People like me do not see communities as numbers on a screen. We see living human beings because we were once among them.

One of my ex-bosses once told me that the social impact sector needs people with family money. People for whom the salary doesn’t matter, people whose only thought would be how to improve the lives of others. I am being nice here- he used a lot of harsh classist statements. I pushed back. I told him that people with lived realities might also want to do good for millions like themselves. I brought in my own experience. He rejected it outright.

I let it pass which is unlike my nature. I did not pursue it further as some conversations teach you more about people than the topic itself. However, the conversation stayed with me because it was personal!

Recently, a dear friend showed his frustration- how he had spent years in the field, understood ground realities, sacrificed comfort- while people younger than him in age and experience sat at higher positions in the same organizations. We discussed how everyone has different journey and moved away from the topic and discussed our work, project ideas, family, kids and lot of other stuff.

Somewhere in these and other conversation, I realised maybe it was time to write this piece down. For people who are trying. For people who come from a similar background as mine- no one can tell you that you don’t belong!

Before I delve deeper into this. I want to be clear about one thing- I am privileged today. I have education, opportunities, and access that most people I grew up with do not. I am not sharing this story for sympathy. I am sharing it because the path here was real and others walking a similar path deserve to know it exists.

Who I am

My name is Shivanshu. I was born in a lower-middle-class family in Kanpur- a city that the British once called Cawnpore. We lived in a small house with eighteen people: four brothers including my father, their wives, nine children, and a grandmother. The house was full of noise, love, scarcity, and an understanding that you made do with what you had. Nine of us, the kids, shared everything including space, food, and an ignorance of how little we actually had. We were happy.

My early education happened in a school with a dilapidated building and no playground. We played football with a stone, which always broke the toes of our shoes, which almost always got me scolded and beaten by my mother. By the sixth standard, my parents transferred me to a better school- a sacrifice I understood only much later.

I have read in my Shishu Mandir book that great politicians studied under streetlights. Once when I was in 3^rd or 4^th standard, when our electricity was cut for non-payment of bills, I tried the same. After school, I would play all afternoon and then ask my mother to take me to the nearby temple in the night so I could study under its light. My logic was simple: whoever studies under a streetlight becomes a great man. Stupid me- but also, not entirely wrong. 😛

We were dependent on the public distribution system- getting sugar, edible oil, kerosene and wheat from the government store. The experience was rarely dignified. Hours of waiting. Shops that sometimes never opened. And when they did, the tone of the shopkeeper was condescending in a way that a child absorbs quietly but never forgets.

In class 9th or 10th; my cousin and I used to take neighbors’ LPG cylinders to the refilling station- wasting a full day in the process, sometimes returning empty-handed. In summer, we turned this into free samosa party: neighbors would give us their cylinders and a little money for our time, and we would wait in line and eat samosas with whatever was left. It was, I think, my first experience of understanding the value of time, service, and a free hot samosa. I did similar menial jobs till 12^th but then went on to teaching tuition after 12^th class.

The journey

After the twelth standard, I enrolled for a BSc. There was no money for engineering and, truthfully, little interest either. The easiest path to a livelihood felt like a job, any job. I applied for the NDA and travelled to Bhopal (20 SSB)- the first time I had lived away from home for five days, the first time I had met people from so many different states. I was conferenced out- my first serious rejection!

During graduation, I discovered that an MBA or similar studies might open doors. I was fortunate to be admitted to the Indian Institute of Forest Management. It was a life-changing experience- not so much in the classroom but outside. My batchmates, some of whom remain my closest friends, were among the sharpest people I had met. They showed me what was possible.

My first job after IIFM took me to rural Telangana. That is when I understood what I wanted to do with my life. The people I was working for and working with were not just numbers on the screen. They were living human beings- with agency, dignity, frustration, and hope. I realized that this work mattered. And I realized it was not separate from my own story.

The years that followed took me through remarkable places and institutions- Uttar Pradesh State Rural Livelihoods Mission, Ernest & Young, Cornell University, the World Bank in Washington DC. Along the way, I met people who supported me, challenged me, guided me, scolded me, and occasionally shouted at me. They all contributed to who I am today.

From Beneficiary to Builder

At the World Bank in Washington DC, a colleague and mentor said something that stopped me: “Shivanshu, you are a classic case study for this institution. You were once a beneficiary of the very aid and government support systems we are trying to improve. And now you are here, working to improve them.” He was right, I had been on both sides of the same table.

Another friend, inspired by a book by Mr. Sanjay Kumar he had been reading, suggested I write my own: “Cawnpore to Cornell.” I laughed. But I have not forgotten it 😊

What People Like Us Bring

The colleague who told me the sector needs people with family money was not entirely wrong about one thing: mission clarity matters. But he was totally wrong about where that clarity comes from.

People like me do not see communities as numbers. We see living human beings because we were once among them. We know what it feels like when you don’t have money or other basic resources. We know that poverty is not fun.

This knowledge and lived experience are not a liability. It is the most valuable thing we carry into this work.

And yes- we want money. That does not make us less committed. It makes us honest. We are not here despite needing money. We are here because the work matters enough that we chose it anyway.

Going Up Is the Only Option

To my friend who felt overlooked- and to everyone who has ever felt that you don’t belong in the room. I want to say this: GOING UP IS THE ONLY OPTION WE HAVE. Not out of anger. Not to prove anyone wrong. But because the communities we work with deserve people who understand them at the deepest level. And we do.

So, keep building your skills and most importantly keep showing up. You will cross the line, each to their own timeline, each in their own way. Borrowing from something Suresh Raina (Cricketer) once said in an interview and which I believe wholeheartedly- ‘If not today, tomorrow. If not tomorrow, the day after. Just keep on trying.’

The sector does not just need people like us. It needs us specifically- the ones who lived the life that millions still live, who understand that crossing the line comes with responsibility, who believe that this work is not charity but justice.

The sector needs people like me. People exactly like me!

Disclaimer: The ideas, experiences, and voice in this piece are entirely my own. I used AI assistance to help structure the thoughts.