In a conversation spanning legacy, identity and activism, Mini Timmaraju reveals how embracing complexity has shaped her path—and why collective leadership is the future.
This piece is part of an ongoing series, “Redefining Power: How Indian American Women Are Rewriting the Rules of Leadership, Identity and Care.” The series explores what it means to modernize without losing our roots—through candid conversations with Indian American women reshaping culture, power and possibility.
“She got pregnant about 15 times—eight pregnancies, seven children. This was pre-contraception, back in India,” said Mini Timmaraju, president and CEO of Reproductive Freedom for All (formerly NARAL), about her am’mam’ma (maternal grandmother), her voice a blend of reverence and contemplation. “My mom was the only one of her siblings who had just one child: me. And then there’s me—I adopted both of my kids. It’s remarkable to consider how family planning has evolved within just three generations of women in my family.”
That progression—from a traditional Indian matriarch with multiple pregnancies, to a single-child household, to adoption—embodies Timmaraju’s approach to both personal and political autonomy. “And I want women today to have even more options,” she adds. Her commitment to reproductive rights is not merely professional; it is deeply personal, intricately woven into her family’s legacy.
As she reflected on this generational shift, I couldn’t help but think of my own family’s story. My mother is one of seven siblings, and my father, one of four—both born into large families in India. Once I asked my mom if she ever wished for more children, and her answer still lingers with me: “Maybe if we were in India. But it’s too hard to raise kids in this country.”
Postpartum care in India is incomparable. It’s not just medical care—it’s the communal support, the shared responsibility, the collective wisdom.
Mini Timmaraju
My mother’s sentiment resonates even more now, given the absence of childcare support, paid family leave and reproductive rights. The fact that she felt this way long before the Trump era is both prescient and, in some ways, disconcerting—a reminder that these challenges are not new, but enduring.
As my conversation with Timmaraju unfolded, we explored her childhood, her professional journey and the simplest yet most impactful action she believes Indian American women should take right now. It’s clear that Timmaraju’s story is not just about her own path, but about building pathways for others.
When I asked her about the number of Indian American women leading in politics or advocacy, her response is immediate, almost instinctive: “There are more of us than you see.”
The challenge, as Timmaraju sees it, isn’t that Indian American women lack interest in advocacy or leadership—it’s that we have no idea how to step into this work. Even as more Indian American women take on public-facing roles, many still feel isolated and disconnected from broader movements.
Pre-Trump, there was a discernible momentum among Indian American women entering advocacy spaces. But as immigration policy became more precarious and politically charged, that momentum waned. Now, fewer women are stepping confidently into the public sphere.
“That’s why it’s even more important that those of us who are in a position to pull others in, do so—actively creating pathways for engagement and leadership,” said Timmaraju. “Looking ahead, it’s crucial that we cultivate more intentional spaces for the next generation. The potential is immense, but it requires deliberate community-building and mentorship to truly harness it.”
Seeing people who looked like me doing important work made me believe I could do it too. That’s why it’s so important to shine a light on Indian women doing a wide range of things.
Timmaraju
Timmaraju doesn’t just speak about this philosophy—she embodies it. Throughout her career, she has actively tapped in several women to join her work, whether in advocacy, policy or grassroots organizing. “I can think of at least four women I personally tapped on the shoulder and said, ‘Come work for me.’”
But like many Indian American women of her generation, Timmaraju’s journey hasn’t come without conflicts—especially when it came to balancing modern aspirations with traditional expectations. I asked her whether her parents, who were so supportive of her education and career, also held traditional views about other parts of her life. She didn’t hesitate: “Oh, absolutely.”
She recounts how, after she graduated from law school, her father was adamant that it was time for her to get married. One day, frustrated at her reluctance, he placed a marriage ad in a community publication—a move that left her incensed when a cousin exposed him. “It might have been the biggest fight we ever had,” she admitted.
Timmaraju’s journey wasn’t just about being pulled up—it was also about appropriately pushing back. Even when those closest to her had expectations that clashed with her own ambitions, she remained steadfast. That tension between tradition and autonomy shaped her belief that women must not only be brought in, but also be allowed to redefine the spaces they enter.
One of the most striking moments in our conversation was when Timmaraju reflected on how, despite her modern career path and public-facing leadership, she remains, at her core, culturally grounded. When I asked Timmaraju what cultural values she still practices or holds close to her heart, she told me a story.
When her father fell seriously ill, Timmaraju didn’t hesitate to move her parents in with her. At the time, she was in the middle of a major campaign—one that would have been a pivotal professional opportunity. But for Timmaraju, family came first. “I took a step back from the campaign because, in the end, taking care of my parents was my priority,” she said. “That’s just who I am. My parents often worried I was becoming too American,” she said with a laugh. “But it turns out, I’m pretty traditional after all.”
For Timmaraju, it wasn’t just about being there emotionally—it was about being proactive in every way. “I tapped into every resource I could find,” she said. “Doctors, caretakers, specialists—I wanted to make sure my dad had the best care possible. To me, that’s just an extension of how I was raised. Use your resources, take care of your family and community.”
This mindset reflects Timmaraju’s lifelong approach to leadership—being intentional, resourceful and community-driven. “I’ve always been a seeker of resources,” she said. “Even in college, I remember thinking: If America is this place of endless opportunities, why wouldn’t I take advantage of every resource available to help me thrive?” She shared how, during her college years, she felt overwhelmed at times and instead of struggling alone, she sought out a therapist. “That’s the mentality I grew up with—finding the right people to help you through,” she said.
Her leadership at Reproductive Freedom for All exemplifies this mindset. Her vision for the organization goes beyond merely defending reproductive rights—it’s about creating a sustainable pipeline of women leaders. “We don’t just need more women at the top—we need women at every level to feel empowered,” said Timmaraju.
One of the most effective tools for change, she said, is direct, personal outreach. It’s not enough to lead by example and hope people are following along. Leaders must actively identify potential in others and offer encouragement. “If you see someone who has potential, say something. Tell them. Invite them. We’re not just waiting for the next generation to show up—we’re pulling them in.”
And she’s right. Indian women know how to make the first move—and trust me, the community is enveloped with trust. After all, everyone is a cousin, an auntie, or at the very least, so-and-so’s daughter. We are the generation that watched our immigrant parents board countless students, refugees and migrants. As children, we were watching and we noted. That sense of familial familiarity works. Instead of waiting for women to come knocking for a job or advice, be the one to unleash the talent you see in others.
This perspective resonates deeply with me, especially considering my own work with the Center for Reproductive Rights. Last year, I saw a pro-choice Instagram post from a yoga instructor I followed. On a whim, I reached out and asked if she’d like to hear more about the Center. To my surprise, she responded immediately with an enthusiastic yes. After just a few conversations, she candidly shared her curiosity: “I want to learn how this world works. What does it mean to be a donor? How do I fundraise? What’s the best way for me to use my platform?” They were honest, direct questions, and I was genuinely glad to share my experiences. Long story short, she’s now an advocate, helping amplify our work—even though she typically gets paid for similar opportunities.
People often underestimate the fulfillment that comes from bringing others into meaningful spaces. Sharing this story with Timmaraju, I can see the recognition in her expression—like she knows exactly what it feels like to watch someone’s potential unfold, just because you took the time to tap someone in. “That’s exactly the mindset we need,” she said.
When I asked Timmaraju where her mindset comes from, she paused, as if gathering her thoughts. She shared a story about her father, who passed away a few years ago. Someone reached out after the funeral via email and said, “Your dad was so generous. He paid for my daughter’s schooling.”
Timmaraju was taken aback at first—surprised that her father, who was never wealthy, had quietly helped someone else’s family. But as she let the memory sink in, it made sense. “That’s exactly who he was,” she said. “He always believed in dharma—this profound sense of duty to others. Look, we weren’t rich, but we had more than some. So in the end, it doesn’t surprise me at all that he did this without any fanfare.”
Listening to Timmaraju reflect on her father’s quiet generosity, I started to see a pattern. It’s not just his influence—her mother’s choices echo the same ethos of intentional care. Whether it’s paying for a stranger’s education or making decisions about family well-being, Timmaraju’s parents modeled a sense of responsibility to others that transcended their own needs.
When Timmaraju’s mother became pregnant while living in the United States, her parents made the intentional choice to return to India for the birth. At first, this decision seemed surprising to Timmaraju, especially given that they already established themselves in America. But her mother knew what the U.S. couldn’t offer: a village of support during the postpartum period.
“They went back because postpartum care in India is incomparable,” said Timmaraju. “It’s not just medical care—it’s the communal support, the shared responsibility, the collective wisdom. My mom knew she would have a village around her.”
It’s only now, looking back as an adult, that Timmaraju fully appreciates their foresight. “My parents were wiser than I gave them credit for as a teenager. I look back at all those summers they ‘made’ me go to India while I was throwing fits about wanting to stay here to attend summer camps with my friends. They knew what America could give us, but they also knew what it couldn’t. They understood that maintaining our cultural roots wasn’t just a sentimental gesture—it was an essential part of identity and belonging.”
In the same way that her mother ensured she would be surrounded by caretakers, Timmaraju believes that women in leadership must create spaces where others feel nurtured and encouraged to grow. “We need to build our own villages—not just for family, but for career and leadership, too,” she said. “We shouldn’t do it alone.”
Timmaraju’s upbringing taught her to see possibility in choices. Growing up, she was surrounded by both men and women pursuing a wide range of careers—from engineers and doctors to finance professionals, politicians and civic leaders.
It’s crucial that we cultivate more intentional spaces for the next generation. … If you see someone who has potential, say something. Tell them. Invite them. We’re not just waiting for the next generation to show up—we’re pulling them in.
Timmaraju
Timmaraju shared that her maternal uncle was a major labor organizer in India and her aunt has her own Wikipedia page for her work as a feminist writer and publisher. This exposure shaped Timmaraju’s perception of what was possible. “I recognize I was lucky to witness this,” she said. “Seeing people who looked like me doing important work made me believe I could do it too. That’s why it’s so important to shine a light on Indian women doing a wide range of things. If you don’t know this by now—I’m all for choices—whether it’s advocacy, medicine, engineering or the arts. Visibility matters.”
As we discussed more about this, I noticed Timmaraju’s energy change. It’s clear her focus on tapping in feels urgent. As Indian American women continue to break barriers, there remains a gap between visibility and sustained representation. To close that gap, those who have the protections of citizenship and are in positions of influence must actively reach back.
“There’s no shortage of talented women who want to get involved,” said Timmaraju. “But sometimes they just don’t know how or where to start. If you’re already in the space, it’s your job to tell someone else, ‘Come with me. Let’s do this together.”
Mini Timmaraju’s story is not just one of personal success but of intentional leadership. She doesn’t just rise—she brings others with her. This ethos of tapping in challenges Indian American women to move from individual achievement to collective empowerment.
As Indian American women continue to navigate the evolving landscape of leadership, Timmaraju’s call to ‘tap in’ more talent, is more than just a suggestion—it’s a mandate. In a world that too often rewards solitary success, she’s redefining leadership as a communal effort. Real change doesn’t just happen when one person breaks through. It happens when many do.
