Not everyone is a topper. And even those who are don’t always get the freedom to pursue everything they want. I don’t say this to disrespect anyone—it’s just what I’ve come to believe: marks don’t measure the spectrum of human possibility.
I remember Class 8. The day I got my F in Mathematics is etched in my mind. I had to give a retest. The report card felt heavier than bricks, and the silent judgment of teachers and classmates clung to me longer than any lesson ever could. That day, failure didn’t teach me a lesson—it tried to define me. And for a while, I let it. This boy won’t go far, I told myself.
Then came April 2025. I uploaded my first video. I thought it might get a few eyes, maybe a little encouragement. What I got instead was laughter. Doubt. Even my friends shared the video, not to support me, but to watch me stumble from afar.
It stung. A lot. But it didn’t stop me. I realized something that month: when the world laughs, that’s the exact moment you need to fight the hardest.
In May, a small incident shook me in a different way. A younger child used slangs, I reacted badly, and the situation escalated. The parents were called. I was dragged to the principal’s office. I felt disrespected, misunderstood, and cornered. Walking out of that room, I felt smaller on the outside—but heavier on the inside.
That day, I learned a harsh truth: the world doesn’t pause to understand context. It only sees actions. Dignity isn’t given. It’s rebuilt.
So I stopped explaining. And I started writing.
I poured my anger, my doubts, and my restless energy into words. Blogs first, then ideas for a book. Nights blurred into mornings. Thoughts tangled and unraveled. By September, my book was finished. By October, it was published.
I didn’t expect anything. It was just my story—raw, messy, unfinished. But two months later, reality shifted. The book crossed 1,000+ ratings and reviews worldwide. It went Top 5 globally. People I’d never meet, in countries I’d never visit, connected with a story that was just about me trying, failing, and continuing.
That’s when I realized: truth travels farther than strategy, and authenticity louder than noise.
I documented everything—not to boast, but to remind myself that persistence matters more than praise.
In December, an email from IIT Bombay arrived. Their E-Summit for content creators and entrepreneurs. I applied. I wasn’t selected. Another heartbreak.
But I didn’t quit. I went anyway.
Walking into IIT Bombay E-Summit 2025, I saw people who seemed to have it all—height, confidence, charm, validation. And me? I had none of it. All I had was belief, discipline, and consistency. And for the first time, that felt enough.
I didn’t go to impress. I went to prove something to myself. That beginnings don’t define endings. That consistency outlasts talent. That someone with nothing can still stand and be heard.
There are parts of this journey I haven’t shared yet. Stories of late nights, small wins, and even bigger failures. One day, I’ll tell them—when even the Pope could listen without getting bored.
For now, I’m still building.
Today is for becoming.
Tomorrow is for telling.
Because I didn’t start with everything.
I started with nothing.
And nothing—when pursued with belief and consistency—doesn’t stay nothing for long. It becomes a signature.
