Brazen Neglect: Airlines and the DGCA Betray Disabled Travellers

Wheelchair user alleges discrimination by Air India Express staff at Mumbai airport 

At Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport, veteran sports administrator Arvind Prabhoo faced a humiliating ordeal. After an Air India Express flight from Kochi, he discovered that the footrest of his power wheelchair – an essential component – had disappeared. Prabhu, who had relied on airline assistance up to the aircraft door, was left stranded for two hours at the gate with no proper help. This episode is not an isolated lapse but emblematic of a broader systemic failure: disabled flyers routinely see their mobility aids treated as expendable cargo. Airlines and regulators must be called to account for this callous indifference.

Disabled travellers know all too well that a wheelchair is not mere luggage. It is literally part of the person. In the United States, Engracia Figueroa spoke of her custom $30,000 chair as an “extension of [her] body” – one that United Airlines had “completely contorted” in its cargo hold. Figueroa was left effectively “re-disabled” by the damage, forced into a sub-standard loaner chair that barely let her move. Her words ring true for many: “When they see a mobility device, they should respect it, as if it is a person”. The fact that airlines often ignore this ethic – breaking frames, mangling footrests or batteries – underscores a deep disrespect for disabled passengers.

The statistics speak for themselves. In a short span, U.S. carriers reported mishandling 15,749 mobility devices (wheelchairs and scooters) in just 2½ years – roughly 29 a day. These incidents range from minor nicks to total write-offs. No wonder disability advocates warn that “80% of the wheelchair community isn’t flying” at all, frightened by the prospect of disaster. This is a global shame, and India is no exception. Countless personal accounts and advocacy posts confirm that travellers on domestic and international carriers repeatedly find their chairs damaged, delayed or lost. Even when airlines like Indigo grudgingly pay for repairs, a “fix” is often superficial: rebuilt chairs lose calibration, reliability and features, so the passenger’s independence is still compromised (an experience I know all too well). Yet these lived realities rarely make headlines.

By law and international standards, airlines must treat mobility aids with utmost care. The DGCA’s own 2025 Civil Aviation Requirement (CAR) now promises non-discriminatory, dignified travel for disabled flyers. It mandates free carriage of personal wheelchairs (including battery-powered ones) according to IATA/ICAO norms, obliges training of staff in disability awareness, and requires airports to provide ramps, parking and accessible routes. In principle, there are nodal officers to handle complaints and visible grievance channels for disabled passengers. These regulations, aligned with India’s Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act (2016), should make our skies barrier-free.

In practice, however, the gap between rule and reality is vast. Despite DGCA’s declarations, many airlines and airports flout even basic standards. Staff are often untrained and even hostile. Time and again, wheelchair users describe being treated as an inconvenience rather than human beings. No wonder the CCPD recently chastised Air India for just this sort of apathy: an 80%-disabled traveller on a domestic flight was unceremoniously de-boarded, and her powered wheelchair returned badly damaged. The tribunal fined Air India a mere ₹50,000 but recommended ₹5,00,000 in compensation. The regulator’s own review found that Air India had violated its rules by refusing carriage without any medical exam or proper explanation. The court invoked the Supreme Court’s Jeeja Ghosh precedent, noting that mere technical compliance cannot “justify conduct which humiliates, degrades or disproportionately burdens a passenger with disability”.

The above judgments and fines are welcome, but they are reactive. The DGCA often seems to act only after a scandal or tragedy. Last year an 80-year-old disabled man collapsed and died at Mumbai airport after Air India failed to supply the promised wheelchair. Only then did DGCA slap a ₹30 lakh fine and warn airlines to always have enough wheelchairs on hand. In contrast, every day disabled flyers suffer indignities that rarely see official sanction. As Arvind Prabhu’s case shows, his missing footrest was hardly headline news, so no punitive action has been reported. Meanwhile, India’s official promises (“people with disability should fly with dignity” etc.) mean little if implementation is weak.

Defenders of the aviation industry point to challenges: ramping up wheelchair services can strain staff and schedules, and there have been stories of able-bodied passengers abusing priority assistance (a 2024 UK report noted some misuse). But none of this excuses treating wheelchairs callously. Even the LinkedIn commentary of an airport manager reminds us that accessibility is about dignity, not mere operational checkboxes. A ramp that fails, or a chair that arrives shattered, deprives a person of basic autonomy. Every such incident worsens distrust: as one U.S. advocate warned, the airline industry’s shoddy record is driving away wheelchair users in droves.

There are some measures that should be celebrated. The updated DGCA CAR (effective October 2025) is a step forward on paper. It even requires airlines to specify an appellate authority and publish complaint-tracking online. In theory, a disabled flyer can now lodge a grievance and expect action. The regulator has also clarified that wheelchair-handling charges are illegal and that airlines must provide ambulifts or ramps.

Nevertheless, these positive policy strides are hollow if enforcement remains lax. As things stand, it is airlines – not disabled passengers – who suffer few consequences for bungling mobility aids. It often feels as if the carriage of the disabled is still an afterthought for DGCA inspectors and airline managers alike. If a fragile community (less than 10% of India’s population) does not fly, they lose choice and companies lose customers; but the immediate penalty falls on the disabled individual who is humiliated or marooned. This must change.

In every way, a wheelchair should be treated as part of a passenger’s person and dignity. The DGCA’s own motto calls for safe and accessible travel; its 2025 rules codify that ideal. Now, Indian regulators and airlines must back up words with deeds. Wheelchairs must be given tender care, not tossed onto tarmacs or left broken. Staff at every counter and cockpit must understand that disabled travellers are owed respect and equal opportunity – not excuses. The courts have already reminded us that “reasonable accommodation” is mandatory, not optional. It is high time the DGCA not only writes reforms but enforces them rigorously. Until then, disabled Indians will continue to endure indignities that non-disabled passengers cannot even imagine. Justice delayed is justice denied – and for Arvind Prabhoo, for my own battered chair, and for countless others, delay is already far too great.

A Letter to the Universe: On Disability, Sin, Karma and the Body

The universe isn’t a scoreboard of merit; it’s a canvas of chaos. My body, my self, and my story are not on trial—they simply are.

To the Universe,

I am writing this letter after attending a discussion on disability and religion. During that gathering, a man looked at me and stated that my disability was the result of sins committed in a previous life. He advised me to pray and perform rituals to atone for what he called an unseen moral debt.

I replied to him then and there. But the incident stayed with me, not because it hurt me, but because it showed me how thoroughly prejudice can hide behind the language of spirituality.

So I am writing this letter, not to that one man, but to the wider world.

I shall begin with a basic question. What kind of universe are we actually living in?

The man who spoke to me imagined a God who sits above the world, keeping score, and delivering physical disabilities as punishments for moral failures. This is a very human idea of God. We tend to imagine divinity in our own image because that is the easiest thing to do.

But one of the oldest texts of this land asks a different kind of question altogether.

The Nasadiya Sukta, the Hymn of Creation from the tenth mandala of the Rigveda, does not tell us how the universe was made. It asks whether anyone really knows.

Nasadiya Sukta, Rigveda 10.129.7

नासदासीन्नो सदासीत्तदानीं नासीद्रजो नो व्योमा परो यत् । किम् आवरीवः कुह कस्य शर्मन्नम्भः किमासीद् गहनं गभीरम् ॥

Na asad asin, no sad asin tadanim; na asid rajo, no vyoma paro yat. Kim avarivah, kuha kasya sharmann; ambhah kim asid gahanam gabhiram.

"Neither non-being existed then, nor being. Neither the atmosphere nor the sky beyond it. What moved? And where? Under whose protection? Was there water, deep and unfathomable?"

The hymn closes with a remarkable admission. It suggests that even the overseer of the highest heaven may not know how all of this came to be. This is not a weakness. This is philosophical honesty. It tells us that certainty about the ultimate nature of things is not easily available to anyone.

If the Vedas themselves approach creation with this degree of humility, then the man who looked at my body and declared with full confidence that he knew the mind of the universe was claiming more than the Rigveda ever claimed. That is worth pausing on.

The second problem with the punitive view of disability is that it assumes the body tells us something definitive about the person inside it.

Indian philosophy, across several schools, says the opposite.

The Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 2, Verse 22, is one of the clearest statements of this position.

Bhagavad Gita 2.22

वासांसि जीर्णानि यथा विहाय नवानि गृह्णाति नरोऽपराणि । तथा शरीराणि विहाय जीर्णा-न्यन्यानि संयाति नवानि देही ॥

Vasansi jirnani yatha vihaya navani grhnati naro 'parani; tatha sarirani vihaya jirnany anyani samyati navani dehi.

"Just as a person sets aside worn-out garments and puts on new ones, so the embodied soul discards worn-out bodies and takes on new ones."

The body, on this view, is a garment. What the man in that meeting did was look at my garment and draw conclusions about me. This is philosophically shallow. A torn shirt does not tell you anything about the person wearing it.

Advaita Vedanta goes further. It describes three layers of the human being: the gross body (Sthula Sarira), the subtle body (Suksma Sarira), and the causal body (Karana Sarira). The Atman, the true self, is distinct from all three. Whatever condition the gross body is in, the Atman remains unaffected.

Samkhya philosophy draws the same boundary from a different direction. It distinguishes between Purusha, which is pure consciousness, and Prakriti, which is matter. The body belongs entirely to Prakriti. Purusha is the silent witness. It does not change when Prakriti changes. A physical disability is a condition of Prakriti. Purusha is untouched by it.

To blame the soul for the condition of the body is to confuse the two. The Samkhya Karika makes this separation with considerable care, and rightly so, because the confusion between consciousness and matter is precisely the source of much unnecessary suffering.

Shakespeare wrote that all the world is a stage and all the men and women merely players. Indian philosophy has a parallel in the concept of Lila, the divine play, and Maya, the creative force that produces the forms of this world. The individual soul takes on a role in this vast theatre. The body is the costume for that role.

This is not merely a consoling metaphor. It has a precise philosophical implication. An audience member who believes that the actor playing a beggar is genuinely impoverished has failed to understand what theatre is. Similarly, a person who looks at a disabled body and treats it as moral evidence has failed to understand what the body actually is.

The story of Ashtavakra illustrates this with some force. Ashtavakra was born with deformities across eight parts of his body. The name itself means "eight bends." When he entered King Janaka's court as a young boy, the assembled scholars laughed at him.

Ashtavakra laughed back. Then he told them why he was laughing. He said he had come expecting an assembly of wise men, but had found instead a gathering of people who could see only skin. He used the term charma-drishti, which means vision limited to the surface. He contrasted this with atma-drishti, which is the capacity to perceive the self beyond the body.

Then he gave them a question worth sitting with.

Ashtavakra Gita 1.1

यदा देहं पृथक् कृत्य चिति विश्राम्य तिष्ठसि । अधुनैव सुखी शान्तो बन्धमुक्तो भविष्यसि ॥

Yada deham prthak krtya citi visramya tisthasi; adhunaiva sukhi santo bandhamukto bhavishyasi.

"When you set aside the body and rest in pure awareness, you become, at that very moment, peaceful, free, and whole."

And he offered this image to the scholars: the shape of the temple does not alter the sky inside it. The architecture of the pot does not affect the space within it. The condition of the body does not determine the quality of the consciousness residing in it.

King Janaka recognised the soundness of this and accepted Ashtavakra as his teacher. The entire subsequent dialogue between them forms the Ashtavakra Gita.

Even if one accepts the doctrine of karma, the punitive interpretation of it is not philosophically sound.

Karma means action, and the broader principle is that volitional actions have consequences. But several Indian and adjacent philosophical traditions have been careful to point out that karma is not the only force operating in the world.

The Buddhist texts are useful here. In the Sivaka Sutta (Samyutta Nikaya 36.21), a man named Moliya Sivaka puts exactly this question to the Buddha. He asks about the view that everything a person experiences is caused by past karma. The Buddha's response is direct: he says this view goes beyond what can actually be known, and that there are many causes of human experience.

He lists physical causes such as bile, phlegm, and wind, as well as climate, accident, and careless behaviour. His point is that the physical world operates according to its own laws, and not every physical event is a moral statement.

The broader framework in this tradition speaks of five orders of natural law, called the Niyamas. Karmic causation, Kammaniyama, is only one of them. Physical causation (Utuniyama) and biological causation (Bijaniyama) function independently of moral action. A person born with a genetic condition has been acted upon by biological law, not necessarily by karmic retribution.

Jainism holds a similar position. It classifies karma into eight types and does not require any supervising deity to dispense it. Karma, in the Jain view, is more like a natural law, similar to physics, than a system of divine punishment. And Jain philosophy is explicit that no god, prophet, or external authority can intervene in the soul's journey. The soul moves by its own effort.

The Carvaka school, which was a materialist tradition, rejected karma and the afterlife entirely and argued that physical events arise from the nature of matter itself. One does not have to accept Carvaka materialism in full to recognise what it contributes to the conversation: the idea that the world follows natural laws was always part of Indian philosophical debate, and the punitive karma view was always contested.

Having said all of this, the practical question remains. How does one act in a world that sometimes treats the disabled body as a site of moral inference?

The Bhagavad Gita's answer, in the doctrine of Nishkam Karma, is to act without attachment to the fruits of action.

Bhagavad Gita 2.47

कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन । मा कर्मफलहेतुर्भूर्मा ते सङ्गोऽस्त्वकर्मणि ॥

Karmany evadhikaras te ma phalesu kadacana; ma karma-phala-hetur bhur ma te sango 'stv akarmani.

"You have a right to action alone, never to its fruits. Let not the fruits of action be your motive, nor let there be any attachment to inaction."

Swami Vivekananda, in his commentary on Karma Yoga, observed that a true Karma Yogi works because it is in his nature to give, not because he expects anything in return. He noted that because such a person does not ask for anything, he is also beyond the reach of misery.

This is not passivity. It is a very particular kind of engagement with the world. One does one's work because it is right to do it. One does not wait for the world to confirm one's worth before acting.

I do not write this letter out of bitterness towards the man who spoke to me at that meeting. I write it because the view he expressed is philosophically weak and causes real harm to real people.

It is weak because it assumes a human-like God who distributes physical punishment, which the Nasadiya Sukta does not support. It is weak because it mistakes the body for the self, which Advaita Vedanta, Samkhya, and the Ashtavakra Gita all explicitly reject. It is weak because it treats karma as the sole operating principle in the universe, which the Buddhist Niyama framework and the Sivaka Sutta both contradict.

And it causes harm because it teaches disabled people that their bodies are evidence against them. This is precisely the charma-drishti that Ashtavakra identified in King Janaka's court two thousand years ago, and it has not improved with age.

My body is what it is. Nobody chose it for me, and I did not choose it for myself. It could have been anyone's body. Things in this universe do not always follow a neat moral logic. They simply happen. This body simply fell to me. And the self that inhabits it is not on trial.

Nilesh Singit

The Right to Worship: Making Temples Accessible to Every Devotee

On the occasion of Global Accessibility Awareness Day (21st May), a reflection on faith, dignity, and the long-overdue conversation about disability access in India's temples and sacred spaces.

There is a particular kind of exclusion that cuts deeper than most. It is not the exclusion of opportunity, of education, or of employment — though those too are real and urgent. It is the exclusion from belonging. From the community. From the ordinary human experience of standing, however one stands, before the sacred.

For millions of persons with disabilities across India, the temple — the mandir, the gurudwara, the dargah, the church, the vihara — is not merely a building. It is where the family gathers after a wedding, where one goes in grief, where a child is brought for the first time, and where a person seeks stillness in a noisy world. It is, in the deepest sense, home.

And yet, for a great many disabled devotees, the path to that home is blocked — by steep staircases, by narrow doorways, by floors that offer no guidance to a person who cannot see, by announcements that carry no meaning to a person who cannot hear, and, perhaps most painfully, by attitudes that treat the presence of a person with a disability as an inconvenience rather than a right.

This is not a peripheral concern. It is a central one. And it is past time to speak about it plainly.

What Accessibility Actually Means

The word "accessibility" is often narrowly understood to mean a ramp at the entrance. That understanding, while not wrong, is drastically incomplete.

The Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act, 2016 — India's principal disability legislation — recognises 21 categories of disability. Each category brings with it a distinct set of barriers in the context of religious spaces.

A person with a locomotor disability may find that every approach to the sanctum requires climbing stairs for which no alternative exists. A person with visual impairment may find no tactile pathway, no Braille signage, no audio guidance — nothing to orient them in an unfamiliar or crowded space. A person who is deaf or hard of hearing receives no information from audio announcements and finds no visual emergency communication when it is needed. A person with autism or an intellectual disability may encounter the overwhelming sensory environment of a busy temple — the noise, the heat, the press of bodies — without any provision for a quieter hour or a simplified route.

These are not edge cases. They represent a substantial portion of India's population of disabled persons — a population estimated, conservatively, at over two and a half crore people, though many disability scholars argue the actual figure is considerably higher, given the structural undercounting of disability in official data.

True accessibility means that a person with any of these disabilities can enter a place of worship, move through it, perform worship, and leave — with dignity, without unsolicited assistance, and without experiencing exclusion at any stage. That is the standard. Everything else is a step towards it.

The Law Is Already Clear

One of the persistent myths in conversations about temple accessibility is that the law is ambiguous or that religious institutions occupy a space outside its reach. Neither is true.

The Constitution of India does not permit the exclusion of disabled persons from public religious life. Articles 14 and 15 guarantee equality and prohibit discrimination, including the structural discrimination created by inaccessible environments. Article 21, which protects the right to life and dignity, has been interpreted by the Supreme Court to encompass spiritual participation, cultural belonging, and the right to community life. Article 25 guarantees freedom of religion to all citizens — a freedom that becomes empty if the infrastructure of religious life is inaccessible.

The RPwD Act, 2016, under Sections 40, 44, 45, and 46, imposes specific obligations to create barrier-free environments across public buildings — and temples, as spaces open to the public, fall squarely within that framework. The Harmonised Guidelines and Standards for Universal Accessibility in India, 2021, issued by the Ministry of Housing and Urban Affairs and incorporated into the RPwD Rules by the Amendment Rules of 2023, constitute the mandatory statutory standard. These are not aspirational suggestions. They are legal requirements.

The Supreme Court has said as much. In Rajive Raturi v. Union of India, the Court affirmed that accessibility is a fundamental human right and a prerequisite for the exercise of all other rights. In a landmark judgment delivered in November 2024, the Court went further and held that the framing of accessibility obligations as merely aspirational was itself inconsistent with the parent legislation. Using language that deserves to be quoted: "A ceiling without a floor is hardly a sturdy structure." The Court directed the framing of mandatory accessibility rules — a direction that applies across public institutions, including religious ones.

The Office of the Chief Commissioner for Persons with Disabilities issued specific guidelines for making religious places accessible as far back as January 2019. High Courts in Kerala and other states have addressed the denial of temple access to wheelchair users, emphasising that reasonable accommodation cannot be refused merely because it requires administrative adaptation.

The law has spoken. The question is whether those responsible for administering India's temples and places of worship are listening.

Our Traditions Already Know This

It would be a mistake to frame accessibility as an imposition of external values upon religious tradition. The ethical foundations of India's major spiritual traditions already support inclusion, compassion, and the recognition of bodily diversity.

The Rigveda contains the account of the Ashvins restoring Queen Vishpala's mobility. The Mahabharata and Puranic literature are replete with figures whose bodies are described as diverse, impaired, or differently formed — without this diminishing their spiritual standing. Buddhist and Jain narratives, and the Bhakti traditions above all, argued repeatedly that access to the Divine could not be conditioned upon birth, social status, bodily conformity, or ritual gatekeeping.

The Bhakti saints were, in many respects, the original accessibility advocates. Their insistence that inner devotion superseded external circumstance — that the sacred was not the exclusive property of those whose bodies, caste, or status met prevailing standards — is precisely the tradition that ought to animate contemporary practice.

Excluding disabled devotees from temples does not honour tradition. It contradicts it.

The Dignity Question

Beyond the legal and textual arguments, there is a question of ordinary human dignity that ought to require no elaboration, yet apparently does.

In many temples across India, the informal practice for persons who cannot climb stairs is to be carried on someone's back, or in their arms, through crowds, through unfamiliar spaces, without prior arrangement or predictability. This is offered as a solution.

It is not a solution. For many persons with disabilities — particularly women, who may find such physical handling by strangers deeply uncomfortable — it is an experience of exposure and loss of bodily autonomy in a space that is meant to be peaceful and sacred. Worship should not require surrendering one's dignity at the entrance.

Motorised wheelchairs and three-wheelers — mobility devices that allow disabled persons to move independently — are frequently turned away from temple premises because they are too large, or that the terrain cannot accommodate them. The person who uses such a device is thereby told, in effect, that their mode of independent movement is less welcome than their presence in a state of dependence. That is not an accommodation. It is its opposite.

Heritage preservation concerns are real, and this article does not dismiss them. Ancient temples are architecturally sensitive. But non-destructive and reversible solutions exist — modular ramps, wooden overlays, rubberised surfaces, portable lifts, dedicated internal temple wheelchairs maintained according to ritual protocols, tactile indicators that do not damage historic floors. The choice is not between accessibility and heritage. It is between the will to find solutions and the inertia of not looking for them.

Beginning the Conversation

It is in this spirit that the Manifesto for Universal Accessibility in Temples and Places of Worship has been prepared — a document that brings together India's constitutional framework, its disability legislation, its judicial developments, its spiritual traditions, and practical proposals for physical, sensory, communication, and administrative accessibility.

The Manifesto is not a litigation document. It is not a confrontational one. It is a beginning — a structured articulation of what is already required by law and by conscience, addressed to those who have the power to act: temple trusts and Devasthanam Boards, endowment departments and conservation authorities, architects and administrators, state and central governments, and the judiciary.

Its proposals are concrete: non-destructive accessible entrances; accessible toilets; internal wheelchairs and priority queues; tactile flooring and Braille signage; visual display systems and sign language support at major temples; quiet darshan hours for those who need them; accessible online booking and grievance redressal; dedicated accessibility officers; mandatory access audits with publicly available reports; time-bound compliance plans; and a National Register of Accessible Places of Worship so that disabled persons and their families can plan a visit with information rather than uncertainty.

None of this is radical. Most of it is already law. What is missing is the will to implement it — and the acknowledgement, by those in positions of religious and civic authority, that this is a matter requiring urgent attention.

What Needs to Happen Now

There are concrete steps that governments, temple authorities, and civil society can take without waiting for a court order or a new policy notification.

Temple administrations can begin with a genuine accessibility audit — not a perfunctory one, but a thorough assessment conducted with the participation of persons with disabilities, consistent with the principle that no plan affecting disabled people shall be finalised without them.

While the CCPD’s 2019 “Guidelines for Making Religious Places Accessible” represented an important institutional acknowledgement that accessibility in places of worship is a legitimate rights issue, the guidelines remain limited in both scope and conceptual depth. In particular, the provisions dealing with worship spaces and access to rituals address the issue only at a broad and largely infrastructural level. They do not sufficiently engage with the far more complex realities that persons with disabilities routinely encounter in temples and religious institutions across India — including exclusionary ritual practices, restrictions on assistive devices, inaccessible darshan systems, sensory barriers, crowd management failures, stigma surrounding bodily difference, and the tension often created between constitutional accessibility obligations and claims of ritual purity or heritage preservation. In practice, these barriers frequently operate not merely as architectural inconveniences, but as mechanisms of social and spiritual exclusion.

The difficulty is therefore not simply the absence of ramps or accessible toilets. The deeper issue concerns whether persons with disabilities are recognised as equal participants in religious life itself. A framework capable of addressing this question cannot realistically be condensed into two brief guideline provisions. The issue requires a far more detailed, intersectional, disability-centred, and constitutionally grounded approach that takes the lived experiences of devotees with diverse disabilities across different religious contexts.

For this reason, the Manifesto for Universal Accessibility in Temples and Places of Worship may serve as a useful starting point for future reform and reconsideration of the existing framework. The manifesto attempts to move beyond a narrow understanding of accessibility by addressing questions of dignity, participation, ritual access, sensory accessibility, accountability mechanisms, heritage-sensitive retrofitting, administrative obligations, grievance redressal, and the harmonisation of constitutional morality with religious practice. Rather than treating the CCPD guidelines as a complete or final solution, they ought perhaps to be understood as a preliminary foundation that now requires substantial expansion and reworking through meaningful consultation with persons with disabilities, Disabled Persons’ Organisations, temple administrations, conservation experts, and constitutional scholars. Accessibility in places of worship is ultimately not a minor technical issue capable of resolution through a few isolated provisions; it is a broader question of equal citizenship, dignity, and belonging within India’s spiritual and public life.

Architects and conservation professionals can develop heritage-sensitive accessibility interventions — solutions that do not damage what is old while making it possible for everyone to enter.

And all of us, as devotees and as citizens, can begin to ask — consistently and without embarrassment — whether the places we call sacred are genuinely open to all.

A Closing Thought

A society that speaks of compassion, of equality, of the spiritual worth of every human being, must at some point answer a very simple question: Can a place truly call itself sacred if some people cannot enter it with dignity?

The answer to that question is not a legal one, though the law supports it. It is a moral one. It is a question of what kind of society India wishes to be, and what kind of spiritual culture it wishes to transmit to those who come after.

Every person who wishes to worship ought to be able to do so — without barriers, without humiliation, without having to negotiate their basic dignity at the gate.

That is not a special demand. It is the most ordinary one imaginable.

The Manifesto for Universal Accessibility in Temples and Places of Worship is attached. Read it. Share it. And wherever you have the capacity to act on it, please do.

The full Manifesto for Universal Accessibility in Temples and Places of Worship is attached to this post.

Click here to Access Manifesto

AI Mandates, Coding Shortcuts, and the Quiet Rise of Technoableism

The "Zabardasti AI" Mandate: A Cartoon on Corporate Techno-Ableism and Inaccessibility

Across the technology sector, organisations are beginning to mandate the use of AI coding tools. The argument is simple: AI increases productivity, accelerates software development, and allows companies to do more with fewer people. But something important is missing from this conversation. Most AI coding systems generate software that focuses on functionality and speed. Accessibility rarely appears in the default output. As a result, developers often receive machine-generated code that works visually but fails for screen readers, keyboard navigation, and other assistive technologies. 

 Over the last two decades, accessibility advocates have worked hard to teach developers that inclusive design must be built into software from the start. However, when AI tools become mandatory and productivity metrics dominate development workflows, accessibility risks being pushed to the margins again. This raises a deeper question: Are AI mandates quietly spreading technoableism within digital infrastructure? 

If accessibility is not integrated into AI coding systems themselves, organisations may unknowingly scale exclusion across the web. In the full article, I respond to a recent discussion on forced AI adoption and examine why accessibility must be part of the AI development pipeline itself. 

 Click below to read the full article.

The Hidden Profit in Accessibility: Why Smart Developers Should Embrace the Digital Curb Cut Effect

"It turns out 'building for the few' was just a clever disguise for accidentally making the product usable for the rest of us!"

Computers, Software, and Digital Interfaces

Imagine a developer building a feature to help a small group of users who cannot use a keyboard. The goal is modest: remove a barrier so that those users can interact with the computer. A few years later, the same feature becomes the preferred way millions of people send messages, dictate notes, and interact with their devices.

This story has repeated itself many times in the history of computing.

Features originally designed to assist persons with disabilities have quietly reshaped mainstream technology. Voice recognition, captions, predictive text, adjustable interfaces, and speech output systems all began as accessibility innovations. Today, they are everyday conveniences used by people who may never have heard the word “accessibility”.

This phenomenon is known as the curb cut effect.

In the first article of this series, we explored curb cuts in the built environment—those small ramps at street corners originally introduced to help wheelchair users navigate sidewalks. Urban planners soon discovered that the ramps also helped parents with prams, travellers with suitcases, delivery workers with carts, and cyclists. What began as a disability accommodation became a universal design improvement.

This article turns to the digital world—computers, operating systems, software applications, smartphones, and other digital devices. Here too, accessibility innovations have repeatedly produced design improvements that benefit everyone.

For developers and technology designers, this history carries an important lesson: accessibility is not merely about compliance. It is often the starting point for the next generation of mainstream technological innovation.

From Pavement to Processor: The Digital Curb Cut

Software development culture often prioritises functionality, speed, and aesthetics. Accessibility is sometimes treated as a secondary concern—something to be added later if time permits. Many development teams still assume that people with disabilities represent a small niche audience.

In reality, that assumption does not hold.

The World Health Organisation estimates that more than one billion people globally live with some form of disability. If temporary or situational limitations are included—such as injuries, ageing, fatigue, environmental constraints, or multitasking—the number of people who benefit from accessible design grows substantially.

Digital technologies interact with human abilities in complex ways. A user may rely on voice input while driving, captions in a noisy environment, or large text on a bright outdoor screen. Accessibility features therefore do not only assist persons with disabilities. They support a wide range of everyday situations.

Just as curb cuts improved the usability of city streets for everyone, accessibility features improve the usability of digital systems.

Why Developers Often Overlook Accessibility

Despite its benefits, accessibility frequently remains underrepresented in software development.

One reason is education. Many programmers receive little or no training in accessibility during their formal studies. Programming courses focus on algorithms, data structures, and software architecture, but rarely discuss inclusive interface design.

Another reason is the invisibility of accessibility barriers. Developers who rely on a mouse and a high-resolution display may never encounter the obstacles faced by users who depend on keyboard navigation, screen readers, voice input, or magnification tools. Without direct exposure, accessibility challenges remain abstract.

Project timelines also influence priorities. Agile development environments reward rapid feature delivery. Accessibility improvements may appear to slow development cycles, particularly if they are introduced late in the process. As a result, accessibility tasks are often postponed or removed from development roadmaps.

Yet this approach ultimately creates weaker products. When accessibility is incorporated early, developers often discover that their systems become more flexible, more robust, and easier to maintain.

Accessibility Innovation: A Brief Historical Perspective

Several important computing technologies originated in efforts to remove barriers for disabled users.

One early example is speech recognition. In 1952, researchers at Bell Laboratories created a system called Audrey that could recognise spoken digits. Although primitive by modern standards, the technology was explored partly as a way to help individuals who could not easily use keyboards or physical input devices. Over the decades, advances in machine learning and processing power have transformed speech recognition into the voice assistants and dictation tools now embedded in smartphones and operating systems.

Another example involves screen-reading technology. In the 1980s and 1990s, developers began creating software that could translate text displayed on a computer screen into synthetic speech. These systems allowed blind users to navigate operating systems and access digital information independently. Today, the same text-to-speech technology powers audiobooks, navigation systems, automated customer service, and digital assistants used by millions of people.

A third example comes from closed captioning. Captions were introduced to make television accessible to Deaf viewers. As digital video platforms emerged, captions became a standard feature across streaming services and social media. A large proportion of caption users today are not Deaf; they simply prefer watching videos silently in public spaces, noisy environments, or workplaces.

These examples illustrate a recurring pattern. Technologies created to remove barriers for specific users often evolve into mainstream tools that redefine how people interact with technology.

The Curb Cut Effect in Computing

The curb cut effect in computing occurs when accessibility solutions address broader human needs. Once introduced, these features often spread far beyond their original purpose.

Several widely used technologies illustrate this pattern.

• Voice Recognition and Voice Typing: Voice recognition systems were initially designed to assist individuals who could not use keyboards due to mobility impairments. Early systems were limited, recognising only small vocabularies or specific commands. Modern systems are vastly more powerful. Smartphones, laptops, and operating systems now include built-in dictation features that allow users to compose emails, messages, and documents through speech.  Outside disability contexts, voice input has become valuable for drivers, cyclists, chefs, journalists, and professionals working in hands-free environments. Many people now dictate messages rather than typing them.  A technology that began as an accessibility solution has become a mainstream interaction method.
• Closed Captions and Subtitles: Closed captions were originally introduced to enable Deaf and hard-of-hearing viewers to access television programming. Over time, legislation in several countries required televisions to include caption decoding capabilities. Today,y captions appear across video platforms, social media, and video conferencing tools.  Their use extends far beyond disability. People watch videos in noisy environments such as airports or public transport. Others view content silently in offices or libraries. Language learners rely on captions to improve comprehension. Captions demonstrate how accessibility features often solve broader communication challenges.
• Predictive Text and Autocomplete:  Predictive text systems were developed to assist users who experienced difficulty typing due to mobility impairments or dyslexia. By suggesting words or phrases, these systems reduce the effort required to enter text.  Today, our predictive algorithms appear everywhere: smartphone keyboards, search engines, email applications, and programming environments. Developers themselves benefit from advanced autocomplete tools embedded in code editors. These tools accelerate programming by predicting functions, variables, and code structures.  Once again, an accessibility-driven innovation has evolved into a universal productivity tool.
• Keyboard Shortcuts: Keyboard navigation is essential for users who cannot rely on a mouse. Accessible software, therefore, ensures that commands can be executed through keyboard input alone. Over time, keyboard shortcuts became indispensable productivity tools for expert users. Programmers, writers, and designers frequently rely on keyboard commands to perform tasks rapidly without interrupting their workflow. Shortcuts such as copy, paste, undo, and search have become so common that many users consider them fundamental aspects of computing.  
• Dark Mode and Display Customisation:  Display customisation options—such as dark mode, high contrast themes, and adjustable colour settings—were originally introduced to support users with visual impairments or light sensitivity.  Dark mode has now become one of the most widely requested interface features. Many users prefer darker interfaces during evening use or extended work sessions. On certain display technologies, dark themes can also improve battery efficiency. What began as a visual accessibility feature has become a mainstream design preference.
• Text-to-Speech Systems:  Text-to-speech systems convert written content into spoken audio, enabling blind and low-vision users to access digital information. Screen readers built upon these technologies allow users to navigate documents and applications through speech output.  Today, text-to-speech has expanded into many other domains. Audiobooks, voice navigation systems, language learning tools, and automated announcements all rely on similar technologies.  Increasingly, users listen to written content while commuting, exercising, or performing other tasks.
• Adjustable Fonts and Interface Scaling:  Operating systems now allow users to enlarge text, adjust spacing, and modify contrast settings. These features were initially designed for users with low vision.  Yet many others benefit from adjustable interfaces. Ageing populations, users reading on small mobile screens, and individuals working in bright outdoor environments all rely on larger text and improved contrast.  Flexible typography has therefore become a core principle of modern interface design.

Accessibility as a Business Opportunity

Developers sometimes assume that accessibility concerns a relatively small group of users. In reality, accessible design significantly expands the potential user base for digital products.  More than one billion people globally live with disabilities. Many more experience temporary or situational limitations—injuries, fatigue, ageing, environmental noise, or restricted mobility.  Products that accommodate diverse users reach broader markets. They also tend to perform better in unpredictable environments.

Accessible design can therefore produce competitive advantages. Applications that are easier to use attract wider adoption and stronger customer loyalty. Inclusive interfaces also reduce user frustration and support international adoption.  Major technology companies have begun to recognise this relationship. Accessibility is increasingly integrated into product development strategies rather than treated as an afterthought.

The Legal Landscape Is Changing

Accessibility is not only a design consideration. It is increasingly a legal requirement.  Several jurisdictions have extended disability rights legislation into the digital domain. In the United States, courts have interpreted the Americans with Disabilities Act to apply to digital services and mobile applications. Similar regulatory frameworks are emerging across Europe.  India’s Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act, 201,6 recognises the importance of accessible information and communication technologies.

Public procurement policies are also evolving. Governments and large institutions often require software vendors to demonstrate accessibility compliance before purchasing digital systems.  For developers and organisations that ignore accessibility, the legal risks are growing. Litigation and regulatory enforcement actions are increasing, particularly in relation to inaccessible mobile applications and digital services.

Designing Technology for Human Diversity

The history of computing repeatedly demonstrates that accessibility innovations often lead to better technology.  By designing systems that accommodate diverse abilities, developers create interfaces that are more flexible, adaptable, and resilient. Applications that support multiple forms of input—keyboard, touch, voice—are better suited to real-world environments.  Accessibility also encourages designers to question assumptions about the “average user”. In practice, there is no such user. People interact with technology in many different contexts, with varying abilities and constraints.  When developers design for the edges of human experience, they often discover improvements that benefit everyone.

A Message to Developers

For developers and software designers, the lesson of the curb cut effect is clear.  Accessibility should not be treated as a specialised feature or regulatory burden. It should be integrated into the earliest stages of product design.  Developers who embrace accessibility gain an opportunity to build more innovative and widely usable technologies. Those who ignore it risk excluding millions of potential users while missing opportunities for design improvement.

In the physical world, curb cuts transformed the way cities function. In the digital world, accessibility continues to reshape the way we interact with computers.  The next major innovation in user interfaces may well emerge from the same place curb cuts once did: from the effort to remove barriers.

Resources and References

• Byrne-Haber, Sheri. Getting Developers to Care about Accessibility: Carrots and Sticks.
• Level Access. The Curb Cut Effect: How Digital Accessibility Improves UX.
• UsableNet Blog. Disability Pride Month: The Origins of Assistive Technology.
• Rev.com. The History of Closed Captioning.
• Nielsen Norman Group. Dark Mode: Best Practices.
• World Health Organisation. World Report on Disability.
• Apple Assistive Technology Demonstrations.
• World Wide Web Consortium. Web Content Accessibility Guidelines.
• Government of India. Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act, 2016.