By Angela Dawson
Have y’all heard about the young man, Viraj Dhanda?
In just three short years, Viraj went from mastering basic math to conquering calculus. He scored a 35 out of 36 on the ACT and was recently accepted into MIT’s Class of 2029. This is the video capturing the moment he and his dad, Sumit Dhanda, learned the news: Viraj’s MIT Acceptance
“Have no expectation you’re going to get in,” Sumit says, trying to prepare him for the likely heartbreak of a rejection from one of the toughest colleges in the world. “If you get in, consider it a gift from God. That’s it. Ready?… OH MY GOD VIRAJ!”
Then, through the cheers and the tears, Sumit says something that stops you in your tracks: “Are you ready for multi-variable calculus? You’re going to shatter every myth, every illusion, about non-verbal autism.”
Seeing this in text simply doesn’t do those sentences justice. You have to hear Sumit’s voice to experience the emotion at the volume it’s intended. Because, you see, for most of his life, no one outside of his father knew Viraj was a genius.
Until he was 14, Viraj was officially considered “intellectually disabled.” He didn’t have speech, and because he didn’t have a way to communicate that the world understood, the world assumed there was nothing to hear.
“I hated being labeled ‘mentally disabled’,” Viraj says of those years. “People thought I was behavioral because I flopped on the floor, used my body to communicate… I couldn’t sign or speak, and I was desperate for the world to know that I had a fully functional brain.”
I think about Viraj and his dad Sumit at least a couple of times a week. I wonder how many therapists, specialists, teachers, family members, or neighbors that have come through his life and got to know him; truly. I wonder how many of them knew there was more than just a body flopped on the floor. I think about all the missed opportunities in his life. He was 14 when his dad provided him with a way to communicate. That is quite a few adults tasked with nurturing a student’s talents that simply missed the mark. The first person who suggested an AAC device (Augmentative/Alternative Communication) was a babysitter when he was 10.
This hits home because I have a 24-year-old who has been diagnosed with autism and apraxia. At a very young age we were told verbally by specialists, and in text by IEPs and psych reports, that what you see is what you get. A body flopped on the floor is a body flopped on the floor. Most of the interactions I’ve had with school staff have been positive. I’m still friends with several of them today. I’ve become close to a few of the therapists that we have worked with as well. Whenever someone told me to temper my expectation (my words), my heart heard it as a compassionate and wise message to save me from grieving a life as a mom that would never come. My ears heard it as sage advice; live day to day and plan long term because you just never know what kind of miracles may, or may not, be coming.
But there is that one time…
When he was young, I inquired about educating him via sign language. I was given an immediate ‘no’ as this was in public school where resources are to be fought over, and that instruction was already earmarked for other students, just as deserving. These were also the days when baby sign language was met with the question “won’t your baby end up depending on it instead of talking?” Unfortunately for my son, he was ahead of the research curve in terms of language and speech acquisition development in the brain. Since he was so young and I was still finding my footing in the disability world and IEP life, my advocate voice was buried deep under diffidence and inexperience. Also, the knowledge that the IEP team needed to see me as a reasonable and rational parent.
I acquiesced.
Communication for my guy became the proverbial rock in my shoe from then on out. It affected every IEP meeting we had for him. How did he show comprehension of small informational text? Should math facts be drilled for memory or taught for conceptual understanding? What grade should spelling tests be phased out? And the speech goals, OH, the speech goals! At every turn, at every meeting I would have this nagging thought If only they could communicate with him via ASL.
Sign language became my white whale. After hearing about Viraj, and admittedly many other successful nonverbal advocates, I still feel that all the well-meaning professionals and specialists that he’s seen couldn’t see his assets through the autism diagnosis.
When I think about Sumit and Viraj, I wonder what their conversations were like at home before he had the AAC. I don’t believe for a minute that they didn’t have a language all their own, made by short glances, hugs, or holding hands. I wonder if Sumit had moments when, looking a professional in the eye and being told his son is “intellectually disabled”, the rage in his chest rose and came out through invectives. If that rage had come out as a scream, would it have been heard? Or would he, too, have been labeled as an “irrational parent”?
I wonder what my guy’s communication would be like if I had been able to unleash my advocate voice without the filter of inexperience and that oft heard worry “don’t be that parent.” Would anyone have been able to hear my message through the adult tantrums I wanted to throw? My guess is no; I would have become one of those parents, and his outcomes wouldn’t have changed. All my concerns dismissed.
But man, am I glad that Viraj had Sumit in his life to speak his language and not give up when the well-meaning, but misdirected advice hit his heart.
*A note about my guy and this article. I don’t speak for him. This was my story. He will give you his name when he wants to talk about his journey.
https://www.wbur.org/hereandnow/2025/08/26/mit-non-verbal-autism-student
https://thendalliance.org/celebrity-ambassador/viraj-dhanda/
https://www.facebook.com/CBSEveningNews/videos/for-years-viraj-dhanda-couldnt-speak-until-his-father-found-a-way-for-him-to-com/3894906724091325/