India: The Legend of Aritra

Dakshin Barasat, South 24 Parganas, 2008

The ceiling fan spun lazily, creaking with each revolution as if groaning under the weight of time itself. Aritra lay on his small, hard bed, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling, lost in the flood of memories crashing through his mind. The air smelled faintly of old textbooks, ink, and the earthy dampness that crept in after a monsoon shower. It was a scent he thought he'd forgotten, yet it wrapped around him like an old, familiar blanket.

This is real.

Not a dream. Not a glitch in some cosmic simulation. He was truly back—in 2008, in his childhood home, in Dakshin Barasat, a small half-town nestled about 30 kilometers from the heart of Kolkata. The faint hum of distant trains echoed in the background, a constant reminder of the life he'd left behind and the one he'd been thrust back into.

A Life of Simplicity

Aritra Naskar's family was the very definition of middle-class resilience. His father and mother, both primary school teachers, carried the pride of educators who believed knowledge was the truest form of wealth. Their combined income was around 30,000 INR in 2008—modest, yet enough to cover their needs with a little extra for simple joys. There were no extravagant vacations or designer clothes, but there was always a roof over their heads, warm meals on the table, and an unspoken bond of contentment woven through their lives.

Their home was small but filled with warmth. The walls bore the faded marks of Aritra's childhood scribbles, stubborn stains his mother never bothered to scrub off completely. The wooden shelves overflowed with books—old, dog-eared novels, math guides, and dusty encyclopedias his father treasured. They had a tiny black-and-white television, later replaced by a second-hand color TV, which became the family's window to the world.

Despite their financial constraints, Aritra never felt deprived. His parents instilled in him a sense of minimalism long before it became a fashionable lifestyle trend. He grew up understanding the value of money, the importance of saving, and the joy of small, meaningful purchases. Even when he secured a good IT job at Wipro years later, earning more than his parents ever did, he never splurged on luxury. No fancy gadgets, no branded clothes—just functional things within his budget. He invested wisely, bought a piece of land, and his parents even managed to purchase roadside shops and plots in prime locations, securing a modest financial cushion for their future.

But amidst this simplicity, there was one indulgence Aritra could never resist: games and tech. He loved them. The thrill of exploring virtual worlds, the excitement of unboxing a new gadget—even if it was a budget model—brought him unparalleled joy. Yet, he was always careful, never letting his passion derail his financial discipline.

Regrets Etched in Time

As Aritra sat by the small window of his room, staring at the familiar landscape outside—the dusty streets, the distant fields, the local tea stall where he'd spent countless afternoons—a deep pang of regret gnawed at his heart.

I never knew about the IIT entrance exam.

Back in his first life, the world beyond WBJEE and medical entrance exams was a mystery. Growing up in Dakshin Barasat, information was limited. Teachers focused on state-level exams, and IIT was just a distant, unheard-of dream for kids like him. It wasn't until much later, when he met colleagues from prestigious IITs, that he realized what he'd missed.

I could've done more. I could've been more.

That regret had haunted him in his corporate cubicle, hidden beneath layers of Excel sheets and coding scripts. But now, with a second chance carved into the very fabric of time, he knew exactly what to do.

Not this time.

He wouldn't chase IIT, not because he couldn't, but because he understood his true path now. WBJEE would be his gateway, and Jadavpur University his destination. It wasn't just about prestige; it was about staying close to his parents, cherishing the moments he once took for granted, and building a future where ambition didn't come at the cost of family.

New Dreams, Old Roots

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the dusty window panes, casting golden stripes across Aritra's desk. His WBJEE prep books sat untouched, their pages yellowed at the edges. He picked one up, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers, a stark contrast to the sleek digital screens he once knew.

Back to basics, he thought, smiling.

His mother called from the kitchen, her voice filled with warmth and familiarity. "Aritra, breakfast is ready! Don't forget to revise your chemistry formulas today."

Aritra chuckled. Some things never change.

But he had changed. Inside, he was a man armed with the wisdom of years he hadn't technically lived yet. A man who'd tasted the bitterness of regret and now cradled the rare gift of a second chance.

As he sat down to a simple meal of luchi and aloo torkari, he looked at his parents with a newfound appreciation. They were younger, their faces untouched by the lines of worry he remembered from his past life. His father's hair was less gray, his mother's hands less calloused.

I won't let them struggle this time.

His journey wouldn't just be about personal success. It would be about rewriting the narrative of their lives, erasing the silent sacrifices they never spoke of, and giving them the comfort they deserved.

Aritra opened his notebook, scribbling down a new plan—not just for WBJEE, but for life itself. Strategies for investments, ideas for leveraging the upcoming 2008 financial crisis, notes on future tech innovations… It was a blueprint for a destiny he'd carve with precision and purpose.

This was his reset. His renaissance.

And he was ready.