I didn't think it would happen so fast.
One week after the award night, my inbox looked like a designer showroom.
Vogue.Elle India.TEDxWomen.Even a political party offering to sponsor my next campaign if I spoke for their youth initiative.
They called me an icon.A "face of the real India."Some whispered: "She's the new Padmaavat Queen — just with slippers."
And for a second, I almost believed I had finally made it.
Almost.
I sat with Amma's old tea kettle beside me. The same one we used to boil water when the pipes dried out.
That kettle grounded me.
Because all this attention? All this admiration?
It felt earned — but also a little… manufactured.
Some wanted my story.Others wanted my pain.A few just wanted my image.
But what did I want?
Not cameras.Not headlines.
I wanted impact.
So I began choosing.Not what would look best — but what would last.
I rejected a luxury shampoo deal.Instead, I said yes to a menstrual health brand working in rural schools.
I turned down a Netflix-style biopic.But agreed to partner with a slum initiative to fund education for young girls.
One journalist called me foolish.
"You could've become a billionaire in two years."
I replied, "I wasn't trash-picked to become rich. I was trash-picked to become useful."
A week later, I was invited to speak at a women's conference.
The topic?"Power Without Inheritance."
I stood at the podium, no teleprompter.Just a sari. And my story.
And I said this:
"They said I was queen material.But I don't want a throne.I want to build chairs for girls who never even had a floor to sit on."
The crowd rose.
But more importantly?
So did my purpose.