The invisible struggle behind learning
A journey through new languages, doubts, and discoveries
At Dharohar, learning sits at the heart of what we are trying to build.
Not just formal learning, but the slower, messier work of becoming resilient communities – through new ideas, new skills, and, often, entirely new ways of living.
Sometimes, learning doesn’t happen through well-designed systems. It happens when something doesn’t quite work — when instructions are unclear or when tools fail. It happens in those moments of confusion, frustration, and small victories that rarely make it into a manual.
In noticing this, we realise that we are still learning too.
This story comes from one such moment.
This is a story of Namya and her Hindi-language journey at Sangrah, but also about the human potential to navigate uncertainty, discover strength, and grow through challenges.
The First Days
Namya officially joined Dharohar as a cataloguer on November 15, 2024.
Before that, she spent 40 days as an intern in July.
Those internship days were both encouraging and challenging.
Only three interns were from South India where their first language was not Hindi. Everyone else spoke Hindi easily. For Namya, this was her first long stay outside her hometown in Kerala. Amid the unfamiliarity of a new city, she leaned on something deeply familiar: Bharatanatyam. Years of dance had taught her that learning begins with listening, watching closely, and repeating movements. That mistakes are part of the practice.
Being enrolled in a Sanskrit-based institution, Namya assumed that Sanskrit and English would be enough to learn and communicate.
As it turns out, they weren’t.
From the very first day, many of the classes were conducted in Hindi. Except for the three of them, everyone else followed easily. For Namya, the words tumbled together in a blur. She walked out of classes wondering how she would attend the next, how she would ask questions, or even survive the internship.
Back in Kerala, she had always been a front-bencher – active, engaged, confident. Here, she slowly began sitting in the last bench – silent and overwhelmed. Some evenings, disappointment turned into tears, after everyone had gone to bed.
As if this was not enough, handling and studying manuscripts was entirely new to her – delicate, centuries-old texts she had never studied required new skills she had yet to grasp. Trying to learn a whole discipline through a language she barely understood felt overwhelming.
And, at times, almost impossible.
‘Chhote’ Steps, ‘Badi’ Journeys
Despite everything, Namya chose to stay.
Hindi wasn’t entirely new. Since childhood, she had absorbed fragments of it — around 30–40%, by her estimate — from cartoons. Doraemon, she proudly says, was her first Hindi teacher.
That small familiarity became her entry point.
At first, words and sentences swirled around her without meaning. Slowly, though, familiar words began to stand out, like lighthouses in a stormy sea. By the second week, she could catch some words.
And then something shifted.
If she didn’t understand, she began asking questions in class. At first, her hand hovered uncertainly in the air. Gradually, she started raising it, asking the meanings of words she didn’t know. The facilitators saw her interest and started responding with patience. They slowed down, repeated words, used examples from stories, sometimes switching to Sanskrit or English.
Looking back, Namya laughs. By her own admission, she was probably the most annoyingly curious student in class! In many ways, she was learning Hindi the same way she had once learned to dance – step by step, misstep after misstep.
Finding the words
In a new predominantly Hindi-speaking city, Namya made deliberate efforts to immerse herself. She watched Hindi films, interacted with people, and pushed herself past the fear of sounding wrong.
Shopkeepers, auto drivers, locals – the world around her didn’t speak Sanskrit, and English rarely helped.
At first, this was intimidating. Will they understand me? Will I understand them?
Slowly, it became easier. Sentences slowly began to roll off her tongue.
The day she realised she had found her footing in the city, quite literally, was when she hailed a Rapido auto and gave directions clearly in Hindi.
Her confidence shifted.
The ‘suhana safar’ milestone
A year later, during the 2025 internship, Namya stood on the other side of the classroom.
She was asked to facilitate a lesson. The lesson was entirely in Hindi – because the students were all comfortable in Hindi, and all surrounding classes were conducted that way.
She was nervous. But she agreed.
During the session, she briefly forgot a word. Her guide gently helped her, and the class flowed smoothly.
When it ended, Namya felt proud.
She had gone from sitting silently in the back row to facilitating an entire session in the language that once terrified her.
What this story asks of us
Namya’s journey is inspiring.
But should it become an unspoken expectation?
What if it hadn’t been Namya?
What if it was someone who didn’t know how to ask for help, or didn’t feel strong, safe or positive enough to keep trying?
Would our spaces have made room for their struggle?
This story reminds us that learning cannot rest only on the individual.
It must be supported by the systems they are a part of.
Yes, it asks us to do better – to perhaps offer Hindi learning support wherever required, or to ensure stronger ways in which access and inclusivity is created within institutions as much as possible, but it also asks us to stay honest about where we are still learning.
This story exemplifies that a learner can only truly learn when the organisation creates a culture of patience, care, and room for growth.
This story is not only about Namya – It is about everyone around us who have shown the courage and tenacity to build opportunities through such challenges.
And finally, it is about how we, at Dharohar, learn alongside our learners – by listening closely, recognising invisible struggles, and shaping platforms for stories like hers, and many others,
showcasing that learning flows both ways.