It was only tonight that I realised that I had not really spoken much on the blog about the fact that I am left-handed.
I think it is rather odd… After all, being a lefty is an immutable part of my identity, but at the same time, it does not come up that often in the normal course of a conversation, right?
Think about the last time you heard someone say, “As a left-handed person, this is what I think about this issue.” It just does not happen.
However, as with any demographic minority, there is always some bias, intentional or otherwise, that we have to deal with growing up.
Things as basic as scissors are made with the assumption that the user will be right-handed. It may seem inconsequential to us as adults, but you cannot even begin to imagine how traumatic it can be to an eight-year-old sitting in art class trying to understand just why he cannot get the scissors to work.
Yeah, it took me half a decade to realise that I’d have to use it with my right hand to make it work, but to be honest, I no longer care…
Even pens and pencils are not designed for use, and let us not even talk about chalk boards and white boards and spiral-bound notebooks…
As a young adult in college, it did not take me as long to realise why the drafting equipment would not support me, and how to compensate. This was largely because I knew I could ask other lefty friends who had done it before.
Even now, most tables I use are asymmetrical. As a result, half of the space remains unused.
Such impedance is always annoying, but after several years of bumbling about, it can certainly be circumvented.
What is a much larger annoyance is the extreme stupidity of the people we meet all across the world.
If I could get an extra mark every time an invigilator asked me, “Oh, do you really write like that,” I might have actually made the cut-off for Delhi University.
“Yes, of course, I really do write like. What did you think, I’m doing a bit, here in the examination room? Moron…”
Of course, I never really said that, but I assume my glare would have sufficed.
I remember one morning, I must have been 10 or so, when a shopkeeper refused to take money from me because I offered it with my left hand. Give it with your right hand, he told me, and of course, when he said right, he meant correct. I did what was the natural thing to do in the situation: I left the cash midair, glaring into the man’s eyes till the coins clanged onto the floor, and just walked away.
When I look back now, I feel lucky to have had family and teachers who did understand what it meant to be left-handed. I have met others who have not been as lucky.
There are many who erroneously believe that being left-handed is a disease, and needs to be corrected. A forced change in the handedness of a person, particularly at an extremely young age, can have catastrophic repercussions. Since handiwork is controlled by the same part of the brain as speech, such a change is often accompanied by speech disorders. Learning disabilities are also a common side-effect.
And then, of course, are the morons who actually believe that lefties are unlucky or inauspicious or whatever. To quote Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, “When I come to power, those people will be sterilised.”
I recently attended a Pride Carnival, and while I was generally quite, well, proud to be there, I could not stop this one thought from continually nagging at the back of my head.
For a society that still struggles with the idea of “left-handedness”, concepts like “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” might be far too advanced.
Now that I think about it, there is a simpler way to explain these things to the more moronic parts of our society:
Some people are different. That is all. It is not a disease. It is not a curse. It is not something to be outgrown or corrected.
Different is not wrong.