Ten Lessons From Ten Months

Ten months ago, I packed my bags and moved to a city I had never lived in before. I was armed with a project proposal, a checklist from AIF, and a head full of ideas and expectations. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared me for the whirlwind that followed. Now, as I sit on the edge of these ten transformative months, I want to share ten lessons that shaped me—not just as a Fellow, but as a person navigating the first real brush with adulthood.

1. House Hunting is Brutal, but it Teaches You What Home Really Means

   

Nothing prepared me for how soul-sucking house hunting could be. I thought that with a broker in hand, we’d be done in a couple of days. But every apartment had a missing piece—either the basics were not in place, or the surroundings didn’t feel safe, or sometimes, it just did not “feel right.”
It took time to realize that “The Feels” needed to be on my checklist. I learnt to trust my gut, to prioritize access to public transport and groceries over flashy interiors. The place you call your home for the next 10 months will quietly shape your peace, productivity, and your everyday joy , far more than you realize it at first.

Pro-tip: Say yes to the furnished apartment that feels like home. You’ll thank yourself later.

2. Believe in Yourself, Especially When No One Else Knows What You’re Doing

I had never conducted an independent primary study before. Never designed a questionnaire or figured out a sample size estimator. I was terrified. But somewhere deep down, I told myself, “If you don’t believe in this project, no one else will.”

So I did. I faked the confidence until it stopped feeling fake. I found myself negotiating timelines, training field workers, running pilot studies, and somehow, keeping the whole thing afloat. I surprised myself every single day.

And that’s the thing— sometimes, faith in yourself is the only resource you have—and it’s enough.

3. Flexibility for Them, Discipline for You

AIF asked for a project timeline. I made one. But the one I made for myself was far stricter. I padded the official one with buffer time, but I held myself to rigid deadlines. That small decision saved me on multiple occasions. Things will go wrong. But if you stay ahead of schedule, there’s always room to breathe.

4. The Power of Asking for Help (Even If It Makes You Uncomfortable)

That first evening in my new city, I stepped into a dusty apartment with broken windows and floors that hadn’t seen a broom in weeks. Chhath Puja was the next day. It was 6PM, and I had no one to clean the place. So I did something I rarely do—I asked. I went from shop to shop asking for help.  On the 10th try, I found a woman willing to come over that very night. That was the day I learned how powerful—and how necessary—it is to ask. As an introvert, it felt unnatural, almost shameful.

Asking for help is terrifying when you’re used to figuring things out alone. But what I found—again—was that people want to help. You just have to ask. From that night onward, whenever I needed something—a plumber, an electrician, someone to fix a broken tap—I stopped hesitating. I’d ask the auto driver who came to pick me up, or the shopkeeper down the street. They always knew someone. Slowly, the city started opening up to me—not because I knew it well, but because I started trusting people enough to ask.

5. Your Neighborhood Might Save You One Day

There was a night when the electricity in my house went out around 10 PM. My phone battery was at 5%. I had no cash. I checked the meter box—burnt. No electricians pick up the phone after 5P

M in Jamshedpur. For a while, I just sat down and cried.

But then, something small but profound happened. The aunty I greeted with a simple “Namaste” every morning heard me returning upstairs. She opened her door, asked what happened, and within ten minutes, had called a family electrician and invited me into her home.

Turns out, the simple act of acknowledging someone’s presence each day can become the reason your door gets answered when you need it most.

6. Take the ‘Risk Mitigation’ Section Seriously. No, Really.

Four months in, two weeks before data collection, my project faced a curveball. The organization wanted me—not just the field workers—to collect at least 25% of the data. That meant reshuffling my entire plan and putting myself out in the field when I wasn’t prepared for it.

Thankfully, we found a compromise, but I realized how fragile a project can be. Had I not pushed back gently, negotiated, and gotten partial support from field workers, my project would’ve collapsed under its own weight. My sample size would have been too small, my results statistically insignificant, and months of work might have unraveled.

I wish I had taken the “risks and mitigation” section of the proposal more seriously. If you’re reading this as a future Fellow—don’t make my mistake. Please build your Plan B——before you need it.

7. When Plan A Fails, Pivot Fast. No Time to Mope.

   

When I was told I’d have to collect data myself, I had just undergone gallbladder surgery. Recovery wasn’t done. But the clock was ticking. I had ten months and no room for delays.

So I did what I had to. I travelled seven hours a day, spent four hours collecting data, and came home to rest and repeat. I didn’t let myself think about it too much. If I had, the fear and pain would’ve won. Sometimes, the best way to move forward is to move. Just move.

8. Make Peace With Google Sheets. It’s Not Personal—It’s Survival.

I hate to say it—but Excel, Notion, Google Sheets… they saved me. With 50 people involved, I was coordinating timelines, leaves, sudden illness, and unplanned holidays. I had to plan weeks in advance, follow up daily, and ensure that everyone knew what was expected and when.

Initially, I tried to wing it. That backfired. Plans would collapse because I hadn’t shared them. Deliverables would delay because I hadn’t followed up. I realized that respect—real, working respect—meant being clear, being organized, and being persistent.

I learned that respecting other people’s time meant ensuring they respected mine. If this is your first job—let structure be your safety net.

9. Kindness is Not Just Tolerance—It’s Making Room

University taught me to listen, to suspend judgment, to respect others’ beliefs. But my Fellowship cohort taught me what comes after that. They taught me that inclusivity means expanding the circle. It’s not enough to say, “You’re welcome.” It’s saying, “We saved you a seat.”

This cohort showed me a kind of expansive, radical kindness I did not know existed. I’m leaving this Fellowship wanting to be more like them.

10. When the Sector Feels Heavy—Let Someone Help You Carry It

If this is your first time leaving home, your first job, your first time in the development sector—know that it is not easy. This sector is driven by hope but powered by underpaid, overworked people. That contradiction will weigh on you. You might feel helpless. Small. Angry. Heartbroken. I did.

You’ll meet people giving their all for causes that treat them unfairly. You’ll see broken systems that you cannot fix. And you’ll wonder if what you’re doing even matters.

There were nights I lay in bed, crushed under the weight of it all, searching for answers to questions that didn’t really have any definite answers. Eventually I decided to seek help. AIF gave us access to counsellors, I used it. And in that moment, that was enough.

These ten months were a crash course in adulthood, in learning to navigate systems, feelings, and failures. But more than anything else, it was a lesson in grace—both giving and receiving it. If you’re about to begin this journey, I’ll say: trust yourself, ask for help, and build small, warm circles around you.