I don’t know if life has come full circle. But it feels like I’m standing at a point where I can see the consequences of every seed once sown — even the ones I regret planting. Time, as they say, is a strange healer. It doesn’t erase the past, but it dulls the sting. The rage, the grief, the helpless ache… they slowly dissolve into a kind of quiet understanding.
But there are scars that no healing touches. Wounds inflicted long ago — not by enemies, but by those I once held close — they carved something permanent into me. Not like the betrayal that came 17 years ago.
Some say, “They’re suffering now. Maybe you could reach out. Offer help. Give solace. Be the bigger person.”
And honestly? I could. By God’s grace, I now stand in a place where I can offer help — financially, emotionally, morally. I’ve walked through fire and come out carrying water. I *could* be that person. But my heart whispers otherwise.
Because some things are not meant to be mended.
There’s a saying in Tamil: **“Pambukku paal vaikkaradhu.”** You don’t offer milk to a snake. Not out of vengeance, but out of wisdom. Some people aren’t meant to return to your life — not because you wish them harm, but because they once destroyed what was sacred. Trust. Friendship. Brotherhood.
What God took away, He did for a reason. And what He gave in return — new people, real allies, relationships born in fire and forged in loyalty — they are my true blessings. I don’t curse the ones who broke me. I don’t wish ruin upon them. But I won’t let them walk back in either.
I’ve made peace, yes. But peace doesn’t mean reunion.
Category: Personal
Where I Missed as an Entrepreneur – A Lesson from the Plateau
I’ve always been the kind of person who loves to start things. I’ve built multiple startups. I know how to create traction, build momentum, and get things moving.
Getting from 0 to 1 was never a problem for me. In fact, I enjoyed that phase the most — brainstorming, launching, talking to early users, and seeing things take shape. That energy kept me going.
But somewhere along the way, I hit a plateau. Every time.
The initial buzz would settle. The chaos would turn into routine. And I’d feel stuck.
For a long time, I didn’t understand why this kept happening. I blamed timing, the market, even bad luck.
Only recently, I realised the truth.
I’ve always been good at building the foundation of a startup. But I never focused on building the long-term structure.
I didn’t build systems. I didn’t bring in the right people to grow what I started. I didn’t think of the next phase because I was too caught up in the early wins.
And that’s where I missed.
Looking back, I should have either exited at the right time or brought in someone who could take it forward. Someone who loves to scale, manage teams, and build processes — the things that honestly don’t excite me.
This is a common mistake many founders make — we think we have to do everything ourselves. But the real growth comes when we know our strength and let others handle the rest.
If you’re someone who loves starting up, that’s your superpower. But don’t let that become your limit.
Here’s what I’ve learnt:
- Build with a team that complements you.
- Plan not just for launch, but for what comes after.
- Know when to step back or hand over.
I’m not writing this with regret — I’m writing this with clarity. And if you’re going through the same cycle, I hope this helps you see your pattern too.
Your strength is valuable. Use it wisely. And next time you build something just think beyond just starting.
Bitter First, Better Later
Failure tastes different when we find success.
Struggles taste sweeter when we achieve.
Humiliation tastes lighter when we’re recognized.
Insomnia tastes worth it when we accomplish our mission.
Criticism tastes meaningful when we become leaders.
I tasted them all when I became an entrepreneur.
By S.Anand Nataraj
Nostalgia is a Liar – And I Keep Falling for It
There’s a thief that roams around my mind often. It doesn’t steal money, time, or opportunities. It steals my now.
It’s called nostalgia – the most charming liar of all time.
I’ve realized something lately (after deep self-reflection… and one too many walks down memory lane):
We humans have a weird habit of loving what we had, and completely ignoring what we have.
Think about it…
- We miss school when we’re in college.
- We miss college once we start working.
- We miss the rookie hustle when we finally settle into comfort.
- We miss our first love when we marry a beautiful, nag-proof spouse.
- And just when we start enjoying couplehood, kids arrive — and we start missing our couple time.
And it doesn’t stop there.
This disease spreads to professional life too:
- We carry the baggage of past roles, old bosses, and “those glory days.”
- We talk about how things used to be better — instead of figuring out how to make this better.
We keep looking over our shoulder, wishing life had a reverse gear.
But here’s the joke — we’re so busy missing the past that we forget to make the present miss-worthy.
So today, I’ve decided to stop romanticizing what was and start appreciating what is.
No more looking back unless it’s to laugh, learn, or let go.
Because one day, we might miss this moment too — so let’s live it like it’s worth remembering.
A Saturday to Remember – From Little Prashanth to Advocate Prashanth
I went to Trichy for the wedding reception of Advocate Prashanth. He’s not just any groom — I’ve known him since the day he was born. His father is a close family friend who never missed any of our family functions and always stood by us during tough times.
Prashanth was the youngest in our circle — always around in our get-togethers as a little boy. I’ve seen him grow, step by step, and today he’s a smart lawyer who even handles some of my cases. Seeing him as a groom made me feel both proud and emotional. It was a big fat Trichy wedding — full of people, lights, and good vibes.
Apart from the reception, it turned into a mini family get-together.
I made sure to take my kids along — I’ve started doing this more consciously. I want them to stay connected with cousins, feel the warmth of extended family, and create their own memories. They had a great time.
Even I got to catch up with my cousins, uncles, and aunties. It felt nice. These small moments matter.
We drove from Madurai to Trichy, visited my uncle and cousins, attended the wedding, and drove back. Long day, but worth every bit.
Some Saturdays are for work.
Some for rest.
This one — was for memories.
Madras Checked Shirt – A Global Trend Born in Our Backyard
If you grew up in Madras — the real Madras, not the renamed Chennai — you probably know the scent of Marina’s sea breeze, the rhythm of Ilaiyaraaja in the evening air, and the comforting chaos of Ranganathan Street on a festival weekend.
But here’s something fewer people know:
One of **India’s most iconic contributions to global fashion** quietly originated from this very soil — the **Madras checked shirt**.
What Is a Madras Check?
Madras check is a lightweight, breathable cotton fabric with colorful, often uneven plaid patterns.
Its signature trait? The dyes were natural and deliberately unstable, designed to bleed and fade over time — giving every shirt a unique, lived-in character.
These weren’t mass-manufactured patterns. They were woven with soul.
From Madras Mills to Ivy League Halls
During the 1960s, this fabric made its way to the United States through export channels.
American retailers like Brooks Brothers picked it up, sold it as a summer luxury fabric, and branded it boldly:
Guaranteed to bleed.
What started as local, humble workwear became the go-to summer style for American college students, yacht owners, and golf lovers.
Imagine that — something woven in Chengalpattu or Salem ended up on the runways and prep schools of New York.
And the Weavers?
Many of these legendary fabrics came from handloom clusters in Tamil Nadu — especially around Chengalpattu, Salem, and Madurai.
Today, due to industrial shifts, some weavers have moved to other professions, while a few still continue the tradition for heritage boutiques and niche export markets.
What was once an everyday wear in our land is now a prized vintage item overseas.
Why This Matters
We often celebrate global trends without realizing they were born in our own backyard.
Madras check isn’t just a design — it’s a reminder that local hands can shape global taste.
It’s a tribute to a time when fabric had character, shirts had stories, and style came with soul.
Madras isn’t just a city. It’s a signature.
Sometimes… it bleeds.
Sometimes… it checks you with pride.
Always, it stays timeless.
Karma vs Dharma: The Silent Tug-of-War Every Entrepreneur Faces
As entrepreneurs, we are wired to chase growth, break limits, and build legacies. We dream of freedom — financial, creative, emotional. But there’s a tug-of-war inside us that nobody talks about enough: Karma vs Dharma.
Let me break it down the way life taught me — not from a textbook or a spiritual discourse, but from those raw, sleepless nights when I sat alone questioning every move I ever made.
Karma: The Baggage You Carry
Karma isn’t just some cosmic scoreboard of good and bad deeds. For an entrepreneur, karma shows up as the invisible baggage we drag along:
- Past business mistakes
- Betrayals from partners or friends
- Poor financial decisions made under pressure
- Emotional debts with family and loved ones
It quietly shapes how we trust people, how we take risks, and how much we dare to dream again. We don’t always realize it, but karma sits in the boardroom with us, listens to investor pitches with us, and whispers into our ears when we think we’re making a “bold move.”
Dharma: The Duty That Grounds You
While karma pulls you into your past, dharma anchors you to your responsibility today.
For me, my dharma was clear: protect my family, provide a safety net, and keep them away from financial storms.
Every decision I made — be it launching a new venture, holding on to an old business despite losses, or taking on unexpected debts — was driven by this deep-rooted sense of duty. I wasn’t gambling for fame; I was fighting for my family’s dignity.
People on the outside see failed ventures or debts. But in my mind, those moves were never reckless bets — they were desperate attempts to shield the people I love.
The Clash: When Karma Tests Your Dharma
Sometimes, your karma and dharma go to war.
You act out of dharma, but karma turns it into a mess. You try to build a protective revenue stream for your family, but karma brings delays, unexpected losses, and betrayals that collapse your plans.
Then come the harsh judgments: “Why didn’t you pause?”, “Why didn’t you consult someone first?”, “Why did you jump into it?”
But nobody sees that, at that moment, you were acting from the purest intention possible — to protect, to uplift, to fulfill your dharma.
What I Learned (The Hard Way)
Your karma might twist your outcomes, but your dharma defines your character.
If your current business profits are going into paying off past mistakes or settling old loans, it’s not a failure. It’s karmic cleansing. It’s a debt paid not just in money, but in the form of maturity, resilience, and a stronger foundation for the future.
When the dust settles, the world may only remember balance sheets and success stories. But you — and your soul — will remember why you took each step.
A Quiet Conclusion
Karma tests you, dharma defines you.
If you’re an entrepreneur feeling weighed down by invisible debts — emotional or financial — don’t judge yourself only by the outcomes. Look at your intentions.
Maybe you didn’t build an empire (yet). But if you fought for your people, you didn’t really lose.
Still here. Still trying. And that, I believe, is the purest dharma.
Breaking the Scarcity Loop: The Invisible Trap That Keeps Entrepreneurs Stuck
When you start out as an entrepreneur, people tell you to hustle, to keep moving, to “figure it out somehow.” But nobody warns you about the invisible trap that slowly consumes your mind and robs you of your creativity: the scarcity loop.
What is the scarcity loop?
The scarcity loop is not just about not having enough money. It’s a mental state where your entire bandwidth is consumed by one loud question: “How do I survive today?”
You start solving only for tomorrow’s cash flow, this week’s EMI, or this month’s vendor payment. You forget to look at the big picture because your mental windshield is fogged by immediate fires.
When survival mode hijacks your brain
I remember times when I had to figure out how to pay monthly vendor payments while also preparing the next sales pitch deck to keep future revenue coming in.
- Instead of thinking about building a long-term brand, I was stuck thinking, “How do I just stay afloat this month?”
- Instead of selecting ideal customers, I said yes to anyone who could pay, even if it drained our energy and diluted our vision.
- Instead of working on systems and team processes, I spent nights firefighting because every rupee felt like borrowed oxygen.
I was moving, but not growing. I was hustling, but not building.
The cost of staying in the loop
When you’re trapped in scarcity, you start:
- Making reactive decisions, not strategic ones.
- Accepting bad deals because cash today feels more important than sustainability tomorrow.
- Losing good team members who see chaos and no clear vision.
- Burning out emotionally and physically — coming home to your family as a shell, not a leader.
In my lowest phases, I realized that the mind, when stuck in scarcity, cannot dream. It cannot imagine a different future because it is busy scanning for immediate threats like a soldier in a battlefield.
Breaking out: From survival to strategy
I learned this the hard way: you can’t build an empire if you’re always patching holes in the roof.
How to step out of this loop?
✅ Build a small cash buffer, even if it means slower growth initially.
✅ Stop chasing clients or projects that only feed today’s cash flow but destroy tomorrow’s vision.
✅ Delegate more and trust systems — the mental relief is worth every penny.
✅ Surround yourself with people who see beyond next month’s revenue sheet.
✅ Shift your question from “How do I survive today?” to “How do I design tomorrow?”
A gentle perspective
If your current profits are going into paying off old mistakes or debts, it’s not failure. It’s healing.
It’s your mind and business paying karmic dues so you can eventually rise lighter and clearer.
A quiet closing thought
“A mind trapped in scarcity can’t build abundance — no matter how good the business plan is.”
Move slow if you must, but move with vision. Survival is necessary, but freedom is where the true magic happens.
Rebuilding After the Storm: A Letter to My Family and Myself
They say family is your anchor — the people who catch you when you fall, the voices that remind you who you are when the world forgets. But what happens when the storms of life are so strong that even your anchor feels shaky?
In 2018, my life entered what I now call the perfect storm phase. My tech cofounder left, a trusted employee faced a personal crisis, my property got stuck in litigation, and an old partner filed a false legal case against me. If that wasn’t enough, a fire took down the one cash-generating coffee shop I had left.
I made a bold decision then — to create Advaith’s Nest, a rental asset meant to bring residual income. The plan was simple: build a stable foundation so I could focus on my main business, free from daily financial turbulence.
But life, as always, had its own script.
When a shield becomes a battlefield
I envisioned Advaith’s Nest as a protective wall for my family. In reality, it became a battleground for debts.
Originally, it was planned as a quick, smart move — deliver the building in 8 months, start earning rental income, and finally build a life where I was shielded from daily financial turbulence.
But then came a series of punches I couldn’t block.
The builder delayed far beyond what I could question or control. COVID lockdowns slammed the brakes on construction, freezing everything in place.
Instead of 8 months, it took 41 months to finally see it completed. Those extra 33 months weren’t just a delay on paper — they were a slow bleed on every plan I had carefully charted out.
By the time the project was ready, my financial shield had become a battlefield of debt repayments and emotional damage. Every rupee of rental income went into plugging holes from the past instead of protecting my future.
I built Advaith’s Nest for my wife — so she could live stress-free, focusing on her dreams and passions. But instead, she had to step into a job, facing the very financial storms I promised to keep away.
What was meant to be a fortress became a front line. A safe haven turned into another battleground. And watching that transformation unfold in slow motion — unable to stop it, unable to fight it — is a pain I still carry in every breath.
The slow poison of lost trust
When you lose money, you feel pain. When you lose trust, you lose the very fuel that keeps you moving.
Family trust isn’t just about financial support — it’s about feeling seen and understood. Without it, every business pitch feels heavier, every new idea seems riskier, and every sunrise feels a little less bright.
I didn’t want my wife to work because I believed I could be her shield. Now, watching her step into the battlefield with me stings in ways words can’t capture.
Rebuilding: brick by brick, breath by breath
Many say, “Start again! Rebuild!” But what they don’t tell you is that rebuilding after a major collapse is not just a logistical task — it’s an emotional surgery.
You carry every past betrayal, every criticism, every silent stare at dinner. You build not just a new business, but a new identity. You move with double caution, second-guess every decision, and question whether your “big comeback” is even possible.
The toughest part isn’t raising money or building products. It’s rebuilding trust — in yourself, in your vision, and most painfully, in the eyes of those you love the most.
A quiet promise to myself and my family
I know I cannot fix the past. No apology or explanation can fully heal the wounds that unexpected financial struggles have caused. But I can honor the pain by transforming it.
I still believe in the core reason I started: to build something meaningful, not just for the market but for my family’s dignity and future.
To my family: I see the weight you carried. I see your sacrifices. I see your silent prayers at night. And I see the disappointment too.
I don’t seek blind forgiveness or instant validation. I seek your presence as I try again. Not as a flawless savior, but as a man who refuses to stop fighting for his family — even when he bleeds internally.
I may not be the man who always wins, but I am the man who never stops coming back home.
Friends in Oblivion: A Reflection on Those Mad, Beautiful Years
They say friendships are the family we choose. But sometimes, life gives us friends we never knew we needed — and takes them away just as unexpectedly.
Between 2008 and 2012, I had a circle that was nothing short of electric. We weren’t just building businesses; we were building each other.
It was a phase of wild nights and wilder dreams. Knowledge collaboration in the day, partying hard at night, getting stoned over the weekends — we did things that today sound crazy and almost unbelievable. But that madness was our glue. It detoxed us from daily business stress, kept us alive, and taught us more than any MBA ever could.
But life, as always, had its own plans.
End of 2012, I got married. My father’s sudden hospitalization soon after shattered that rhythm. One by one, the circle started breaking — some had fallouts among themselves, some quit entrepreneurship, some got into serious personal crises, others moved abroad, and a few simply withdrew into their own worlds.
Then came COVID. Financial struggles and the survival grind tightened the last few threads. I got so entangled in rebuilding my life that those friendships, once my lifeline, drifted into oblivion.
Today, I look back and wonder: What were those friendships? Why did they feel so irreplaceable? Why do they hurt to remember?
What were they really?
Those were what I now understand as situational friendships — connections born out of a specific context, a shared madness, and a common dream. We didn’t become friends because of shared childhoods or family ties, but because we shared the same burning fire in that phase of life.
We were all entrepreneurs — each of us a little broken, a little foolish, yet unshakably hopeful. We learned from each other, fought with each other, and celebrated every tiny win like it was the end of the world.
Why do they fade?
Because life is not a constant. Priorities change. Marriage, kids, health crises, business failures, relocations — all these start pulling us in different directions. Some find new tribes, some retreat into personal solitude, and some get consumed by survival.
There’s no big betrayal or dramatic end — just a quiet drifting apart. A slow fade into silence.
Do I miss them?
Every day.
I miss the impulsive midnight drives, the heated debates that went from business models to philosophical rabbit holes, the sense of belonging to a gang that truly “got it.”
But I also know that those friendships, like beautiful old songs, belong to a time and place that can’t be recreated. They were chapters meant to end, lessons meant to be carried forward, not lived on repeat.
Some friendships are like rivers — they flow into your life, shape your shores, then find their way to the sea. You can’t hold them back, but you can always feel the shape they left on your soul.
A final whisper to that gang
Wherever you all are — running a new venture, teaching your kids to ride a bicycle in Canada, or quietly reflecting on those reckless days — I hope you feel the same warmth when you think of our nights in Adambakkam.
Some friendships are meant to be wild tides — crashing, roaring, unforgettable — before they dissolve into the larger sea of life.
AnandNataraj 