Updated On: 07 May, 2023 09:55 AM IST | Mumbai | Arpika Bhosale
K Vaishali’s real-life diaries in a Hyderabad University hostel as doubly marginalised speak of extreme isolation, abuse by family, and discrimination, all underlined by the perpetual search for love

K Vaishali
I grew up all over India, but it was in Mumbai that I came out to my mother. I had just given up on my parents’ dream to become a chartered accountant (CA), as well as a job at a CA firm. This was after I made an unacceptable error, calculating a client’s Direct Taxes as 64 per cent instead of 46 per cent.
After this and a couple of similar incidents at the firm, like misspelling the name of the Chief Operating Officer, I knew something was off with the way my brain worked. Soon, my younger brother began showing similar signs. It was then that my parents agreed to let me take the dyslexia assessment test at age 20, something I had been asking for long. We were both diagnosed with dyslexia; I, with accompanying dysgraphia [neurological disorder that impacts writing ability and fine motor skills], and my brother with severe Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).