As a child, I still recollect how often I would turn sombre—not because of what I was, but because of how I was seen.
Yes, I was the middle one among seven siblings. Not the eldest to lead, not the youngest to be protected; just somewhere in between, often unnoticed, often used, often misunderstood.
But today, as I look back, I realize something far more powerful.
I did not choose to rise against life.
I chose to rise above it.
I remember being a pawn in many hands.
For my mother, I was the helping hand in her shopping errands – walking through markets, bargaining endlessly. At that time, it felt like a chore. Today, I see it differently. It trained my mind to understand value, to differentiate between price and worth. It shaped me into a negotiator, a cost champion in business, someone who sees beyond numbers into intrinsic value.
For my father, I was his companion in long, tiring hunts – walking miles in chappals, chasing something that was never guaranteed. Back then, it was exhausting. Today, I see resilience. Those journeys built not just physical endurance, but a mindset, to pursue, to endure, and to embrace uncertainty with courage.
For my siblings and cousins, I was often the subject of jokes.
For others, I was treated with indifference.
And in those early encounters of affection and rejection, especially the awkward misadventures of youth – I learned something unexpected.
I learned how to read people.
I learned how to express.
I learned the art of storytelling.
What once felt like rejection quietly became connection.
My teachers, with their constant push—especially towards English—felt demanding at the time. But that insistence planted a seed. Today, that seed has grown into my ability to write, to express, to author my thoughts in a language that once challenged me.
Even my early interactions with teachers and principals—sometimes seen by others as going the extra mile for favour—taught me something deeper. They taught me resourcefulness. They taught me how to engage, how to build bridges, how to connect with people of influence without losing authenticity.
That, today, remains one of my greatest strengths.
And then there was the constant teasing, the taunts, the subtle dismissals.
They could have pushed me into doubt.
They could have led to withdrawal.
But instead, they ignited something else.
A quiet resolve.
A fighter’s instinct.
A refusal to give up.
Looking back now, I don’t see hardship.
I see design.
Every experience – no matter how painful, insignificant, or uncomfortable it felt at the time – became a brushstroke.
And unknowingly, I became the painter.
I don’t see myself as a hero.
Not a superman.
Just someone who shows up.
For my children.
For my wife.
For my family.
And for anyone who needs me.
I don’t do things with strings attached.
I don’t calculate return.
I do it because it makes me happy.
And perhaps, that is my purpose.
Because in the end, life does not define us by what we go through – but by what we choose to become from it.