How Meena Broke Through Silent Discrimination

Meena had a dream — not too big, not too wild — just one where she could stand behind a microphone and be heard.

Born in a middle-class family in Bhopal, she worked her way up through evening tuitions, part-time jobs, and whispered prayers. Journalism was her passion. She believed that words could build bridges — or burn down injustice.

She landed an internship at a reputed media house in Delhi. It felt like her dream was finally starting.

But no one told her that in some rooms, your surname speaks before you do.

While her peers got stories on politics and prime-time debates, Meena was sent to cover “soft beats” — cooking competitions, flower exhibitions, and weddings. Editors complimented her “polite behavior” but never gave her a real byline.

And every time she asked for better assignments, she heard:

 “This isn’t about you.”
“Maybe you need more experience.”
“Let the seniors handle the serious stuff.”

But she knew what it was.

She wasn’t “networked.” She didn’t speak the polished English of South Delhi elites. She didn’t drink in the same clubs. And somewhere in between those lines, being a woman who said “no” was her final strike.

For a while, Meena almost gave up. Almost.

But late one night, staring at her notes and a half-written article, something shifted. She decided to tell her own story.

She wrote an anonymous piece titled “The Glass Door Nobody Talks About.” It went viral. Women, Dalits, first-generation professionals — people from across India saw themselves in it. It became more than a blog. It became a mirror.

That piece got her fired. But it also got her noticed.

An independent digital platform offered her a job. There, she flourished — writing stories on discrimination, caste privilege, and the invisible barriers women face at work. She now mentors girls from marginalized backgrounds who want to enter the media industry.

Meena didn’t just walk through the glass door — she shattered it for others.

Why This Story Matters:

Discrimination doesn’t always wear a uniform. Sometimes it comes dressed as “politeness,” or hides behind “protocol.” Survivors like Meena help us name it, face it, and change it.