A journey of struggles, strength, and silent victories

By Ria Bhowmick

Since childhood, I learned that life comes with its own share of struggles. While I was always a cheerful, talkative, and sweet girl, growing up, I began to understand the struggles that came with our middle-class life. My father, though a central government officer, worked tirelessly to raise my elder brother and me. His job was transferable, which meant our lives were constantly on the move.

When we lived in West Bengal, my mother dreamed of getting me admission into Mount Carmel, one of the top girls’ schools. The process was tough—both parents and children had to go through rigorous interviews and tests. But my mother, determined and strong, never gave up. Eventually, I got admission. It was a dream come true, but the joy was short-lived. Two years later, my father was transferred to South Naveli in Tamil Nadu.

I was heartbroken. After so much effort, I had to leave Mount Carmel. My new school, Gurukul, had different customs—South Indian food in tiffin, and even tying gajra was mandatory. It was a cultural shock. I was trying to adjust when a horrifying incident occurred: helicopters dropped toffees on a neighbouring school’s campus, and many children fell sick and even died after consuming them. That incident shook our family. My elder brother studied in a different school nearby, and out of fear, my parents called my grandfather to stay with us in Tamil Nadu.

My mother couldn’t speak Tamil or English, and the locals barely understood Hindi. My grandfather, a retired military man who could speak 29 languages fluently, became our lifeline in that unfamiliar land. He wore a lungi and spoke English confidently, which helped us get by. But things got worse when my grandparents had to urgently return to Bengal, and one night a thief broke into our campus. The watchman didn’t understand my mother’s cries for help—he only knew Tamil. The thief escaped, and that night my mother decided she could no longer stay in Tamil Nadu.

After two years, my father was transferred to Delhi. It was a new world for us. I didn’t know Hindi, and everything seemed unfamiliar. But a friend’s mother helped us, and both my brother and I learned Hindi—from basics to advanced—and even started scoring high marks in it. 

When I completed 12th, I had dreams of studying in Delhi University. But fate had other plans. My mother had a stroke, and I reached my exam center late. Though I was allowed to sit, I was mentally shattered and scored low marks. I cried endlessly, thinking my dream of DU had slipped away. But one day, while reading the newspaper, I saw that Ram Lal Anand College had a 60% cutoff for BA (History) Hons in the third list for the general category. Without wasting a moment, I rushed to South Campus and got admission. It was a proud moment.

However, a couple of incidents took a toll and I went into depression. Despite that, I didn’t stop. I pursued a post-graduate diploma in Mass Communication from Apeejay and my mentors always believed in me.

I got my first journalism job at GBN 24*7. I worked there for over eight years, learning the ropes of real journalism. 

I eventually discovered my love for writing. I started learning content writing from YouTube—Anam Ma’am’s videos inspired me. It was tough at first: 4-5 articles a day, constant research, and tight deadlines. But I grew into the role. I worked as a content writer, then a copy editor at CBS Publications, editing medical books. I even worked at Arihant Publications, creating MCQs for UPSC and State PCS exams.

In fact, I cleared the UPSC mains three times but couldn’t make it through the interview. When I became overage, that dream, too, had to end. For three years, I gave up on studying completely.

However, at every step, my family has been my backbone — silent yet strong. Maa, your prayers are the wings beneath my dreams; your love wraps around me like peace in chaos. Papa, you taught me the value of hard work without ever asking for anything in return — your quiet strength gives me courage. Bhaiya, you’ve always been my first hero — the one who believed in me even when I doubted myself. I am nothing without the three of you. This journey is mine, but the strength behind it is all yours.

While the world sleeps, my soulmate stays awake with me — reminding me of my dreams when I forget them. Your faith in me is louder than my doubts. Every cup of chai, every word of encouragement, every silent prayer — I see it all. You are not just standing beside me; you are holding me up. If I ever achieve this dream, it will be our victory, not mine alone. 

Despite everything, I achieved a lot. I was the Voice of Faridabad (2007) and won the title of Most Beautiful Woman of Faridabad (2010)—my interview even aired on the radio.

My journey has not been smooth, but every setback made me stronger. From cultural shocks to academic injustice, emotional trauma to professional hurdles—I faced it all. But I kept going. My story is not just about survival, it’s about resilience, about not letting life defeat you even when everything seems lost.

If you’re reading this and going through tough times, remember—you are stronger than you think. Keep going. One day, your scars will turn into stories of strength.