In a world that often runs on the noise of competition, comparison, and chaos, Nisa Unnirajan from Thiruvananthapuram chose silence as her strength. At 40, when most aspirants either clear the UPSC or give up, Nisa finally saw her name on the list. AIR 1000. Seventh attempt. Mother of two. Hearing-impaired. A full-time government employee.
It wasn’t just an exam she cleared; it was the mountain of expectations, failures, frustrations, and fears that she climbed over, one slow, determined step at a time.
THE DREAM SHE DIDN’T LET DIE
Nisa didn’t dream of the IAS when she was 20, and she didn’t join the race when most others did. Her journey began at 35, long after many stopped believing it was possible. For years, she buried her ambition under responsibilities—changing diapers, cooking dinners, and finishing office files—but the spark never really went out.
“I always had the ambition,” she once said, “but I gave myself permission to chase it only after I turned 35.”
That “permission” changed everything.
A HOUSE FULL OF CHAOS, YET A MIND THAT REFUSED TO BREAK
Every day, while coaching classes buzzed with full-time aspirants, Nisa juggled between mothering her two daughters – Nandana (11) and Thanvi (7) – and working as an Assistant Audit Officer at the Principal Accountant General’s office in Kerala. Her husband, Arun, a software engineer, stepped in as both partner and pillar.
“She studied while commuting, between chores, and late at night. Even then, she was rarely alone. One of the kids would want attention, or there’d be a work deadline,” her mother, Jayasree, shared in an interview.
With hearing aids and lip-reading techniques, Nisa fought not just the syllabus, but also the silence that many would have used as an excuse. She didn’t.
SIX FAILURES. NOT WASTED. JUST LESSONS.
She failed once. Then again. And again. By the fourth attempt, doubt began to grow louder. “Every second day, you want to give up,” she admitted. “If you don’t have the strength to pull yourself back together, you’ll break.”
But she didn’t break. Not when she saw friends clear and move on. Not when people said she was too old. Not when the rank list came out and her name wasn’t there – again.
Instead, she sat back down, quietly reworking strategies, seeking help, starting over. She didn’t count her failures as defeats. She counted them as part of the process.
WHEN SHE FOUND HOPE IN ANOTHER’S STORY
There was a moment when she almost gave up, when the world felt too noisy and her quiet efforts felt drowned. But then she discovered the story of Ranjith, the Kottayam Sub-Collector, a hearing-impaired officer who had cracked the same exam.
“Knowing someone like me had done it, it changed everything,” Nisa said. It gave her not just hope but belief.
She enrolled at a private coaching centre in Thiruvananthapuram, where her teachers didn’t just teach; they encouraged her. Slowly, her daily life began to include biographies, real-life stories, and short bursts of study squeezed between real responsibilities.
A HOME TURNED WAR ROOM
In the final leg, the family came together like never before. Arun managed the kids’ homework. Her parents handled groceries, laundry, and daily routines.
Everyone in the house knew one thing: “Amma is fighting for her dream.”
And so they built a cocoon around her. A space where her dream was protected, nurtured, and allowed to grow.
WHEN THE RESULTS CAME AND THE SILENCE BROKE
On the day the results were declared, Nisa didn’t rush to refresh the screen. She waited. Calm. Hopeful. Prepared for anything.
And then, there it was – Rank 1000. A number that may seem small in the world of top-rankers, but meant the world to a woman who fought for it every day for seven years.
Under the disabled category, she will now join the Indian Administrative Service. Her children hugged her. Her husband cried. Her parents beamed. And Nisa? She smiled – calm, composed, proud.
NOT TOO LATE. NEVER TOO LATE.
In her own words: “It’s never too late. And no dream is ever too big.”
Today, she’s more than an IAS officer. She’s hope. For every woman who thought her time was up. For every mother who postponed her dreams. For every person who thought a disability meant a full stop.
Because Some Victories Don’t Make Noise, They Just Shine.
And Nisa Unnirajan, with her seventh attempt, two children, and one unshaken dream, now shines brighter than ever.
