What made you to start this journey? How did you get into this?
I belong to a very humble family. My father worked as a labourer doing electrical fittings in homes, and he also used to sometimes burn his hands while working. My mother is a homemaker. I studied in a government school, there was hardly any fees and basic books were provided.

When I completed my 12th at the age of 16, most girls around me, my classmates, cousins and neighbours, they all got married. Everyone expected the same from me. They told me, “If you study further, you won’t get a good match.” But I refused. I wanted education. When my parents said they couldn’t afford higher studies, I said, “Fine, I will fund my own education.”
So, I started giving tuition to the girls.  So, this is how my entrepreneurship journey started.

Was there a defining moment that shaped your resistance and courage?
Yes. Domestic violence. I saw it around me in fact in my neighbourhood, even in my own home. When I was just 8 or 9 years, I held my father's hand when he was beating my mom. Like, you can't do this. That was my first “case.” without knowing it.

Later, while working for the NGO Stree Shakti, I handled women suffering domestic violence, legal aid cases, and counselling. I kept asking myself “Why is beating a woman considered normal?”

How did you move into the development sector professionally?
After graduation, I worked small jobs like tuition, NGOs, data entry or anything that paid. I later applied for a government-linked initiative called Mission Convergence / Samajik Suvidha Sangam. I cleared the written test and interview, and suddenly I was in a position where NGOs that previously underpaid women were now answerable to me.

When they found out I was in the grievance cell and had the authority to approve or block funding, many of them surrendered their projects. They knew I had seen their corruption from inside.

You mentioned courage came early; what shaped that mindset?
My mother. She was beaten, yet she was fearless. Once, when some men from a community were harassing us over a land issue, she stepped out and beat one of them. I was only 5 or 6 — I still remember that moment.

So, courage was already in me. Later I understood I also needed wisdom because you can’t fight every battle physically.

Tell us about the organization you run today. How does it function?
Our main office is in Rohini, but we work with multiple NGOs and community organizations across India. We choose women-only teams.

Our production hub is near Mangolpuri industrial area, Sultanpur Mazra. We also run an incubation centre in Okhla, supported by the government which focused on sanitary napkin manufacturing training. We had to temporarily shut during COVID but later restarted and now many women are again being trained.

When did you start, and how many women have you trained so far?
We began training in 2018. The Okhla incubation center formally ran in 2019–20, and we trained 100 women physically. During COVID, we shifted to online and community-based training, covering more than 2,500 women across multiple states. Overall, across models and locations, we have trained around 5,000 women.

Are these women still earning today?
Around 60–70% of the women we trained are still working in some form. Some are producing pads, some are reselling them, and others are conducting awareness workshops. In one way or another, they are earning and staying connected with us. Of course, about 20–30% moved on to something else. Many of them shifted to other small businesses like pickles, biscuits, or bakery products. After the training, they realized sanitary napkin production wasn’t the right match for them and that’s completely fine. The important part is that they now have skills, confidence, and economic options. They realize. This is not for them.

What income potential does one unit create?
One unit can give employment to around 10 women, and each woman can earn ₹8,000–10,000 per month. When it’s run collectively as a self-help group, the income is shared. But if two or three women or even a husband and wife manage the unit independently, they can earn ₹50,000–60,000 per month.

Tell us about the product, Rakshak sanitary pads.
Our brand is Rakshak. We have 5–6 variants, costing between ₹2 to ₹10 per pad. They are eco-conscious, with 90% biodegradable material.
The remaining part is a minimal leak-proof layer like how paper cups have a thin laminate.

No pad or menstrual cup in India today is 100% plastic-free not even reusable cloth pads or silicone cups. But ours drastically reduce plastic load compared to commercial brands.

How does the organization sustain financially?
Last year, our revenue was around ₹4–5 crore. Our model is 80% earned revenue and 20% grants; we are not a grant-dependent NGO. We operate as a social enterprise: we set up micro-units, buy back products, and supply them to government programs, corporates, e-commerce platforms, and public institutions.

Looking back, what drives you?
My journey wasn't sad, but it was courageous. I learned from Lord Krishna and Ram that struggle is part of purpose.

And one belief stays constant:
“God gave me a voice. I won’t waste it staying silent.”