Chapter 8 – Turning Point...
The spark was small, but it refused to die. Each morning Sanjay woke with a little more energy, a little more clarity. His failure with Karim had scarred him deeply, but it had also taught him something priceless: never trust blindly, never jump without looking.
For weeks, he observed the bazaar carefully. He didn’t rush this time. Instead of dreaming blindly of profits, he studied people.
He noticed how men gathered at a tiny tea shop in the corner—not because the tea was better, but because the stall owner smiled and remembered their names. He noticed how a fruit seller earned more than others because he cut the fruits into small, ready pieces for children. And he noticed how the poorest vendors survived—by keeping things simple, honest, and consistent.
Sanjay’s mind worked like a restless machine. What can I do that is small, but different? What can I do with little money, but earn trust back?
One afternoon, while walking home, he stopped at a printing press where old newspapers were being bundled for recycling.
“How much for this waste?” Sanjay asked.
“Half a rupee a kilo,” the owner replied carelessly.
Sanjay’s eyes lit up. Students always needed cheap paper—for wrapping, for notes, even for flying kites. What if he bought old newspapers and resold them in smaller bundles? Clean, neat, and cheaper than fresh notebooks?
It was small, almost laughable—but it was something he could afford.
He began with two kilos, bought with borrowed coins from his mother’s savings box. That evening, he tore the papers neatly, tied them with string, and wrote in rough chalk on a piece of wood:
Cheap Paper Bundles – For Notes & Kites
The next morning, he set up near the school again. His heart raced as the first students passed.
“Paper bundles! Only one rupee each! Good for homework, drawing, even kites!”
At first, children giggled. But one curious boy bought a bundle. Then another. Soon a group gathered, comparing, tugging, laughing. Within an hour, Sanjay had sold everything.
His hands shook as he counted the coins—double what he had invested. For the first time since his fall, his chest swelled with pride.
Word spread quickly. The “Paper Boy” became a known figure near the school. Parents bought from him too—cheap bundles for household use, for wrapping, for small shops.
But Sanjay didn’t stop there. Each evening he returned home and thought, How can I make it better? He started bundling papers by size—small, medium, large. He added colored string, making them look tidier. He even offered a deal: “Buy three bundles, get one free.”
It wasn’t just business—it was art.
Within weeks, Sanjay had turned waste into income. The same boys who once laughed at him now ran to him with coins in hand.
One day, as he was packing up, a teacher from the school stopped him.
“You’re Sanjay, right? The boy who sells paper?”
“Yes, sir,” Sanjay replied nervously.
The teacher nodded. “Good work. Honest work. I respect that. If you ever need old newspapers, come to my house. I’ll give them instead of throwing them away.”
Sanjay’s heart leapt. One teacher’s trust could open doors to many others.
That evening, he rushed home, eyes shining. He placed his small pile of coins in his mother’s hands.
“Amma, this is only the beginning. I will not stop this time. I will grow.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She touched his head gently. “My son, you have fallen… but now you are learning how to rise.”
The days turned into weeks, and Sanjay’s routine became steady. Each morning he stood straighter, his voice louder, his eyes sharper. Customers no longer mocked him—they greeted him, trusted him.
One evening, as he walked through the bazaar, he passed Karim’s shop. The man with the twitching moustache stood outside, counting his coins. Their eyes met.
Karim smirked. “Back again, boy? Selling garbage still?”
But Sanjay didn’t flinch this time. He held his head high and said calmly, “No, Karim. This time, I sell honesty. And honesty doesn’t expire.”
Without waiting for a reply, he walked on.
For the first time, Karim had no words.
That night, lying on the roof, Sanjay looked up at the stars again. But they no longer felt distant. Somewhere deep inside, he believed: One day, I’ll reach them.
This was not the end.
This was the turning point.
✨ End of Chapter 8 ✨
