I. Childhood A boy is born to modest means, where dreams are weighed in gold not for him, but for the house, where bills pile, stories untold. His father sweats in sunlit streets, a wallet thin as thread, each rupee split for bread and books, while dreams hang by a thread. The boy, he learns to bite his tongue, to bury wants too deep "Can we afford this course?" he thinks, while others soar, he creeps. II. Lessons in lack No talk of stocks, no wealth, no bonds, just whispers
