Pinkishe Foundation, Hall No. 1, Property No. B5, Gali No. 13, Madhu Vihar, I. P. Extension, Patparganj, Delhi-110092, Ghaziabad (2026)

09/04/2026

Pink Pallette- March (Year-end special) Edition is out now 🌸

As we close out FY 2026, this special edition brings together the momentum, dedication and impact that have shaped our journey through one of the most defining phases of the year.

From deepening collaborations and expanding menstrual health education, to celebrating the people and culture that power our work, this issue reflects how far we’ve come and the purpose that continues to guide us.

Read the full newsletter. Link 🔗 -
https://pinkishe.co.in/so/52PqzWnCX?languageTag=en&status=Draft&cid=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000®ion=0b40d104-92ae-468d-9f2f-ed321d25233c

A heartfelt thank you to our team, volunteers, and partners for making Pinkishe a space of consistent growth and meaningful impact.

06/03/2026

Neetu got her first period in the middle of a wedding.

Bright lights everywhere.
Music in the background.
Relatives moving in and out of the room.

For many girls, this moment arrives with panic.

Confusion fills the room. Fear leaves them silent. But this time, it didn't.

Neetu knew what was happening.
She didn't hide or feel ashamed. She remained calm because she had learned that this was natural - that it happens to every girl.

A few months earlier, she had attended a menstrual health session at her government school in Greater Noida. She was in Class 8. She hadn't started her periods yet.

But she listened closely.

Now, in that wedding moment, she went straight to her mother and told her.

Her mother, concerned, handed her a pad and explained what she knew.
Later, she added casually, "Beta, you can throw the pad away in the nearby open plot after use."

That's when the roles quietly shifted. With quiet confidence, Neetu gently corrected her mother: "Maa, pads should be disposed of responsibly, wrapped in paper, and thrown into a dustbin."

A small but meaningful correction.

Her mother paused, pride in her eyes, and tapped her shoulder, "Ab toh tu badi hoshiyaar ho gayi hai." (Now you've become very wise.)

Neetu felt proud of herself to have reached this milestone without fear.

This is why menstrual education matters.

To prepare girls before the moment arrives - so there is no panic, no doubt, no anxiety.

Only the quiet confidence of stepping into adulthood.

At Pinkishe, we are simply grateful to be part of that preparation. So that more girls meet this moment with knowledge, not fear.

05/03/2026

Pinkishe team has been conducting Menstrual Education drives across Gurgaon for the past few weeks.

They start early. Travel across areas, taking back-to-back sessions with new communities every day.

Our volunteers are prepared for many things in fieldwork. But not everything can be planned.

They walked into a session space one afternoon - a small community tucked between narrow lanes. A few women gathered quietly around plastic chairs. Some had children beside them, holding onto their dupattas tightly, shielding themselves from the scorching sun.

As they began the session, "Namaste, hum sab Pinkishe Foundation ki taraf se aaye hain." ("Hello. We're here from Pinkishe Foundation.")

The reaction was silence. Confusion. Everybody started looking around.

When the whispers grew loud enough, our volunteer realised the community was Bengali.

And nobody on our team spoke Bengali. Ab kya? (What now?)

Our team looked around, smiled gently, and asked, "Yahan koi hai jise Hindi aati hai?" ("Does anyone here know Hindi?")

No one moved for a second. Then slowly, a woman raised her hand as if unsure.

She stood up, nervous, and said, "Haan... mujhe aati hai." ("Yes, I do.")

And then something beautiful happened.

Suddenly, periods. Pain. Hygiene. Pads. Disposal.

The topics began unfolding in two languages.

The session wasn't perfect. There were pauses and gaps. But there was also effort.

And a shared intention to make sure no one was left out.

Our team continues the work even when things don't go as planned.

And we're grateful to have people who carry the mission forward with such determination.

03/03/2026

Most of you would have already read about it.

The Supreme Court of India has recently delivered a landmark judgment on menstrual hygiene, linking it with dignity and the Right to Life.

Around 9 years ago, when we started walking on this path, there was hardly any mainstream conversation on menstruation.

That is why we built Pinkishe Foundation as a single-cause organization. Unlike most organizations, we chose to focus on one issue only: menstrual health and hygiene.

And I'll say something unusual for an NGO leader: I genuinely hope one day we can shut shop and go home. Not because work isn't meaningful, but our goal is to solve the problem, not to run an organization forever.

We also want to acknowledge this with full sincerity: this moment has not come because of one organization or one person. UNICEF, UNFPA, government teams, doctors, educators, CSR partners, and many NGOs have carried this cause for years. We are a small part of a larger movement, but we feel proud that we stayed the course.

Now comes the real work: Implementation.
Over the years, through direct sessions, we have educated close to 1 million women and girls.

Across hundreds of schools in multiple districts and states, we have built an integrated model: education sessions with schoolgirls, nukkad nataks, wall murals, capacity building of teachers and ASHA workers, and close work with district administrations, WCD, and Education Departments.

We have also started deploying loT-based sanitary pad vending machines connected to a central dashboard, to track uptime, stock levels, refills and usage. Machines should not be installed and forgotten. Implementation must be monitored.

Because implementation cannot mean "pads were distributed once and the file is closed". It must mean good quality, safe products, consistent availability, education and awareness, trained teachers, proper disposal systems, and a push towards better, sustainable menstrual solutions.

So yes, we should celebrate this step.

But more importantly, we should take charge of what happens next.

28/02/2026

A few months ago, I received an email.

An invitation to nominate ourselves for something called the "International CSR and ESG Awards."

We don't usually nominate ourselves.
So we ignored it.

Then came a follow-up.
Then another.
And then a mail from the CEO himself.

After "extensive research", Pinkishe had apparently been shortlisted as one of the Top 5 most impactful NGOs of the year.

That gets your attention.
The event looked impressive.
Big names on the website. Panel discussions.
Well-known CSR corporates. Past awardees who were genuinely doing good work. Everything looked legit.

There was an award fee. Around ₹30,000.
Normally, that would be a hard no.

But we made an exception. Yes, we relented.

Award night arrived.

And that's when things started feeling odd.

There weren't five winners.
There were hundreds.
Top 5 most impactful NGOs.
Top 5 best NGOs of the year.
Top 5 goal-oriented NGOs.
Top 5 most noticeable NGOs.

Different categories. Same trophy. Same pattern.

The same repeated for corporates too.
By the end of the evening, the business model was obvious.

This wasn't recognition. This was distribution. This was revenue generation.

I remember deciding I wouldn't go up on stage.

My colleague collected the award. "Paise diye hain. Le hi lo." (We've paid for it. Might as well take it.)

We brought the trophy back.
But we couldn't celebrate it.
It felt hollow. Almost embarrassing.

We posted one small update and moved on.
The trophy never made it to our office shelves.

And then the emails started again.
Every few months, the same agency, and many others like it, write back.
New awards. New titles. New "international
Same playbook. Different names.

What are we doing here, guys?

If we know these are paid validation machines, why do NGOs and corporates keep showing up?
Why are we feeding an industry that sells trophies instead of trust?

Real impact doesn't need a trophy every quarter.
And credibility can't be purchased for ₹50,000 a night.

Maybe the real prestige lies not in the awards we win, but in the ones we quietly decline.

26/02/2026

We are deeply honored to share that Pinkishe Foundation has been recognized as a Great Place to Work for the 4th consecutive year.

At Pinkishe, we strive to ensure that we do not become only about outcomes and impact for the communities we serve.

There is an internal community too - our team - and they are equally important. Because impact is not just about outcomes. It's who we become along the way.

Over the years, we have tried to steadily nurture our internal culture - putting thoughtful HR systems and people practices in place so our teams feel supported, valued, and able to grow with clarity and dignity.

We believe that when an organization takes care of its internal foundations, that care naturally reflects in the way it shows up externally.

As Pinkishe continues to hold a 5-star rating on Google, among the highest across NGOs, a benchmark we are proud to have sustained over the years.

We remain committed to creating an environment where both our team and the communities we serve can thrive with dignity.

To every Pinkishe Hero who brings their whole heart to this mission - this one is yours.

24/02/2026

Your dustbin just got promoted.

It officially received a government upgrade.

It's no longer a one-size-fits-all dumping zone.

Meet the new team:
🟢Wet Waste - the compost champion
🔵Dry Waste - the recycler's favorite
🔴Sanitary Waste - handle with dignity
⚫Special Care Waste - needs expert attention

Plot twist? Your home is now the first sorting station in India's waste economy.

The New Solid Waste Management Rules 2026 make one thing clear:
Segregation isn't optional; it's foundational.

Because when sanitary waste gets mixed with dry recyclables, recycling slows, workers are exposed, and the system breaks.

Four bins.
One small habit shift.
Massive impact.

23/02/2026

✨ Pinkishe Newsletter - February Edition is here ✨

Our February newsletter captures the energy, dedication, and impact at pinkishe while we move through one of the busiest phases of the year.

From strengthening partnerships and scaling menstrual health education, to celebrating our people and culture, this edition reflects the steady progress we are building together.

Read the latest issue. Link in bio. 🔗

Thank you to every team member, volunteer, and partner who continues to make Pinkishe a place of purpose and meaningful impact.

22/02/2026

Our team went for a menstrual health session in Greater Noida last month, walking around small huts and asking everyone to be a part of the session.

That's when one of our volunteers entered a hut and noticed something strange.

Used pads! Which were not in a bin but shoved into corners.
Under the bed, behind the cupboard. Like evidence.

It looked like the house was carrying a secret.

When our volunteers asked, the girl did not answer at first. Then she whispered something with dropped eyes, "I didn't know what to do with it"

She felt shame, deep shame in asking her mother something so very simple.
And the mother never said anything because in her mind, this was a topic you don't talk about.

Not at home. Not with daughters. Not aloud.

So the girl hid the pads after every cycle.

And the mother quietly cleaned them up later.

In their own way they were both trying to survive the discomfort silently.
And in that silence...a harmful habit became normal.

When our volunteer spoke to the mother later, she didn't get defensive.
She just said, "Mujhe hi nahi pata... toh main kaise sikhau?" ("I don't even know... so how can I teach her?")

And that is what silence around menstruation looks like.
Women have carried this silence from school, from mothers, from grandmothers.

And then passed it down not intentionally, but inevitably.
This is why Pinkishe works with school girls, teachers, and communities to build menstrual literacy early.

And so the next generation of mothers won't let silence live inside their homes again. So that they grow up with the right information and language to ask questions without fear.

05/02/2026

Every month, the register told the story before anyone did.

The same dates.
The same gaps.
The same names missing.

By the time someone noticed, it had already become routine.

In Udham Singh Nagar, periods didn't just cause discomfort.
They quietly took girls out of classrooms.

Not because the girls wanted rest.
Not because they enjoyed the break.
But because school, on those days, felt harder than staying home.

Pain, they didn't know how to manage.
Pads, they didn't know how to change without fear.

No place to dispose them comfortably.
No language to ask for help.
So absence became the solution.

Classes continued.
Lessons moved on.
And the gaps returned every month.

When the educators saw this pattern, they didn't react loudly.
They didn't treat it like a crisis.
They treated it like something that could be changed slowly, patiently, for good.

And so they kept coming back.
Upasana.
Lakshmi.
Pushpa.
Poojam.
Through rain that flooded roads.
Through winters that made mornings heavy.
Through summers when classrooms themselves felt tired.
They didn't bring anything dramatic with them.
Just consistency.

They spoke about pain - without dismissing it.
About hygiene - without embarrassment.
About pads - how to use them, change them, dispose them, even during school hours.

At first, the questions came softly.
Then they came freely.
Then they stopped needing to be asked.

Weeks passed.
Months passed.

And the register began to change.

The gaps reduced.
The dates no longer repeated themselves.
The empty benches filled in.

One afternoon, after a session, a girl stayed back.

She didn't make a speech.
She didn't thank anyone.

She just said, "Ma'am... ab hume school aane mein darr nahi lagta."

It wasn't relief alone.
It was certainty.
The kind that doesn't fade next month.

And that's when you know the work has gone beyond awareness.
Because the classroom didn't just get her attendance back.

It got her back for good.

29/01/2026

5:03 a.m.
The day starts before the world does.

Household work. Lunch packed. A quick check if everything needed for the session is in the bag.

Then she steps out.
So does he.

By the time a school bell rings or a community space fills up, they've already travelled long distances.
Villages. City edges. Two buses. Long walks.

And then the work begins.

Same questions. Like they always do.
"Is this normal?"
"Will it hurt?"
"Can I go to school?"
"Is it dirty?"
"Should I tell my mother?"

They answer patiently.
Then again.
And again.

Some days there are two sessions. Sometimes three. Back-to-back, with barely a break in between.
Just water, a deep breath, and the next room waiting.

At Pinkishe Foundation, this scene plays out every day.
Across Telangana, Chhattisgarh, Bengaluru, and Udham Singh Nagar.
Different regions, different languages.
But the rhythm stays the same.

By evening, our educators return home and slip back into their own routines.
From the outside, it looks like an ordinary workday.

And that's when the question comes up:
What do they get in return?

Yes, there's a salary.
There's growth. Learning. Professional pride.
And the satisfaction of doing something meaningful.

But if you've worked on the ground, you know what stays with you is something else.

A cup of tea offered before the session begins.
A share of the mid-day meal, insisted on despite polite refusals.
A teacher saying, "Baith jao thoda."
A woman walking you part of the way home.

Small gestures.
Nothing formal. Nothing announced.

This photo is from one such day.
Parmeshwar and Niranjana, sharing a mid-day meal with students, after a long session.
They're the faces in this frame.

But in many ways, they represent every educator who does this work, quietly, every single day.

Because the work is demanding, the days are long... but what comes back, again and again, is simple: being welcomed.

19/01/2026

Today, in a January review meeting, something hit me.

It's January!!

I zoned out as the thoughts came rushing in:
"March."
"New financial year."
"Gap in funding."
"Continuity."

And then I looked around. We're in the middle of so much.

Tasks to finish. Projects to submit. Audits underway.
Even with last-minute work, we are pushing hard to deliver.

January is heavy with reviews and audits.
February gets even more hectic.
And then comes March.

That familiar question returns every year.

How will I pay my employees in April?

Not because budgets aren't approved.

In many cases, budgets are finalised by February or March. Scopes are agreed upon. In most cases, contracts are already signed.

And yet, once the financial year closes, funding has to pause.

As per government rules, CSR funds have to be fully utilised by 31st March.

Even for continuing partnerships, contracts are typically structured year on year. And because of accounting procedures, compliance, and disbursal mechanics, the new year's funds often reach NGO accounts only in May.

Sometimes in June.

So approvals sit in the previous financial year, but the money arrives weeks later.

But do employees stop working in April?

No.

Work doesn't pause. Only the funding does.
And it's people, not spreadsheets, who absorb that gap.
This impacts everyone.

CSR teams are closing books, ensuring compliance, and finishing audits. NGOs are trying to keep teams paid and work uninterrupted. This isn't about intent or blame.

It's a system design issue.

Maybe it can be designed better.

Perhaps CSR funds meant for a financial year could be allowed to be utilised till May, while still being accounted for in March. Or continuing partners could receive an advance tranche once budgets are approved, so organisations don't start April practising financial yoga.

Impact doesn't reset on 31st March.
Impact shouldn't need financial yoga.

Pinkishe Foundation

09/04/2026

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