Unlike most people who become aware of entrance exams in 11th grade, I wasn’t even aware of the entire concept of entrance exams.

I had no idea about JEE Mains, JEE Advanced, or any of these high-level aptitude tests. I came to know about all this only around the middle of my 12th grade, when the forms were released. At that time, someone told me there’s this thing called JEE, and if you do well, you’ll get into a good engineering college. Then I had a word with my dad and we registered for it. Up until that point, I had done absolutely no preparation.

I was always interested in science. Since 10th grade, I knew I wanted to take PCM in 11th and 12th, and after that, I wanted to go into research. I used to watch MIT lectures on YouTube, Oxford lectures too—I was really fascinated. Even now, the basic day-to-day concepts we often overlook have so many layers behind them. I got a seat in Berhampur, but was enrolled in NIT Agartala before it. That moment really broke me. I was like—what the hell—I had been preparing for research all this time, wanted to pursue a Master’s, even a PhD in Physics, and now here I am, ending up in engineering.

But then, I spoke to a few well-wishers like my father who told me—”You’ve got NIT, so take it up.” That’s how I landed here. I had absolutely zero plans of going into engineering. I had no clue I would end up in this field at any point in my life. I will be the 2nd engineer in my family after my grandfather (Mechanical engg). Post my admission in NITA, he was quite happy and I hope I can be as good of an engineer as he was. He played a significant role in igniting my interest in physics.

My first year here was pretty weird. It was the first time I had actually stepped out of my house. I’m Punjabi, but I’ve lived in Maharashtra my whole life. I’m from Thane, which is very close to Mumbai. It wasn’t exactly a cultural shock because even there, people from various places live together. I was okay with meeting people from different cultures and states.

What really hit me here was a reality check. I had never really dealt with the world before. This was my first time living alone. I had never even stayed alone at home. Doing all the daily tasks—waking up on time, washing clothes, getting ready for classes, being punctual—all those tiny things seemed small but really helped me grow as an individual.

Before college, I had always been a really shy girl—a proper front bencher who would sit on the back bench just to avoid eye contact with the teacher. That was how shy I was. I never used to talk to anyone. I don’t even know if my schoolmates remember me. But one thing I was very clear about when I came to college was that I wanted to change that. I wanted to change my personality. Being shy and introverted all the time wouldn’t get me anywhere.

In my first year, I joined NLC. I had met seniors who praised NLC’s culture a lot, so I took it as a challenge. Interestingly, the first segment I joined wasn’t even poetry—which is my strength and where I have experience. I joined Debate—the most intimidating section of NLC.

I still remember our first meet. It was right in front of the auditorium. All the seniors were standing, and all the first-years were sitting, and they started calling us one by one for an introduction. Just standing up and facing those 10-15 people—I started shivering. I literally started shivering. I couldn’t even speak properly. I blanked out—I even forgot my own name in the middle of the introduction. I was like, “Okay, my name is… blank.”

After that, we had some debate practice sessions, and honestly, they were traumatic. But I got better. I met good seniors, made good friends—most of my current friends are from NLC, and most of the important people in my life are from NLC. So all in all, it turned out to be a good thing. I’m really glad I took up that challenge. If I hadn’t gone to that first debate meet in my first year, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

I was very confused about my path. I used to sit down with myself and ask, what do I really want? Research has its charm—the depth, the curiosity, the slow but beautiful unfolding of knowledge. But then, the corporate world offers its own rhythm—faster, more structured, and more lucrative. I remember talking to one of my seniors who was doing a PhD abroad. He told me, “Only go into research if you’re truly passionate about one particular field. Because otherwise, the grind will feel endless.” That really made me pause.

So I gave myself space. I explored both. I did a research project under a prof, and also started doing online certifications related to electronics and embedded systems. I even applied for industry-focused internships to get a feel of what life would be like on the other side.

Slowly, I’ve started leaning towards core industry work—something still connected to my field but also practical and hands-on. I’m still figuring things out, but I’m not stagnant—I’m always learning, always evolving.

Now coming to my role in NLC and Gymkhana—that’s a completely different but equally important part of my journey. I joined NLC to push myself, to challenge my own fears. But it gave me way more than just that. It gave me a family. Over time, from being that girl who could barely get a word out in front of seniors, I became the AGS of the club. I became the person helping others step into their comfort zones, just like my seniors once helped me. It is a family for me. I have had the best moments of my college life with them. Right from being super excited to show off our literary skills to college seniors in our 1st year in Atheneum to organizing Atheneum for our juniors in 2nd year, it has been an amazing journey. The one thing I absolutely loved about my NLC batch was that we have seen each other grow and that is a beautiful memory.

Being part of the Gymkhana—it’s a whole new ballgame. It’s more than just a title. Suddenly, people look up to you, expect things from you, and you realize your decisions have weight. That comes with its own pressure, but also with incredible learning.

In Gymkhana, I’ve gotten the opportunity to work with people across clubs, different departments, and even with the administration. It’s taught me how to communicate better, how to navigate conflicts, how to plan big-scale events, and most importantly—how to listen. I want to use this position not just to lead, but to empower. To make sure that someone who was like me in the first year—quiet, unsure, maybe even invisible—gets the same space, the same opportunities, the same push that helped me find my voice. Because at the end of the day, if you’re not lifting others as you rise, what’s the point?

We’ve been working towards reforming the Gymkhana ensuring it becomes more transparent, inclusive, and effective as a bridge between students and administration. Communication is one thing I’ve felt deeply while working as a Gymkhana member. Transparency starts with communication. Half the issues that spiral into frustration or confusion among students arise due to lack of clear information. One of the first steps should be regular updates—even if it’s something small like a delay in a file’s approval or a change in meeting date. These things matter.

Secondly, inclusivity—we need to actively reach out to students who are usually left unheard. That includes students from non-coding backgrounds, non-mainstream clubs, and most importantly, girls. There has to be a system where every person feels like they’re part of something, that their voice matters. Right now, it often feels like only a select few are always in the loop.

Third, effectiveness. That’s tied to power—unfortunately, our Gymkhana doesn’t enjoy the same level of autonomy or influence as student bodies of other institutes. To change that, we must first have our internal systems in place. If we show unity, clarity, and responsible execution in what we already do, we’ll have a stronger case for asking the administration to give us more power. Respect is earned—when we conduct ourselves like a well-oiled machine, they will take us more seriously.

There are many things we are working towards. One important thing I want to highlight is that the Gymkhana selection is usually done through interviews conducted by the administration, and student votes aren’t really considered. We’re trying to change that. Hopefully, from the next Gymkhana elections onwards, 50% of the selection process will be based on student votes and 50% by the administration. This change will shift the scenario and help ensure capable candidates are given leadership positions.

We, which includes me, Srijan and Debaditya, have a unified goal of uplifting the student community and providing them with opportunities for technical growth.

I would say there is definitely a lack of female representation in authoritative positions. The administrative and leadership spaces are mostly male-dominated, and often our concerns get overshadowed. The boys don’t always relate to what we go through—for example, having a curfew or restrictions that apply only to girls. These issues are personal, and when we try to raise them, we can’t do it alone. We need the support of boys too. Just two or three female members in the Gymkhana can’t change things on their own.

Thankfully, I personally didn’t face too much discrimination, largely because of the team I work with. We’ve known each other since the first year—we’re practically friends—so the environment has always been respectful. But yes, if we truly want to bring meaningful change, we need more female representation, and we need boys to stand up for issues that affect girls too. That kind of support would go a long way. In our batch, the number of female executives in technical clubs increased, which was quite commendable.

I think the biggest takeaway is that it’s okay to not have a plan. I used to think everyone has it figured out, and I was the only one drifting. But it’s not true. We’re all figuring things out. Every single day. It’s okay to take time. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel lost. But the one thing you should never do is give up on yourself. Whether you believe in the universe, destiny, God, or nothing at all—always believe in the effort you put. That never goes to waste. It may not show results immediately, but someday, it will come back in ways you couldn’t even imagine. And when it does, you’ll realize—it was never about the position, or the power, or the prize. It was always about growth. “Nobody to Somebody”—that’s how I started. And maybe that’s what I’ll always be. Someone who’s constantly trying to become better, and bring others along. That’s all I ever wanted. And maybe, that’s enough.

I’d tell anyone coming into college: don’t rush yourself into becoming someone. College will try to define you in labels—coder, debater, extrovert, introvert, leader, follower—but you don’t have to fit into any of that from day one. Be curious. Let yourself be a work in progress. Try things that scare you, and fail without shame. You’re not here to prove yourself to the world—you’re here to discover yourself in ways you didn’t even know existed.

Don’t let people who seem “ahead” of you make you feel like you’re behind. Everyone’s timeline is different. Some people bloom in first year, some in fourth. Some start slow and grow steadily, others sprint and pause and restart. The only real failure is when you stop showing up for yourself. Also, surround yourself with people who remind you of who you are—not who you pretend to be.

That’s the one piece of advice I’d leave behind: hold onto your 10-year-old self. Keep becoming. Keep trying. And never let go of the people who see the light in you, even on the days you can’t.

Just follow your heart. Don’t feel too dejected if things don’t go your way. Sometimes, it’s for the best. Trust the process. Trust yourself. Have something that grounds you—some value or belief—so that no matter what happens, you stay true to who you are. Don’t get too happy with a win either—it’s just one part of your long journey. And learn as much as you can. This is the best time to explore—explore yourself, explore different domains, and grow into a better version of who you are.

For me, having people like Mouni, Omisha and Manasa, made all the difference. When I felt lost, they held a mirror to the version of me that I wanted to believe in again. The bonding glue for me and Mouni is cricket and movies. In fact of all the things that could be discussed on a first date, we chose to go forth with cricket. He is one of my biggest strengths and even on the days I don’t believe in myself, I know he’ll stand beside me.

My parents have been incredibly supportive. I owe a lot to them—and to God—for letting me come to a place this far from home. Most people wouldn’t have imagined that I’d make it here. So yes, I’m really grateful for that. If my 10-year-old version would look at what I’m doing today and smile—or feel proud, or even feel at peace—then I know I’m on the right path. That’s my compass.

Piece written by - Harsh Srivastava and Manya Agarwal