A Lockdown Revolution

Growing up in an able-bodied world with a physical disability that I acquired at the age of nine was confusing, to say the least. I had acquired my disability, so I was exposed to, and a regular consumer of able-bodied structures of independence, productivity, achievements, enjoyment, childhood splendour and wonder before the age of nine. My love for art started when I was seven years old. I loved drawing portraits of myself and my family. They weren’t very professional, but they kept me happy, and I was told that was enough. Falling terribly ill at the age of nine, I could no longer stand. When I attempted to draw portraits after my illness, I was confused as to whether I should draw myself sitting or standing. I grew up in a disabled body that I loathed, in a body that no longer served me. A body that was stared at, and treated like a second class citizen. There was (still is) a certain invisibility in the air that contributes to the erasure of and to the gross ignorance about disabled bodies, especially bodies of disabled women. All my life, I’ve felt inadequate: like I was too short, too anxious, too small-built, too “disabled” to make a difference.

During COVID-19, the feeling of being trapped within the four walls of a physical space manifested in me being trapped in a body full of self hatred my entire life. I had to somehow, by any means, break out and survive. I had to dissent from this able-bodied world that had failed to provide me with a sense of identity, belonging, and purpose. I had to find a disabled utopia of my own, that honoured my ability and my sexuality. Routines, schedules, rituals, had gone haywire, and overnight we were all forced to live in confinement. Living in confinement and isolation wasn’t a new thing for me. I have lived in isolation for half of my life, because I’m immunocompromised. During flare ups, I had no choice but to stay indoors.

Disabled artists have the talent of thriving in isolation: it is a reality we have known all too well. As a disabled artist then, I began to thrive within the creative space that the present circumstances provided to me. I was free to form revolutionary ideas from my accessible bedroom where time stood still. I didn’t have to venture out into an inaccessible world where people stared too much, and the roads were too cobbled and too coarse. Roads that made me trip and were unkind to my crutch. As a disabled artist, I am part of a community that is reshaping the art discourse from its traditional ableist notions of “straight lines”, to art that is helping us build disabled queer futures. It is time we acknowledge their existence.

Revival Disability Magazine was a revolution that was born in a mind stuck in quarantine. I always wanted to write about my disability. I was afraid to raise my voice in more spaces than I realised, and I had been afraid to take up space in my own reality. I longed to find a space just for myself and my community. I longed for a certain sense of identity. Earlier I used to hide my crutch every time someone took my picture. I used to hide my curves with my bag. I didn’t like wearing dresses when I walked with my crutch because I had this idea of “femininity” ingrained in me by patriarchy that was against my identity as a disabled woman. At Revival we aim to UNHIDE THE DISABILITY.

In the week that Revival Disability Magazine was formed, I didn’t question myself, or my ideas for the first time in 22 years. I just went ahead with it. Perhaps it was the result of a lifetime of trying to find belonging in other people, when belonging and home were within me all along.

Home lies within my curved, scarred disabled body. Home lies within my ideas and my community. Home lies in my art. Home lies in my disabled identity. Perhaps, the birth of Revival Disability Magazine was an extreme effort to break out of the shackles of oppression, ableism, and a lifetime of isolation.

My dream is to be the disabled role model that my 10-year-old self had needed. I started this magazine not only for myself, but for an urgent collective need to voice the lived and authentic experiences of the Indian disabled community. Our community has to face ableism everyday. Ableism stems from a certain kind of stereotype perpetuated by misinformation and shows itself every time a non-disabled person uses terms such as “specially abled” freely without asking us how we prefer to be addressed. Non-disabled people have overshadowed our narrative, spoken on our behalf and tried to tell our story for too long. I wanted to change the narrative and see disabled people telling our own stories.

I had felt this acutely as I entered college. The more people I met, the more conscious I became of my disability. My voice certainly takes some time to get used to, but so does every other person you meet, right? Non-disabled ableists would look at me with strained eyes and pursed lips, like they’re trying really hard to listen to me. After losing patience, they would burst out, and often tell the person standing beside them that they didn’t understand me. This happened even if the other person wasn’t part of the conversation! I obviously didn’t matter in this scene. I feel the frustration surrounding disabled voices. On the one hand we face this ’otherisation’ and on the other society places us on a high, unreachable, unfathomable pedestal. They create this divine, mystical image around disabled folks, similar to aliens — someone who is incomprehensible but at the same time fascinating. In the case of disabled folks, we are seen as, *gasp* so inspiring! And yet they don’t do anything to create an accessible future for us, or have the patience and empathy to truly understand us.

Disability, for women, has essentially led to their exclusion from femininity, motherhood, sexual pleasure and intimacy, and marriage and partnership. Women with disabilities are misinformed about their sexuality far too often because even most doctors consider us asexual; devoid of any desires. Disabled women are constantly undermined as decision makers, which has rendered their voice unheard at an institutional level. Ironically, this exclusion doesn’t make disabled women less vulnerable to violence. In fact the rampant increase of cases of sexual violence against them within their homes and in public spaces needs immediate attention.

These are all the effects of a socio-political ecosystem that functions on the oppression and exploitation of these women.

Imagine a world instead, where we taught disabled girls to love themselves. I grew up reading novels of able-bodied men and women falling in love. In the rom-coms I watched, able-bodied women would have pool parties, and self-care constituted face masks and scented candles. In my mind then, only a certain kind of love and self-care was absolute. Imagine living in a world where you deny yourself your own reality. I am longing for a world where discussing accessibility or logistical requirements during sexual intercourse isn’t awkward, or weird. A world where I won’t have to tell men I just met on dating apps that, ‘’I walk with a crutch’’ and hope that this won’t be an ‘’inconvenience’’ for them. We need to normalize asking all those questions that are at the back of our minds but we can’t ask because our parents have never educated us about sexualities or identities. Imagine a world where we don’t tell disabled girls that they were too ‘’weak’’ to have sex.

For change to truly occur, we need to have more accessible protests, more meetups discussing sexuality and disability and more disabled affirmative spaces and professionals. Revival thrives on conversations and narratives of empowerment, illness, grief, joy, strength, emotional growth. We’re all learning and unlearning everyday and we want this to be a collective journey. We write for the women we are and the women we are about to become. We write for those that cannot write for themselves, we write for those who don’t have the loudest voice, but have the loudest heart that is ready to riot.

These stories are for you, these stories are for me.

We write for those folx who were born in the wrong family of origin, but grew up and found a family of choice within themselves,

We write for those folx who are stared at wherever they go, treated with prejudice, judged, and not given opportunities. Still, they thrive.

We write for those folx who have struggled with their identities their entire life, We write for those folx who survived even when they didn’t want to, .

We write for those folx who have been in abusive relationships, with others and with themselves, and are finally breaking free.

Revival is a revolution of the self, a revolution that is here to stay.