Built from nothing but curiosity

It started in Class 8, inspired by spirituality — a deep curiosity about how things work, how systems are built, how the world is coded beneath the surface. Most kids used the internet to pass time. I used it to learn Java.

I didn't have a laptop. I had an iPad — the same one I'd taken to the USA after Class 5, when my father was posted there. That iPad became my classroom, my lab, and my stage. No shortcuts. No guidance. Just me, a screen, and an internet connection.

After a year of learning Java, building small projects, and slowly understanding how the web works, I moved on to HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. My first project was the classic — a calculator. The very next day, I pushed myself further and built a full website. It worked.

Seeing what I was producing on an iPad, my grandfather quietly went to my mama and made one request: get him a laptop. My mama gifted me an ASUS laptop worth ₹35,000.

It was more than hardware. It was belief — someone investing in me before I had anything concrete to show for it. From that day, I had a proper tool to match my ambition.

I started showcasing my work at school. Some teachers told me to "just focus on studies." I respected them — and kept coding anyway.

I discovered that my school held tech competitions. I started entering. I built an Employee Management System — learning how to embed images in websites, manage structured data, and think like a product builder rather than just a coder.

I pulled my friend into it too. We competed together, planned things during class, dreamed out loud. Every time we came back with a participation certificate, the headmistress would present us in front of the entire school. Win or lose, we showed up.

I started going deep into what an agency actually was — the real difference between a business, an agency, and a company. I created a form and started publishing it on Discord servers.

Through Discord, I found my first real teammate: a NEET student who taught me how to build something from absolute zero. He explained the foundations — how agencies work, how to pitch, how to structure a team. We renamed the venture from Spark Builders to Bear Builders, focused entirely on creating and selling 3D websites.

We had four team members. We had documents, processes, a marketing plan. We were learning and building at the same time — and it felt real.

That birthday, my mama visited. My mami gifted me How to Win Friends and Influence People and a globe. I showed my mama what we had built — a team, a brand, a direction. He said the same words he said the first time I showed him a website. He was proud. I had done all of this on my own, without anyone telling me to.

The NEET student eventually said goodbye — he had his own studies and his own journey to return to. I kept going.

Around this time I connected with the founder of The Cutting Edge School. I designed a full UI/UX website for him on Figma, put real effort into it, and shared it over email. No reply. I commented on his YouTube channel. He gave me a different email address. I sent it again. Still no reply.

That silence hurt at first. But then I noticed something: in the process of designing that project and learning around it, I had gone deeper into AI tools than ever before. I had levelled up — without even realising it. The doors that don't open still teach you what you need to know.

My friend saw where I was heading and said: "You learn, you build — let's both invest money and launch a game together." I was in. We planned a game development project. I put in ₹1,000. He put in ₹200.

Then one day, he came back and said he wasn't interested anymore. Just like that. That was the end of Class 9 — and the end of that chapter.

I told him: when Class 10 starts, let's leave all of this behind. But he had already left. So I kept the company name — DevGameBlogPromo — and I kept going alone.

Running a real company means facing real problems. One that almost cost me everything: a payment glitch. The amount showed correctly in my software — it looked like the money was there. But when I checked with the actual payment handler, it was a glitch. The funds were not real.

I also learned the hard way about hiring. Some people join only for the salary — they want money first, work second. Before you commit to someone, test whether they can work with commitment and zero income for at least a month. The ones who can are the ones who are actually building with you. The rest are just passing through.

I started DevGameBlogPromo alone. What began as a content channel slowly became a real operation. In May, I completed the business registration and opened a dedicated business bank account — learning what it actually means to run a company, not just build one.

I started making income. I hired carefully. I built slowly — and eventually grew a team of 2,103 members.

But growth came with hard lessons. I maintained high transparency with my team — completely open about everything. Some people don't want that. Team one left. Team two left. Even close friends left, because of that one habit: telling the truth about everything, always.

Before moving to the top batch, I was studying in one of the lower batches. During that time, I wanted to build a real team instead of working alone. I recruited four people into the company and decided to treat the process professionally from the beginning.

Every person completed an interview before joining. I clearly explained the company's vision, expectations, responsibilities, and terms and conditions. Each member agreed before becoming part of the team. At the time, I believed that once people committed to something, they would honour their word.

Work began, but it didn't take long for problems to appear. The assigned tasks were only partially completed, while unfinished work continued to pile up. Instead of focusing on delivering what they had promised, the conversations slowly shifted toward payment.

I reminded everyone of the agreement we had made during the interview. The company was still in its early stage, and payment would be made after the agreed work was completed. I wasn't refusing to pay anyone—I simply expected the work we had agreed upon to be finished first.

That was my first experience of being disappointed by people I had trusted. It wasn't about the money. It was about commitment. They had accepted the terms before joining, yet those commitments disappeared once work became difficult.

There was a person I genuinely wanted to help. I gave him the idea. I guided him through every step of building the business. When he had no card to make a payment, he gave me the cash in hand and I paid on his behalf — because I believed in what we were building together.

He used that money to pay a company that launches websites. The platform was set up. The business had started. Everything was in motion.

But he didn't follow the plan. He didn't take the advice. He went his own way — even though I was the one who had given him the idea and helped him get there.

Then, when things didn't go the way he wanted, he came back and asked me to return that amount. The same money he had given me as cash to pay on his behalf. The same money that had already been spent on his own platform, his own launch, his own business.

And when I couldn't give back what had already been invested into his future — he said something I will never forget:

Those words came from someone I had helped. Someone whose business would not have started without my idea, my guidance, and my help with that payment.

I did not respond with anger. I did not break. I let those words land — and then I kept building. Because the people who speak like that when they feel let down are not your enemies. They are your most powerful reminders of why documentation, agreements, and boundaries exist even between people you trust.

After moving from one of the lower batches to the top batch in college, I met a new friend on my very first day. I introduced him to my company and shared the vision I had been building for years. He believed in what I was creating and decided to join me. A few days later, he introduced one of his friends, who also became part of the team.

Unlike my previous hiring experience, there was no interview process this time. We were still a very early-stage startup. There were no employment agreements, founder contracts, documentation for idea ownership, or written payment policies. We were simply trying to build something meaningful together as fast as possible.

Both of them shared ideas for the platform. Some of those ideas were implemented, and even today, a few of those features still exist within the platform. I appreciated every contribution because every good idea helped move the product forward.

However, within only a few days, the conversations began changing. Instead of focusing on building the product, they started asking about salaries. I explained the reality of the company. We didn't yet have a finished product, proper documentation, consistent customers, stable revenue, or the financial ability to pay salaries.

I never refused to pay anyone. I repeatedly told them, "Complete the work properly, help build the company, and when the business reaches that stage, I will pay you." My intention was always to reward people fairly once the company became capable of doing so.

Unfortunately, the work did not progress as expected. Tasks remained unfinished, deadlines were missed, and there was always another reason why work could not be completed. Progress slowed, but the expectation for payment continued to increase.

After about a month, the situation reached its breaking point. One of them accused me of taking money for my own personal use and threatened to file a cyber complaint against me. I knew I had done nothing dishonest and had always been transparent about the company's situation. I calmly replied, "If you believe that is the right step, you are free to do it."

That conversation became the end of our relationship. I chose not to argue, not to fight, and not to continue the conflict. I simply stopped communicating with them and continued building the company. About a year later, I left that college, leaving that chapter of my life behind.

What started on an iPad in Class 8, 2022 — no mentors, no roadmap, no one pointing the way — has become a business that has generated over ₹25 lakh.

I have led teams, shipped products, been betrayed, been ignored, made costly mistakes, lost friends over transparency, and built through every single setback. I have been told to "just focus on studies" more times than I can count.

Every person who left taught me something. Every closed door pushed me deeper. Every mistake sharpened me. I am 16 years old, turning 17 in August 2026 — and I am just getting started.