Foundations of an Empire

The faint morning sunlight seeped through the thin curtains of Aritra's room, casting long golden lines over his study table cluttered with textbooks and scribbled notes. But today wasn't about Newton's laws or calculus derivatives. Today was about empire-building.

Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Aritra stared at his phone, scrolling through his to-do list. The previous night's adrenaline of sealing deals had faded, replaced with the quiet thrill of what came next. The office in Salt Lake was his. The land in Baruipur, secured. But empty buildings and barren land didn't build empires—people did. And it was time to get the right people involved.

He picked up his phone, tapped on his newly saved contact, and waited as the line rang.

"Hello?" came the crisp, professional voice of Ishita Roy, his freshly appointed secretary.

Aritra leaned back, a smug grin spreading across his face. Time to get things rolling.

"Good morning, Ishita," he said smoothly. "I have a list of tasks for you today. Ready to take notes?"

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Always, sir," she replied, her tone as sharp as ever.

Task One: Finding the Right Builders

"First," Aritra began, "we need a construction company to handle the factory project in Baruipur. It's about five acres of land, and I want something… big. Not just a typical warehouse. It should stand out, but not so much that it attracts unnecessary attention. Functional, efficient, and scalable."

Ishita hummed thoughtfully. "I know a few firms. There's 'Kolkata Infrastructure Solutions Pvt. Ltd.,' one of the top industrial construction companies in the city. They've handled large-scale projects and are discreet."

Aritra's fingers tapped rhythmically on his desk. "Perfect. Schedule a meeting. Today if possible. I don't like wasting time."

Within two hours, Ishita had arranged a meeting with the company's project manager, Mr. Raghav Banerjee, at a café near Salt Lake Sector V. Aritra arrived early, dressed casually but with an air of authority that belied his age.

Mr. Banerjee, a man in his early forties with sharp features and a neatly trimmed beard, arrived right on time. His handshake was firm, his expression politely curious as he took in the sight of his seemingly young client.

"Mr. Naskar, I presume?" Raghav said, sliding into the seat opposite Aritra.

"Yes," Aritra replied, his voice steady. "Let's get straight to business."

He pulled out a tablet, flipping through digital blueprints and sketches he'd drafted late into the night. "I own five acres of land near Baruipur. I need a factory built—a modern industrial complex with integrated office spaces, storage units, and state-of-the-art security systems."

Raghav's eyebrows rose slightly. "Impressive plans. May I ask—what's the business focus?"

Aritra gave a nonchalant shrug. "Let's just say it's a tech venture with diverse interests."

They discussed the project in detail—construction materials, timelines, budgets. Aritra wanted the factory operational within the next eight months, a demand that made Raghav's professional composure crack just a little.

"We'll need to mobilize resources quickly," Raghav said cautiously. "The budget will be significant."

Aritra leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "Money isn't an issue. Efficiency is."

That seemed to settle it. The contract was drafted, with Aritra making an upfront payment of ₹50 lakhs to kickstart the project. As they shook hands, Raghav couldn't help but ask, "Out of curiosity, how old are you?"

Aritra smirked. "Old enough to sign your paycheck."

Next on the list was transforming the bare office space in Salt Lake into the nerve center of his empire. The address—Block EP-G-42, Sector V, Salt Lake City, Kolkata—would soon be known not just to him but to the world.

Back in the office, Aritra met with Ishita to discuss the setup. She had already prepared a detailed proposal, complete with furniture catalogs and equipment lists.

"We'll need workstations, conference room setups, high-speed servers, ergonomic chairs…" she listed off efficiently.

Aritra waved his hand dismissively. "Skip the basic stuff. Think bigger. I want a sleek, modern design—glass partitions, minimalist aesthetics, advanced security systems. Smart devices. Automated lighting. Make it futuristic but professional."

Ishita scribbled notes, nodding. "And for the executive office?"

Aritra grinned. "Make it look like it belongs to someone twice my age. Big desk. Leather chair. A view that screams 'I run this place.'"

By the end of the day, orders were placed for everything from custom-made office desks to imported German coffee machines. Aritra approved every detail with the same focus he gave to his stock trades.

With the infrastructure underway, it was time to give his empire an official name. Over a late lunch with Ishita, they brainstormed company names. After rejecting options like "Naskar Innovations" (too obvious) and "FutureTech Global" (too generic), Aritra settled on "Naskar Technologies Pvt. Ltd."

Simple. Professional. Easy to remember.

Ishita handled the legal paperwork, registering the company with the Ministry of Corporate Affairs. But Aritra wasn't done yet.

"We need talent," he said. "Draft a recruitment notice. Keep it vague about the specifics but clear that we're looking for the best minds in tech and operations."

Ishita nodded. "Where do you want the ad published?"

Aritra smiled. "The Times of India. Front page, if possible."

She blinked. "That's… ambitious."

"So am I," he replied with a shrug.

Within the next 48 hours, the ad was designed—a crisp, minimalist layout with bold letters:

🚀 Naskar Technologies Pvt. Ltd. 🚀

We are hiring! Looking for passionate innovators, problem-solvers, and dreamers to join our growing team.

Positions Available: Tech Developers, Analysts, Operations Managers

Apply Now: [email address] | [contact number]

"Shape the future with us."

Aritra leaned back, satisfied as Ishita sent the final ad for publication.

Later that night, Aritra sat at his desk, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. His parents were in the living room, discussing mundane things—school events, neighborhood gossip, what to cook for dinner.

If they knew what he'd done in the past week, they'd probably faint.

A company office in Salt Lake, a factory rising in Baruipur, a tech firm registered under his name, and soon, employees who'd have no clue that their CEO was a teenager still worrying about his chemistry practical.

Aritra smiled to himself.

"This is just the beginning."