The searing heat of a Mumbai May was a world away from the climate-controlled chill of Harsh's office. The city outside his window shimmered in a heat haze, but inside, the only climate that mattered was the financial weather system playing out on his screens. It was May 1993, and the ghost of the Bhuleshwar alcove was a distant, faded photograph. The man in the chair was a sovereign of a different realm.
The Intel incident had been a baptism by fire, forging his resolve into something diamond-hard and cold. The portfolio, now heavily leveraged and aggressively managed, was no longer a side project; it was the central nervous system of his existence. The river of rupees from Bharat Electronics was now a mere tributary feeding the mighty, roaring river of dollars that flowed through his Singapore accounts.
Bharat Electronics - Financial Snapshot, May 1993
· Quarterly Revenue: 14.2 Crore INR
· Quarterly Net Profit: 4.1 Crore INR
· Market Capitalisation (Estimated): ~120 Crore INR
The numbers were impressive, the stuff of business magazine covers. But they were static, a snapshot of a slow-moving beast. The numbers that lived and breathed on Harsh's screen told a different, more explosive story.
BH-1 Portfolio - Snapshot, May 25, 1993
· Total Value: $14.7 Million USD
· Leverage (Margin): 35%
· Top Holdings:
· Microsoft: $5.1 Million
· Intel: $4.8 Million
· Cisco Systems: $3.2 Million
· Dell Computer: $1.1 Million
· Cash & Equivalents: $0.5 Million
He had achieved in months what would have taken his legitimate business a decade. The "Chipman of India" was a millionaire many times over in rupees. The shadow sovereign was a multi-millionaire in the world's reserve currency.
The success was a corrosive acid, eating away at the last vestiges of his connection to his old life. A meeting was called to discuss the launch of a new product: a portable "Bharat" brand television, a monumental undertaking that would pit them against global giants like Sony and Philips.
Sanjay, bursting with blueprints and marketing plans, led the presentation. "The market is ready, Harsh Bhai! With our chip design and manufacturing cost advantage, we can sell a 14-inch model for half the price of the imports! We can own the Indian living room!"
Deepak followed with technical specifics, his voice steady and confident. "The chassis design is finalized. The tube supplier from Korea is ready. It's a challenge, but it's within our capabilities. It's the next logical step."
All eyes turned to Harsh, expecting the fiery vision, the ambitious drive that had launched a hundred products. They waited for the leader who would rally them to conquer this new frontier.
Harsh looked at the schematics, the cost projections, the market analysis. It was all so… terrestrial. So slow. The launch would take a year. The return on investment would be measured in single-digit crores over several years. He compared it to the $180,000 gain his Cisco position had made in the last forty-eight hours based on a positive analyst report.
He felt a profound, soul-deep boredom.
"It's a sound plan," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the energy the moment demanded. "Proceed. Deepak, you have full authority on the technical execution. Sanjay, you handle the launch. I trust your judgment."
A stunned silence filled the room. This was his masterpiece, his legacy project. And he was delegating it completely, like a minor administrative task. The fire was gone. The light in his eyes that had once inspired them was now a distant, cold star.
Sanjay looked crushed. Deepak's expression was one of deep, troubled concern. "Harsh Bhai… this is the biggest project we've ever undertaken. Your guidance…"
"My guidance is to build it," Harsh interrupted, a faint edge of impatience in his tone. "You are both more than capable. I have… broader strategic priorities to manage."
He stood up, effectively ending the meeting. "Keep me informed of your progress."
He walked out, leaving his most loyal lieutenants in a cloud of confusion and disappointment. He didn't go to another meeting. He returned to his office, to the only company he now craved: the humming server and the glowing screen.
Rakesh was there, waiting. He had witnessed the entire exchange through the open door. He said nothing, but his silence was more eloquent than any words.
"The monsoon will break soon," Harsh said, staring at the live ticker for Microsoft, which was up another two dollars. "The real storm is coming."
He wasn't talking about the seasonal rains. He was talking about the coming deluge of wealth that would make everything he had built in India seem like a quaint, provincial prelude. The addiction was total. The algorithm of the future was his scripture, and he was its most devout, and most damned, high priest. The man who had vowed to build an empire in India was now mentally and emotionally a citizen of a borderless, digital nation of pure capital. And he had never felt more powerful, or more completely and utterly lost.