Arc 1: The Wealth Momentum (2016)Part I: The Zero-Sum Game
Chapter 1 — Lazy Person Vikram
Mumbai woke up before the sun.
By the time the first light slipped between the crooked buildings of Dadar, the city was already negotiating—auto drivers haggling, milkmen clinking bottles, trains screaming past like iron beasts that never rested.
Inside a quiet, aging villa tucked between newer concrete apartments, Vikram Choudhary was still asleep.
The villa was a relic from another era. Thick Malad stone walls kept it cool even in May. The ceilings were high, the wooden beams darkened by decades of monsoons. Ceiling fans rotated slowly, creaking like old men complaining about the weather.
Vikram lay sprawled on his bed, one arm dangling off the side, his phone abandoned near his pillow. He was tall—1.8 meters—with long limbs that barely fit the modest bed. His face was calm, handsome in an effortless way, the kind that didn't try. Light stubble framed his jaw. If ambition had a smell, it wasn't present in the room.
An alarm rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
He turned, groaned, and buried his face into the pillow.
From the kitchen came the clatter of utensils and the unmistakable sound of pressure cooker steam—Mumbai's morning anthem.
"Vikram!" his mother's voice called out. "Office nahi jaana kya aaj?"
He opened one eye.
"Jaunga…" he muttered, voice muffled. "Thoda late."
That was his specialty—thoda late. To wake up late. To arrive late. To live late.
A Simple Dream in a Complicated City
Vikram didn't hate work.
He just didn't love it enough to sacrifice peace.
After graduating from NIT Pune—a name that made relatives beam with pride—everyone assumed he'd chase packages, promotions, maybe even foreign postings. His classmates were already posting LinkedIn updates from glass offices, foreign cities, and startup boardrooms.
Vikram chose a quieter path.
A Junior Engineer job. Stable. Predictable. Enough to survive.
He earned around ₹30,000 a month, which in Mumbai meant one thing: you're alive, but barely moving forward.
And strangely, he was okay with that.
His dream wasn't a BMW or a corner office.
It was silence.
A cup of chai in the evening.
A stress-free night's sleep.
A life where no one shouted deadlines at him.
Low ambition, high peace.
That was Vikram's unspoken philosophy.
But Mumbai didn't respect peace.
The Sisters Who Knew Better
At breakfast, Vikram finally appeared, hair still messy, wearing an old NIT Pune hoodie that had seen better days.
His elder sister looked up from her phone.
"You're late again," she said, not accusing—just stating a fact.
His younger sister smiled gently. "At least he's consistent."
They loved him. That much was clear.
But love didn't erase worry.
"Bhai," the elder one said carefully, "you know Sharma uncle's son got promoted again?"
Vikram took a bite of toast. "Good for him."
"And Neha's husband is moving to Bangalore. Big IT role."
"Nice weather there," Vikram replied.
They exchanged a look.
Their brother wasn't dumb. He wasn't incapable.
He was… comfortable.
And comfort, in a city like Mumbai, was dangerous.
Parents and Silent Disappointment
His father, Balvendar Choudhary, folded the newspaper slowly.
A mathematics teacher for over three decades, Balvendar believed in formulas, progression, cause and effect. Work hard, get results. Fall behind, pay the price.
Vikram broke every equation.
"You're still a Junior Engineer," Balvendar said, not angry—disappointed, which hurt more. "Three years ho gaye."
Vikram nodded. "Promotion aayega."
"When?"
"Time lagega."
Balvendar sighed. "Time doesn't wait for anyone."
His mother, Malini Devi, placed a plate of fruits in front of Vikram. Her posture was straight, disciplined—the habit of a Physical Education teacher who practiced what she preached.
"You sleep too much," she said gently. "Body bhi rust ho jaata hai."
Vikram smiled. "Engineer hoon, rust-proof."
She didn't laugh.
Parents worried in silence because they loved deeply.
And Vikram—he felt that worry like background noise. Always there. Never loud enough to push him into action.
Whispers of the Neighborhood
When Vikram stepped out of the villa later, the society was alive.
Neighbors nodded. Some smiled politely.
Others whispered.
"NIT se padke bhi yeh haal hai…"
"Government teacher ka beta hai, phir bhi…"
"Shaadi ka kya hoga iska?"
Mumbai judged quietly, efficiently, without mercy.
Vikram heard it all.
And still, he walked calmly to the bus stop, hands in pockets, unbothered.
Or so it seemed.
The Zero-Sum Reality
In 2016 Mumbai, life was a zero-sum game.
If you weren't moving forward, you were slipping backward.
If you weren't chasing influence, you were being crushed by it.
Vikram knew this.
He just didn't care enough.
Not yet.
He believed life could be simple if you didn't want too much.
He didn't know that simplicity, in a city obsessed with power and status, was treated as weakness.
As he boarded the bus, the old villa stood quietly behind him—valuable land, crumbling walls, a family holding its breath.
Vikram Choudhary walked into another ordinary day, unaware that this calm stagnation was about to end.
The city was done waiting.
And fate, somewhere above a balcony, was already lining up the next move.
End of Chapter 1