Month: January, Year: 1985
When I returned home to our small house in Mylapore, I emptied my pockets and counted my meager personal savings.
The total liquid capital amounted to exactly one hundred and twenty rupees (INR 120 / approx. USD 10).
It was a humbling sum, barely enough to buy a few textbooks and notebooks, let alone finance a business empire.
That evening, as we sat down for a simple dinner of rice and dal, I brought up the subject of taking on part-time work with my parents.
My father immediately frowned, setting his steel tumbler down with a firm clatter.
He argued that with the crucial 12th-grade public examinations just four months away, my sole focus should be on studying.
My mother nodded in worried agreement, pointing out that our family could somehow manage our financial struggles as we always had.
I calmly reassured them, speaking with a quiet, unshakeable confidence that made my parents pause.
I reminded them of my consistent academic record as a top-tier student in school and promised solemnly that my board exam scores would not suffer by even a single mark.
Because of my photographic memory, studying required a fraction of the time it took normal students; I could absorb entire textbook chapters in minutes.
Reluctantly, my parents gave their permission.
Determined to build physical discipline alongside my financial ascent, I committed to waking up at 4:00 AM every single day.
The very next morning, I visited a local newspaper distribution agency in Mylapore.
Leveraging my lifelong familiarity with the neighborhood lanes, I secured a morning delivery job distributing roughly one hundred copies of regional dailies, earning a steady monthly salary of one hundred and fifty rupees (INR 150 / approx. USD 12.50).
Pedaling my father’s heavy, rusting Atlas bicycle through the cool, predawn mist of Chennai, I completed my delivery quota in two and a half hours, building a robust physical routine that cleared my mind for the intense economic plotting ahead.
After finishing my morning route, I returned home, freshened up, and prepared for school.
Karthik and I attended the prestigious P.S.
Higher Secondary School in Mylapore—an institution with a proud, historic legacy of academic excellence and affordable education founded by the P.S.
Educational Charities.
Walking through its traditional stone archways, I reflected on the school’s storied history of producing scholars, jurists, and leaders.
While teachers delivered lectures on physics, chemistry, and mathematics, my mind operated on a dual track, reviewing global financial instruments and plotting my entry into the commercial heart of Chennai.
After school hours concluded, instead of lingering with classmates, I immediately set my sights on the next phase of my capital acquisition strategy.
I informed my mother that I was heading to Sowcarpet to look for a part-time accounting position.
Sowcarpet was legendary across Tamil Nadu—a dense, bustling labyrinth of narrow mercantile streets dominated by Marwari and Gujarati merchant communities who controlled wholesale trade, bullion markets, and informal credit networks throughout South India.
Walking through the vibrant, crowded alleys filled with textile bales, spice sacks, and bustling traders, I knew this was where I would find my first real financial foothold.
My target was clear: to infiltrate the inner sanctum of traditional merchant bookkeeping, master the complex badla leverage system, and turn my meager savings into an unstoppable avalanche of wealth.