Thestory.
The first thing anyone paid me for was marketing. ₹500, three months, I was 16. I freelanced after that and the money got real. Then I noticed I was getting better at earning and not at building. So I stopped.
At 17 I left home for a college on the other side of the country, in a state where I didn't speak the language. I picked it for that reason. Nothing there was handled for me. I had to talk to strangers to get anything done.
College happened around the building, not the other way around. Somewhere in there I interned, worked full-time, ran a business of my own, won hackathons, started companies, all stacked on top of classes. I've slept through exams I should have taken and events I wanted to attend because I coded till sunrise. I've been broke with a cracked mac screen, still shipping.
When I go quiet, it's not rest. It's cooking season.
The pattern, honestly: I put myself somewhere I don't belong and let it change me. Comfort is the thing that's always made me worse. Right now that somewhere is Bengaluru. Most nights, still up, building.
