Rooted in Movement, Raised in Resilience
I’ve always carried
my childhood like a badge of honor—part pride, part thrive story. I’m what they
call a 'fauji brat' (armed forces brat)—grew up as a Naval kid, and all that
came with it. Shifting homes every couple of years, making friends you
knew you’d leave behind, carrying your world in boxes—it shapes you in ways you
don’t fully understand till much later.
Growing up a proud Sikh meant that service, strength, and standing up for what’s right were not up for debate. That foundation became my anchor. I was also an only child, which meant I learned early on how to be my own company. There are vivid memories—swimming lessons at 5, dance lessons at 8 and being told to figure it out on your own, or being locked at home alone while my parents were off on official dinners. I won’t lie, some of it scared me then. But today, when I look back, I know those moments built my courage. They taught me that I could rely on myself, even when no one else was around.
Life, of course, didn’t wait long to test that. I was seventeen when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. It was the late 80's—cancer wasn’t spoken of the way it is now. We were shuttling between Delhi and Mumbai, spending days at Tata Memorial. I was preparing for my board exams, pretending like everything was fine. My school friends didn’t even know. I don’t think I’ve ever really learned to talk about that time—it just became this silent chapter I carry around.
I was the kid everyone thought would be a doctor—roaming around with a stethoscope at age three. But I didn’t make it. I missed the cut-off by a few marks. Everyone around me said, “Try again.” But something in me said, “Maybe it’s not meant to be.”
College was supposed to be my bid to freedom, and in many ways, it was. Life landed me in Sophia College, Bombay—and after the initial disappointment of having to spend 3 years in a girls college it was all quite magical. That decision felt like failure back then, but it turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. Thanks to the gentle guidance of Dr Sister Daphne, in charge of undergrad admissions, I stumbled into life sciences—immunology, neurobiology, genetics—subjects I couldn’t even pronounce at first. But I loved it. For the first time, I wasn’t just studying for marks—I was learning because it made me curious. And maybe that was my first real step into becoming who I am.
Accidental Journalist, Forever a Storyteller
Sometimes life throws you off track just to put you on the right one. Journalism was never the plan. I accompanied my best friend to a mass communication exam she wanted to try. Three hours later, she didn’t clear it—I did. And just like that, my life changed.
The Indian Express became my world. Those were hard years—editing stories in a basement that flooded every monsoon, learning the difference between writing and storytelling. Getting your piece trashed, starting over. But it toughened me up. It made me understand that talent means nothing without resilience.
And then there were the people—Khushwant Singh sipping his Black Label, Saif Ali Khan before he was a star, politicians, cricketers, legends. I watched, listened, learned. It was surreal sometimes—being this young girl, often the only woman in the room, trying to ask the right questions without losing my nerve.
I wore sarees back then—partly to look older, partly because I wanted to be taken seriously. There were comments, there were moments, but nothing that scarred me. I think being from the army made me carry myself differently. I was never scared to walk away from a conversation that didn’t feel right.
Somewhere in that madness, the science bug
bit again. The Economic Times came calling—science correspondent. It felt like
everything I’d studied was waiting for me to return. I covered ISRO, BARC,
genetically modified crops—things most journalists wouldn’t touch. I flew on
private jets, stayed in rooms with private lagoons, sat in 16-door limos. But
honestly? None of that dazzled me. What stayed with me were the stories—the
farmers trying GM crops, the scientists chasing dreams no one understood.
By the time I was 28, I’d seen more than
most people twice my age. And yet, I remember sitting at my desk one day and
thinking —“Is this it? What comes next?”
Climbing
the Ladder, Learning to Walk Away
The corporate world wasn’t planned—it just
happened. GE saw something in me and trained me in Instructional Design—a term
I’d never even heard of. They flew me to San Diego, taught me how to build
learning systems, and suddenly, I was designing training for doctors and
engineers on MRI and CT scanners.
GE shaped me. I became a Six Sigma Black
Belt, led teams, worked with cutting-edge tech. But somewhere along the way, I
forgot to breathe. I was always on planes, always chasing deadlines, until one
day, my body just said no. I collapsed—lungs gave up, everything came to a
halt. I was put on bed rest, not even allowed to watch TV. It was humbling,
scary, and necessary. It forced me to pause, to ask—what’s all this worth if
you’re not even alive to enjoy it?
But I bounced back. IBM came next, and I
built their executive leadership consulting practice from scratch. Then came
Bank of America, right after they acquired Merrill Lynch. It was messy,
political, thrilling. I was sitting in rooms where billion-dollar decisions
were being made, helping decide who stays, who goes.
And yet, somewhere inside, that voice came back—“Now what?” Another promotion, another car, another title. But what was the point? I wasn’t chasing the corner office—I never was. So, I did what most people thought was crazy. I walked away. Took a 13-month break, lost 13 kilos, found myself.
Finding
My True North: Coaching, NeuroPotential, and Beyond
That sabbatical was my reset button. I
realized what I loved most wasn’t the strategy decks or the boardroom wins—it
was the people. Watching someone grow, seeing a leader discover parts of
themselves they didn’t know existed—that lit me up.
Coaching became my calling. Not the
life-coach, woo-woo stuff—but real, hard, leadership coaching. I sat with CEOs,
founders, CXOs, often being the only person who told them the truth. It wasn’t
easy—especially in India. “Why do I need a coach? I built this business
myself,” they’d say. But slowly, they saw it. They came back.
And then came NeuroPotential. I didn’t want
to just coach—I wanted to build something. A framework that looked at
leadership not just as a skill, but as a whole-brain exercise. AI will handle
logic, data, the left-brain stuff. But the future? It belongs to those who can
imagine, empathize, create.
With NeuroPotential, we’re mapping genetic
intelligence. Figuring out what you’re wired for, so life flows instead of
fighting you. I’m working with Fortune 500 companies, Indian giants, global
teams. But my proudest moment? Building a community that’s open to anyone who
wants to grow—whether you’re a CEO or a college kid.
The
Road Ahead: Reimagining Potential, One Story at a Time
I’m still writing my story. I don’t know
what my legacy will be yet—but I know what I want it to be. I want to help
people—kids, leaders, dreamers—become the best version of themselves. Not just
in skills, but in heart, in soul.
If there’s one thing life has taught me,
it’s this—be real. Don’t fake it. Own what you know, admit what you don’t.
Fall, fail, get back up. Don’t be afraid to start over. I’ve done it—more times
than I can count. And every single time, it’s been worth it.
I’ve lived many lives—daughter, journalist, leader, coach, entrepreneur. And through it all, one thing has stayed the same—I believe in potential. Mine. Yours. Everyone’s. And that? That story is just getting started.