They Still Call Me Their Adopted Mom

I have known Sajida Sheikh and Sabiha Khan since they were toddlers, walking through the gates of Abhyudaya Nagar Mumbai Public School for the first time. Today, Sajida works as a marketing executive at a fitness company, and Sabiha works at a startup developing climate technologies. They still call me their adopted mom.

The community they grew up in is one of the most challenging in Mumbai. For many girls there, school is not always encouraged. They are often expected to help at home, stay close to family, and marry young. Over the past twelve years, we have worked slowly and persistently to change that reality. Today, many of our girls are studying in some of the top universities in India and even in the United States. Watching that transformation has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

Before joining Akanksha, I had worked in banking and done some freelance work, but I felt a strong pull to do something more meaningful. In 2004, I came across an advertisement and simply walked into the Akanksha office. At that time, Akanksha ran after-school centres. I remember listening to alumni share their stories that day and feeling deeply moved. I knew immediately that I wanted to be part of this work.

After rigorous training led by Akanksha's founder, Shaheen Mistri, I began teaching at a centre. Our classrooms were simple — we would bring children from the community, spread mats on the floor, teach for two-and-a-half hours, pack up, and walk them back home. It was intimate, hands-on, and deeply rooted in the community.

When Akanksha later transitioned from centres to running full-fledged schools, I was asked to become a school leader. I was excited but also nervous. I chose to join the school at Abhyudaya Nagar — and ended up spending the next twelve years there.

Those years were demanding, but deeply fulfilling. Education in communities like ours was never only about academics. It was about changing mindsets shaped over generations.

There were many challenges — absenteeism, hunger, safety concerns, and deep conservatism around girls' education. Every morning, we would taste the khichdi ourselves before serving it to the children. A hungry child cannot learn. Many parents refused to let their daughters attend Physical Education classes because the teacher was male.

Trust took time. Teachers and social workers visited homes every ten days, sometimes more often. In the first six months, I visited several families three times a week, simply sitting with them, listening, and understanding their lives.

Slowly, things began to shift. Parents began to speak up for their daughters. Mothers formed groups and became powerful advocates for their children's education. I remember Sabiha's mother vividly — she fought tirelessly to demand safer toilets for the community.

Years later, when Sabiha went to Ashoka University, the transition was overwhelming for her. She called me often, unsure if she could continue. We spoke every single day. I would tell her that a few difficult years could transform the rest of her life. Moments like those stay with me.

In 2016, our first Grade 10 batch achieved a 100 percent pass result. We have maintained that record every year since.

Some of my strongest memories are not just of results, but of the small acts of care that held everything together — farewell celebrations, alumni reunions, and opening the school on Sundays during the lockdown so students could access Wi-Fi and continue studying.

Today, I support all Akanksha secondary schools in Mumbai, working closely with teachers and observing classrooms. But what brings me the greatest joy is seeing how far our students have come. Even years after graduating, they still call us.

My greatest hope is to see Akanksha alumni return to lead these schools — as teachers, principals, and changemakers. We already have four alumni teaching at Abhyudaya Nagar. To me, that is the truest measure of success.