The ceiling fan spun lazily above Karthik as he sat at his desk, re-reading the previous day's notes by the dim yellow light. Outside, the neighborhood dogs barked occasionally, and the gentle whir of a scooter passed by. The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep.
But Karthik's mind was racing.
He had spent only two days back in this world — and already, he could feel the burden of time pressing on him.
Too Many Problems, Too Little Time
India in 1990 stood at the edge of something huge — a liberalizing economy, a rising population, an educated youth hungry for opportunity. But it also faced deep internal weakness.
Karthik had lived through 45 years of broken promises and political drama. Now he had come back to where it all began — a time when change was still possible, when ideas had not yet been blocked by power.
He looked at his notebook:
"Tamil Nadu needs two things:
New institutions in places the state has ignored.
Stronger systems in places it has forgotten.
And India?
It needs leaders who understand how money, education, politics, and people move together — not separately."
But talk meant nothing without action.
Thinking About Money
The next morning, as he walked with Aravind toward the canteen, he asked, "Do you know anywhere I can work part-time?"
Aravind raised an eyebrow. "Already broke?"
Karthik smiled. "Not yet. Just planning ahead."
"You could ask at Kannan Xerox near Taramani. They let college boys work evening shifts. You'll earn fifty rupees a day."
"Done," Karthik said.
Aravind blinked. "That was fast."
Karthik laughed. "Fifty rupees a day is enough to start my first project."
"What project?"
"Observation. Market study. Maybe a pilot solution."
Aravind stared. "Are you a student or a businessman?"
Karthik replied simply, "Both."
A Shift in the Lecture Hall
Later that day, Professor Srinivasan returned for another lecture.
This time, the board had a new question:
"What are the hidden costs of policy failure?"
Karthik immediately thought of his past life. Broken bridges. Schools built without toilets. Loan waivers that never reached farmers. Mega-projects abandoned after political changes.
"Sir," Karthik raised his hand, "I believe the hidden cost is trust. Every failed policy damages not just the economy, but public belief in the system."
Srinivasan paused. "That's… deeper than I expected."
"It's hard to build anything where people don't trust that systems will last."
Several heads turned toward Karthik.
The professor smiled, half-serious. "Mr. Karthik, are you secretly writing a manifesto?"
"Not yet," Karthik said.
But the truth was — he was.
In his mind.
Quietly.
Meena and the Debate Board
After class, Meena approached him with a clipboard.
"We're forming a student policy discussion group. Want to join?"
Karthik nodded. "Absolutely."
"We meet Fridays in the library reading room. It's unofficial. So no faculty interference."
"Good. What's the first topic?"
"State vs Centre: who's responsible for education reform?"
Karthik grinned. "Let's say both — and neither."
She laughed. "I like that. Balanced cynicism."
But Karthik wasn't being cynical. He was being strategic.
He knew that his future empire wouldn't rise on just business alone. It would need policy allies, ground-level trust, and eventually, political influence.
This group could be a seed.
A Student Leader Appears
As they left the library building, a group of students stood gathered around a short, sharp-eyed senior who was clearly respected.
"That's Dinesh," Meena said. "Student union secretary. Economics honors. He'll be in parliament one day. Or prison."
Karthik watched carefully.
Dinesh was debating with two juniors over scholarship delays.
"Don't tell me the funds haven't come," he snapped. "The release letter was signed last week. I'll go to the accounts office myself."
Karthik walked over.
"Hi. I'm Karthik. First year economics."
Dinesh looked him up and down. "I heard about you. The one who asks 'dangerous' questions in class?"
Karthik smiled. "Only the ones worth asking."
Dinesh raised an eyebrow. "You believe in change through policy?"
"I believe policy is just paper. Real change is systems. And systems begin with people."
Dinesh grinned. "Interesting. Let's talk sometime."
They shook hands.
Another seed planted.
First Day at Work
That evening, Karthik arrived at Kannan Xerox, a small photocopy shop with two machines, one fan, and shelves stacked with registers.
The owner, Kannan, was middle-aged and practical.
"You can staple, stack, and fill. I pay you by the day. But no sitting and reading. This is not a library."
"Understood," Karthik said.
For three hours, he arranged exam papers, labelled folders, and watched who came and why.
Students came for notes.
Parents came for ration card forms.
Teachers came for circulars.
Government workers came to print leave letters.
Everyone came because something didn't work — and this place had become a patch.
Karthik noted it all.
Even photocopy shops were part of the system.
And every broken link was a potential opportunity.
A Quiet Thought Before Sleep
That night, Karthik sat on his rooftop, legs crossed, notebook open.
He looked up at the stars — the same sky that had watched over two lifetimes.
He wrote:
"Today I earned ₹50.
It's not much.
But it's my first step.
Every empire needs three things:
A mission rooted in truth.
Systems that cannot be ignored.
Allies who believe — even before proof.
Meena. Aravind. Professor Srinivasan. Maybe even Dinesh.
One day, these people will help build the future.
And I will fund the beginning, one copy at a time."
He closed the book.
Tomorrow, he'd go to class.
Then to work.
And then — he would start something new.