I wasn’t born a writer. I was born a curious, introverted boy in Rajasthan, raised in the heartbeat of Chennai. While others played with cricket bats, I played with lab kits. I had a microscope on my table and a dream in my chest. My room was a science museum, my terrace a place of wonder where sunlight, magnifying glasses, and fire taught me how energy moves. But even then, I didn’t chase science—I walked into commerce. I didn’t follow formulas—I followed instinct. I once thought I’d build machines, but life had other plans.

At 19, I started my first company—a distributor for Surya Lighting. I was ambitious, eager, and ready to take on the world. But when that business shut down, I was thrown into a quiet storm. I entered my father’s socks manufacturing business, not with confidence, but with humility. I called it Kolors. And while I learned how to build a brand from scratch, I never let go of my inner world—the journaling, the books, the voice within.

Writing wasn’t a career. It was my confession booth, my sacred space. I didn’t write because I had the perfect words—I wrote because I had to let something out. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like I’m the one writing. It’s as if Lord Shiva himself is whispering through my fingertips. And that realization didn’t come from any spiritual book. It came on a cold Maha Shivratri night.

My wife was in the hospital, overdue with our first child. I stood outside, under the stars, in a hospital parking lot, crying silently. I folded my hands and prayed—not like a devotee, but like a son calling his Father. "If You’re real… if You’re with me… please bless me with a son. And I’ll be Yours forever." That night, something shifted. Something opened. My son was born—and so was my surrender.

From that day, my life became a blend of devotion and discipline. I wake early. I train my body. I feed my mind. And I sit in stillness with Shiva. Not because I have it all figured out—but because I know I never will. I still battle with bad habits that don't serve me. I still carry wounds from past failures. But now, I face them. I don’t run—I reflect. I don’t numb—I write.

Alongside running Kolors Socks, I also serve as a content writer in my close friend’s advertising and marketing company. It’s a space where I channel my creativity into helping others build their brand voice—and somehow, that too has become a form of seva, a service to the world through words.

If you’re reading this, I want you to know—you’re not alone. We’re all just walking each other home. I don’t have all the answers. But what I do have is my story. My scars. My silence. My fire. And I share them here, with full heart, hoping it reaches someone who needs it.

I believe we are all meant to rise beyond our patterns. That this life is not about collecting things, but shedding what isn’t real. We came empty. We’ll leave empty. The only thing we carry is how deeply we loved, how truthfully we lived, and how humbly we walked.

So to you—my reader, my fellow traveler, my reflection—I say this: Live with purpose, not pride. Stand in fire, but don't lose your soul. Bow often. Rise stronger. Keep walking.

Har Har Mahadev 🔱