Ambition, Rejection, and Resistance: Turning 20 as an Indian Woman

What Does an Average Indian Woman Live For?

Today, I turn 20. 

This milestone should feel simple—it marks the start of adulthood, ambition, and independence. But instead, I am filled with questions. 

Years ago, I flipped through a few pages of Chetan Bhagat’s *What Young India Wants*. He began with a question: "What should an average Indian citizen live for?" Now at 20, with more experiences, more wounds, and deeper questions, I ask: *What does an average Indian woman live for?*

Ambition Under Audit

After facing rejection—from Ivy League dreams to unspoken love—I started to wonder: What are we meant to live for? What defines a woman's ambition? What will people say about her when she’s gone? What should she be remembered for?

Turning 20 in India as a woman doesn’t feel like a new chapter. It feels like an evaluation. Of your ambition. Of your obedience. Of your worth.

My story might feel personal, but it’s anything but uncommon. It resonates with the lives of countless young women across the country—shaped by expectations, resistance, and the quiet violence of being underestimated.

Growing up, I was always motivated to study. My parents wanted me to succeed, and I did. As a state board student in a school that welcomed children from all backgrounds, I saw what diversity looks like. That environment grounded me in reality.

I dreamed of studying at the London School of Economics. Then Harvard. I worked tirelessly. But chasing dreams in India isn’t just about money. It involves access, awareness, and cultural acceptance. I faced rejection from every Ivy League school I applied to. When I finally received an offer from the University of Melbourne, my parents said no.

Not because they didn’t love me. But out of fear. Fear that tightly binds every Indian girl’s future: safety, judgment, cost, reputation. These fears aren’t unfounded, but they create invisible barriers around our hopes. That rejection wasn’t just about a university—it was about a life. It took me eight months of counseling to find myself again.

Strangely, I encountered more resistance from my family than from the outside world. A much older cousin often seizes opportunities to undermine my ideas. Once, during a conversation about gender equality, I mentioned that modern men also share kitchen responsibilities. He couldn’t argue, so he walked away. That silence wasn’t a loss. It was dismissal.

Somehow, the men who have the least to say often feel the most entitled to be heard.

But their contempt only fuels me. The more they doubt me, the more I trust myself.

The Economics of Suppression

We frequently hear about unpaid labor and invisible work in economics. But how do you measure the emotional cost of being devalued? How do you assign value to *lost potential*?

Women in India are getting educated in record numbers. Yet, our participation in the workforce remains alarmingly low. We are trained to be suitable for marriage, not prepared for the market. Our success is tolerated—not celebrated. Our ambition is always conditional.

Economics is about making choices under constraints. For Indian women, those constraints are cultural, psychological, generational, and deeply tied to gender.

Economics teaches us how to measure value. Society teaches women to give it away for free.

And this isn’t just about income. It’s about having choices. Without financial independence, a woman’s ability to make decisions shrinks. Whether it’s escaping a toxic marriage, starting a business, or even just traveling—everything relies on whether she can afford to say no.

And most cannot.

 Solitude: My Greatest Inheritance

Today, I walk alone through corridors. Not because I dislike being with others, but because I carry dreams few comprehend. My solitude isn’t sadness. It’s resistance. It’s discipline. It’s power.

Even today, on my birthday, I was alone. Quarantined. No crowd. No celebration. Yet, it felt right. I take pride in that silence. It’s honest. It’s mine.

My Story Isn’t Unique. That’s the Problem.

In college now, I study economics with the same focus I once reserved for my Harvard dreams. But I carry that past rejection with me. It taught me how much harder girls have to fight—not just for opportunities, but for *permission*.

People sometimes describe me as outspoken. Sometimes they try to silence me. And often, I think of all the girls who didn’t even make it this far.

 So, What Does an Average Indian Woman Live For?

For approval.  

For survival.  

For maintaining peace.  

For being "good."

Rarely for herself.

This needs to change. Not with slogans. But with structure. With support. With systems that see women not just as caregivers or dependents, but as individuals with economic value, professional ambitions, and personal dreams.

Maybe we need a new equation. One that counts her time, her choices, her voice. One that stops asking her to prove her worth and starts asking what she *wants*.

Here’s my answer:

An average Indian woman doesn’t live for survival. She survives so that one day she might live—truly, freely, and fully.

And until that day comes, she walks alone.

Not out of weakness.

But because that path, though lonely, is finally *hers*.

By: Sreya