“Some lessons don’t come from success.
They come from the days you couldn’t even afford ten rupees.”
I was born in Sivakasi, in a small village near Sathur called Thayilpatti. But Chennai is where I truly grew up and understood life. My schooling, college, and work all happened here. For almost ten months every year, Chennai was home. Summers meant two months back in my village.
Life in the city was structured. Rooms, routines, responsibilities. But those village summers were pure freedom. Running around barefoot, playing endlessly, laughing without a clock. That contrast stayed with me and quietly shaped who I became.
What really moulded me, though, were people. My parents. Friends. Strangers who stepped in at the right moment. At every stage of my life, someone helped me without being asked. That’s why today, if someone asks me for help, I don’t hesitate. If someone shows me respect, I return it fully. Life taught me that through people, not books.
After college, it took almost two years to land a stable job. I tried network marketing. I was young and learning the hard way. There were losses, confusion, and plenty of wrong turns. Later, I started a small business with my uncle, manufacturing moving bags in Sivakasi and supplying them in Chennai. I earned fifty paise per bag. For that fifty paise, I walked miles. Some days, I skipped the bus to save money. Some days, I skipped meals. My family would have helped if I asked, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
That business failed too. Still, I told myself I didn’t want a regular job. I wanted to build something on my own.
Then one day changed everything.
My father wasn’t well, and I took him to the hospital. On the way back, we stopped for sugarcane juice. It cost about ten or fifteen rupees. My father quietly said, “I only have ten rupees now. I’ll give the balance later.”
That moment shattered me. Not because of the money, but because I couldn’t even afford ten rupees for my father. I asked myself what I was really holding on to. Pride or stubbornness. If I couldn’t be dependable in moments like this, what was I chasing?
That day, I chose differently.
I searched seriously for a job. I got one. I started contributing at home. For the first time, life felt steady.
When I think of Chennai, I think of my school days, cycling through the streets with friends after class. If you’ve seen the movie 3, those bike rides and that freedom, that was my life. One of those friends is still by my side today.
Chennai is also beaches at dawn, silence broken by waves. It’s food from small places that feel like comfort. A simple dosa or a plate of biryani, if it feels right, I go back. It’s the same small shops where I bought brinji for fifteen rupees as a student and still do today. It’s cinema halls like Abirami and Albert, where my love for films began because my family took me to the movies from a young age.
Chennai raised me.
It broke me when I needed breaking.
And it taught me how to stand back up.”