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Dr Joya Chatterji is a Reader in the History of Modern South Asia in the Faculty of History and a Fellow of Trinity College. Originally from Delhi, she is the editor of the journal Modern Asian Studies, one of the leading journals in the field.

My father was, in his own way, a feminist, and even as a little girl I remember him saying things like ‘It’s very important to have independence, marriage is not a career and you must be more than your appearance.’

My sense of what constitutes achievement relates to those early messages. I value freedom and independence, and can’t bear being hemmed in by fixed ways of thinking. I think that my desire to form my own ideas has made me a bit of a contrarian.

Despite my upbringing and nature, when I first arrived in Cambridge from India I found it all very daunting. It initially threw me and, to an extent, shattered my confidence. I felt I had got in by mistake, that I’d tricked the system and that I was an imposter. I suspect that might be why some students experience me as a good teacher, because I know what it means to feel uncertain and can reassure them they’re not alone. I try hard not to undermine them because I understand only too well what it’s like to feel overawed.

“I realised that the trick is not to shout at the room, but to speak as if you’re having a really interesting conversation with a few people.”

How did I start to recover my confidence? At first I figured out that by writing I could still express my thoughts without needing to raise my hand and talk. Through this I realised that my ideas held up to scrutiny. Eventually I became a lecturer, which meant I absolutely had to get up and speak. With time and practice I developed my own style. I realised that the trick is not to shout at the room, but to speak as if you’re having a really interesting conversation with a few people.

I remember vividly a dinner with colleagues that took place relatively early in my career. After the meal I went out for a cigarette and I can still recall my colleagues being shocked. They’d made assumptions about how this ‘nice little Indian lady’ would behave, thinking that I would be quite ‘traditional’. I suppose that made me aware of how I could be perceived, and this influenced my decision not to make an issue of my ethnicity or gender in terms of how I managed my career in Britain. I wanted to be recognised as an individual, as a person, rather than as ‘an Asian woman’.

For this reason I didn’t want to make anything of the fact that I was a single mother. I never missed work to go to my child’s school play (I simply rearranged my schedule quietly, without any fuss), because I didn’t want it to be an issue and there’s no question that it does affect how women are perceived. I never fought that battle, which to some extent I regret. I suppose I felt uncomfortable addressing issues that could appear to benefit me personally (I was the only young woman in my department, then, in that situation).

“I value those (men and women alike) who have the courage to go against the grain and disturb the flow.”

When I think about people I particularly admire, I‘m struck by the fact that those who immediately come to mind are women. I don’t think that many of them necessarily made their gender a dominant point either, but they were strong, they were respected, they were articulate and they didn’t hide. They all had very different styles, but in their own ways they sent the message that it is possible to be all of those things. I value those (men and women alike) who have the courage to go against the grain and disturb the flow. Taking the safe option is perhaps the approach that will get you through the next day, week, month or year, but at the end of your life it’s probably not the choice you will value most.

“I suppose my personal definition of success lies in encouraging a certain kind of intellectual confidence in others.”

I’ve had to do a fair bit of introspection lately and I’ve asked myself the question, ‘In what way have I made a difference?’ With writing scholarly books and articles you’re often preaching to the converted, whereas with teaching you do feel more of a sense of having made a difference to some lives; just a few, which is good enough. I suppose my personal definition of success lies in encouraging a certain kind of intellectual confidence in others.