Sheeba grips the travel ticket tightly, creases forming beneath her fingers as she clutches it with both hope and disbelief. Delhi. Just a year ago, she wouldn’t have believed she could travel alone. But here she is, stepping into a future she once thought belonged to others. Her journey wasn’t easy.
Not long ago, Sheeba’s world was confined to four walls, a desk, and long hours of overlooked effort. She worked as a supervisor in a male-dominated environment, where her voice was a whisper in a room full of shouts. Six months passed in a blur of overwork and quiet frustration. Even travelling to Central Station felt like crossing a border she wasn’t meant to cross.
But everything changed when Sheeba walked into KATHA, where every corner seemed to say: “You belong.” At KATHA, she found something different. A space where learning wasn’t rationed, where kindness wasn’t a transaction, and where “Why should I teach you?” was replaced by “Come, let me show you.”
Three years later, Sheeba is doing more than walking through doors. She is holding them open for others. She’s learned from people and places, from Excel sheets glowing on old desktops and from those sweaty afternoons she managed book stalls under bright tents. She now attends big public events with ease and moves through crowds, speaking to guests, helping children choose their first books.
Sheeba stands before a brightly decorated classroom in Pazharvekadu, where colorful wall charts flutter in the breeze. The students gather eagerly. Many of them don’t have regular access to housing or food. But when Sheeba reads, the air becomes electrified like something magical is unfolding in that moment.
As a senior reading mentor, she looks beyond marks and syllabi. She understands that learning is emotional and relational. “In other schools, they treat all children the same. Here, I know what each child likes, what background they come from. That’s how I teach.”
She sits on low, dusty cement benches with women in Maamandalam, their saris brushing the ground, their brows furrowed with concentration. Together, they learn to use UPI apps and ATM cards. Each soft chime of a successful transaction brings smiles and giggles. “They were scared,” Sheeba recalls. “Now, they are confident. They show others too.”
She trains women in Jameelabad to turn pana olai (palm leaves) into baskets, mats, and crafts. She speaks of profit and pricing with ease, making entrepreneurship less intimidating for women who did not know this was an option.
That is not all. In Chidambaram, Sheeba helps guide a 50-seed plantation project. And in Mangodu, she walks through dusty lanes with sanitary pads in hand, explaining how to stay clean and healthy. “Some women didn’t know how to use pads or dispose of them,” she says. “They were shocked, but they listened intently.”
Her sessions ripple far beyond the classroom or the village center. “When children repeat what I teach, I know it’s in their mind,” she says. “One child even told her neighbors to cover their water buckets to stop the spread of diseases. That’s when I felt like I was making a difference.”
Every day, Sheeba learns something new. “It’s not a regular kind of learning,” she explains. “It’s everyday learning. It keeps me growing.” Sheeba’s journey is a story of how one woman’s empowerment can empower many. She has found her purpose, her power, and her place.
