From India with Hope

From India with Hope

The Braille Monitor

November,

2003

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From

India with Hope

by Deborah Kent Stein

Syed Yousufuddin

From the Editor: Debbie

Stein is a leader in the Illinois affiliate and a professional writer. She often

uses her talent to introduce us all to interesting Federationists. Here is another

profile that will inspire and encourage us all. Meet Syed Yousufuddin:

Syed Yousufuddin grew up

surrounded by an aura of privilege. In a family of six children, he was the

only boy. Sons were prized in south central India, and Syed was the prince of

the household. The girls went to public schools, but Syed was sent to an expensive

private academy run by Christian missionaries. At school he fell in love with

the game of cricket. He even slept with his cricket bat beside him.

In

1986, when Syed was in ninth grade, he developed cataracts. The right eye was

most severely affected. Surgery proved unsuccessful, and he lost the vision

in that eye. Life quickly returned to normal. Syed learned to drive a car and

even rode a motorcycle.

Syed's

father wanted him to go into engineering, but he struggled with math courses.

Finally he decided to major in business. While he was still in school, he took

a job selling educational products. He continued in this position after he obtained

his bachelor's degree in 1992. The job required extensive travel, and he visited

cities all over India.

In

1991 Syed noticed a slight blurring of his vision. The doctor was shocked by

what he saw--a major retinal detachment in Syed's left eye. He couldn't

understand how Syed was managing so well. Half-joking, Syed replied, "I

am courageous." Syed's father rushed him to the city of Madras, where he

saw a specialist at India's finest eye hospital. The doctors said there was

still a 50/50 chance that Syed's vision could be saved; surgery was his only

hope. He underwent the operation to reattach his damaged retina. When the doctors

removed the bandages, he couldn't see a thing. The doctors assured him that

his vision would recover slowly.

Syed

returned home, where his friends and family waited on him as though he were

royalty. Someone was always standing by to cut up his food, do his laundry,

even to escort him to the bathroom in his own house. He scarcely took a step

on his own. As the weeks passed, the doctors' predictions came true. Little

by little Syed's vision began to return. Eventually he went back to his studies

and his sales job.

In

1995 Syed started his own investment business, buying and selling stocks. About

a year later he again noticed fuzzy vision in his left eye. When he went back

to Madras, the specialist told him that he had glaucoma. This time the doctors

advised against surgery. They thought the condition could be controlled with

drops. The drops didn't seem to help. As his vision faded and his pain increased,

the doctors grew evasive. They never gave him straight answers. They simply

increased the dosage of his glaucoma medication.

Once

more Syed's devoted sisters were there to help him. They led him from place

to place and waited on him day and night. Syed assured himself that his vision

would begin coming back as it had after his surgery years before. But as the

months passed, he could see less and less. He could no longer read print or

recognize faces. He couldn't see steps or obstacles in his path. Finally he

had to admit to himself that he no longer had any useful vision.

Syed

knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life being waited on. He had to do something

constructive. When he heard that a friend was selling a small business, he purchased

the company, which trained students to use computers. Unfortunately the business

was shaky when Syed bought it, and it failed within six months. Once more Syed

was in limbo.

Surely,

Syed thought, somewhere there must be a cure for his blindness. He knew he had

exhausted the medical resources in India, but perhaps a doctor in the United

States would be able to help him. His doctors in Madras didn't offer much hope,

but reluctantly they gave him the names of a few American ophthalmologists.

Syed wrote first to a doctor in New York; he had a friend in Connecticut who

could provide him with a place to stay if he went to consult with her. The doctor

wrote back and asked to see Syed's medical records. For the next year they exchanged

letters and even phone calls while the doctor weighed the question of whether

it would be worthwhile for Syed to make the trip. At last she agreed to see

him, and he hurried to the U.S. consulate to obtain his visa. Eagerly, fearfully,

he prepared for a solo journey halfway around the world.

Since

losing his sight, Syed had never traveled alone, not even in his own town. Now

his family drove him to the airport and left him in the hands of a friendly

flight attendant. To his relief the journey was a smooth one, and his friend

was there to greet him at the airport in New York. The next day Syed went to

see the ophthalmologist. He had come so far to see her that he was convinced

she would be able to work a miracle. But after she examined his eyes, her voice

was grim. She could do nothing, she told him somberly. His blindness was irreversible.

Syed

was still not ready to give up. His father had a longtime friend who lived in

Chicago. Syed contacted his father's friend and arranged to stay with him while

visiting a doctor there. The ophthalmologist in Chicago was a bit more encouraging

and suggested that Syed might eventually be a candidate for laser surgery. However,

it would take time. First they would have to bring down the pressure in his

eye; then they would find out what could be done.

Syed

had a number of relatives in the Chicago area. As soon as he arrived, distant

cousins and their families began dropping in to visit him. Everyone made a great

fuss over him. Again and again he heard what a poor fellow he was and what a

burden it must be to live as a blind man. Their words grated on his soul. He

didn't want anyone's pity. Blind or sighted, he wanted to rebuild his life.

To

get to know people in Chicago, Syed began to visit an Indian community center.

People there told him about an Indian man named Naweed who was blind and

worked

as a computer programmer for All-State Insurance. It was the first time

Syed had heard of a blind person who lived independently. He called Naweed,

and they had a long talk. Naweed gave him a list of resources, and Syed started

making phone calls. One of the organizations on Naweed's list was the National

Federation of the Blind.

The

national office put Syed in touch with Steve Benson, then president of the NFB

of Illinois. Syed told him he wanted to learn to get around on his own, and

Steve promised to find some people to help him. Syed had no idea that the NFB

is an organization of blind people. It never occurred to him that Steve Benson

was blind himself.

A

few days later two members of the NFB Chicago chapter appeared at Syed's door.

Steve Hastalis and Steve Handschu had come to give him his first lesson in cane

travel. When he discovered that both of them were blind, Syed was astonished.

How had they found his house? And how would they be able to teach him the things

he needed to learn? They had brought him a long NFB cane. When he took it in

his hands, Syed felt a change come over him. He had never wanted a cane before,

but now he realized it was the key to freedom. Out on the street with his two

new friends he explored the sidewalk and the grass and noted curbs and driveways.

After his second lesson he began exploring on his own.

In

May of 2001 Syed Yousufuddin attended his first NFB chapter meeting. Suddenly

he was in a room with dozens of blind people who led interesting, productive

lives. Vileen Shah, a chapter member who was also from India, showed him the

Braille alphabet. When he gave him a week to memorize the Braille symbols, Syed

protested that it would be too hard. "Well, if that's too hard, I guess

you won't learn Braille," Vileen said. Syed took it as a challenge. By

the next day he had learned the Braille alphabet by heart.

One

day Syed received a surprise call from Steve Benson. "Syed," Steve

said, "How would you like to go to BLIND, Incorporated, in Minnesota?" Syed

had only the vaguest idea what the NFB training centers were like. He had

never

imagined that he could attend one. Somehow Steve Benson and Joyce Scanlan had

made all the arrangements. On June 15, only a month after he attended his

first

NFB meeting, Syed entered boot camp for the blind.

Syed

stayed at BLIND, Incorporated, for six months, learning Braille, travel, computers,

and a host of daily living skills.

Taped

speeches by Dr. Kenneth Jernigan and Dr. Marc Maurer impressed him deeply. Seminars

and informal discussions transformed his attitude about blindness. He returned

to Chicago, confident in his abilities and eager to make his mark on the world.

While

searching for a full-time job in sales, Syed sells products for a cosmetics

company. He volunteers at the Lutheran Ministry in Chicago's Uptown neighborhood,

teaching English and minding the desk. He would love to work at an NFB center

some day, teaching the skills he learned in Minnesota.

Syed is profoundly grateful

to the many people who have helped him along the way. His cousin Azra Qadri

and her husband Namadh Qadri have been a source of boundless support. Patti

Chang and Joyce Scanlan gave generously of their time and expertise. He is especially

grateful to the three Steves--Benson, Handschu, and Hastalis--who gave him his

first taste of Federationism and helped him understand that it is respectable

to be blind.

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