By Nimisha Yerram
Before the first alarm rings in most homes, she’s already on her feet. There’s no applause for it, no grand recognition. Yet, it happens every day. She wakes not for herself, but for everyone else quietly setting the rhythm of the house, like the ticking of a clock no one notices until it stops.
Her day begins in the kitchen, where she prepares meals before the family wakes. She doesn’t eat first. She rarely even sits. The food is not just sustenance: it’s care, timing, memory. Her morning isn’t a moment of peace but a routine of responsibility, often done in silence, often invisible to those it’s meant for.
And then she leaves not to rest, but to teach. The school she travels to isn’t nearby. It takes time, effort, and a strength that isn’t always physical. Over the years, the long journey has taken a toll. Her health isn’t what it used to be, but there’s no space in her day for complaints or breaks. Her job, after all, isn’t just a profession. It’s a duty.
Inside the classroom, she is different still patient, still steady but with a voice that reaches every child. She teaches lessons from textbooks, yes, but also from life. Discipline, care, the value of time, the dignity in doing what must be done without needing applause. Her students learn more from her presence than her words.
She returns home not to relax but to resume. There are clothes to wash, vegetables to chop, school bags to check. No one tells her to do these things. She just does them. And in this doing lies something powerful.
This is the story of not just one woman, but many. She could be anyone’s mother, sister, neighbour. A woman who isn’t on magazine covers or social media reels. A woman who has no title beyond “teacher” or “amma.” But in reality, she is far more.
She is a silent entrepreneur managing tight budgets with skill, running a household with efficiency, adapting without complaint. She may not run a business, but she builds lives. Her sense of organisation, foresight, and multi-tasking would make her fit for any leadership role. Yet, she leads from the background.
She is also a social pillar raising children who respect, serve, and strive. She uplifts neighbours without noise, gives advice when asked, and shows up when needed. Her matriarchy isn’t a system of dominance; it’s a system of care, built on the understanding that true leadership doesn’t always come with a title.
What makes her remarkable is that she doesn’t think she’s doing anything remarkable at all. She will never call herself empowered. She will say, “It’s just my duty.” But in every unnoticed act, she empowers others. In every sacrifice she normalises, she teaches strength. In every quiet step she takes, she moves the world a little forward.
This story may have started with one woman but it belongs to many. To those who rise before the sun and rest only after everyone else. To those who teach not just in schools but in actions. To those who hold up families, communities, and futures with no expectation of return. They may not ask for credit. But they deserve to be seen.