Planting the Seeds of Change

Mumbai, June 6, 1980 – 9:00 PM

As Arjun stepped out of his uncle's house, the night air felt cooler, carrying with it the scent of damp earth from the afternoon rain. The streets were quieter now, except for the occasional honk of a passing taxi or the murmur of distant conversations.

His footsteps echoed lightly against the uneven pavement as he walked back home, his mind alive with possibilities.

He had taken the first step.

Vinod Chacha hadn't fully committed yet, but the most important part was done—he was thinking about it. That meant he was considering it, weighing the idea in his cautious, methodical mind.

Arjun knew his uncle well. A man like him wouldn't make impulsive decisions, but once he saw logic in something, he would act.

"Now, I just have to guide him to that moment."

He smiled slightly to himself as he turned onto his street, where the warm glow of streetlamps cast long shadows on the cracked walls of old buildings.

9:10 PM – Home

His house wasn't anything grand—a modest, two-bedroom apartment in a chawl building, one of many in their middle-class neighborhood. The walls were slightly worn, and the wooden door had a few scratches from years of use, but it was home.

As he approached, he could already hear the faint clatter of utensils and the muffled voice of his mother, likely scolding his younger sister about something.

He stepped inside.

The living room was small but cozy, with a single ceiling fan rotating lazily overhead. A wooden dining table sat in the corner, covered with a plastic floral tablecloth. A black-and-white television stood against the wall, though it was turned off—his family only switched it on for the evening news or Sunday movies.

His mother, Madhavi Mehta, was standing by the kitchen entrance, wiping her hands on her saree. She was a woman of quiet strength, her soft features lined with the burdens of running a household on a tight budget.

"Where were you?" she asked, her sharp eyes studying him.

"Vinod Chacha's house," Arjun replied, closing the door behind him.

"Hmm." She didn't press further, but Arjun knew she was always aware of where he went and who he met. Mothers had that instinct.

His father, Dinesh Mehta, sat on the worn-out sofa, a newspaper spread out in his hands. A government clerk, practical and disciplined, his life revolved around work, family, and ensuring his children had a better future.

"You missed dinner," his mother said, glancing toward the kitchen. "Should I heat something for you?"

Arjun smiled. "No need, Ma. I'll just have some chai."

"Chai again?" She frowned. "That's not dinner, beta."

Before he could respond, a younger voice cut in.

"Bhaiya, you're always late these days!"

His twelve-year-old sister, Neha, peeked out from behind their mother, her hair in two messy braids. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes, the kind only younger siblings had when they sensed an opportunity to annoy their elders.

Arjun smirked. "And you're always looking for a reason to tattle on me."

She grinned. "I don't need a reason. It's my duty as your little sister."

Their mother sighed. "Neha, go get your brother some food."

Neha groaned dramatically but walked toward the kitchen.

Arjun sat down on the sofa, stretching his legs. His father turned a page of the newspaper but didn't look up.

"Vinod called me earlier," he said.

Arjun's heart skipped a beat.

"He said you were talking to him about investments."

Arjun kept his face neutral. "We were just discussing money matters."

His father lowered the newspaper slightly, his gaze meeting Arjun's.

"And since when did you start discussing money matters?"

There was no accusation in his voice, just curiosity.

This was another test.

"I've been reading about it," Arjun replied honestly. "About how people grow their wealth, how businesses succeed."

His father raised an eyebrow. "And what do you know about business?"

Arjun leaned forward slightly. "I know that saving alone isn't enough. If we only save money but never invest it, we'll always be running to catch up. Prices rise, expenses increase, and no matter how much we put aside, it never feels like enough."

His father set the newspaper down completely now, listening intently.

"Chacha has always been smart with money," Arjun continued. "That's why I spoke to him. If we invest wisely—even a small amount—we can secure our future."

His mother, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "Investing is risky, beta. What if you lose everything?"

Arjun smiled reassuringly. "That's why I'm not saying we should put all our money into it. Just a little. Carefully. Only in companies that have strong potential."

His father exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Hmph. You sound like one of those big businessmen in the newspapers."

Arjun chuckled. "Maybe one day I will be."

There was a pause.

Then, his father spoke again, this time softer.

"Your grandfather used to say the same thing."

Arjun blinked. This was new.

In his past life, his father had never spoken much about his grandfather—a man who had once tried his hand at business but failed due to bad luck and lack of connections.

Before Arjun could ask more, his mother stood up.

"We'll see," she said simply. "For now, eat your dinner."

Neha returned, setting a steel plate of roti and sabzi in front of him.

Arjun smiled. "Thanks, chhoti."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're lucky I'm nice."

As Arjun ate, he realized something important.

Convincing his uncle was one thing. But changing his own family's mindset about money would be another challenge altogether.

They had spent their entire lives being careful, cautious, and avoiding unnecessary risks. How could he make them see that the world was changing—and that they could be ahead of it, instead of always running behind?

"Step by step," he told himself.

For now, he would focus on getting Vinod Chacha to invest.

Once the money started coming in… his family would believe in his vision.

And then, the real journey would begin.