ELLE Digital Cover Star: Harnaaz Sandhu On Beauty, Balance And Life Beyond The Crown

The world first saw Harnaaz Sandhu beneath stage lights — poised, glittering, impossible to ignore. The choreography of perfection came easily: the practised smile, the faultless walk, the crown that sat like punctuation on a fairytale. But when the spotlight dimmed and the applause dissolved into memory, what remained was a quieter reckoning. What happens to a woman when the world stops clapping?

At twenty-one, Sandhu had conquered a dream most people only ever imagine. The Miss Universe crown brought fame, but also a silence that lingered behind the noise. “Miss Universe was a milestone, not a finish line,” she says. “Pageantry gave me confidence, but cinema is teaching me to surrender.” The difference, she explains, lies between learning how to be seen and learning how to feel.

Her understanding of strength was never borrowed from glamour. It was shaped in Punjab’s heat, in small clinics where her mother — a gynaecologist — treated women who had walked miles for medical help. “My mother taught me that confidence doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from purpose,” she says. Sandhu still remembers the women who arrived with little but carried themselves with immense dignity — quiet, resilient, and unforgettable.

That early exposure to courage shaped her long before the spotlight found her. As a teenager, she went door to door teaching menstrual hygiene and waste management. What began as a school project became her first lesson in advocacy. “It taught me that impact begins with one conversation across a doorway,” she recalls. Years later, when she launched her menstrual equity initiative with Plan India, it felt less like a campaign and more like coming home. “Advocacy isn’t about comfort. It’s about courage.”

In hindsight, she no longer sees the crown as a burden, but as a mirror. It forced her to confront her identity, her voice, and her relationship with her body. The scrutiny was constant; the pressure, invisible yet immense. Behind the glamour, she learned to anchor herself through small, private rituals — journalling, meditation, reflection. “For me, reflection is grounding,” she says. “You can’t hear yourself if there’s too much noise around you.”

Fame brought its own kind of storm. For someone whose image had been built on composure, public life became an endurance test. The conversation about her body grew merciless; every photograph, every post, a target. “I went through bullying and body shaming because of my weight,” she says. “It really hurt — but it made me stronger.” She speaks of it now without anger, only clarity.

Her decision to talk about that experience changed the narrative. In a world where women are expected to absorb criticism gracefully, Sandhu’s refusal to conform felt quietly radical. She turned vulnerability into strength and replaced apology with assurance. Slowly, the world that once scrutinised her began to listen.

That honesty makes her shift to cinema feel inevitable. Acting, she believes, allows her to rediscover emotion as a form of power. Pageantry taught her to communicate strength through composure; cinema lets her explore truth through vulnerability. This, she insists, is not reinvention but remembrance. On set, she is no longer Miss Universe — she is a student again, curious and unguarded. “I’m forever curious about people, emotions, art — everything,” she says.

The move from runways to film sets has softened her relationship with ambition. There is less rush and more rhythm. “I’ve learned to value process over outcome,” she says. “In pageants, everything is rehearsed. In acting, everything is discovered.” For someone who once embodied perfection, she now gravitates toward what’s imperfect and real. She no longer seeks to impress; she seeks to understand. “For a long time, I tried to meet everyone’s expectations until I realised that the only gaze that truly matters is your own,” she says. “Self-worth isn’t about applause — it’s about choosing yourself.”

At twenty-four, Harnaaz Sandhu is learning that stillness can be its own form of power. The woman who once walked the world’s biggest stages now stands still with quiet confidence. “I want to represent not just beauty, but balance,” she says. “Strength with softness, ambition with empathy.”

Perhaps that is the real legacy of her crown. The title made her visible — but the years after it made her real.

Editorial Director: Ainee Nizami Ahmedi; Photographer: Taras Taraporevala; Fashion Editor: Shaeroy Chinoy; Asst. Art Director: Alekha Chugani; HMUA: Elton J Fernandez, rep by Inega; Words by: Manasvi Pote; Bookings Editor: Rishith Shetty; Assisted by: Idris Nidham, Anshu Sheth (styling), Sharayu Karalkar (bookings).