From Silent Storm to Storyteller

They say I was a quiet baby, until I wasn't. My family loves narrating the story of me as a newborn. Unlike the other babies in the ward, I rarely cried. But when I did, the entire hospital seemed to be on high alert. I like to think that's been my pattern ever since: silent and observant until the moment demands action. And then, change. This pattern, I've realised, has become my life's signature: observant silence followed by transformative action.

The cities that shaped me

Mumbai is my Janmabhoomi, Mangalore my Matrubhumi, and Bangalore my Karmabhoomi. Each city is a chapter of my life, shaping me in different ways.

Born in Mumbai, I left as a baby but returned every summer. Mumbai's energy, its people and its chaotic locals taught me resilience. It may not be my first memory of this city that never sleeps, but the strongest is how I fainted during my first ride on the local – the heat, the crush of people – and got back on my feet: a metaphor for how the city shapes those who blend with it.

Mangalore, my hometown, gave me the calm and grounding I needed. My childhood was filled with mango trees, afternoons spent running barefoot with dogs, and occasional tumbles, which earned me the nickname "Wounded Soldier". This land of Parashurama has been the source of my nutrients – mental and physical!

And then there's Bangalore, my karmabhoomi, where I found my purpose. It's a city that blends the old and the new: temples next to startups, chaos next to calm. Here, I discovered how to balance tradition with ambition.

Each city has shaped me in its own way, teaching me resilience, adaptability and gratitude.

Lightning in the sky

My name, Saudamini, means lightning. Whenever there's a strike, my father smiles and still says, "Saudamini in the sky." It's his way of reminding me of my potential, a belief that has carried me through every challenge.

My mother, a natural storyteller, nurtured my love for words. She wrote my first speeches in English and Gujarati, and those little moments moulded my love for words and my journey as an orator. Language became my way of making sense of the world.

My earliest vivid memory dates back to 1997, when I was hardly five, in kindergarten. One day, my choice of attire, though bold and elegant, didn't conform to certain people's norms. When questioned, I defended my choice with childlike earnestness, surprising everyone. Behind that confidence were my parents, who nurtured my independence and individuality, while always stressing the importance of respecting other people's perspectives. (Many would call it arrogance, but expecting everyone's approval was, and still is, difficult!)

Resilience: a lesson I keep relearning

As a child, I was the curious, mischievous type. I wasn't the "top of the class" kid, but I loved testing limits. At 17, that changed. In my PUC years, a lecturer said something that stuck with me: "You won't even pass." Those words were a spark. I didn't just pass – I ranked among the top 10 that year. It wasn't just about proving someone wrong; it was about proving it to myself.

In college, serving as the student president taught me the nuances of leadership. It was a crash course in balancing authority with empathy, skills I carry forward today and will for years to come.

Beyond academics, I took part in inter-college fests, in roles like CEO and finance lead (which definitely made me the OUT-standing student!). These experiences gave me an early glimpse of the corporate world: its pressures, rewards and dynamics. The definition of a high-stakes situation was rather different then.

Cooking became a necessity when I was 10. A family emergency pushed me into the kitchen to feed my sibling. That first attempt was far from perfect, but it was enough to satisfy her hunger. I remember standing on tiptoes to reach the stove, experimenting with what little I knew. It taught me that necessity is the root of many skills. Today, cooking is not just about food: it's my creative escape, my therapy. A self-proclaimed, finger-licking-good chef is what I believe I am!

Adventure has always been in my blood – a racer's daughter I am! I haven't ticked skydiving off my list yet, but scuba diving was a lesson in humility. I was the best in the practice sessions, and panicked during the final dive. That was a reality check: I had never expected to meet failure there, believing failures happened only in exams or in boardrooms!

The CA journey: to be, or not to be

Becoming a Chartered Accountant wasn't just a career decision; it tested every fibre of my being. Three Diwalis in a row spent with textbooks instead of festivities, long days balancing articleship with studies, and the humbling taste of failure in the finals – each challenge pushed me closer to self-doubt.

Clearing CPT in the first attempt felt like an accomplishment, but the road ahead was far tougher. Articleship demanded long hours, discipline and sacrifice. Truth be told, the real lessons came in this period, when I saw how numbers tell stories that no spreadsheet can fully capture. It introduced me to the real world.

Later, I started teaching CA, MBA and ACCA students: theory as stories, and practice with real-world examples. What began as a way to earn money became a soul soother. Watching my students grow, and hearing them say, "You made this easier for me," is one of my proudest achievements.

When I cleared my CA finals, it felt like I was on top of the world (soon to realise it was the top of my world, not the world's!). The years of effort, the sleepless nights and the setbacks: it was all worth it!

Finding my voice

After qualifying, I wanted more than numbers. I craved creativity and connection, so I took up a role as a subject-matter-expert writer and built on it. It felt like the perfect blend: analysing complex ideas and breaking them down into simple, meaningful stories. Writing gave me a voice, a way to connect with people and leave a small mark on the world. The extrovert in me was happy, and so was the CA!

Life beyond work

In 2018, I lost my mother to a chronic illness. It was life's hardest blow until then, the kind of pain that changes you completely. Her absence taught me to value time: to slow down and experience moments instead of rushing through them.

The following year, I married my best friend, someone who had been part of my life for over a decade by then. Our partnership, built on respect and understanding, has been my anchor.

Life has since reminded me, more than once, how unpredictable it is. These experiences have taught me to embrace uncertainty, and to show up with courage and gratitude no matter what.

Moving forward

Looking back, my journey feels like a patchwork quilt (a Kutchi quilt from Gujarat, if you can imagine it): every piece stitched together with lessons, hits, misses and a lot of hard work. I'm not sure what lies ahead, but I'm sure I'll face it head-on.

Like many others, I have learnt the hard way that life is about showing up, learning and moving on. Not knowing all the answers is OK! (No, I haven't achieved nirvana yet, but this is life!) Like getting back on your feet (with a sugar rush) after fainting in a crowded Mumbai local, the key is to keep moving forward.

My mantra is simple: give your best, or don't bother at all. Like that quiet baby who turned into a rare storm, I'll keep observing, adapting and striking when it matters, ready for whatever life throws my way.

Where this story started, in 2020: Life at a glance.