Bikaner House, where visitors can drive right up to its entrance on the ground floor. The affable doctor arrives right on the dot, after having given a lecture at University College of Medical Sciences, where he presently teaches. He returned from the award ceremony in New York sometime back, and is full of admiration for the way in which American infrastructure is geared for universal access. “I could actually cross roads there,” he says. The sense of wonder in his voice makes me realise India has a long way to go before it can be called truly inclusive, and also how important Singh’s battle for disability rights is.

With Bollywood songs from the 70s providing a mellifluous backdrop, Singh and I order drinks — shikanji for him and a fresh lime soda for myself. Speaking about the Henry Viscardi award, a prestigious honour among disability activists, he says, “I’d never expected international recognition for my work. In fact, when I met the other awardees, I felt my achievements were quite small compared to theirs.” The good doctor however is simply being humble. Not only has Singh been instrumental in opening up thousands of government jobs to people with disability, but he has also spearheaded the creation of what has come to be known as the “Delhi Model” of elections — elections that are accessible to people with different disabilities. Moreover, his efforts have caused government hospitals in Delhi to become more sensitive to the needs of the differently-abled — today, they have installed low-angled ramps, tactile markers for the visually impaired, wheelchair-accessible toilets and more.

“I like to repeat the slogan — Nothing for Us, Without Us — wherever I speak,” says Singh, who believes that it takes a PwD to design accessible infrastructure. “Many buildings in Delhi have steep ramps for wheelchair users,” says Singh, who has had locomotor disability ever since he contracted polio as a baby. “But if the ramps are too steep, a wheelchair user can’t climb it without being pushed from the back, which kind of negates the accessibility factor, doesn’t it?” He gives the example of the Indian Spinal Injuries Centre, brainchild of Major HPS Ahluwalia, who became wheelchair-bound after a gunshot wound in the Indo-Pak War of 1965. “This is one of the only campuses I’ve seen in India which offers universal access,” he says. “Perhaps because it was conceived and designed by a PwD.”

Over a shared starter of galouti kebabs, Singh talks about how he became drawn into activism. It began in 2011, when he was rejected for a Central Health Services (CHS) post by the Union Public Service Commission. Apparently, there was no policy for hiring disabled doctors for these posts. He reapplied next year, and was rejected again. An RTI application revealed that doctors with disabilities were not considered eligible for specialist CHS posts in teaching, non-teaching as well as public health specialist cadres. “I was incensed at the discrimination, and resolved to fight this — for even though I had a permanent position in University College of Medical Sciences, there were others like me who were suffering as a result of such policies,” he recounts.

Eventually, after four years of battle, Singh forced the ministry of health to unlock 1,674 specialist central posts for disabled doctors.

Although this was a huge victory, Singh was already involved in another issue — making elections accessible to all. A series of RTI applications he filed showed that the Election Commission of India was unprepared for disabled voters. “Barricades near the polling booth made wheelchair manoeuvring tough; there was no designated parking close to the booth; visually impaired voters could not access the ballots and those voters with cerebral palsy and similar conditions could not press the button to vote,” he says. Eventually, the Delhi government enlisted his help in making the 2013 legislative assembly elections disabled-friendly. “Not only did we make the physical infrastructure more accessible, we also trained election officers to sensitively help PwDs and set up a disability registration helpline to collate data and understand the needs of the voters,” he says.

Just then, our conversation is punctuated by the arrival of our shared Kashmiri sampler, the tarami, which comprises taster portions of several Kashmiri staples including tabak maas (spiced fried ribs), chicken korma, nadru yakhni (lotus stem in yoghurt gravy) and gustaba (spiced meatballs in gravy). Singh digs in with apparent enjoyment, and then tells me about the concept of “social disability”, the idea that disability is caused by the way society is organised, rather than by a person’s impairment or difference. “Every human being has some imperfection or the other — in the absence of enabling physical and social infrastructure, this becomes a disability,” he says. For instance, people who need reading glasses could feel disabled without them, and also if what they have to read is written in a very small letters.

Singh dreams of architecture that provides universal access — which means that it isn’t just disabled-friendly, but is also easy to use for people who are old, sick, pregnant or just plain tired that day. Remembering how I had to hunt for appropriate restaurants for our meeting today, I remark we’re nowhere close to attaining universal access. A lot needs to be done, he agrees. “For example, in spite of the improvements in Delhi’s electoral infrastructure, there is still no provision for people who are bed-ridden or ill to cast their vote without going to the polling booth.” Similarly, in spite of being made more accessible, Delhi government hospitals don’t have enough personnel trained and sensitised to handle PwDs. “I’m lobbying hard to get disability studies added to medical curricula, as they are given very perfunctory treatment at the moment,” he says.

The main thing to understand, he says as phirni in earthenware cups is brought to the table, is to not think of accessibility as something only for the disabled, but as a universal human right. “Remember, each one of us is at best temporarily able-bodied,” he says. Footballers, doctors and corporate honchos alike, may be fit one minute, and incapacitated by accidents or falls the next. “Every one of us can rest easier if offices, malls and hospitals offer universal access,” he says. We sip flavourful kahwa, perfect for this cloudy winter weather, and he says, “it all comes down to involving PwDs in planning and designing communal spaces, for they are the best judges of what they need”.

Leadership in the disabled community is, however, lacking. “Why are there no CEOs, MPs or MLAs with disability?” he asks. “We need role models, high achievers with some form of disability, who can inspire young people to look beyond the narrow definition of ability (and the lack of it) created by society.” Perhaps Dr Satendra Singh doesn’t realise it, I muse as we leave the restaurant, but it is clear that I’ve lunched with one such role model today.