I still remember the weight in my chest as I stepped onto the campus of that Tier-3 B-school. It was supposed to be a new beginning. But something felt off… and I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I wasn’t excited. I wasn’t nervous. I was just… blank. As if I was walking through someone else’s story, not mine.
I funnily remember one moment from that first day—during the orientation, while I was hoping for deep conversations about marketing, creativity, and dreams, a few students casually asked, “Where’s the smoking zone on campus?” That was my first jolt.
That evening, I sat quietly and asked myself: “Is this really where I belong?”
The answer came loud and clear—No.
So, I made a decision I never thought I’d make: I left. On Day One.
No backup plan. No guarantees. Just this deep belief that mediocrity is not where I’m meant to settle.
The Hardest Year of My Life
My parents could’ve been angry or disappointed. But they weren’t. They were supportive. They were present. And they were quietly hopeful. I could see that silent spark of ambition in their eyes—and I was terrified of letting it die.
That year was tough. I watched friends move on, post admits, celebrate. I battled doubt every single day. But somewhere in all of it, I found purpose again.
I went back to the things I love—street theatre, music, marketing, and writing. I kept manifesting that one name: MICA.
I’d first heard about it years ago from a family friend working at a top marketing firm. Its entrance process was different—storytelling, creativity, imagination. It felt like a place that was made for someone like me.
So I gave it everything.
Mock storytelling. Practice after practice. Application after application. And the belief that I had something unique to offer.
The Moment It All Came Together
When the result came out, I saw the word “Selected” next to MICA—and I froze. I remember my mom giving me the tightest hug of my life, whispering through tears:
“Beta, you made it.”
My sister, Konpal Bansal, founder of a successful fashion brand, always told me the power of manifestation and hard work. That day, it all made sense.
What MICA Means to Me
Sitting in that auditorium at MICA now, I often look around and smile. Because I know what it took to be here. The breakdown. The decision. The gap. The fight. The belief.
I entered a B-school twice.
But only once with my heart in it.
