Month and Year: July 1985 Liquid Capital: Rs.
27,000
Early July marked the beginning of my college life at Loyola.
The sprawling campus was a hive of activity, filled with students from various elite families, political backgrounds, and intellectual circles across South India.
I blended in seamlessly, playing the role of a bright, hardworking student from a humble background.
I attended my classes diligently.
The B.Com curriculum in the 1980s was heavy on manual accounting standards, mercantile law, and classical economic theory.
During lectures on corporate finance, while my classmates struggled with the concepts of weighted average cost of capital and deferred tax liabilities, I absorbed the material effortlessly.
My photographic memory meant I only had to read a textbook once to recite it verbatim.
Within the first two weeks, I had highly impressed my professors.
During a complex debate in our Mercantile Law class regarding the Companies Act of 1956 and the limits of corporate liability, I cited case laws and precedents with such precision that Professor Swaminathan, a veteran chartered accountant, paused his lecture.
“Mr. Kumar,” Professor Swaminathan said, adjusting his glasses.
“Where did you learn to interpret corporate litigation so fluidly?”
“I read widely, Sir,” I replied politely.
“And I try to follow the practical applications of the law in the financial newspapers.”
I became highly regarded by the faculty, which was a calculated move.
Academic backing provides credibility, which is essential when a seventeen-year-old boy starts making massive financial moves.
I also began building my network among my peers, identifying those whose families owned transport fleets, manufacturing units, or held political influence.
I didn’t push for deep friendships yet; I merely planted the seeds of acquaintance, establishing myself as the smartest guy in the room whom they could always come to for help with assignments.
Meanwhile, my after-college hours in Sowcarpet were evolving.
He realized my analytical skills were far superior to his own.
To execute our Badla trades and handle the physical delivery of share certificates, Rajesh acted as a sub-broker.
The actual trades had to be routed through registered members of the Madras Stock Exchange (MSE).
The MSE, located on Second Line Beach Road (near Parry’s Corner), was one of the oldest stock exchanges in India, alongside Bombay and Calcutta.
Rajesh introduced me to his connections at the legacy brokerage firms.
These were old-money institutions, heavily respected in the Southern markets.
Firms like Paterson & Co., Venkataraman & Co., and Kothari & Sons dominated the institutional and high-net-worth trading in Chennai.
One evening, Rajesh took me to the office of Mr. Natarajan, a senior partner at kothari & sons, one of these legacy firms.
The office smelled of old paper, filter coffee, and cigarette smoke.
A massive chalk board on the wall displayed the day’s closing prices, updated manually by clerks.
“Natarajan sir,” Rajesh said respectfully.
“This is my accountant, Vijay. He is the one who analyzed the Reliance F-Series data.”
Natarajan, a man in his fifties wearing a crisp white veshti and shirt, looked at me skeptically.
“A boy? You trust a boy with a seventy-five thousand rupee margin trade?”
“Ask him anything, Sir,” Rajesh said confidently.
Natarajan leaned forward.
“Alright, boy. Everyone is buying Reliance, but what about the cement sector? The government introduced partial decontrol of cement prices a few years ago. What’s your play?” You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
I didn’t miss a beat.
“Sir, the dual pricing policy of 1982 allowed cement companies to sell 33.3% of their capacity in the open market, which was a game changer. However, freight equalization still hurts southern manufacturers. If you look at India Cements or Madras Cements, their operational margins are expanding due to modernization of their kilns to the dry process, but the stock prices haven’t fully priced in the capacity expansions coming online in 1986. They are undervalued by at least 20% on a discounted cash flow basis.”
Natarajan’s skepticism vanished, replaced by profound shock.
The level of sector-specific macroeconomic knowledge, combined with technical valuation metrics, was something he only expected from seasoned institutional fund managers in Bombay, not a seventeen-year-old in Chennai.
“Rajesh,” Natarajan said slowly, not taking his eyes off me.
“Pay this boy whatever he wants. And Vijay… if you ever need a direct line to the trading floor, you call me.”
I smiled and folded my hands in respect.
“Thank you, Sir. I will.”
Through sheer brilliance and meticulous preparation, I was building a web of high-level financial contacts.
My Reliance position was holding steady, my cash reserves were secure, and my reputation was growing.
The empire was taking shape.
Month End Financial Summary (July 1985):
● Liquid Capital: Rs.
27,000
● Stock Assets: Reliance Debentures (Rs. 75,000 exposure)
● Liabilities: Rs.
50,000 (Badla Margin Debt)
● Net Worth: Approx Rs.
52,000 (Excluding minor salary and newspaper delivery income used for daily expenses).