Lakshmi Chilukuri < Tested & Working >

The results have been startling: 94% of Sankalp Fellows break the cycle of intergenerational poverty within five years. But Chilukuri is prouder of the less quantifiable outcome: “They don’t leave their identities at the door. They become the people who can write a grant proposal and explain it to their grandmother in her mother tongue.” In a philanthropic world often driven by tax-efficient check-writing, Chilukuri is an irritant. She has publicly criticized “tarmac philanthropy”—wealthy donors who fly into a village, take a photo, and leave. She advocates for term-limited funding (forcing organizations to become sustainable) and insists on board seats for the very communities being served.

“That’s when I realized,” she told me over Zoom, her bookshelf lined with both Python manuals and Telugu poetry, “inequality isn’t a resource problem. It’s a network problem.” What sets Chilukuri apart from typical philanthropists or activists is her insistence on measurable dignity . She rejects both the savior complex of charity and the cold efficiency of pure metrics. lakshmi chilukuri

And she has a secret weapon: her 70-year-old mother, who volunteers as the fellowship’s “chief encouragement officer,” calling each new cohort on their first day to say in Telugu, “Nuvvu cheyagalavu” — You can do it. Chilukuri is currently scaling Sankalp across three countries, but she refuses to call it expansion. “That sounds like extraction,” she says. “We’re deepening. We’re asking: what does a support system look like that lasts 20 years, not 20 months?” The results have been startling: 94% of Sankalp

After a conventional start in management consulting, Chilukuri had what she calls her “unraveling moment.” While volunteering at a low-income high school in Atlanta, she noticed a pattern: brilliant first-generation students had ambition but no maps. They didn’t lack talent. They lacked navigation. It’s a network problem

The results have been startling: 94% of Sankalp Fellows break the cycle of intergenerational poverty within five years. But Chilukuri is prouder of the less quantifiable outcome: “They don’t leave their identities at the door. They become the people who can write a grant proposal and explain it to their grandmother in her mother tongue.” In a philanthropic world often driven by tax-efficient check-writing, Chilukuri is an irritant. She has publicly criticized “tarmac philanthropy”—wealthy donors who fly into a village, take a photo, and leave. She advocates for term-limited funding (forcing organizations to become sustainable) and insists on board seats for the very communities being served.

“That’s when I realized,” she told me over Zoom, her bookshelf lined with both Python manuals and Telugu poetry, “inequality isn’t a resource problem. It’s a network problem.” What sets Chilukuri apart from typical philanthropists or activists is her insistence on measurable dignity . She rejects both the savior complex of charity and the cold efficiency of pure metrics.

And she has a secret weapon: her 70-year-old mother, who volunteers as the fellowship’s “chief encouragement officer,” calling each new cohort on their first day to say in Telugu, “Nuvvu cheyagalavu” — You can do it. Chilukuri is currently scaling Sankalp across three countries, but she refuses to call it expansion. “That sounds like extraction,” she says. “We’re deepening. We’re asking: what does a support system look like that lasts 20 years, not 20 months?”

After a conventional start in management consulting, Chilukuri had what she calls her “unraveling moment.” While volunteering at a low-income high school in Atlanta, she noticed a pattern: brilliant first-generation students had ambition but no maps. They didn’t lack talent. They lacked navigation.