“Behind every successful woman is a tribe of other successful women who have her back.”

When I stepped into the world of full-time work, I wasn’t just starting a job—I was breaking a cycle. I was the first woman in generations of my family to take this path. That meant facing questions, doubts, and quiet judgments from those closest to me and even from strangers. It was a lonely road, paved with skepticism and heavy expectations.

But what kept me moving forward wasn’t just my determination. It was mentorship—the invisible thread of support, guidance, and belief woven by women who came before me and those who walked alongside me. Sometimes, mentorship was a formal program. More often, it was a simple conversation, a shared smile, or the silent strength of women leading by example.

This is my story—a story of support, guidance, and the quiet power of women lifting each other.

Mentorship Isn’t Always a Program: Sometimes It’s a Person

When people hear the word "mentorship," they often think of something formal—meetings, emails, structured plans. But for me, mentorship looked very different. It was women holding up mirrors, showing me reflections I couldn't see myself.

It was my mother teaching me through her actions, showing what patience, strength, and faith look like. It was Priya Sharma, my former MD, who managed a team of 50, raised two kids, and still made time to truly see her people. She didn't just lead—she reflected back to each of us our own potential.

They didn't give me all the answers. They gave me something more valuable: they helped me recognize the answers that were already within me. And sometimes, that recognition is all the revolution you need.

My First Mentor Was at Home

"Do not wait for someone else to come and speak for you. It’s you who can change the world."
— Malala Yousafzai

This quote reminds me of my mother, but not in the way you might think. She never waited for life to get easier; she just quietly made things work. No complaints, no spotlight, just strength in action. And in watching her, I learned something profound: the power I was searching for was already within me.

She doesn't talk about leadership, but she lives it. She's calm, patient, and stronger than anyone I know. Even when life got heavy, she carried it with grace. Her biggest dream? One day, I hope to live a life where I never have to check the price tag before buying something I love.

But here's what she taught me: that dream wasn't something to wait for someone else to give me. It was something to create for myself, one choice at a time.

Then there's my sister. She didn't mentor me with words—she mentored me by watching me, copying me, and showing me how much my actions mattered. In trying to be like me, she held up a mirror that said, "You are someone worth becoming."

We fought like all siblings do. We both wanted to be mom's favorite. But in her own way, she showed me that I was already setting an example without realizing it. That I already had the power to influence, to lead, to matter.

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Mentorship from Heroines of Our Past

Whenever I feel like the world is too much or that I’m not strong enough to carry everything I’ve taken on, I think of two women who lived centuries before me — but who still guide me today: Mai Bhago and Maharani Jind Kaur.

Mai Bhago was not just a warrior. She was a force. At a time when men had walked away from battle, she stood up, challenged them, and led them back into the fight. She didn’t ask for power. She claimed it with her courage. She rode into war wearing a turban, sword in hand, faith in heart — not because she had to, but because she chose to. That, to me, is mentorship in its strongest form. Not words, but action. Not titles, but truth.

Then there’s Maharani Jind Kaur, the last queen of Punjab. When everything was being taken from her — her kingdom, her voice, her freedom — she didn’t sit back. She strategized, resisted, and protected what mattered. A young widow, a mother, and a leader who never let grief silence her strength.

These women didn’t wait for approval. They moved forward, even when the path wasn’t made for them. They remind me that you don’t have to shout to lead, but you do have to stand firm.

Their stories live in me. They give me strength when I feel small. And they remind me that the legacy of strong women didn’t end in history books — it continues every time we lift another woman up.

When I moved to a new city for work, everything familiar was left behind. I was learning to handle life on my own, trying to grow into someone I had only dreamed of becoming.

It got lonely sometimes. Not in a way that made me want to give up, but in a way that made me realize how much I had been waiting for external validation, for someone else to tell me I was ready, capable, enough.

That someone, for me, was Priya Ma'am at Kbizsoft. A full-time mother of two, a leader who carried both power and patience with equal grace. She was honest—sometimes sharply so—but never unkind. She didn't sugarcoat feedback, yet it never tore you down. Instead, it pushed you to recognize your own capacity for growth.

What I admired most was how present she was. Even with a team of 50, she stayed connected with each person. She noticed effort. She remembered details. And in doing so, she taught me that real leadership isn't about having all the answers—it's about paying attention to the potential that already exists.

She mentored me by being authentically herself, and in that authenticity, I finally saw my own reflection.

We Rise. We Reflect. We Reach Back.

The calls to quit haven’t stopped.

“Come home,” my loved ones say, not seeing the joy my work brings.
It hurts, knowing they don’t understand.

But the child in me — the one who dreamed of breaking free — smiles with every step forward.
I hope one day they’ll see why I do this.

And if they don’t? That’s okay because I see it now.

The Real Mentorship Happens in the Mirror

If there's one thing I've learned, it's this: none of us truly get anywhere alone, but all of us have to recognize our own power alone.

Whether it's a mother who shows you quiet strength, a sister who reflects your influence, a boss who sees your potential, or ancient queens who whisper courage into your soul—every mentor is simply helping you see what was always in the mirror.

The woman in that reflection? She's been waiting for you to recognize her.

That woman? She's you. She's always been you.

Today, I tell every woman what I wish I had heard sooner: Earn your own money, even if it's small. Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes. Buy yourself that expensive coffee. Gift your mother something beautiful. Take care of the people you love—not because you have to, but because you can.

And most importantly: just be happy.

Because happiness isn't something you wait for someone else to give you. It's something you recognize you already deserve, something you choose to create, something you see when you finally look in the mirror and smile back at the woman who made it all possible.

Mentorship isn't about having all the answers. It's about recognizing that the most important answer—that you are enough, that you are capable, that you are already everything you need to be—has been staring back at you in the mirror all along.

When one woman recognizes her own power and reaches back with an open hand to help another woman see hers, we all move forward. Not because we're weak and need saving, but because we're strong and choose connection.

The revolution starts with recognition. And recognition begins with a mirror.