Visually impaired man battles system for 15 years to get UPSC posting, triumphed

NEW DELHI: For 15 years, Shiwam Kumar Srivastava fought not just for a job, but for the right to be seen. He had cleared the UPSC Civil Services Examination in 2008, ranking high enough for selection. But when the final list came out, his name wasn’t on it. No explanation. No rejection letter. Just silence — a quiet, deliberate erasure.

The irony was impossible to miss. Shiwam had lost his vision, but the system refused to see. The Persons with Disabilities (PwD) Act, 1995 guaranteed visually impaired candidates a fair chance in the civil services. However, laws mean nothing when those enforcing them choose to look the other way.
For over a decade, the bureaucracy that was supposed to uphold fairness denied him with a different kind of blindness — one that had nothing to do with sight. Vacancies were left unfilled. Legal protections were ignored. His rightful selection was buried in paperwork. Justice delayed wasn’t just justice denied — it was a career erased before it had even begun.
He took the fight all the way to the Supreme Court, which, in July 2024, finally ordered the Union govt to appoint him. By then, his batchmates had spent 15 years rising through the ranks. Some were joint secretaries. Shiwam, at 46, was just starting.
“The order came seven months ago, but I haven’t celebrated yet. I haven’t even told my relatives,” he said from his third-floor apartment in Rohini, Delhi. For years, every small victory had been followed by another setback. Even now, with his post in Indian Information Service (IIS) finally secured, he remains wary. “This fight was never just about me,” he said. “It was about proving that people like me deserve a place in this system — even when the system refuses to see us.”
Supreme Court’s order, invoking Article 142, had directed the Union government to place him in Indian Revenue Service or any other suitable service. He was eventually allotted to IIS, but the victory was bitter. Bureaucratic blindness had cost him the prime years of his career—something no court ruling could restore.
His legal battle had begun in 2009, when he and fellow candidate Pankaj Srivastava discovered that UPSC had left vacancies for visually impaired candidates unfilled from 1996 to 2005. They challenged this in Central Administrative Tribunal (CAT), which ruled in their favour in 2012. Union govt appealed to Delhi High Court, which upheld their case in 2013. Even then, Centre dragged the matter to the Supreme Court, where it remained stuck for a decade. Hearings stretched from 2014 to 2024, while his career stayed frozen in time.
“There were three others like me. After the 2008 results, we found that our UPSC scores were higher than those selected for various services. Yet, despite clearing our interviews, we were never recommended,” he said. The authorities never said it outright, but the message was clear—blind officers had no place in government.
Before his IIS appointment, Shiwam had worked in the judiciary for two decades, first as a junior assistant clerk at the Rohini court in 2003, then as a senior judicial assistant officer. Even there, he had faced the same structural resistance. Promotions were rare for disabled employees, and he remained stuck in the same pay grade for years — not because he lacked ability, but because the system didn’t believe he deserved more.
Now, six months into his new job as an assistant director in Ministry of Information & Broadcasting, he commutes 60 km daily via auto-rickshaw to Indian Institute of Mass Communication (IIMC), where he is undergoing two years of induction training. “I will get perks, including a car, only after the training is over and I receive a posting,” he said. Even now, he remains behind his batchmates — not because of merit, but because the system chose to look away.
Shiwam had learned early what it meant to be overlooked. Born in Motihari, Bihar, in 1978, he had been a topper, excelling in school, when, at 17, his world collapsed. Leber Hereditary Optic Neuropathy (LHON), a rare genetic disorder, took his sight permanently. His father took him to every specialist imaginable, but nothing worked. For five years, he clung to hope—yoga, meditation, alternative medicine—but by 2001, he had to accept reality.
Determined to rebuild his life, he moved to Delhi, where he trained at All-India Confederation of the Blinds (AICB) and National Institute for the Empowerment of Persons with Visual Disabilities (NIEPVD), Dehradun. There, he discovered text-to-speech software like GAWS and NVDA, which allowed him to scan, digitise, and listen to books—a tool that became his lifeline in UPSC preparation.
In 2016, he married Pushpanjali Rani, who never doubted his ability to achieve his dreams. “‘Impossible’ is not in his dictionary. Nothing can stop him,” she said. They now have two daughters, aged 7 and 2. His resilience has inspired many, including Sunil Kumar, a judicial officer at Tis Hazari Court, who credits him with pushing for major workplace reforms.
“There was no promotion quota for disabled employees in Delhi courts, but thanks to him, I am now a senior judicial assistant. He also ensured we received four days of special casual leave. The only thing I wish is that the Supreme Court had granted him a retrospective appointment—he deserves the same benefits as his batchmates.”
For Shiwam, that remains a painful truth. “I fought for my place and won, but I will always be years behind my batchmates. If my appointment had been backdated, I would be in a much better position today,” he said.
Beyond the legal battle, Shiwam has fought constant scepticism about his abilities. “From my neighbours in Motihari to my colleagues and even my own relatives, people have never been kind to my condition. I despise the term ‘blind’ because I believe I am more capable than many who have full vision. I had to constantly prove I was disabled—something that should never have been questioned.”
In frustration, he even attempted to ride a two-wheeler but met with accidents thrice. He would've continued trying had it not been stolen later. Despite possessing a disability card and undergoing medical examinations at multiple hospitals, people still doubted him.
“Since I wasn’t born blind, I have a sense of distance, and my eyes adjust to voices in a certain way. A sliver of light enters from the rim, helping me navigate, but I cannot see straight. How do I make anyone understand this?” he said, his voice laced with years of frustration.
Yet, his story is not just one of hardship but of defiance and perseverance. After 15 years of fighting the system, he has finally arrived, though not in the way he once imagined. His nameplate now hangs on his door, his title official, his legal battle over. And yet, as he looks ahead, he cannot shake the feeling that the system is still looking away.