logo
‘Good mentor makes a huge difference… helps cut through the noise': Indian Forest Service exam topper

‘Good mentor makes a huge difference… helps cut through the noise': Indian Forest Service exam topper

Indian Express21-05-2025

After three attempts and multiple setbacks, Kanika Anabh secured Rank 1 in the Indian Forest Service exam. After the results, which were delayed by over 10 days, were declared, she talks with indianexpress.com about her failures, strategy, and the long road to success. Excerpts:
This was my third attempt. I began preparing in 2021 after leaving a PhD program. In my first attempt, I cleared the Civil Services interview but didn't make it to the final list. I couldn't even clear the Forest Service prelims that year — the cutoff is higher. In my second attempt, I didn't clear prelims at all. This third attempt, I cleared both Civil and Forest prelims and mains. I didn't make the final Civil list, but I topped the Forest one.
For both Civil and Forest Services, my optional subject was Zoology. For Forest, I added Forestry as the second optional — a common choice for science students since the service is technical in nature. I chose these based on my academic background; it aligned well with the exam pattern.
For the first attempt, I focused about 70–80% on prelims. By the third, I planned better. Until December, I focused on mains. From January to May, I shifted to prelims prep — solving questions, reading current affairs and revision. After the Civil mains ended in September, I had six weeks for Forest Services mains and started Forestry from scratch. It was intense, but focused.
Challenging, but not impossible. I didn't just rely on books — that would have taken too long. I took an online course to grasp concepts quickly. I also used topper notes and previous year questions. It was all about smart work.
Not in the traditional sense. For prelims, I relied on online resources, YouTube, and test series. For mains, I took targeted help— value-added notes, test series, mentorship. A good mentor makes a huge difference in this journey. There's too much information now — a mentor cuts through that noise.
I'm not a 5 am person. I usually woke up around 7 or 8 am. On a study days, I put in 8 to 9 hours- subject study, newspapers and solving MCQs or CSAT questions. I feared CSAT – math isn't my strength – so I gave it 30–40 minutes daily in the last few months. The schedule intensified as exams approached
I was on Instagram and Facebook, but I deactivated both between March and December last year, just before the prelims. I'd sometimes reinstall them post-interviews, just to see what people were up to. Social media isn't bad, but you have to know when to disconnect.
Definitely. After each failure — the interview in the first attempt, the prelims in the second, and not making the Civil Services list in the third — there was disappointment, and self-doubt. I'd left my PhD and taken a risk. But I never seriously thought of quitting. I'd ask myself, 'What more can I do?' Then rebuild from there.
There's no formula, but there is persistence. Every attempt teaches you something. If you're honest with yourself about what went wrong and work on that, success will come. You don't have to study 14 hours a day. You just need clarity, consistency, and some resilience.
Service training will begin soon. Beyond that, I'm just grateful. I know how uncertain this journey can be. And I'm thankful it ended with this result.

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

How Delhi's queer icons are making Pride a daily practice
How Delhi's queer icons are making Pride a daily practice

Indian Express

time2 hours 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.

Air India flight from Mumbai to Bangkok delayed after bird nest found in aircraft wing; netizens slam airline's safety in viral video
Air India flight from Mumbai to Bangkok delayed after bird nest found in aircraft wing; netizens slam airline's safety in viral video

Time of India

time2 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

From Holland to Kashmir: A 69-Year-Old Woman's Resolve Against Plastic Pollution in Dal Lake
From Holland to Kashmir: A 69-Year-Old Woman's Resolve Against Plastic Pollution in Dal Lake

The Wire

time3 days ago

  • The Wire

From Holland to Kashmir: A 69-Year-Old Woman's Resolve Against Plastic Pollution in Dal Lake

Srinagar: On any given morning, as the sun gently rises over the tranquil waters of Dal Lake, slicing through the mist that veils Srinagar's most iconic waterbody, a lone boat can often be seen gliding silently. At its helm, wearing a broad-brimmed hat and rowing with quiet determination, is a 69-year-old woman not native to the valley, but very much at home here. Her name is Ellis Hubertina Spaaanderman, a Dutch national who has spent more than two decades immersed in the rhythms of life around Dal Lake – and is now trying to give something back. Ellis may not have grown up with the snowy Zabarwan Range in her backyard, but her connection to Kashmir runs deep. Having first visited the valley nearly 25 years ago, she found herself enchanted by its beauty, culture and the warmth of its people. 'I came here as a traveler,' she says, 'but I stayed because this place touched my soul.' In a region often in the headlines for its political complexity, Ellis's story offers a different kind of narrative – one of quiet strength, care and individual agency in the face of overwhelming environmental neglect. Her mission? Cleaning the growing menace of plastic waste from Dal Lake, a jewel of Kashmir that has in recent decades become a dumping ground for single-use plastics and untreated sewage. A personal initiative The serene image of shikara (wooden boats, primarily found in Kashmir) gliding over lotus-filled waters masks a grimmer reality – one that Ellis confronts daily. 'People see Dal Lake in postcards and Instagram photos, but they don't see the layers of plastic bags, bottles, wrappers and garbage floating just beneath the surface,' she says. Without any institutional support, funding or fanfare, Ellis Shikaras parked on Dal Lake, Srinagar. Photo: Kanwal Singh has turned her wooden boat into a floating clean-up unit. Armed with little more than a rake and her bare hands, she collects kilograms of plastic waste from the lake every week. Sometimes, children on nearby houseboats watch her with curiosity; at other times, tourists mistake her for a local guide. But what she's doing is neither tourism nor hobby – it is a quiet act of environmental defiance. 'What breaks my heart is that this plastic wasn't here when I first came to Kashmir,' she reflects. 'Dal was clearer. The water was cleaner. Now, every day, I pick up garbage that will take hundreds of years to decompose.' Why it matters Dal Lake is not just a waterbody. It is the beating heart of Srinagar – a source of livelihood for thousands, a hub for tourism and a living ecosystem of fish, birds, aquatic plants and culture. Its degradation is both a symbol and symptom of the broader ecological crisis in the valley. Urban sprawl, unregulated construction, tourism pressure and lack of proper waste management systems have all contributed to the lake's decline. Despite periodic efforts by the local government, including dredging and anti-encroachment drives, the lake remains under serious environmental stress. While policies are drafted and budgets are debated, Ellis has chosen to act herself – and her actions speak volumes. 'Governments will do what they can, but it is also the people who must feel responsible,' she says. 'This is not just a Kashmiri issue. It's a global one. Plastic pollution doesn't know borders.' A lesson in humanity What makes Ellis's story even more powerful is her status as a foreigner who has chosen to invest in a cause many locals have come to accept with indifference or resignation. In an era where climate fatigue and environmental nihilism are common, her daily efforts are a testament to what one individual can do when motivated by love and purpose. 'She's an inspiration to all of us,' says Bilal Ahmad, a local vendor who has often seen her collecting trash. 'It's shameful that someone from so far away cares more about our lake than some of us who live here.' And it's not just about trash collection. Through conversations, social media, and simply by setting an example, Ellis is raising awareness about the need for a deeper shift – in habits, in consciousness and in collective accountability. Other environmental initiatives in Dal Lake Jannat Tariq, an inspiring young environmentalist, began cleaning Dal Lake at the age of five. Her dedication has garnered national attention, including recognition from Prime Minister Narendra Modi. She continues her mission through 'Mission Dal Lake,' a Facebook initiative promoting the lake's conservation. Another notable initiative is the Jammu & Kashmir Eco Watch. Founded by environmental lawyer Nadeem Qadri, this grassroots movement unites volunteers across the region to protect wetlands, forests and lakes. Their efforts include regular cleanup drives and educational campaigns to raise environmental awareness. The Jammu and Kashmir government has also initiated significant dredging and cleaning operations in Dal Lake. These efforts aim to improve water circulation, manage solid and wet waste and control aquatic weed growth, thereby restoring the lake's ecological health. Looking ahead At 69, most people would choose to slow down. But Ellis shows no signs of stopping. 'As long as I have strength in my arms and breath in my body, I will keep rowing,' she smiles. 'Dal Lake gave me peace when I needed it. Now it's my turn to give back.' Ellis Hubertina Spaaanderman, on her boat, Dal Lake, Srinagar. Photo: Shakeel Her story serves as a gentle but powerful reminder that sometimes, the most meaningful change doesn't come from grand gestures or institutions. Sometimes, it comes from a single boat on a quiet lake, steered by a woman who refuses to look away. In a world that often feels too big to fix, Ellis Hubertina Spaaanderman shows us that the ripples of individual action can, indeed, travel great distances. Kanwal Singh is a policy analyst and columnist from Jammu and Kashmir.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store