India, Feb. 11 -- By Dr. R. Balasubramaniam

By all accounts, I should have been celebrating. A senior government position in Delhi, the sort of achievement that gets your name embossed in gold on invitation cards and mentioned in reverent tones in drawing rooms. Instead, here I am, clinging to my ordinariness like a child gripping a security blanket, while society tries to squeeze me into a sherwani I neither chose nor can comfortably breathe in.

I come from the land of humble NGO beginnings. The kind where a Rs. 400 jhola is a badge of honour, chappals are acceptable meeting footwear and your phone is a second-hand Android with a cracked screen and emotional history. Meetings happened in dusty community halls with unreliable fans, not ...