HYDERABAD: Like many Indian youths, Polina Chandra Sekhar’s path seemed preordained: software engineering. The 22-year-old gamer, educator and inspiration to lakhs was quietly slotted into that future before he could even walk or talk. But fate had a different blueprint. Born in 2002 in Andhra Pradesh’s Prakasam district, Sekhar’s life was altered before it had even begun. The doctor arrived three hours late, a delay that led to complications and caused permanent damage to part of his brain. He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t speak. Diagnosed with congenital cerebral palsy, Sekhar entered a world of limited mobility and silence. Bravery wasn’t a choice; it was his only way forward.
Determined not to let disability define his future, Sekhar’s mother uprooted their lower-middle-class life and moved to Hyderabad for physiotherapy. It was a long fight against poverty, isolation and the unknown. Two years later, her efforts bore fruit: Sekhar spoke his first words. Gradually, he began to move. Slowly, he caught up to life; step by step, word by word.
Finding identity in online avatar
From Class 1 to 9, Sekhar couldn’t write, so he dictated his answers to friends and family, who volunteered as scribes. But as his speech grew harder to follow, even that became a struggle.
Then came December 2019. Sekhar, preparing to take his Class 10 board exams, was turned away by the school. No explanation. No room for appeal. Formal education didn’t just reject him — it abandoned him.
With formal education shut out, Sekhar was left with a smartphone, a 5G connection and endless hours. Like most teenagers, he turned to gaming. But unlike most, he turned it into a calling.
He chose Free Fire, a battle royale game that requires one hand for movement, another for aiming, shooting, and interacting. Sekhar had just one working finger. But he made it work.
His friends were stunned. They encouraged him to stream his gameplay. He posted videos — just a finger dancing on a screen — and views started trickling in. A thousand. Then two. Then five thousand were watching live. In 2020, he launched his YouTube channel: Disability Gamer. By 2021, he had over 1.5 lakh subscribers. His room became his studio. Gaming became his income.
Then one day, it was gone. YouTube took down the channel. No warning. No reason. No resolution. But Sekhar didn’t quit. His mission was never just to earn; it was to prove that disability is not inability. “By God’s grace, I never felt like I was less,” he says. “Disability is of the body, not the mind.”
A new kind of classroom
Sekhar could’ve started another channel. He could’ve streamed a different game. But he did something else — he turned to learning. Something he was deprived of.
He taught himself English, video editing, AI tools and content creation entirely through YouTube. Today, he spends 12 to 18 hours a day building educational content for students who, like him, were pushed out of the formal system.
“There was a time I shut myself off completely,” he recalls. “For five months, I did nothing. I thought, without education, how will I move forward? Then I found a new classroom; online.”
Now, Sekhar dreams of collaborating with Varun Mayya, a creator and founder of Aeos, whose work in generative AI and education he deeply admires.
Asked if he expects help from the government, Sekhar deflects: “I don’t need money. I’m young, I can earn. But the government should support those who don’t have family or community backing like I did.”
People often tell him: “We wanted to do what you’re doing, but couldn’t.” His reply is always the same: “If I can do this with one finger, imagine what you can do with two.”
At 22, the boy once denied a pen is rewriting destiny; one tap at a time.