The first time I truly saw autism—not just as a subject of research but as a lived experience—was during my Ph.D. in Kolkata. Until then, autism had been an abstract concept, something I read about in textbooks and research papers. But one encounter changed everything.
During my early research, I met a young boy named Aarav and his mother at a community outreach program. Aarav, around seven years old, was engrossed in spinning a small toy car’s wheels, seemingly unaware of the world around him. His mother, tired yet determined, spoke to me about the struggles she faced—diagnostic challenges, societal judgment, and the longing for acceptance. Her words echoed in my mind long after our meeting. For the first time, I realized that research alone wasn’t enough; it needed to be more than numbers and statistics. It had to touch lives.
That moment was a turning point. I began to see autism not just as a field of study but as a deeply human experience. It was no longer about understanding genetic markers or developing interventions in isolation. It was about people—individuals with unique strengths, families with unwavering resilience, and a society that needed to do better in embracing neurodiversity.
The journey wasn’t always easy. In academia, there is a tendency to distance oneself from the subjects of research. Objectivity is emphasized, but I found that true understanding required empathy. I started working more closely with families, listening to their stories, and incorporating their perspectives into my research. The more I learned, the more I saw the everyday victories—the ‘daily wins’ that often went unnoticed.
Like the day Aarav first responded to his mother’s call with a smile. Or when a nonverbal teenager used an AAC (Augmentative and Alternative Communication) device to express “I am happy” for the first time. These moments, seemingly small, were monumental for those experiencing them. And witnessing them reinforced why I chose this path.
My biggest personal win, however, was accepting that my role wasn’t just about research—it was about advocacy, awareness, and action. I started engaging with educators to help them create more inclusive classrooms. I worked with parents to ensure they had access to the latest findings in a way that made sense to them. And I connected with autistic individuals who shared their perspectives, helping me see the world through their eyes.
One day, Aarav’s mother reached out again. This time, her voice was lighter, hopeful. “He’s making progress,” she said. “Not in the way society expects, but in his own way.” That sentence stayed with me. It was a reminder that success is not always measured in conventional terms but in the joy of small achievements, the comfort of being understood, and the courage to be oneself.
I often think about the future—a world where understanding autism isn’t just a niche research field but an integral part of an inclusive society. And while there’s still much work to be done, I celebrate the daily wins, both mine and those of the incredible individuals I have the privilege to learn from.
Science alone cannot change lives. But when combined with compassion, advocacy, and real-world application, it has the power to transform not just knowledge, but hearts and minds. That is the future I am working towards—one daily win at a time.
