Where Architecture Meets Dignity

PiCTURE of a ramp

Author note

International Day of Persons with Disabilities (December 3rd) passed a few days ago, and something about it stirred the three of us — Pranaya, Tanmay, and me — to pause, look inward, and commit the next few weeks to sharing the stories that often stay beneath the surface. Stories shaped by the experiences of people with disabilities. Stories that deserve more room, more light, more listening.

Tanmay isn’t just editing this post and the ones that will follow. For me, sharing the authorship with him feels like stepping into familiar warmth. We’ve held so many conversations together, unraveled complicated thoughts late into the night, and built ideas that felt larger than either of us alone. There’s a quiet courage in that kind of partnership, and I feel lucky to walk alongside it.

Tanmay, you’ve been the voice that answers even when the world is loud, the steadiness on the other end of the line.

This blog is dedicated to my parents, Aparna and Ravikannan.

Dear Mom & Dad,

“Thank you for being my unwavering support, guiding me through every moment of self-doubt and always showing me that true strength lies in consistency. You never gave up on me. My current success and resilience reflect the powerful impact of your courage.”

love upasana

To Tanmay’s mom Dr. Bobby Luthra Sinha,

“Mamma, thank you for always being there, at my darkest and brightest hours, through my highs and my lows. You are one of my biggest heroes and I am very grateful to be your son. Love you. Tanmay

our gratitude reaches out to all caregivers of people with disabilities;

Our gratitude reaches out to you like a tide. You hold up worlds, often without applause, and the lives you support grow taller because of you.

With love,

Upasana & Tanmay

Shall we start the blog

Upasana’s take

Barriers showed up in my world long before they showed up in my vocabulary. For me, they took the shape of the unremarkable staircase at the entrance of my therapy centre — the one that turned each session into a quiet ordeal even before it began. My parents would lift me, step by step, up those stairs. Their strength offered passage where the building offered none. Every therapy day began with dependence, not hope.

With time, I came to see what wasn’t visible then: that the problem lay not in me, but in architecture. The world simply hadn’t been built with people like me in mind. If there had been a ramp, I might have walked or rolled in on my own. My parents could have walked beside me instead of lifting me. The therapy journey would not have felt like an obstacle — it would have been a path.

Research shows I was not alone. A recent cross-sectional study conducted in a hilly rural district found that only about 12 percent of buildings met basic accessibility standards. Ramps were missing at over three-quarters of sites; accessible toilets, proper door widths, signage, lifts and railings were also vastly lacking. The absence of these basic features severely limited mobility and participation for persons with disabilities

A broader systematic review of nearly fifty international studies found that poorly designed public spaces directly limit mobility, safety, transport use, and social participation among wheelchair and walker users. When the built environment fails, people’s worlds shrink accordingly

Accessibility isn’t simply about entering buildings. It’s about entering life itself. A 2023 Norwegian study showed that when public spaces, services, and natural areas are accessible, psychological well-being among older adults with disabilities improves significantly. People felt more “able to thrive” and reported lower emotional distress

He mirrors a truth many of us learn through experience: When the world is built to include you, you feel included at your core. Access is an expression of dignity, not charity.

Accessible design matters profoundly in healthcare, too. For people who rely on regular therapy — including children with cerebral palsy — the design of the clinic often decides whether rehabilitation is even possible. A study examining hospital and clinic layouts found that ramps, wide doors, accessible restrooms, lifts, and clear signage determine whether wheelchair users can move independently through healthcare environments

The therapy journey can influence the outcome of therapy. The built environment quietly shapes that outcome. When reaching the entrance is exhausting, risky, or humiliating, attendance drops. Progress slows. Emotional strain grows. But when architecture supports the body rather than resisting it, rehabilitation becomes sustainable — something a person can return to week after week without being worn down before the work even begins. And the benefits of accessibility extend far beyond disability communities. Universal design — gentle slopes, wider pathways, accessible restrooms, barrier-free entrances — supports parents pushing strollers, elderly people managing fragile joints, airport travelers with heavy suitcases, and delivery workers navigating carts. What begins as accommodation becomes common sense.

When I look back at those therapy days, I see more than my parents carrying me. I see a love strong enough to lift me, but also a world that shouldn’t have asked them to. A ramp would not have diminished their care, but it would have expanded my independence. It would have allowed me to enter the building standing in my own sense of agency.

That is why accessibility is essential. It determines who gets to participate and who gets left at the bottom of the stairs. It shapes confidence, opportunity, and dignity. It turns everyday spaces into shared spaces. It turns exclusion into belonging.

Small changes in architecture can create profound changes in human possibility. When we build access into our world, we build inclusion into our future.

Tanmay’s take:

The situations and studies that Upasana dwells on are equally applicable to my life journey. Having dealt with cerebral palsy affecting my lower limbs since birth, I, too, have had to navigate through a world where accessibility remains within the reach of a privileged few. In our context, access means having the ability and opportunity to go through our daily lives unhindered and as independently as we can. For most South Asians, this remains a distant dream despite growing awareness for its need as a fundamental human right. By no means are these concerns new. Activists, academics, and other well-meaning stakeholders have long decried the lack of progress surrounding accessibility and allied efforts at inclusion in this part of the world. Roadblocks are rooted in outdated policy frameworks. Where they suffice, poor implementation and rollout of benefits disrupt real change.

For instance, the well-framed Rights of Persons with Disabilities (RPwD) Act, 2016 while enshrining accessibility as a constitutional guarantee, has had little impact on improving accessibility on the ground. As per the National Centre for Promotion of Employment for Disabled People (NCPEDP) only 33% of Indian courts, a mere 8% of public transportation, and below 1% of universities in the country are accessible.

I personally bear witness to many of these realities, and have only been able to succeed due to the sustained efforts of my mother, who has stood by me like a rock and a tight-knit group of well-wishers around me. I pay homage to each one of them for making me into the person I am today.

In an ideal world, neither Upasana nor I should have to count ourselves so lucky. As has been mentioned above, there exist well defined frameworks to ensure accessibility for all in today’s age. I do not wish to fingerpoint here. Even as these issues reflect collective failures at various sociopolitical levels, I believe our nations would do well to overcome a far more basal challenge: that of visibility. The bitter truth is, PWDs are not seen, heard or felt enough by members of our society at large. This exists both in basic civic settings (e.g., schools, offices, transport stations) and bodies and institutions working specifically for their welfare (think back to Upasana’s childhood experience at her physiotherapy centre!). We see this in impact assessments also. Many accessibility drives do not incorporate feedback on their usability by their intended beneficiaries in the first place! More often than not, this does more harm than good.

It is high time that we begin asking ourselves tough questions: What good is a ramp so steep that walkers and wheelchairs roll speedily off it? Why should we celebrate an education-for-all framework when receiving braille training remains a luxury for visually impaired pupils? And when we pride ourselves as being citizens of the world’s largest democracy, should we not question why only one of the electoral candidates in the 2024 Lok Sabha election was a PWD?

Ultimately, access begins dialogue — where the general public and PWDs work together to improve shared life experiences. Importantly, this should be neither ceremonial nor emblematic — PWDs need to be equal participants in their journeys of upliftment. Accessibility follows as a natural consequence.

Let us make all places accessible to all

Love Upasana and Tanmay Singh

Written by Upasana and Tanmay Singh about the authors

Upasana Ravikannan graduated from Ashoka University with a BSc Honours in psychology, class of 2024. is the founder of GoPaadhai, an NGO that has impacted over 15,000 underprivileged students across Tamil Nadu by providing educational resources, as well as mental health support. Living with cerebral palsy, she advocates for inclusion, accessibility, and mental health awareness

Tanmay Singh, a Biology alumnus (Class of 2022) of Ashoka University, strives to maintain a dual focus on science and advocacy. As one of the first students with special needs at Ashoka, he actively collaborated with the university to improve campus accessibility and inclusion. His academic strength earned him selection for the prestigious MEME, Erasmus Mundus Fellowship for a Master’s in Evolutionary Biology.