The afternoon sun was brutal as Arjun stood outside Kendriya Vidyalaya, waiting with dozens of other guardians — mostly mothers in cotton sarees, a few fathers who had managed to escape office, and several drivers holding placards with students' names. The school gates would open at exactly 2:30 PM, not a minute before.
Arjun used the time to observe. Across the street, he noticed things he had missed in the morning — a small STD/ISD booth that also offered photocopying services, a property dealer's office with handwritten listings pasted on the window, and most importantly, a coaching center that seemed to be preparing for expansion, with construction materials piled outside.
At 2:30 sharp, the gates opened and students poured out like water from a burst dam. Arjun spotted Priya in the crowd — her face was drawn, her uniform slightly disheveled, and she was walking alone while other students moved in chattering groups.
"Priya!" he called out.
Her face lit up when she saw him. She practically ran to him, something she wouldn't normally do in public.
"Kaisa tha first day?" How was the first day?
"Theek tha," she said, but her eyes said otherwise. It was okay.
Arjun knew that "theek tha" from a teenager meant anything but okay. He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked.
"Auto?" he asked.
"Can we walk for a bit? The flat is only twenty minutes away."
They walked in silence for a few minutes before Priya spoke.
"The girls here are different, Bhaiya. They all know each other from before. They talk about things I don't understand — which markets their mothers shop in, which coaching classes they attended, whose father has what government job. One girl asked me what Papa does. When I said MSEB clerk, she laughed and said 'Oh, bijli ka bill collect karte hain?'" Oh, he collects electricity bills?
Arjun's jaw tightened. The casual cruelty of class consciousness in Indian schools was something he had forgotten.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. What could I say? It's true, isn't it?"
"Listen to me," Arjun stopped walking and turned to face her. "Papa works an honest job. He's never taken a bribe, never stolen anything, never compromised his integrity. That's more than most of these girls' fathers can say. Their government officer fathers with their black money and under-the-table dealings — they're the real clerks. Papa is a warrior."
Priya looked at him with surprise. "Since when did you become so philosophical?"
"Since I realized what's important. Now, tell me about academics. How were the teachers?"
"Math teacher is good. Science is okay. But the Hindi teacher..." she trailed off.
"What about the Hindi teacher?"
"She made fun of my accent. Said I speak Hindi like a Mumbaikar trying to sound sophisticated. The whole class laughed."
Arjun felt rage surge through him — not the hot rage of youth, but the cold, calculating rage of a man who had seen too much.
"What's her name?"
"Mrs. Sharma. Bhaiya, don't do anything stupid."
"I won't. But nobody makes fun of my sister. Nobody."
They reached their flat. Their mother was packing — she would leave for Mumbai tomorrow morning on the Rajdhani Express. The kitchen was full of prepared food she had cooked in advance — enough to last them a week if properly refrigerated.
"Kaise tha college?" Sunita asked Arjun while serving them lunch. How was college?
"Good, Maa. Made some friends, understood the system."
"Aur tu, Priya? School kaisa laga?" And you, Priya? How did you like school?
"Achha hai, Maa. Bahut achha." It's good, Mom. Very good.
Arjun caught Priya's eye and gave her a small nod. No need to worry their mother on her last day here.
After lunch, while their mother took her afternoon rest, Arjun pulled Priya aside.
"I need to go out for some work. Will you be okay?"
"What work?"
"Something that will change our lives. Trust me."
"You're being very mysterious today."
"I'll explain everything soon. For now, just focus on your studies. And remember — those girls who laughed at you today? In five years, they'll be begging for your attention."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because your brother is going to become the richest man in India, and you're going to be the princess of an empire."
Priya laughed. "Did you hit your head at college? You're talking like those serial heroes on Star Plus."
"Just wait and watch."
Arjun changed into his best shirt — the blue one his mother had bought from Fashion Street in Mumbai — and headed out. His destination: Mukherjee Nagar, Delhi's coaching capital.
The journey from Rohini to Mukherjee Nagar took forty minutes by bus. As the DTC bus lurched through Delhi traffic, Arjun reviewed his plan. He needed to establish himself as a premium tutor, not just another engineering student trying to make pocket money. He had the knowledge — forty years of reading, understanding, and most importantly, knowing exactly which concepts students struggled with.
Mukherjee Nagar was chaos incarnate. Every building was a coaching institute, every wall was covered with posters of successful students, every street corner had a photocopy shop or a book vendor. Students wandered in groups, carrying enormous bags filled with study material, their faces showing the unique combination of determination and desperation that characterized competitive exam aspirants.
Kailash Tutorials was on the third floor of a building that had seen better days. The stairs were narrow and dark, the walls covered with graffiti of chemical formulas and mathematical equations — the desperate last-minute revisions of countless students.
The reception was a small desk manned by a bored-looking woman in her forties.
"Yes?"
"I'm here about the tutor position. I called earlier." He hadn't, but confidence was everything.
"Mr. Kailash is in his office. Second door on the right."
Mr. Kailash turned out to be a small, energetic man with thick glasses and the manic energy of someone who had drunk too much chai.
"You're very young," was his first observation.
"I'm a DCE student. First year."
"First year? And you think you can teach IIT-JEE? Do you even remember the syllabus?"
This was the crucial moment. Arjun had prepared for this.
"Ask me anything. Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics. Any topic, any level."
Mr. Kailash's eyes narrowed. He pulled out a thick book — Irodov's Problems in General Physics, the nightmare of every JEE aspirant.
"Problem 3.47. Electromagnetic induction. Solve it."
Arjun took the book, glanced at the problem, and smiled. He had solved this exact problem thirty years ago, and the solution had stayed with him because of its elegance.
He picked up a marker and began writing on the whiteboard, explaining each step as he went. Not just the mathematical solution, but the physical intuition behind it, the common mistakes students made, and three alternative approaches to the same problem.
Mr. Kailash watched in silence. When Arjun finished, he said, "Try this one," and pulled out another book — Morrison and Boyd, Organic Chemistry.
For the next hour, Mr. Kailash threw increasingly difficult problems at Arjun. Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics, ranging from basic JEE Main level to advanced Olympiad problems. Arjun solved them all, not mechanically, but with the kind of deep understanding that came from years of contemplation.
"How?" Mr. Kailash finally asked. "You're first year DCE. This is... this is IIT professor level understanding."
"I've been passionate about these subjects since childhood," Arjun lied smoothly. "I read beyond the syllabus, solve problems for fun. Teaching is my way of sharing that passion."
"I can offer you ₹500 per hour for regular batches. But..." Mr. Kailash paused, "I have a special proposition. I have three students — children of bureaucrats and businessmen. They need exclusive, one-on-one tutoring. They're weak students but their parents have money. They're willing to pay ₹2,000 per hour for the right tutor. Interested?"
Arjun's heart raced but he kept his face calm. "When do I start?"
"Tomorrow evening, if you're ready. 5 PM. Can you handle three hours straight? Different students, back to back?"
"Yes."
"That's ₹6,000 for three hours. Per day. Six days a week. That's..."
"₹1,44,000 per month," Arjun completed.
Mr. Kailash smiled. "You really are good at math. But these are VIP kids. They're spoiled, unfocused, and their parents expect miracles. The last tutor quit after a week."
"I don't quit."
"We'll see. Be here tomorrow at 4:45 PM sharp. Dress well. These parents judge everything."
Arjun left Kailash Tutorials with his mind spinning. ₹1,44,000 per month. More than his father made in eight months. It was a start — just a start, but enough to begin building his empire.
As he walked through Mukherjee Nagar, he noticed a small internet café — "Cyber World" — advertising broadband at ₹15 per hour. He went in.
The café was cramped, with ten computers separated by wooden partitions that offered minimal privacy. Half were occupied by students watching YouTube videos or chatting on Yahoo Messenger.
Arjun took a corner computer and began his real work. First, he created a Gmail account — [email protected]. Then he began researching:
Demat Account Opening Process (2005):
Minimum age: 18 (Problem: He was still 17, birthday in September)
Documents: PAN card, address proof, bank account
Initial deposit: ₹500 minimum with ICICI Securities
Upcoming IPOs (2005-2006):
Yes Bank (June 2005) - Already happened
Suzlon Energy (September 2005) - Coming soon
GMR Infrastructure (2006)
Punj Lloyd (2006)
Property Rates (Delhi, July 2005):
Rohini: ₹3,000-4,000 per sq ft
Dwarka: ₹2,500-3,500 per sq ft
Gurgaon: ₹2,000-3,000 per sq ft
Noida: ₹1,800-2,500 per sq ft
He knew Gurgaon would explode. By 2015, those same properties would be worth ₹15,000-20,000 per sq ft. If he could somehow buy even a small plot...
"Fifteen minutes more?" the café owner asked.
Arjun nodded and paid another ₹15.
He navigated to international markets. Google was trading at $280. In his timeline, it would reach $2,800 by 2021. Apple was at $35, would hit $180 by 2021 pre-split. But investing in US stocks from India in 2005 was nearly impossible for individuals.
Unless...
He searched for "Liberalized Remittance Scheme RBI." Yes, it existed. Indians could remit up to $25,000 per financial year for any purpose. But he needed to be 18, have tax returns, have significant bank balance...
Everything came back to the same problem: he needed more money, faster.
His hour was up. As he left the café, his mind was calculating furiously.
₹6,000 per day from tutoring.
Working capital by month's end: ₹1,44,000.
Suzlon IPO in September — if he could invest ₹1 lakh...
Return by 2008: ₹13 lakhs.
It was a start. But he needed to think bigger. Much bigger.
He reached home by 7 PM. His mother had prepared dinner early — dal, rice, bhindi, and chapati. Simple food that tasted like heaven because it was made with love.
"Maa," he said during dinner, "I got a job."
Sunita's spoon paused midway. "Job? Abhi toh college shuru hua hai." College has just started.
"Tutoring job. Evening mein. It won't affect studies."
"Kitne paise?" How much money?
"₹500 per hour."
His mother's eyes widened. "Pandrah sau?" Five hundred?
"Yes."
"But beta, your studies..."
"Maa, trust me. I can handle both. This money... we need it. For Priya's education, for Baba's health, for our future."
Sunita's eyes filled with tears. "Tum bahut bade ho gaye ho, Arjun." You've grown up so much, Arjun.
That night, as his mother slept in the bedroom and Priya slept on her mattress in the hall, Arjun stood at the small window looking out at the Delhi night. Somewhere out there, in Bangalore, Infosys engineers were writing code that would power the world. In California, Steve Jobs was preparing to revolutionize mobile phones. In Beijing, Jack Ma was building Alibaba.
And here in a small flat in Rohini, a seventeen-year-old with the memories of a sixty-seven-year-old was preparing to build an empire that would dwarf them all.
Tomorrow, his mother would leave for Mumbai. His real work would begin. The tutoring was just seed capital. What came next would shake the foundations of Indian business.
He pulled out his notebook and began writing:
Phase 1 Execution Timeline:
July 19: Start tutoring (₹6,000/day)
July 31: Open bank account
August 15: Apply for PAN card
September: Turn 18, open demat account
September: Suzlon IPO investment
October: Begin options trading (if possible)
December: First property investment
Immediate Risks:
Parents discovering unusual income
College attendance issues
Priya's safety while alone
Health (can't afford to fall sick)
Drawing unwanted attention
Protective Measures:
Create cover story for income
Maintain minimum college attendance (75%)
Arrange reliable help for home
Build network of allies
Stay humble, stay hidden
The clock struck midnight. July 18, 2005 was officially over. His first day in the past was complete.
Only 364 days until he could start preventing his father's death.
Only 1,460 days until the 2008 financial crisis.
Only 3,650 days until Bitcoin became mainstream.
Time was his enemy and his greatest asset.
He closed the notebook, lay down on his mattress, and stared at the ceiling fan making its eternal rotations.
Tomorrow, he thought, the revolution begins.