Pinky’s Origin Story: The Unexpected Leader

The Girl Who Dared to Catwalk

At 18, I never imagined I’d become a leader, let alone one who would break the mold. Fresh out of my freshman year in college, I found myself nominated as the Ladies Representative. Politics? Not my scene. But the surprising twist? When other nominees found out I was running, they withdrew, and I was elected uncontested.

What followed was a chapter I still treasure. Instead of just showing up with the usual speeches and promises, I decided to do something no one in our college’s then 31-year history had done before: organize a fashion show.

It wasn’t just a show. It was a bold statement of creativity, teamwork, and courage. I had to raise every rupee, no easy feat for an 18-year-old.

My teammates tried helping me secure funds locally. We visited a few entrepreneurs, and I pitched at every stop — small wins, peanuts really. That’s also when I first learned the word entrepreneur. One agreed only if his girlfriend could walk the ramp; another was the famous billiards player Geet Sethi, whose office dazzled me with chic receptionists and western decor — but again, just a token contribution.

We needed something bigger. Then I spotted Parag Sarees, a well-known name from Surat in ‘90s.

The two friends who were supposed to join me on the intercity trip backed out last minute. Back in the ‘90s, a young woman traveling by train alone? Not the norm. But I was determined. My brother, down with fever, saw the fire in me and offered to come along. He was my quiet hero that day.

On our rickshaw ride from the station, I noticed a billboard for Venus Advertising with their phone number: 441 441.

As a math geek, I was amused — 441 is 21 squared, repeated. Easy to remember. I told my brother, and we both chuckled.

Little did I know, that number would unlock everything.

At Parag Sarees, we met a marketing rep who listened patiently to my pitch — a college fashion show, led by students, needing funds and sarees for our participants. He said he’d check with the CEO and get back to us.

As we were leaving, he offered me his number.

“I’m with Venus Advertising,” he said.

I lit up, “Oh! 441 441, right?”

He blinked. “How do you know that?”

I explained, “Saw it on the billboard earlier, it’s the square of 21, twice. Easy to remember for a math brain like mine.”

Back then, there were no cell phones. No emails. We traveled with nothing but our heart, our pitch, and a whole lot of hope.

Something clicked in him. Without hesitation, he led me upstairs to a sleek glass-walled office, introduced me to the CEO, and within minutes, I walked out with a five-figure sponsorship (massive deal for an 18-year-old in the ‘90s), plus a promise of entire wardrobe — dozens of sarees and ethnic wear for the male models, to be collected from a local distributor.

My mother, Harsha, a math teacher, was stunned. I shared every detail, and she knew the numbers but now she saw how that one number sealed the deal.

It was magic. But not the dreamy kind, the kind that shows up when preparation meets courage.

I hired a choreographer, a groomer, and sourced costumes for the participants. Every detail mattered.

And the real magic? It began backstage.

Every sequence of the fashion show was carefully curated — not just outfits on a runway, but a full sensory experience. We designed each segment with a distinct theme: the music, the style of walk, even the participants’ entrances and exits. It was choreography meeting character, confidence meeting creativity.

And oh, the glam segment? My favorite.

More than the glam catwalk itself, my heart hit its high when “What Is Love” by Haddaway blasted through the speakers during a rehearsal. My soul roared. I knewwe had something special.

When the big day arrived, the town hall was packed and buzzing with anticipation.

These weren’t professional models. They were classmates who had never walked a ramp before. But that night? They owned it.

As the beat dropped and the lights hit the stage, something shifted. They strutted to the rhythm… heads high, eyes bright. The glam walk turned into something more than a segment. It became a shared release. A celebration. The audience clapped, whistled, and rose to their feet. The joy was loud, raw, contagious, and echoed through the hall.

From traditional attire to Indo-western flair, every look had a mood, every walk told a story. And behind the curtain, my team ran the show — cueing tracks, calming nerves, fixing pins, and whispering, “This is your moment.”

It was more than a show. It was power. It was possibility.

And my own outfit? A silk piece so elegant, I still own it today. And yes, it still fits.

Back then, I couldn’t afford it… not on my mother’s salary. But I picked up an extra hour tutoring three more kids and began saving. It still wasn’t enough.

My mother saw me working, saving, hoping.

And she quietly pitched in.

That was the first time I stepped into a high-end boutique. Today, every time I see that outfit in my wardrobe, I pause, touch the fabric… and silently thank her.

There were hiccups, surprise moments, and a few who never returned what they borrowed that night… but that’s not what I carry with me.

What stayed was something else:

That show wasn’t about fashion.

It was about vision.

Leadership.

Grit.

And how a young girl dared to dream big,

and deliver.

After the final curtain fell, backstage was where the real moment unfolded.

One by one, the most influential boys from my batch and upper class-men; the magazine secretary, the cultural ambassador, even the general secretary; came up to me. Traditionally, these were the titles that ran college events. For 31 years, those roles had always belonged to the boys. History on repeat.

But that night? They didn’t lead.

They watched.

They clapped.

And then they walked up to me, looked me in the eye, and said, “Well done.”

Not out of politeness.

Out of awe.

Respect was earned in real time. Not by defying anyone. But by creating something no one could ignore. I’ll never forget their faces… not of resistance, but of recognition.

Leadership didn’t come with a mic or a title that night.

It came quietly, backstage, in a shared moment of truth:

I hadn’t just pulled off an event.

I had built the table.

And earned my seat at it, with every stitch, every step, every sequence.

That fashion show wasn’t just a night.

It was the beginning of a rhythm I’d carry for life:

Lead with heart.

Honor your values.

And never underestimate what one bold idea can become… when stitched with courage.

It was my initiation into leadership — building from scratch, rallying a vision, standing tall through every challenge. It was about courage, resilience, and setting boundaries so the show stayed respectful and inclusive.

Nearly three decades later, I still carry those lessons.

Leadership, to me, isn’t about applause, politics, or titles.

It’s about building spaces where others feel seen and strong.

It’s about showing up with integrity; even when you’re figuring it out as you go.

It’s about daring to be different, and holding your ground when the crowd moves another way.

That fashion show was my first act of leading with heart.

And it taught me this:

Leadership is a story we write — with courage, kindness, and the audacity to begin.

What about you?

What’s a moment that shaped your journey — your bold leap, quiet win, or unexpected start?

Drop me a comment below. I’d truly love to read your story.

Let’s celebrate the beginnings that made us.

#LeadershipWithHeart #OriginStory #PinkyDiaries #CourageInAction #PinkyStories #BreakingMolds #OneGirlTwelveHouses