The chapter titled "You made it"

SOAS orientation

It has been 62 days since I landed at Indira Gandhi International Airport on flight AI-162 that brought me from London, back to my home. It has been even longer since I thought I'd write something about London—my life there with all the ups and downs. But I could not bring myself to do it. Could it be some amount of guilt from moving back and, in the process, labelling myself as the coward I knew I wasn’t? Could it be the emotional spiral and turmoil I saw myself sink into with almost no break in sight? Could it be the exhaustion from nights spent immersed in research and writing because I did not want my work and passion to betray me again like when I sat down to write my undergraduate thesis? 

I have pondered these questions for the past 62 days and more, every time I faced the question: Why did I not continue building a life in London? Why did I leave everything behind to come back?

But somehow it made sense to me then. It makes sense to me now. And once again, it made sense to me on November 23 2023, when I got an email titled “Congratulations on your graduation.” This was not just any email. It was the one I had been waiting and looking forward to for weeks. After all, it was how I found out my master’s dissertation results were released.  

I nervously opened my SOAS learning portal, my heart thudding so loudly I could hear it pulsing in my ears. I took a shaky breath in a futile attempt to steady my nerves before clicking through to view my dissertation results.

London eye- the first place where I finally felt I am in London

The page loaded agonizingly slowly. I scanned the text rapidly until my eyes snagged on that one glorious word—Merit. I simply stood and stared at my phone screen, struggling to process what I was seeing. Had I really achieved a merit for all my sleepless nights and teary days?

As I eagerly soaked in my professor’s glowing commentary and detailed feedback, it felt as if the past two years replayed like scenes from a movie. I was transported back to my first disorienting weeks getting lost on the winding streets of London as I learned to navigate an unfamiliar city. I remembered my first day at SOAS, where I not only got lost on the way and had absolutely no idea where I had ended up, but thanks to the unpredictable weather, I was soaking wet by the time I stepped foot on campus.  

Found somewhere at SOAS

I recalled the solidarity I felt with my fellow classmates as we suffered through each brutal deadline together, zombie-like in our exhaustion but keeping each other buoyant with our dark humour. But above everything, I remembered my professor, my advisor, who was a constant guiding force for me—the epitome and personification of kindness. She helped me navigate the pressures faced by international graduate students and was always the shining bright light at the end of those long, darkened tunnels.  

The academic rigour and pressures I faced during two years in London, with a summer school back in Pune, seemed to pass me by because she held my hand and refused to give up on me. There are no words to explain how much I am in her debt and the amount of gratitude I hold for her in my heart. One day I hope to set such high standards of kindness and warmth for others who are lost. One day I hope to pay it forward.

I saw myself triumphantly hitting "submit" on my final dissertation paper—the culmination of everything I had worked towards over two gruelling years. I had spent countless nights meticulously crafting and revising it after long days of lectures and coursework. I visualized the overwhelming pride and relief I felt the moment I clicked submit after months of intensely mining through academic journals, debating theory and methodology with my advisor, struggling through convoluted analysis, and painfully reworking my structure.  

This paper was my magnum opus—the result of excessive anxiety, sweat, and many tears. I pictured myself hunched over my laptop late into the night, fingers flying and ideas flowing after finally cracking the perfect argument, feeling invigorated by intellectual breakthroughs. But also the desperate hours plagued by crushing writer’s block, staring hopelessly at a blinking cursor or pacing my room seeking inspiration that refused to come.  

There were moments when I truly questioned my abilities and had to fight relentlessly against the urge to abandon this academic pursuit entirely. Yet somehow I found the will to persevere, fueled by passion, mulishness, and copious cups of coffee. Submitting it was my hard-won victory—a bittersweet triumph and the climax of my journey in the master’s degree.

As these vivid memories washed over me, I was overwhelmed by a bittersweet surge of emotions—pride, nostalgia, lingering traces of self-doubt. But ultimately, a deep sense of validation. This merit was proof that the loneliness, the crushing imposter syndrome, the homesickness—it had all been worth it. My vision blurred as proud tears welled up. The widest grin spread across my face, almost of its own accord, as the full weight of my achievement finally registered after years of aspiring towards this very goal. I had fought relentlessly for this against academic rigour but even more so against my own demons of self-doubt. And here was the hard-earned proof in glowing pixels before me—I had not only survived but prevailed and even excelled.