One thing I’ve always hated is waiting. The second — dropping someone off and hanging around until they return.
As a teenager, my mom often insisted I drop my sister at her tuition classes. I’d grumble, resist, and still end up doing it. Sometimes even my cousin hopped on, and I became the unwilling chauffeur. I’d scoot back home, only to rush again to pick them up. When my grandmother scolded me for complaining, I’d shrug it off and continue hating the waiting.
Fast forward to today — I’m a father. And life, with its irony, has placed me in the same shoes. My daughter goes for her Hindi classes, and the new normal is this: drop her, wait for an hour and a half, pick her back.
I don’t enjoy it. I still hate waiting. But parenting isn’t about what I like — it’s about responsibility.
Yet, something surprising happened. Behind this uncomfortable routine, I discovered a new kind of experience. Since her classes are in downtown Madurai with no cafés or hangout spots nearby, I started spending that waiting time in a famous temple close by.
And there, waiting turned into something else. The temple’s silence, the chants, the fragrance of incense, and the sight of strangers in prayer gave me peace I didn’t expect. The restless ticking of time became a pause — a divine pause.
Now, I don’t complain. I stand there, soaking in the positive energy, observing life in its simple rhythms, and walking away lighter than I came in.
Maybe waiting isn’t wasted time after all. Sometimes, it’s God’s way of slowing you down.
I’ve always believed fear doesn’t come from ghosts in the dark or thunder in the skies. Fear creeps in when you realize life is no longer in your hands — when control quietly slips away.
I felt it most sharply during the two years my dad was hospitalized. Suddenly, the reins of my father’s life weren’t in my grip — they were in the hands of doctors and fate. Every beeping machine, every delayed report, every late-night call felt like a reminder that I had no say in what would happen next. That helplessness was fear in its purest form.
I felt it again during the late evenings when most of my friends were getting married. I feared loneliness — not because I didn’t want marriage, but because it was not in my control. No matter how much I tried, the timelines didn’t align with my wishes. The steering wheel of my life seemed hijacked by something larger.
Legal battles brought their own flavor of fear. I might have been the one fighting, but the reality was — attorneys, judges, and systems controlled the pace and outcome. I was just a passenger waiting at every bend.
And that’s the cruel trick of fear — it feeds on our urge to control. The more we cling to it, the tighter fear grips us.
What I’ve Learned
You can’t control everything. What you can do is:
Prepare yourself mentally to accept uncertainty instead of resisting it.
Focus on your response, not the situation — resilience is the only lever you always own.
Because at the end of the day, fortune favours the bold.
We all sat in the same classroom, didn’t we? Same chalkboard, same dusty carpet, same lessons on how to spell “success.” The timetable was identical, but life had a different curriculum waiting for each of us.
Some of us went on to be praised, some forgotten, some mourned, some judged, and some completely misunderstood. Behind those identical desks were lives that would one day scatter into destinies no textbook ever dared to predict.
And that’s the truth most of us overlook—the curriculum we were taught barely scratches the surface of what shapes a human being. We learned math, grammar, a little history. But did anyone teach us resilience? Did anyone show us how to process grief, manage anxiety, or break free from generational cycles? We memorized formulas, but no one gave us the tools to heal from invisible wounds.
Life’s real exams aren’t written on paper. They’re the sleepless nights when bills pile up, the quiet battles with self-doubt, the weight of losses no report card ever reflected.
So before you envy someone’s outcome or criticize another’s downfall, pause and remember: we all sat in the same room, but we were fighting very different battles. And no classroom, no syllabus, no chalkboard ever prepared us for that.
In business and in life, sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places.
Back in 2021, I was caught in a storm. A real estate syndicate blocked me from selling my own house for nearly 18 months. Every attempt failed, and the weight of financial struggle only grew heavier. My pride was bruised, my options shrinking.
And then, this person walked into my life. He had no money, no connections in the city, no reason to fight my battle. Yet, he did.
In just two months, staying in a place where he was a complete outsider, he managed to sell the house. That single act salvaged not only my finances but also my pride. For me, it wasn’t just a transaction—it was liberation.
But the story didn’t end there.
When I built Advaith’s Nest, people laughed at my conviction. “The rent is too high,” they said. “Nobody will pay this much in this neighborhood.” The whispers were everywhere.
But this man believed in me. He didn’t just believe—he executed. He went out, found tenants who trusted the value we demanded, and in doing so, we wrote history for that locality. What everyone thought was “too expensive” became the new normal. The neighborhood had never seen such rentals before, and suddenly, Advaith’s Nest became proof of what was possible.
Looking back, it wasn’t just about the house sale or the tenants. It was about what we proved together—that conviction, backed by the right execution, can rewrite narratives.
Sometimes, it isn’t the crowd that validates your dream. It’s that one person who stands by you, executes when everyone doubts, and changes the script for good.
They say life is nothing but a series of choices — some we make in seconds, some after years of thought. But it’s the unexpected ones, the small decisions on seemingly ordinary days, that end up shaping our destiny the most.
In 2004, I made such a choice. I hired someone. That’s it. A routine decision. A resume, a handshake, a promise of a new beginning — it felt like just another Monday on the entrepreneurial calendar.
She was from a small town, working in a call center, holding an MBA in HR but desperate for a break. I saw that raw hunger and decided to offer her a platform — I thought I was enabling a young professional’s dream. Maybe, in some corner of my mind, I even saw a reflection of my own past struggles — that same raw desperation to make it.
I had built my first venture with a dear partner, brick by brick, dream by dream. We didn’t have connections, we didn’t have family money cushioning our falls. All we had was ambition that kept us awake at night and a silent promise to each other that we would make it, no matter what.
But sometimes, we forget — when you open your door wide for someone, they might walk in carrying not gratitude, but greed. She wasn’t cunning or a mastermind. She was simply short-sighted, hungry for quick luxury, blinded by instant pleasures. While we were busy building a company to stand the test of time, she was busy living in borrowed moments, chasing dinners, perfumes, designer labels — things that glitter only till the lights are on.
In her desperate rush for the high life, she didn’t just stumble — she pulled down everything in her path. She rattled a ship that was floating on the fragile balance of two young dreamers. She planted doubts, sowed jealousy, whispered false comforts — and before I knew it, the dream I had once guarded like a newborn was thrown out with me.
In 2008, I was pushed out of my own creation. My partner too slowly fell into a pit he couldn’t climb out of. The venture that had so much promise, that spark in our eyes — it all vanished like an unfinished verse in a torn diary.
But the tragedy didn’t spare her either. The same greed that fueled her steps ultimately consumed her life. She ended up as lost as we were broken — a stark reminder that shortcuts don’t just ruin roads, they erase destinations.
Years later, people still ask me, “What went wrong?” I don’t blame fate, nor do I hold the world accountable. My only mistake? Hiring the wrong person on that one day in 2004. That single signature on a simple appointment letter shifted the course of twenty-one years of my life.
If I could ask God for just one gift, I wouldn’t ask for money, fame, or even a second chance. I would simply ask Him to make me dream backwards — just for one night.
A dream where I go back to that fateful day, fix that one decision, and erase that moment when I hired her. A dream where I see myself and my partner, two young boys with fire in their eyes, running a company that’s recognised, respected, and celebrated by all. A dream where we are still fighting side by side, laughing over cheap tea, planning crazy ideas that kept us up all night, watching our tiny dream grow into an empire that even we can’t believe we built.
And in that dream, I want to see us standing on a stage, receiving awards, hearing applause, hugging each other with tears in our eyes — whispering, “We did it, against all odds.” I want to wake up in the morning and still taste that dream, feel its warmth in my veins, carry its fragrance in my mind.
But life doesn’t give us that luxury. So, I move forward — with scars, with lessons, and with the silent prayer that no one else ever has to learn it the way I did.
Flow in your rhythm — the tide will find its way to you.
They say time and tide wait for no man. With that belief, I started my rookie entrepreneur run. I had my ups and downs, and today I stand at a point of realization: you will have your time. Put in your efforts, balance your life, and things will happen in their own time.
As a rookie, in just 8 years, I created a business empire that brought the envy of many. I ran ahead of seasoned players who had been around for decades. It felt like I had cracked the code — until I hit the fall.
After that struggle, I started seeing new rookies beating me. People who were once behind me moved ahead. It felt hopeless at times, watching the race from the sidelines. But as I sat back and truly analyzed it, I saw the pattern:
The illusion of permanent success
We often think success is a peak — climb it once, and you’re there forever. But it’s not.
Success is like a series of waves. Today you’re ahead, tomorrow someone else. Then someday you rise again. It’s a continuous, flowing cycle.
Everyone has their reversals
Everyone who sprints ahead will eventually need to slow down. Every empire, every champion, every star performer — they all have their reversals. Some gracefully, some painfully, but all inevitably.
That doesn’t make them failures. It makes them part of life’s natural rhythm.
Effort, balance, and patience
The more I reflect, the more I realize that raw speed isn’t everything. Balance matters more. Effort matters more. Staying patient and showing up consistently matter more.
It’s no longer just about outrunning everyone else; it’s about lasting, evolving, and staying true to yourself.
Your own rhythm
Those rookies overtaking me today? They are in their own prime, their own sprint phase. Some will last, some will fade. Just like I did. Just like everyone does.
There is no permanent “ahead” or “behind.” There’s just your story, your learnings, and your rhythm.
Final thought: Time and tide wait for no man — but they flow with the one who flows with them
So I keep reminding myself: do your part, stay true, keep your balance, and your day will come. Again and again, in different forms.
The founder’s true hustle: balancing the dream and the self.
When we talk about entrepreneurship, we love to throw around big words — hustle, grind, passion, risk. We romanticize late nights, skipped meals, endless meetings, and that elusive “big win.”
But here’s the bitter truth I learned the hard way: the biggest asset in your startup isn’t your product, your team, or even your funding — it’s you.
As founders, we become our startup’s first sacrifice. We skip meals, work until we doze off at our desk or in the car, ditch workouts, and pile up stress like it’s a badge of honor. We tell ourselves, “Once I close this round… Once we hit this milestone… Then I’ll fix my health.” But that day rarely comes.
I’ve been there — poor eating habits, no fixed sleeping schedule, mind always racing at 200 km/h, pulling my family into a life of constant uncertainty. I realized one thing: building a business shouldn’t mean breaking myself down.
So, I decided to flip the narrative. Here’s my simple Founder Wellness Framework — a survival kit for anyone crazy enough to chase a dream and bold enough to protect themselves in the process.
Treat your health like an investor meeting
If you wouldn’t miss a call with your top investor, don’t skip your health appointments or workouts. Block time in your calendar for walks, workouts, or at least a few stretches. Move like your runway depends on it — because it does.
Eat to fuel, not just to fill
No one expects gourmet meals or fancy diets, but choose real food over packet snacks. Keep fruits, nuts, or home-cooked options at arm’s reach instead of biscuits and chips. Remember: a well-fed founder thinks better, decides better, lives better.
Protect your sleep like your IP
Your mind is your most valuable intellectual property. Sleep is the best free maintenance service for it. No “just one more mail.” No working till you doze off at your desk or in your car. Shut it down. Recharge. Next day, show up like a human, not a zombie.
Build your emotional safety net
Talk to friends, mentors, or even a professional if needed. Don’t carry every failure and every setback like a private burden. Share it, release it. You’ll be surprised how many others are silently going through the same.
Protect your close ones from your chaos
Entrepreneurship is your chosen roller coaster, not theirs. Be mindful not to drag them into every loop and drop. Check in with your family. Show up at dinners. Put the phone down and listen — truly listen. You’ll build more than a company; you’ll build a legacy they’ll want to be part of.
The real hustle
The real hustle isn’t just about 100-hour weeks or raising millions. The real hustle is building something without losing yourself in the process. We can’t pour from an empty cup. Our dreams are big, but they deserve a founder who’s strong enough to see them through.
So to every founder out there: build your product, scale your team, delight your customers — but above all, build and protect yourself.
That’s the only way the story you’re writing today becomes the legend you’ll tell tomorrow.
“The founder is the first investor, the first employee, and the last line of defense. Protect that asset at all costs.”
I’ve seen this time and again — in business, in relationships, and especially in entrepreneurship:
People judge outcomes. Not journeys.
Success? You’re celebrated. Failure? You’re forgotten. Still trying? You’re questioned.
Why is it this way?
Because outcomes are visible, journeys are not.
Nobody sees the 3 a.m. self-doubt. The loan EMIs. The silent sacrifices. They only see whether you “made it” — or didn’t.
Society has become obsessed with results. We’ve built a culture where IPOs trend, but unpaid dues don’t. Where LinkedIn posts shine, but emotional breakdowns stay hidden.
The cost of this mindset for entrepreneurs?
1.)Emotional burnout
You start believing you’re only as good as your last “win.” The effort, grit, and growth mean nothing if the scoreboard shows zero.
2.)Judgment from close ones
The toughest hits often come not from strangers, but from family and friends:
“Still chasing your dream?” “When will you settle down?” “Why not take up something stable?”
Their concern is real, but their understanding is rare.
3.)Fear of failure
You start making safe bets. You drop ideas too soon. You avoid risks just to avoid ridicule.
4.)Validation over vision
You chase vanity metrics. You post curated wins. You start performing entrepreneurship instead of living it.
But here’s the truth no one talks about:
The journey builds you, whether or not the startup succeeds.
Failure isn’t the opposite of success — it’s a phase of it.
Your worth isn’t tied to revenue charts. It’s tied to resilience.
Let’s change the narrative:
Instead of asking:
“What’s your valuation?” Let’s ask: “What have you learned?” “What’s keeping you going?” “How can I help?”
Because some journeys deserve standing ovations — even without a trophy.
From fearless builder to thoughtful storyteller — the journey of Anand Nataraj, as decoded by ChatGPT.
Disclaimer: The following blog is not written by me personally — it is a reflection and summary generated by ChatGPT based on my blog archives and public content.
When you hear the name Anand Nataraj, you might think of an energetic entrepreneur who jumped into the IT world in the early 2000s. But dig a little deeper — as I did, scrolling through nearly two decades of raw, candid, and evolving blog posts — and you’ll discover a story that goes far beyond business.
Anand started blogging in 2005, and those early posts capture a young man full of fire. Fresh from college, brimming with startup dreams, he wrote with the casual excitement of someone who believed anything was possible. Movie outings, jokes about parties, and quick startup tips sat side by side, reflecting a mind that was both curious and carefree. He even declared once to his mother (when domain registration was a luxury) that he’d become “the next Bill Gates” — a sign of fearless ambition that only 20-something dreamers can truly embody.
Then came the late 2000s, a time of turbulence and rapid learning. In 2008, Anand faced what he called a “biggest turbulence” in his life. This phase shifted his tone from loud confidence to thoughtful reflection. By 2010, at age 30, he wrote a detailed retrospective called “From Zero to Thirty,” chronicling each year of his life like chapters in a book. This post was a turning point — you could see a young founder becoming a seasoned entrepreneur, someone who had learned that failure wasn’t just a setback but a teacher.
Interestingly, back then, his *About* page mentioned only his dad, mom, sister, and wife. It was only recently (in 2025) that he updated it to include his daughter and son, a subtle but strong symbol of shifting priorities. Family, once a background mention, has now become central to his identity.
By the early 2010s, Anand’s writing started to balance technical insights and personal growth stories. Posts like his 1,000th blog entry in 2014 show a man who began seeing blogging as more than a hobby — it was therapy, a sounding board, and a way to connect with a wider community. He openly credited blogging for helping him improve communication, manage stress, and make new friends.
As years went on, his style matured even more. From casual slang and wild punctuation (those “!!!” everywhere) to a more composed, mentor-like tone. He started writing less about just the “hustle” and more about inner journeys — mental health, heartbreak, resilience, and the emotional costs of entrepreneurship. In a deeply vulnerable post from 2025, he shared the story of a painful breakup and a lost month in Port Blair, showing a level of openness and humility that his younger self would have kept hidden.
Yet, throughout this long journey, some threads remain untouched: his unwavering optimism, his passion for building, and his need to share — even when it hurts. Where once he wrote as if he had something to prove, today Anand writes like someone who simply wants to be understood and perhaps help someone else feel less alone.
His latest posts emphasize legacy over immediate wins, inner balance over constant hustle, and connection over competition. He doesn’t just tell you how to build a company; he shows you what it feels like to build a life — with all its messy turns, heartbreaks, and triumphs.
What stands out most from this deep dive? Anand Nataraj is not just the bold entrepreneur he set out to be in 2000. He has transformed into a reflective storyteller, a father, a mentor — a man who embodies the line he often repeats: *“Fortune favours the bold,”* but now with the wisdom to know that true boldness lies not just in taking big risks, but in showing your scars and keeping your heart open.
From a fearless startup dreamer to a thoughtful life documentarian, Anand’s blog reads like a living autobiography — proof that real success isn’t just about building companies, but about building oneself.
Some stories are about success. Some are about failure. And some, like mine, fall into an endless limbo — a space where you’re not losing, yet you’re not winning either.
I still remember the excitement of participating in the Reliance Petroleum IPO years ago. It wasn’t just an investment; it felt like owning a tiny piece of a giant vision. Fast forward to 2009: Reliance Petroleum was merged into Reliance Industries, and a swap ratio was announced — for every 16 shares of RPL, one share of RIL would be issued.
Sounds simple enough, right? In a perfect world, yes. But in my world, simplicity turned into a long-winding maze.
At the end of 2008, life threw me off a cliff. I went through a partnership breakup, a personal relationship breakup, and a complete financial turmoil all at once. In that whirlwind of survival, I lost track of my demat investments entirely. Only around 2023 did I finally find the time — and the mental space — to look into these forgotten holdings.
When I checked my demat account years later, I realized those RPL shares were still haunting me, unconverted, unsellable, like a ghost from a forgotten ledger. I couldn’t sell them, couldn’t claim dividends — I couldn’t even move on.
ICICIDirect pointed me to KFintech, the registrar handling these transitions. And that’s where my real journey began — or should I say, where my patience was tested beyond limits.
Email after email, I kept trying. They responded asking for share certificates that never existed in the first place because my holdings were in dematerialized form. When I explained, they requested “additional proof” — statements, transaction records, holding confirmations. I provided everything, each time hoping it would be the last request, each time thinking: This is it, they’ll finally process it.
But like a twisted loop, the replies always circled back to new demands or cryptic statements: “Folio number doesn’t match,” or “Provide a scanned image of the certificate.”
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And before I knew it, I had spent two years stuck in this bureaucratic labyrinth.
Somewhere along the way, I started questioning — was it my mistake? Did I miss some notification back in 2009? Did my broker fail me? Or is it simply that large systems forget small investors like us?
I don’t just see this as a technical or administrative issue anymore. It’s a test of resilience, a silent war fought through scanned attachments, politely worded follow-ups, and the relentless hope that this time it will work.
Yet, here I am. Two years later. My shares remain ghosts. My case remains “open.” My hope — well, it flickers, but it hasn’t died.
As I write this, I share not only my frustration but also my vulnerability. To all the financial advisors, experienced investors, or kind souls who’ve walked this path before and if you’ve solved such issues or know someone in this domain who can help, your guidance would be deeply appreciated.
I’m not just seeking a resolution. I’m seeking closure for my shares, and for the weary investor within me.
AnandNataraj 