At age 9, a pirated Pokémon game put a world in my hands; I could walk through it, break it, rebuild it. Nobody had to explain why that mattered, I just knew.
For years after that, the screen was where I lived - games, YouTube - with nights spent editing videos alone, trying to make something that felt like mine. By age 15, I had put out many YouTube videos and made $60 doing something nobody asked me to do. It felt like proof that a life built with your own hands was possible.
Then the walls went up. Football stopped. Playing with friends became a privilege that could be taken away. Every plan I brought home arrived already broken: too risky, too distracting, too early, too much. Through school and into college at IIIT Nagpur, the script barely changed. Before I could finish a sentence, someone was already listing what was wrong with it.
I have heard the same advice on repeat ever since - be realistic, slow down, choose the safer path. I never argued with these but I also never believed them. I have failed twice, publicly, with nothing to show for months of work, and both times I kept building anyway because some part of me had already decided a small life was not an option I was willing to take.
I do not wake up because startups are exciting or AI is fashionable; I wake up because I have never been able to convince myself that I came into this world to make someone else's system a little better. Groww gave me that life, stable, valuable, already working but I left it because I was not here to optimize something that already worked.
There was a question in an application that stuck with me: what problem does not let you sleep at night? I always assumed the answer had to be something deeply technical. This year I realized the question was simple, and so was the answer. Over the past 4 or 5 years, one thing has consistently stayed with me: how complex humans truly are. That curiosity is what led me to Zeon.
Here is what I actually believe is coming. Models today can describe the world. However, they cannot yet act inside it, understand consequence, or work alongside how humans actually live, learn, move, and decide. That gap between describing something and being inside it is the same gap I have spent my life closing for myself, imagining something and then building it with my own hands, with no funding, no permission, no safety net.
The future belongs to intelligence that understands not only language, but intent; not only information, but action; and not only prediction, but consequence.
Games are where I found that gap could be closed at scale because they are the first place I found where millions of ordinary people make real decisions inside real physics, every day, for free. My idea does not stop with games; it extends to robotics, healthcare, education, public infrastructure, both human and artificial intelligence. They could all work better than they do today.
I do not know the exact final shape of this but I know the direction. If games are the first door, I will build games. If the harder problems live inside governments or physical systems, I will go there. The sector can change, but the reason I am doing this cannot.
I might fail again before this is over. Failure has never changed my direction, only sharpened what I understand. I do not measure progress by applause; I measure it by whether I am spending my years on something worthy of a lifetime.
My motivation for the next five years is the same that carried me through the last 15: a quiet refusal to accept that my life ends where other people already imagine it should. I do not need permission and I do not need certainty; I need hard problems and the freedom to build them.
If, years from now, millions of people are more capable, more creative, or more free because of something I refused to stop building, that would have been enough.
And if the world tells me to stop again, it already knows my answer.