HYPE TO DWINDLED SKILLS .

Today, after a long time, I feel ready to share a personal experience from my journey in the education sector. This story goes back two years, to a time when—despite having 1.5 years of work experience and the required skills as a linguistic tutor—I was still considered a novice in a new firm.

I was in my first year of graduation, pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature, and looking for a part-time job. With excitement and dedication, I joined an international student recruitment company. Although I wasn’t fully aware of their examination pattern, I was confident in my abilities. I was interviewed by the Area Manager and the Managing Director for about 30 minutes, during which my speaking, writing, and listening skills were assessed. I was selected—but at the minimum pay scale of ₹5,000, simply because I was “new” to their firm. Still, I accepted, eager to work and learn.

The pay scale was temporary and subject to future increments based on performance. I was told that only after one year of work would I be eligible for an experience certificate. I tried to manage everything—working from 3 PM to 8 PM, preparing for three parallel exams, and teaching students who were often twice my age. Many questioned my credibility simply because I was younger than them.

Initially, I was assigned a batch of nine young boys and three older women for grammar lessons. I still remember how the boys would stare and smile at me, and how the women would constantly counter-question everything I taught, as though trying to test my knowledge. Yet, I continued doing my job and eventually developed my own effective techniques and lessons.

It may sound like self-praise, but this experience made me realise how much a learner’s ego and perception of “age equals authority” influences their respect for a teacher. One of the women even refused to study from me simply because she couldn’t accept that someone younger could be more capable. That was her fragile ego, screaming beyond words.

I continued working to support my finances—not because my parents forced me, but because I believed that working with an international company would polish my skills and strengthen my resume. But, as we all know, freedom—financial, social, or personal—always comes with a cost.

For me, the cost soon became heavier.

I fell ill and asked for a 5-day leave. They granted me only four. When I returned, exhausted, I had my college cadet selection three days later. I informed them I would be late by one hour and would reach by 4 PM instead of 3 PM. This meant I had to leave late. Many times, I returned home around 8:30 or even 9 PM, often being the last person in the office besides the watchman. This pattern continued, and it drained me.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

One evening, as I was leaving the office, the Area Director called me into the MD’s room, where other staff were present. With a patronizing tone she said:

“Ma’am, I hope you’re fine now. But please do some grooming before coming. Wear shoes instead of heels or sandals. Fix your hair. See, even he has learnt to groom himself. I hope you will too.”

Her words humiliated me deeply. I was a tutor, dressed professionally in neat clothes with a sleek bun—acceptable and appropriate for my role. Yet she chose to publicly shame me in front of others. While walking home, only one question echoed in my mind:

Was I hired to tutor, or to attract students with my appearance?

If I dressed the way she suggested, the boys would stare even more. The thought itself made me uncomfortable. I realised they didn’t want a tutor; they wanted a face to market. I refused to compromise my authenticity and self-respect in the name of “grooming.”

Later, I learned that another female tutor had also been told the same thing—but privately. She chose to stay. I chose not to.

That night, I sent an email:

“I am willing to quit my job as I believe I do not fit into your work environment and cannot fulfil your requirements.”

The next day, I was called for a meeting. This time, the Area Manager spoke politely behind the closed glass door of her cabin—not in front of others as she had humiliated me earlier. I told her firmly, “I cannot fulfil your requirements, nor fit into your ideological and self-made standards.”

She tried defending herself, saying, “I never asked you to get ready as if attending a wedding. Just visit our other branches; you will understand. We thought you would stay with us for at least three years.”

But I left. Without negotiating. Without bending. Without compromising my self-worth.

That day, I chose myself.

Though I walked away with only half my month’s salary, I also walked away with something far greater—courage, self-belief, and the strength to stand alone if needed.

People may call it “overreacting,” “not a big deal,” or “too emotional,” but humiliation hits differently when it attacks your dignity.

If I had stayed and met their demands, I would have been used as a tool—to lure students under the veil of education. And I refused.

I realised that in life:

Freedom never comes for free.

But the price should never be your dignity.

This world can be crude, mean, and inhumane. But it can never force you into its dirty business unless you allow it. According to them, I walked away with “dwindling skills.” But in truth, I walked away from their dwindled morality.

So always remember:

No matter how difficult your situations are,

No matter how many bills are waiting,

Do not let it be your vulnerability.

Because freedom is not free—

but the price isn't your dignity.