New Venture

Controversies were rising, but so was the public's curiosity. Every interview Rudra gave was met with both praise and criticism. Some politicians from the Congress party dismissed him outright, accusing him of selling luxury instead of addressing real issues.

"He's playing to the gallery," one senior leader scoffed in a newspaper interview. "This country needs industrial growth, not expensive shoes for the rich."

But Rudra didn't bother responding. Every word they spoke against him only added to the brand's mystique. His interviews kept getting published, each one fueling more interest. The more they criticized, the more people wanted to know about the man who had created something so exclusive.

The unexpected happened—his shoes became a status symbol. What had started as a personal experiment turned into a full-blown craze. The wealthy elite, businessmen, and even members of royal families were drawn to the exclusivity of the product. Within ten days, all one hundred pairs were sold out.

But the demand didn't stop there. People kept asking for more, desperate to own what had now become a symbol of prestige. Some even offered double or triple the original price in resale markets.

Rudra, however, stood firm—there would be no second batch. "Once something loses its rarity, it loses its value," he remarked casually when an investor tried persuading him otherwise.

His decision made the shoes even more desirable. The resale market exploded, with prices soaring beyond what anyone had imagined. Businessmen, celebrities, and politicians all scrambled to get their hands on a pair, and some were even willing to pull strings just to acquire one. Conversations in high society shifted from politics to footwear—who had them, who didn't, and what they were willing to pay to get them.

Investment offers poured in. Industrialists, impressed by Rudra's ability to create demand out of thin air, wanted to partner with him. Banks and investors reached out with proposals, eager to be a part of his next venture. But Rudra was selective. He rejected more offers than he accepted, choosing only those that aligned with his larger vision. He wasn't looking to make quick money—he was thinking long-term.

Despite the roaring success, Rudra didn't let it cloud his mind. He knew better than to get carried away by momentary triumphs. The shoes were a stepping stone, not the destination.

One evening, as the city settled into its usual hum of nightfall, Rudra sat alone in his office, staring out of the window. The glow of streetlights and the distant sound of honking cars filled the silence. The success of his venture was undeniable, but his mind was already elsewhere.

What next?

Creating a luxury brand in 1970s India was an achievement in itself, something that would've been impressive even in his past life. But Rudra knew this wasn't enough. A fashion statement couldn't change a country.

What India needed was large-scale industry—something that could truly shape its future.

His engineering instincts kicked in. He thought back to his time in America, where technology was evolving rapidly. India, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up. The country lacked self-reliance in crucial sectors, heavily dependent on imports for advanced machinery and electronics. That dependency frustrated him.

Why should India always be a buyer? Why couldn't it be a producer?

His thoughts drifted to an idea—a product that could revolutionize everyday life. Something small, practical, and essential. Then, it struck him.

A calculator.

At that time, calculators were expensive, bulky machines—far out of reach for the common man. Only large businesses and universities could afford them. The average Indian still relied on mental math, paper, and pen for calculations.

But what if there was a cheap, pocket-sized, easy-to-use calculator? Something every shopkeeper, student, and household could afford?

It wasn't just about making money. It was about proving a point. If India could develop its own electronic products instead of relying on foreign imports, it would be a game-changer.

Rudra leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

It wouldn't be easy.

The field of electronics was dominated by American and Japanese companies. They had years of experience, advanced research facilities, and government backing. Competing with them would be like challenging a giant with bare hands.

But so what?

India was a land of scholars and inventors. The same country that had given the world the concept of zero, advanced metallurgy, and ancient astronomical calculations—why couldn't it produce a simple electronic calculator?

Rudra smirked. If anything, it was the perfect challenge.

He thought about his connections from his time in the U.S. Surely, there were a few people who could help him with the technical aspects. And with the industrialists now backing him, setting up a plant wasn't impossible. The problem wasn't resources—it was convincing people that this was worth pursuing.

"Reverse brain drain," he muttered under his breath.

For decades, India's brightest minds had left the country for better opportunities abroad. What if he could bring some of them back? What if he could convince Indian scientists and engineers to work on something revolutionary right here, at home?

The idea was exciting, but he knew better than to rush. He had to plan carefully, anticipate every challenge, and ensure he had the right people on his side before making his move.

For now, it was just a thought. A vision.

But Rudra knew himself well enough to understand one thing—once an idea took root in his mind, he never let it go.

The world was changing. And if he played his cards right, India would change with it.