The Weight of Conviction

Mumbai, June 7, 1980 – Early Morning

The first light of dawn seeped through the old wooden window of Arjun's room, casting long shadows across the cracked walls. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying the familiar scents of damp earth and freshly brewed chai from the neighbor's kitchen.

Lying on his simple cotton mattress, Arjun stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

His mind had been restless all night.

Convincing Vinod Chacha was only the first step. But the real challenge was his own family.

His father, Dinesh Mehta, was a man who believed in security—a steady government job, a modest home, careful savings. His entire life had been built on the idea that slow and steady survival was the best path.

And his mother, Madhavi Mehta, had spent years stretching every rupee, ensuring that the family never fell into debt.

To them, investing was not just a risk. It was dangerous.

"How do you make someone see a future they've never imagined?"

He sighed, running a hand through his thick hair. The weight of knowing the future was both a blessing and a burden.

He had a roadmap. But convincing others to follow it? That was the hard part.

6:30 AM – Family Breakfast

The house was already alive with movement by the time Arjun stepped out of his room. His mother was in the kitchen, rolling out fresh rotis, while his father sat at the small wooden dining table, carefully polishing his leather office shoes.

The radio played a soft tune from Vividh Bharati, and the rhythmic sound of the rolling pin against the wooden board filled the air.

Neha sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a comic book, swinging her legs absentmindedly.

As Arjun took a seat at the table, his mother placed a steel plate in front of him.

"Eat quickly," she said, adjusting the pleats of her saree. "Your father has to leave soon."

Arjun nodded and picked up a hot roti, tearing a piece and dipping it into the sabzi.

His father glanced at him between bites.

"Are you going to college today?"

"Yes," Arjun replied.

"Good," his father said, taking a sip of chai. "Focus on your studies, not on this business talk."

Arjun kept his expression neutral. "It's not just business talk, Baba. It's about securing our future."

His father sighed. "Arjun, our future is secure if we work hard and live within our means. We don't need shortcuts."

"This isn't a shortcut," Arjun said, carefully keeping his tone respectful. "It's smart planning."

His mother looked up, her brow furrowed. "You're talking just like your grandfather used to."

Arjun set down his roti. There it was again—his grandfather.

In his past life, his family had barely spoken about him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

His mother exchanged a look with his father.

"Your Dadaji was a dreamer," his father said finally. "He had big ideas. But big ideas don't always put food on the table."

"He wanted to start a textile business," his mother added. "But he didn't have the right contacts, and the market wasn't kind. We lost a lot of money."

Arjun listened carefully.

This was new information. Had his grandfather been an entrepreneur? Had he simply been ahead of his time?

"I'm not saying we should jump into things blindly," Arjun said after a pause. "But Baba… times are changing. You always tell me to work hard, but what if we could make our hard work go further? What if we could create something bigger than just survival?"

His father exhaled, looking at him for a long moment. Then, he simply said:

"Finish your breakfast."

The conversation was over.

For now.

10:00 AM – College

The campus was buzzing with life as Arjun walked through the main gates. Groups of students stood around chatting, some with books tucked under their arms, others simply enjoying the morning sun.

He spotted Rajiv sitting on the stone bench near the library, scribbling something in his notebook.

Rajiv looked up as Arjun approached, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. "You're late."

"Not really," Arjun said, sitting down beside him. "What's so urgent?"

Rajiv closed his notebook and smirked. "I heard something interesting."

Arjun raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"You remember Nisha's cousin, Vikram?"

"Vaguely," Arjun said, leaning back. "What about him?"

"He's been investing in some small businesses," Rajiv said in a hushed tone. "His father gave him some money to manage, and he's already doubled it in just six months."

Arjun's interest piqued.

This was unusual for 1980. Most middle-class families avoided investments unless they were in land or gold.

"How's he doing it?" Arjun asked.

"Word is, he's got some insider information."

Arjun narrowed his eyes. "Illegal?"

Rajiv shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But he's making money."

Arjun stayed silent for a moment. This was the first sign that others were also starting to explore new ways to grow wealth.

And if people like Vikram were already moving into the investment space, then Arjun had to move faster.

Just then, a familiar voice cut in.

"You two look serious."

Arjun turned to see Nisha standing there, her arms crossed, looking at them curiously.

Nisha was sharp. If she sensed something, she wouldn't let it go easily.

"We're just talking about business," Rajiv said casually.

Nisha raised an eyebrow. "Business? You two?"

Rajiv smirked. "Hey, don't underestimate us."

She tilted her head, looking at Arjun. "And you? What's your angle in all this?"

Arjun smiled slightly. "Let's just say I have… a vision."

She studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. Just don't get caught up in anything shady."

As she walked off, Rajiv leaned in and whispered, "She's onto you."

Arjun chuckled. "She's just curious."

But deep down, he knew the truth.

Nisha wasn't just curious. She was observant.

And sooner or later, she would start asking the right questions.