How a PhD dropout became the Indian Forest Service topper: Kanika Anabh's journey of grit and persistence
Kanika Anabh
, who secured Rank 1 in the
Indian Forest Service
(IFS) exam 2024 after three attempts, highlighted the importance of persistence and strategic preparation in cracking one of India's toughest competitive exams. Kanika shared how her approach evolved significantly by her third attempt. She revealed that while initially focusing heavily on prelims, she later balanced her preparation between mains and prelims more effectively.
'Until December, I focused on mains. From January to May, I shifted to prelims prep—solving questions, reading current affairs, and revision,' she explained in an interview with
The Indian Express
. She also described how she mastered Forestry, a critical optional subject, in just six weeks using online courses and topper notes, showing how smart
study techniques
mattered more than sheer hours.
She shared that her journey to securing All India Rank 1 was far from smooth. After leaving her PhD program in 2021, she revealed she faced multiple setbacks in her first two attempts before finally achieving success in her third. 'There's no formula, but there is persistence,' she said, emphasizing how every attempt taught her valuable lessons.
Strategic Preparation and the Power of Mentorship
She explained that her choice of optional subjects—Zoology and Forestry—was closely aligned with her academic background and the technical nature of the Forest Service. Kanika detailed how her preparation strategy evolved over time: initially focusing on prelims, then shifting to mains before intensively revising prelims closer to the exam date. Remarkably, she revealed mastering Forestry in just six weeks through online courses and topper notes, highlighting the importance of smart work over rote learning.
Kanika also credited mentorship for playing a critical role. She shared, 'A good mentor makes a huge difference… helps cut through the noise,' explaining how targeted guidance helped her navigate the overwhelming information during preparation. Unlike many aspirants, she did not rely on traditional coaching but used online resources and selective mentorship to stay focused.
— JNU_official_50 (@JNU_official_50)
Balancing Routine, Social Media, and Mental Fortitude
On her daily routine, Kanika told how she typically studied 8 to 9 hours a day, avoiding early mornings but dedicating consistent time to weaker areas like CSAT. She admitted to temporarily deactivating social media platforms such as Instagram and Facebook to avoid distractions during crucial preparation phases.
Kanika also opened up about the emotional challenges she faced, saying that after every failure, moments of doubt arose but she never seriously considered quitting. 'I'd ask myself, 'What more can I do?' then rebuild from there,' she shared, underscoring the resilience required to keep going despite setbacks.
Inspiration for Aspirants and Future Plans
To others on the same demanding path, Kanika advised that clarity, consistency, and resilience matter more than sheer hours of study. 'Every attempt teaches you something. If you're honest with yourself about what went wrong and work on that, success will come,' she explained.
Looking ahead, Kanika revealed that her service training will begin soon. She expressed gratitude for the journey's uncertain nature and the eventual success that crowned her efforts, offering inspiration to countless aspirants chasing their dreams with grit and smart hustle.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Hindustan Times
19 hours ago
- Hindustan Times
Bengaluru mom defends viral video of domestic worker's son eating on floor: ‘Doesn't need your pity'
A Bengaluru nutritionist's video sharing parenting tips went viral after it showed her domestic worker's child eating while sitting on the floor, drawing sharp criticism online. Nutritionist Sonakshi Sharma shared the video to highlight how baby-led weaning (BLW) is not a Western concept, but something Indian mothers have practised for generations. In the video, Sonakshi Sharma explains how baby-led weaning has been used by Indian mothers for generations.(Instagram/ 'Remember our moms being so busy with housework that they used to leave us with the food, and in that process we learnt to eat. BLW is just the same story wrapped in a seemingly exorbitant cover!,' Sharma says in the video. The clip shows her sitting on a sofa while her baby eats from a high chair. However, in the next shot, her domestic worker's three-year-old son is shown sitting on the floor, eating kheer and roti. Take a look at the video here: The contrast drew backlash from viewers who said it highlighted inequality, especially given the difference in how the two children were presented. Sharma defended her video, clarifying that the clips were filmed on different days and that the child simply preferred to sit on the floor. 'I don't practice idiotic things like untouchability in 2025 for god's sake! We just valued this child's preference, that's it. I understand that those showing concern are good people, but this child doesn't really need your pity for such a trivial thing,' she said. She also criticised the online response, claiming viewers were reading into it the wrong way. 'You're seeing a 'Househelp's child' sitting on the floor, while I'm seeing just a child who chose to sit on the floor—the same way my daughter would sometimes choose to do—the same floor where we regularly sit and eat,' she added. The video drew mixed reactions online. While some users supported Sharma's explanation, others felt the comparison was not needed. 'Whatever your justification is for why your help's three-year-old is sitting on the floor, it still does give out wrong message. This comparison reel was unnecessary in the first place,' one user wrote. Another countered, 'God! All the drama queens crying in the comments because kid is sitting on the floor. It's an Indian household, we all sit on the floor.'
Indian Express
a day ago
- Indian Express
How Delhi's queer icons are making Pride a daily practice
I was three when I knew I was different. I had no name for it, no word to wear like a badge or a burden. Just a feeling. A flutter in the chest. A hush in the room. A shadow that fell differently across my face than it did on others. I was not like the rest. Not like the other boys in New Delhi. Not like the cousins who grew into heroes of heterosexuality. Not like the classmates whose dreams were ready-made—school, job, wife, kids, done. I was something else. I was something to fear. Something to hide. Something to hush. That's what I learnt before I even knew how to spell my name in cursive. I was four or five and already a secret. Every year that followed tightened the noose of shame. I was the boy who walked with too much softness, spoke with a lisp, sang along to the wrong songs. I wanted to love. I wanted to laugh without checking if my joy was too flamboyant, too colourful, too gay. But in the India of the '70s and '80s, I was an aberration. A whisper of something unwanted. I carried suicide in my pocket like a crumpled paper with no address. I never unfolded it. But it was there. A thought. A threat. A possibility. My very existence was political, even when all I wanted was to play house and be the one who cooked, who cared, who kissed the boy. I had no one. No mirror that reflected back my truth. No magazine that said it was okay. No movie that held my story with tenderness. There were no icons in my image. No gods who looked like me and loved like me. And yet—I kept breathing. Isn't that a miracle in itself? At twenty, I left India with my shame, my softness, my secrets, and a suitcase full of dreams. I arrived in New York, hungry. Hungry to live, to taste life beyond repression, to find in the West what I could not even name in the East. But even in that shiny city, I was othered. Not just for who I loved, but for how I looked. I was brown. I was foreign. I was 'exotic.' I was mistaken for Arab, Sabra, Mexican, 'terrorist,' 'spicy,' 'dot-head.' I was a stereotype buffet. And still, I stayed. I spoke. I organised. I rose. Coming out at twenty didn't make the road easier—it made it real. My queerness, no longer cloaked in shame, became my compass. I leaned into activism. I fundraised. I spoke on panels. I joined political boards and roundtables. I used my voice because for years I didn't have one. I stood for the ones who were still whispering their truths in dark corners, the ones who, like me at four, thought they were alone. I stood for the future I had needed. Now, at fifty-two, I live again in the country of my birth. India, with all her noise and nuance. India, where pride is still whispered in alleys but shouted on Instagram. Where queerness is still criminal in family conversations even if not in the law books. And yet—I am out, proud, unflinching. I am here to disrupt. To stir. To shake the status quo until it spills enough room for every colour of the rainbow. Every Thursday, in the heart of Greater Kailash, there's a gathering. A quiet revolution with music, mezze, and mojitos. Depot 48, helmed by the extraordinary Vikas Narula—a man my age, my kind, my kin—becomes a sanctuary for our community. It's not just a restaurant; it's a chapel of courage. There, we strut. We sip. We sparkle. We breathe easier. There, we are not oddities—we are the ambience. We belong. Vikas, with his quiet daring, has made his business a beacon. A business with a backbone. He put queerness on the menu, not as garnish, but as the main course. And that visibility feeds us in ways food never could. I met an artist once—a boy half my age, but with a wisdom far beyond mine at that age. Aamir Rabbani. Visual storyteller, media director at ORF, and a soul from Muzaffarpur, Bihar. He told me he came from a village, not even a town, where being gay wasn't just dangerous—it was unspeakable. There were no pronouns. No pride flags. No support groups. There was only silence. And yet, here he is, forging his path, creating his name, supporting his family, climbing invisible mountains in heels made of glass and grit. From a young age, Aamir knew who he was. But he also knew—perhaps too well—what this country does to boys like him. Boys who dare to dream differently. Boys who wear tenderness like a second skin. He feared what the truth might cost him: his safety, his family's acceptance, his future. So he played the part. He told everyone he'd be a chartered accountant. Safe. Serious. Maths-minded. Even though he had no love for numbers. It was code for 'don't worry—I'm normal.' And they believed it. But Aamir, quietly, invisibly, was storing up a different dream. The dream of a city, a life, a breath that wasn't laced with fear. He knew he had to leave. To risk it all. To begin again in a place where he could paint his truth without erasure. Today, he lives in Delhi, and travels across the world—carrying not just his art, but his history. His mother, still in that village town, gave him affection. Her own version of love. But not the tools to see the full map of his journey. She doesn't know what he has climbed to get here. The storms he weathered. The closets he outgrew. The cost of becoming whole. She loves him, no doubt. But love without understanding can still feel like a locked door. Aamir walks with that contradiction daily—with grace, with grit, with gentleness. Some stories take time to be shared. Some truths are ripened over years. Aamir doesn't live with his mother—but she is with him. In spirit. In spice. In the food she once made for him, that he now makes for others. He cooks her memories. Her flavours. Her soul. Wherever he goes, he brings her through him. And he does so with unapologetic pride. As a gay man. As an artist. As a son. And that, too, is its own kind of revolution. There are others. Filmmakers like Onir and Faraz Arif Ansari—dreamweavers who have placed our stories on the big screen, not as caricatures, not as comedy relief, but as the protagonists of our own sacred sagas. They dared to imagine us with dignity. They stitched our struggles and triumphs into celluloid. They made our lives art. And in doing so, they gave many of us our first real vision of being possible. And then there's Keshav Suri. A hotelier, yes. But more than that—a builder of bridges. The Lalit chain is not just about luxury—it's about legacy. It's about a philosophy of welcome, of radical kindness, of hospitality that embraces not just your wallet but your whole self. The Lalit doesn't just tolerate us. It celebrates us. It platforms drag. It throws Pride parties. It educates. It includes. Keshav, with his open heart and sharp mind, has done what few can—he's created corporate queerness that isn't performative but powerful. His hotels are not shelters—they are sanctuaries. I look at these lives—Aamir, Onir, Faraz, Keshav, Vikas—and I marvel. We are no longer just whispers. We are songs. We are street parades. We are sculptures. We are schoolbooks. We are safe houses and house music and households that once never imagined children like us could grow into voices like ours. We have always existed. But now—we insist. Pride Month is more than floats and hashtags. It is memory. It is mourning. It is magic. It is the pulse of those who dared to love before love was allowed. It is for the ones lost to AIDS, to hate crimes, to mental illness, to isolation. It is for the ones who didn't make it, and for the ones who are trying. Still trying. Every day. To breathe. To believe. To belong. I walk this life proud, yes. But also grateful. For the teachers who didn't mock my voice. For the friends who chose me even when the world said not to. For the men who loved me and taught me to love myself. For every person who held my truth with both hands and said, 'I see you. You are real. You matter.' That's all any of us want. Not a throne. Not a rainbow cake. Just space. And grace. So, as this Pride Month ends, let it not end. Let Pride not be a punctuation mark but a posture. Let us celebrate not just in June but in July, and in all the months where silence once reigned. Let our colours not fade into the calendar but bleed into the sky. We are not mistakes. We are mosaics. Fractured, yes, but glittering. When we shimmer together, we are galaxies. We are possibility. We are proof that love wins—not in slogans, but in living rooms, kitchens, boardrooms, bedrooms, courtrooms, and street corners. To be queer is not to be alone. Not anymore. To be queer is to be part of a lineage of love and resistance. To be queer is to walk into a room and say, I have survived. I am here. I will dance. Let's keep dancing.
Time of India
4 days ago
- Time of India
Air India flight from Mumbai to Bangkok delayed after bird nest found in aircraft wing; netizens slam airline's safety in viral video
In another bizarre incident, an Air India flight was recently delayed after parts of a bird nest were found inside one of the wings of the plane. The claims were made on June 25 in a viral video shared by Rajnesh Choudhary, whose friend, Hanshi Paramjeet Singh, was one of the passengers. On Wednesday, Chaudhary took to his Instagram and shared a video explaining the incident that happened on Air India's Mumbai-Bangkok Flight AI2354. The viral video purportedly showed ground staff removing what looked like tiny twigs used by birds to build their nests in the aircraft wing. In view of the incident, all the passengers were disembarked from the plane, and another aircraft was arranged for them following the incident. A passenger's friend shared the viral video of Air India The Air India flight AI2354 from Mumbai to Bangkok, scheduled to depart at 7:45 am, was delayed by over three hours. Rajnesh Choudhary shared the update on his Instagram, stating that, during the delay, my friend Hanshi Paramjeet Singh noticed a bird's nest near the aircraft and took a picture, which he showed to a flight attendant. The air hostess then took his phone and showed the photo to the pilot. Acting responsibly, the pilot decided to conduct a technical inspection by contacting the ground staff to ensure the safety of the flight before takeoff. View this post on Instagram Netizens react to the viral video As soon as the video surfaced on social media, it caught the attention of netizens who reacted to it. One user pointed out the negligence by Air India, especially after the Ahmedabad plane crash, and wrote, "Why there is a very casual approach on this incident by AI maintenance team." While another said on X (formerly called Twitter), "How can you be so blind @airindia your ground staff didn't even notice a birds nest 🪹 🤨 thanks to the passenger who caught this in his camera else what could have happened 😡" Mumbai to Bangkok Air India Flight AI2354 Departure time 7:45am delayed to take off more than 3 hours. Ground staff are trying to remove a bird's nest from inside the wing #aviation — Ayaz Aziz (@aayaazzizz) June 25, 2025 "A bird made a nest in the wings of #AirIndia flight going from Mumbai to Bangkok. Are they maintaining the flights well? Are they in condition? why no one found it until the bird finishes Nest. ?" one added. A bird made a nest in the wings of #AirIndia flight going from Mumbai to Bangkok. Are they maintaining the flights well? Are they in condition? why no one found it until the bird finishes Nest. ? @DGCAIndia — Dr Srinubabu Gedela (@DrSrinubabu) June 26, 2025
