Chapter 3 – A World Against Him...
The sky was gray that morning, heavy with the smell of rain. Sanjay walked quickly down the street, his worn sandals splashing in the puddles left from the night’s storm. In his hand he carried a small cloth bag, carefully tied at the top. Inside were the coins he had saved for months—his treasure, his proof that he was ready to take a step bigger than carrying bags at the bus stand.
He had heard about a shopkeeper who wanted a helper to manage a small stall of secondhand goods. For Sanjay, this was more than a job; it was a chance to learn, to touch the world of business, even if it was nothing more than used pens and notebooks.
As he reached the market, his heart pounded. The street was alive with shouts—vendors bargaining, customers laughing, the sound of metal shutters rolling open. The shopkeeper, a man named Javed, stood outside a wooden stall stacked with piles of old books and pens.
Sanjay bowed his head respectfully. “Sir, I heard you are looking for someone to help. I… I want to work here. I can count money, keep things safe, speak to customers—”
Before he could finish, Javed looked him up and down. His eyes lingered on Sanjay’s torn shirt, his thin arms, his patched sandals. Then he laughed, a short, sharp sound.
“You?” he scoffed. “You look like you can’t even afford to buy a pen, and you want to sell them? Go carry sacks at the bus stand. That’s your work.”
Sanjay felt his face burn. “Sir, please,” he whispered, “I may look poor, but I learn quickly. Just give me one chance—”
Javed waved him away like a stray dog. “Go. Don’t waste my time.”
The words struck harder than a slap. Sanjay stood frozen, the bag of coins heavy in his hand, while customers nearby chuckled quietly at his humiliation.
That evening, Sanjay sat outside his house, staring at the dirt ground. His mother noticed his silence.
“What happened, Sanjay?” she asked gently.
He hesitated. “They laughed at me, Amma. They said I don’t belong there.”
Her eyes softened with pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “The world will always laugh before it respects you. Don’t let their laughter decide your future.”
Her words were kind, but Sanjay’s chest still ached. That night he lay awake, hearing Javed’s mocking voice again and again.
The next week, determined not to give up, Sanjay took his coins and bought a small bundle of pens from a wholesale stall. He spread them on a cloth near the market, hoping to sell to passing students.
For hours, he called out, smiling, holding out the pens.
“Good pens! Strong nibs! Cheap price!”
But no one stopped. Some looked at him and smirked. A group of boys from a rich school passed by. One of them picked up a pen, twirled it between his fingers, then tossed it back carelessly.
“How much?” he asked.
“Two rupees,” Sanjay said, voice steady.
The boy laughed and threw a single coin on the ground. “That’s what you deserve.”
His friends burst into laughter and walked away.
Sanjay bent down, picked up the coin, and clenched it so tightly in his fist that it cut into his skin.
For the rest of the day, he sold nothing.
When he returned home, his father sat outside sharpening his bicycle chain. He looked up at Sanjay, saw the empty cloth bag, and shook his head.
“Dreams are useless,” his father muttered. “The world doesn’t let people like us rise. Learn to accept it.”
The words crushed Sanjay more than the market’s laughter. He wanted to scream, to shout that he would not accept it, but his throat closed. Instead, he walked away, his eyes burning.
That night, Sanjay climbed to the roof of the house. The town stretched below him—dark, broken, silent. But far away, across the horizon, faint lights from the city glowed like stars.
He whispered to the night:
“They think I don’t belong. One day, I’ll build a place where no one can throw me out.”
The wind carried his words away, but his heart gripped them tightly.
For the first time in his young life, Sanjay understood that hunger was not the only battle. The greater enemy was a world that believed he was destined for nothing.
But inside his eyes, sharper than the sting of rejection, burned a truth even he couldn’t deny:
He would fight, no matter how many doors slammed shut.
And even though that day ended in defeat, a seed had been planted—
A seed watered not by kindness, but by insult.
A seed that would one day grow into something vast.
✨ End of Chapter 3 ✨....
