With the conclusion of the UPSC civil service examination prelims, the buzz around reforms has grown louder. Experts and commentators are calling for changes in the syllabus, the pattern, and even the upper age limit — all in the name of efficiency and meritocracy. However, amidst these reformist appeals, one voice remains conspicuously absent: Aspirants from the Persons with Benchmark Disabilities (PwBDs) category.
I write this not as a detached observer, but as someone who has walked — or rather wheeled — through this journey. When I first considered appearing for the exam (before 2015) orthopaedically disabled aspirants like me weren’t even allowed scribes. The provision existed for visually impaired candidates, but not for those of us whose locomotor disability made even the act of marking circles on an OMR sheet painfully slow — and sometimes impossible — without assistance. It wasn’t just an oversight. It was structural exclusion and ignorance.
Even now, many of us continue to face hurdles that no exam syllabus can prepare us for. The Civil Services Aptitude Test paper, introduced as a qualifying test, for instance, often functions as an unspoken barrier for PwBD candidates. Time-bound reasoning and numeracy questions disproportionately impact those who, due to years of inaccessible education or chronic conditions, were never given a fair start. Extra time is a Band-Aid, not a solution, when the foundation itself is fractured.
But the issue goes beyond just question papers. The very act of preparing for the UPSC becomes a daily negotiation with neglect. In my pursuit of higher education for years, I travelled 30–40 kilometres one way to attend classes, only to return home from metro stations where the elevators were mostly out of order. There were days I reached classes late or skipped them entirely because hopping into an auto or e-rickshaw wasn’t an option, not for someone with wheels beneath them and no accessible infrastructure to support them.
Those who advocate for a “younger, sharper” bureaucracy rarely stop to ask: How does one compete on equal terms when disability arrives in your twenties? When your youth — the most defining years of professional life — is spent not chasing internships or placements, but navigating pain, rehabilitation, and invisibility?
I earned a research degree from a premier central government university, but I remain unemployed. Not because I don’t want to work, but because age, disability, and lack of formal experience are treated as liabilities. But how do you gain experience if no one hires you to begin with? How is age a standalone marker of efficiency?
The private sector doesn’t have room for us. And the state public service commissions (PSCs) — ironically — are even more rigid. Many of them refuse to acknowledge the existence of certain disabilities, particularly those who need maximum support. What is left then? For many of us, the UPSC is not a fallback. It is the only ladder that still stands — however frail, however far.
Yet, even this ladder is slippery. Many exam centres lack accessible toilets. And so, many of us avoid drinking water for hours before and during the exam. How does one focus on an exam spread across an entire day when basic human needs are held hostage? Shouldn’t these also be taken into account when we talk about reforms?
When we talk of reforms, they must be holistic. They must include those who have historically been left out of the conversation. The agony that disabled aspirants go through — the delays, the logistical nightmares, the financial strain, the social isolation — is not something that can be measured in cut-offs or mark sheets.
Those who shape policy and regulation — bureaucrats, commissions, experts — are looked up to. That gaze carries weight. It demands responsibility, fairness, and inclusion. Merit, in its truest sense, should never be diluted. But let us also ask: Is the scheme of the exam fair to all? If the system privileges those with stable health, full mobility, financial resources, and accessible transport, what merit are we even measuring?
Disability-inclusive reforms within the UPSC must not be an afterthought. They must be central to any vision of a just, equitable civil service — one where hope is not rationed, and dignity is not reserved for the able-bodied.
The writer is a PwBD UPSC aspirant. This is a first person account
When I first considered appearing for the exam (before 2015) orthopaedically disabled aspirants like me weren’t even allowed scribes. 
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