Issue 18: Dystinct Journey of Zishan Zaffar

My name is Zishan Zaffar. I'm a 33-year-old filmmaker from Mumbai, India.

I remember in 2nd grade, my teachers and fellow 8-year-olds were surprised to learn that I knew the meaning of the word "volcano." I vaguely recall picking it up from an episode of 'The Centurions". The sound triggered a vivid visual of a 2D volcano eruption in my mind. I've always thought in visuals; I just wasn't aware I was doing it. In 2007, the film "Taare Zameen Par" [Stars on Earth] was released in Indian theatres (the story of a dyslexic boy shipped away to a boarding school). Not only was this film a scene-by-scene breakdown of my life up to that point, but it also helped me let go of the self-blame I had been carrying. In 2022, as I watched the director's cut of my own directed web series, I found myself overcome with uncontrollable tears. My mind was finally freed from all its insecurities and doubts, paving the way for more curiosity and questions - That I was finally good enough.

Zishan's Story

Living with dyslexia has never been easy, and it's only now, in my 30s, that I have started to come to terms with it. I write this article to hopefully create awareness among both institutions and parents, so they are better prepared to offer the right kind of help to the kids and adults in need. As mental health gains more traction in the mainstream media, it is our responsibility to spread the net as wide as possible and to touch as many lives as possible because each one of us deserves to lead a life without shame or embarrassment.

I was never great in school. I was told that in the Indian education system, schools weren't allowed to fail or detain kids in the same class until 5th grade. So, the first time I failed and had to repeat the year was in grade 5. At that moment, nothing felt much out of the ordinary other than the embarrassment of watching my friends move forward and grow older without me. In grade six, I scraped by, to the surprise of most of my teachers. It was always perplexing to them that my spoken English was far superior to my ability to write the language. Then grade 7 came along, and I remember very clearly for my year-end results, my father had decided to come, a position generally filled by my more lenient mother. We reached my classroom, and I got handed the result; it was overflowing with red ink. I had been detained back in grade 7.

It was always perplexing to my teachers that my spoken English was far superior to my ability to write the language.

My life was already in quite a whirlwind before this penultimate day of the year. I was being bullied in school by senior students. Apart from the mostly verbal and sometimes physical abuse, I was also made to smoke my first cigarette at the age of 11, looking for the approval of the older boys and believing I was too dumb to do anything about it.

So, back to my result day, we left the classroom with yet another report card that essentially said I wasn't good enough. We walked through the corridors towards the parking lot. I remember feeling weak and lightheaded, too scared to say anything. The only words that have stayed with me from that day were of my teacher telling my father that I needed to be admitted to a special school. To this day, I don't know what she meant or how my parents took it. I have asked multiple times but never got a straight answer. Maybe they were just trying to protect me.

The only words that have stayed with me from that day were of my teacher telling my father that I needed to be admitted to a special school.

We reached the parking lot. I got on the back of my dad's bike and started to make our way back home. Filled with embarrassment, my head felt even lighter before I passed out on the back seat and fell off the moving two-wheeler. I woke up in the middle of the road with a car bumper next to my face. Home was awfully quiet that day and for a few days after. The bullying still continued as I continued to lie to a few friends I did have about preparing for the coming school year.