And so, we began. The negotiation with Android Inc. was our first real deal, a high-stakes game that I, a seven-year-old, was playing from across the globe with my grandmother's funds and Raghu's expertise. I learned that Google had already made an offer of $35 million for a full buyout. The founders were tempted, but they were also hesitant to give up the company they had poured their lives into. This was our opening.
My proposal, delivered through Raghu, was simple and audacious: I would invest $10 million in exchange for a 25% stake in the company. This infusion of capital would not only provide them with the financial stability they desperately needed but would also significantly increase their market value. With my investment, they would be in a much stronger position to negotiate a better deal with Google. It was a win-win situation—for them, and for me.
The negotiation was a tense, month-long affair. We went back and forth, with Raghu acting as my proxy, his sharp financial mind proving to be an invaluable asset. He was skeptical at first, but as he saw my insights play out, his skepticism turned into an impressed trust. We finally reached a deal: Google, seeing the new, higher valuation and the potential for a more stable partnership, raised their offer to $60 million.
The other shareholders, satisfied with the increased price, sold their shares and celebrated the buyout. But I had my own endgame in mind. My agreement was different. I sold most of my shares, receiving $4.8 million for my initial $10 million investment. It was a loss on paper, but I had a long-term goal. I managed to retain 9% of the ownership, a small but significant piece of the company that would soon become the cornerstone of a global empire. I knew that the value of that 9% would increase a hundredfold in the coming years, making the short-term loss nothing more than a strategic investment.
With our first deal closed, I knew this was only the beginning.
After four months of relentless work, my new company was well on its way. The deal with Android Inc. had gone through, securing my foundation, and with Grandpa as my registered representative and Uncle Raghu as my chief secretary, the business was already beginning to hum with a life of its own. A few days after my eighth birthday, it was time for the next step.
"Are you ready, Rudra?" my grandmother, Amma, asked, her eyes twinkling with a shared secret.
I nodded, gripping the small shoulder bag that held my brand-new cell phone. It felt like a useless artifact out here in the wilds, away from civilization but it was my only connection to the world I had just begun to rebuild.
And so we walked. The path was narrow, winding, and steep, leading us ever higher into the breathtaking, wilds of the forest. The air grew humid, and the silence was profound, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional cries of animals. It was a long journey, and with every step, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over me.
To pass the time, Amma began to tell me a story about my great-grandparents. She spoke of a powerful family, a secret lineage that had lived in these mountains for generations, their history entwined with the very peaks and valleys around us. She told me of their incredible abilities of the heritage we carried.
The story was like a key, unlocking fragments of memories I hadn't even known were missing. I had heard this story before. I had walked this very path before. The faces she described, the events she recounted, were all familiar to me from my past life. It wasn't just déjà vu; it was a memory. The journey was a pilgrimage, a return to my roots that my past self had longed for and my current self was just now beginning to understand.
This was not merely a trip. It was a homecoming.
As I heard of the heriocs og my Great-Grandparents, I wanted to say - 'I wished I met them.' -but as soon as I opened my my mouth my words stopped like somethin inside me was stopping me from saying that, I felt an unknown omniuosness will befall me from saying those words, as if those words were a jinx.
Before I could understand the source of this feeling the forest path before us opened and happened upon a large clearing, the clearing looked like a training ground a place I felt familiar with but I had no memory of ever being here, but for sume reason I felt my soul shudder as an unknown fear washed over me for a moment bedore it went away like an illusion of my mind.
For over two years, I lived a life of rigid discipline and unyielding physical exertion. After my initial session with my grandmother, Shanti, I was left under the stern tutelage of my great-grandmother, a woman of few words and strength. Each day was a grueling cycle of training, not in a gym, but in the heart of the mountains(which also had gym equipment).
It was a rigorous regimen of physical training and body coordination, but with a spiritual edge. We spent hours practicing forms that felt like a slow-motion dance but left my muscles burning, and I learned to balance on the most treacherous terrain as if it were a flat floor. It was hellish, a constant push against my physical limits, but with every challenge I overcame, I felt a deep, almost primal satisfaction.
I had to focus on the business too. I was given exactly half an hour on the phone each day to handle all company affairs. It was a dizzying sprint to make decisions, give directions, and check on progress with Grandpa and Uncle Raghu. This strange duality—living like a monk while running a multinational company—became my new normal.
My great-grandmother told me my physical training was complete for now, stating that the rest would have to wait until I was older. An unsettling feeling washed over me.
Though the physical training had been brutal, it had never made me want to flee. But at the mere thought of what came next, a deep, unsettling urge to run, to hide, welled up within me. My stomach churned, my heart raced, and I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I had no memory of this "further training," but a primal dread was etched into my very soul.
"I don't know why, but every time I think of the next phase of training, I just want to run away," I confessed to Grandma who had come to pick me up, my voice trembling slightly.
She looked at me, her expression unreadable. She spoke a truth that sent a chill straight to my core. "They say your body and mind may forget some trauma, but your soul remembers it."
Her words were a stark revelation makeing me decide to stop asking questions. The answers sometimes, I realized, were more terrifying than the unknown.