Educator | Guide | Mentor | Entrepreneur | Speaker
Lead Young Minds to Successful Careers
“Ma’am, can’t imagine school without you,” “What a bold step!” Messages from colleagues, students, and even alumni poured in within minutes, each one carrying a piece of our shared journey. The moment I posted my farewell message, my phone was flooded with notifications: Their words echoed through the screen, making the moment surreal. Venturing out to seek new challenges was exhilarating, but the warmth of their responses reminded me of the lasting impact of our time together. My life has never been a bed of roses. In fact, it feels more like a twisted fairytale, though far from magical. I was born after two brothers and my mother adored me, but our time together was heartbreakingly brief. She was snatched away by the cruel hands of cancer when I was just six. My father remarried soon after, and I found myself in a real-life version of Cinderella, but with two brothers by my side. “Out. Now." My step mother didn’t raise her voice; she didn’t need to. We knew what was coming. In moments, we’d be out in the biting cold, as if the warmth of a home was a privilege reserved only for others. We would hug each other keeping each other warm at the age of 7, 10 & 11. Food became a scarce luxury, and we often went hungry, enduring it in silence. These hardships carved out a deeper understanding within me, showing me the emptiness of superficial ties and the worth of people who truly cared. In the silence of those nights, I promised myself I’d build a life full of warmth – a warmth that would never turn anyone out into the cold. Life threw me into a role I wasn’t prepared for. At just ten years old, I found myself taking care of an eight-day-old baby—my half brother. Already with a son from her previous marriage, she distanced herself from this new life. There I was, in grade 7, carrying a child in one arm and trying to complete my homework, ‘Just a few more sentences please,’I whispered, glancing down at the baby’s wide eyes. “You don’t know how much I need to pass this test.” The weight of responsibility felt unbearable. As I juggled the pencil and the homework sheets, I could hear the muffled sounds of my father and stepmother arguing in the other room. Their voices escalated, sharp like glass. I could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. My heart raced as I rocked the baby gently, desperate to keep him calm.
After one final, explosive argument, she walked out—leaving the baby, now just 10 months old, behind. Today, I don’t know where my brother is. It's strange, how the distance between us has become more than just physical. It feels like a wall built over time—solid, impenetrable, leaving me on one side, wondering what could have been different. At the age of 12, I had found myself in the kitchen, cradling a baby, barely able to reach the countertop. What started as a necessity, cooking soon became a passion, a love that grew stronger with every dish I made. To this day, I still find joy in the art of cooking, a skill that once felt forced but now feels like second nature.
I often found myself stepping into the role of a mother. I’d drop him off at a babysitter’s before heading to school, and pick him up after school. Amidst my struggles, there were always those few waiting to take advantage of my weakness. But each time, I felt a divine hand protecting me. Though fear gripped me, silencing the words I longed to speak, I remained quiet in a strong resilience. Then, in this fragile new normal, my grandfather passed away, and my father had to move in with my grandmother to support her. A choice was made—my half-brother and I would go with him, leaving my two other brothers in the care of our uncle, who’d vowed to our mother he’d always be there. With that, a chapter closed, leaving me with fragments of a family that felt like a memory.
At 15, I felt lost and utterly alone. My only anchor was my little brother, now 4, to whom I clung as if he were my last link to any sense of family. I was in grade 10, and just when I thought I had faced all the hardships life had to offer, destiny unveiled more. "Why are you just standing there?" my grandmother would snap as I was a shadow she couldn't shake—a reminder she didn’t want. My meals were sparse, sweets and fruits were distant dreams, and a gentle word was unheard of. I longed to tell my father, but how could I? "His mother can’t do wrong," I would tell myself, swallowing back words that felt too heavy to voice. But my resilience only made things worse. "She stole the share papers!" she claimed, turning to my father. Bewildered, I barely knew what she meant—just that her words pierced deeper than anything ever had.
That night, everything shattered. My father, blinded by her words, lashed out, and by 11 PM, I was beaten and cast out of the house. I stood on the cold street, disoriented, with nowhere to go. Fear gripped me, and for the first time, I was truly alone. That was the night before my last grade 10 exam. Eventually found my way to my uncle's house, settling into a routine that felt like life in slow motion. Each day pulled me further from the warmth of my dad and younger brother. One day, my uncle, sensing my pain, extended an invitation for them to visit. Slowly, those moments of reunion became more frequent, and the rhythm of our family began to fall into place once again.
Meanwhile, my stepmom had returned to my father’s house, which had come with a condition: we three had to remain apart from them for her to come back. So, the days kept rolling by, and life settled into a new kind of normal. I found peace in simple routines—cooking, cleaning, and studying—as I focused on finishing high school, one step at a time.
During this, I discovered how strength can come from the smallest routines and how peace isn’t always found in what you gain, but in what you let go of. I had to earn money to cover my college fees, so I began tutoring young children. It was during those moments that my deep love for working with kids was strengthened, realizing that teaching was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. For the first time, I found myself eagerly looking forward to a future I could shape. Yet, a lingering fear shadowed my dreams — the fear of life denying me this passion, just as it had with so many others. I was passionate about singing, dancing, and painting—arts that made me feel alive.
"Stop wasting your time with those lowly things,". Those are for people with nothing better to do. Why can’t you focus on something respectable?" "Who’s going to want a girl who wastes her time on such frivolities?" These words stung, reducing my passions to mere "distractions" or "embarrassments." And now, I feared that teaching, too, might slip through my fingers the same way. However, I’ve learned that passion never truly dies; it simply waits for the right moment to resurface. Twenty-five years later, I found myself on stage, my heart racing with excitement, my daughter by my side, ready to perform. As the music swelled, every moment of lost time faded into the background.
Life had settled into a strange sense of normalcy then, until the day my grandmother came knocking on our door, frantic and breathless. At 72, she stood there, recounting with trembling lips all the wrongs she had endured at the hands of my stepmother—her voice filled with pain, and woven with memories of what I, too, had gone through. I couldn't help but wonder, “Was it really true? Was this God's way of exacting justice?” My mind raced with questions, but all we could do was offer her shelter, bringing her back into the fold of the family. But in her final moments, as she whispered my name, fate was cruel. We were kept apart, denied the chance to see each other one last time. End of another chapter in my life. When I shared my dream of becoming a teacher, the response was dismissive. “A teacher? So underpaid! Why not try your hand at fashion design or become a dietician? You’ll make money that way.” I tried both but I felt a void. Deep down, my heart yearned to teach. It was never about the money; it was about making a difference, igniting curiosity, and shaping minds. I wanted to be the guiding light for others, and that’s where my happiness truly lay.
As I got married, my husband recognized my aspirations and encouraged me to pursue my dreams. With newfound determination, I stepped into my first classroom as a qualified teacher. I was nervous, fuelled by the lingering fear of speaking to others. But then I reminded myself: these were kids, and ‘wasn’t my mission to empower them with the confidence and security I had once lacked?’ Soon I immersed myself into the joy of teaching, showering my students with love and support. “You can achieve anything!” I would tell them, hoping to spark their dreams. Over the past 27 years, my bond with them deepened, evolving into a beautiful journey of discovery and growth. When I took on the role of Career Advisor, I’d often say, “Your future is a canvas—paint it with bold strokes.” Each year brought fresh challenges and rewards, propelling me forward without looking back—until my daughter announced she wanted to study medicine. “Mom, I really want to make a difference,” she said, her eyes shining with determination. I could hear myself in her. In that moment, I recognized the intricate tapestry of responsibilities that had woven itself into my life.
With my husband by my side, I took a bold step, leaving the familiar halls of school to carve out my own path and started a company; UniHyve, with a sole mission to support students in dreaming boldly and turning those dreams into reality! The journey from passionate educator to the pioneering CEO of UniHyve has been an exhilarating ride! With over 27 years in education, I’ve had the pleasure of wearing many hats—teaching English, leading departments, and ultimately following my true calling in career counseling. In 2018, I took on one of my most rewarding roles yet: Head of the Career Counseling Centre at Delhi Private School, Sharjah. Here, I developed the unique “Forward Thinking & Backward Planning” strategy, a guiding principle that’s helped over 2,000 students navigate major milestones, from choosing career paths to securing university admissions worldwide. Knowing that I’ve played a role in shaping students’ futures has been truly rewarding. Now, as CEO of UniHyve, I’m building on that experience to create a global platform for mentorship, career guidance, and more, helping young minds reach their potential one student at a time.
Looking ahead, my vision is to transform career counseling into a holistic, inclusive framework that empowers students, parents, and teachers alike. I’m here to ensure that no student has to face their most crucial career decisions without the support they need. This journey has been fulfilling, challenging, and deeply meaningful!
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