From Night Shift to EIR: What Nobody Tells You About Class in Indian Startups

A story about rickshaws, torn salary notes, night shifts, boardrooms, and what it actually takes to cross a distance that most people never cross.

---

My father ran away from home to earn.

My grandfather wanted him to study. But there was no money for that. Someone had to work. Someone had to bring food home. Dreams could wait. Survival could not.

So my father ran.

He pulled rickshaws. He worked in factories. He took whatever work would have him. Step by step, year by year, he clawed his way into corporate life.

He still tells me about his first salary. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he accidentally tore the note. He did not know how to hold that much happiness in his hands.

I still remember growing up when his salary was irregular. We could only afford snacks like vada pav when the money came. And the money did not always come on time.

A few months ago, I sat in a meeting in Bandra Kurla Complex. Deals worth five crores were being discussed. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, someone turned to me and asked what I thought.

I declined. I did not have enough experience to speak on five crores.

But that is not the point.

The point is that I was asked.

Before that room, in my entire life, no one had ever asked.

---

The distance that cannot be measured

On my way home from that meeting, something hit me hard.

In just one generation, we went from rickshaws and daily wages to corporate boardrooms and conversations about crores.

The distance covered is not just financial. It is generational. It is emotional. It is immeasurable.

I posted about it on Twitter that night. I did not expect much. But the post touched something in people. Maybe because so many of us carry similar journeys in our families. Maybe because we rarely speak about them out loud.

My father gave me everything by making sure I never had to pull a rickshaw. He gave me the chance to sit in air conditioned rooms and learn to code. He gave me the luxury of dreaming.

And I made sure I did not waste it.

From night shift to EIR

I have written before about how I ended up working with Dr Malpani. The call center nights. The tweet I replied to. IndianPotholes built in two days. The call I almost did not answer.

If you want the full story, it is there.

What I have not written about is what came after. What it actually felt like to enter a world I had only seen from the outside.

---

The first day I could not find the door

We work from office only two days a week. So my first official day came a couple of days after joining.

I reached early. I could not find the office.

I had to call Dhruv, my manager, and ask him where the entrance was. I felt stupid. I felt like I did not belong. I felt like someone would tap me on the shoulder and say there had been a mistake.

When I finally walked in, it almost felt like another interview. Questions. Details. Formalities. Even though I already had the job, I was still being evaluated. Or at least that is how it felt.

And then I was shown my cabin.

My own cabin. With a door I could close.

At the call center, I sat in rows. Open floor. Noise everywhere. Supervisors walking past. No space that was mine.

Now I had a room. A door. Silence when I wanted it.

I sat there for a few minutes and just looked around.

This is real, I told myself. This is actually happening.

---

The meeting that changed how I saw myself

Every month, we have a meeting at our office in BKC.

The first one I attended shaped me more than I expected.

I was doing a lot of projects at the time. Juggling too many things. Saying yes to everything because I wanted to prove I deserved to be there.

Someone whose name I will not mention gave me advice that I think about often. He said that if you try to do everything, you either become just another person or you break. Focus on fewer things. Go deeper.

I took that advice seriously.

But the moment that really changed me came later in the meeting.

A deal worth five crores was being discussed. I was listening. Learning. Trying to keep up.

And then someone asked for my opinion.

I did not give one. I told them honestly that I did not have enough experience to speak on something this big.

But walking out of that meeting, I realized something.

I was asked.

Before this room, in twenty years of life, no one had ever asked me what I thought about anything that mattered.

Not at school. Not at the call center. Not anywhere.

Here, in a room full of people discussing crores, someone wanted to know what I thought.

That feeling is hard to describe. It is not pride. It is not confidence. It is something softer. A quiet sense that maybe I am not faking it. Maybe I am allowed to be here.

---

What elite access actually looks like

People think elite circles mean fancy parties. Big names. IIT alumni gatherings. Startup founders posting photos with investors.

That is not what it looks like from the inside.

Elite access is being able to call Dr Malpani twice in a day.

That sentence might not mean much to you. Let me explain.

Most people will never have direct access to someone who can move things. Someone who can make a call and open a door. Someone whose time is valuable enough that getting even fifteen minutes is a privilege.

I can call him twice a day if I need to. I can ask questions. I can share doubts. I can say I do not understand something and not be afraid of looking stupid.

That access is the real currency. Not the networking events. Not the LinkedIn connections. The ability to reach someone who matters, and have them actually respond.

I did not earn this access through decades of climbing. I got it because I replied to a tweet and built something in two days.

But I did reply. And I did build.

That matters.

---

The startup meetup where I represented the fund

A few months into the job, I got a chance to represent our venture fund at a startup meetup.

I remember standing in that room, introducing myself.

Not as a call center employee. Not as someone handling printer complaints at 3 AM. As an Entrepreneur in Residence.

People nodded. They took me seriously. They asked questions about what we invest in.

I answered as best as I could. I was nervous. I probably said things that were not perfectly polished. But I was there. In that room. Representing something real.

On the way home, I thought about where I started. And where I was now.

Not everyone makes that jump. But I did.

---

The fifty things and the one thing

Yes, luck played a role.

The Twitter algorithm could have hidden the tweet. Dr Malpani could have not seen my reply. I could have not picked up his call.

Fifty things could have gone differently.

But here is the part I do not want to erase.

I replied to the tweet. Most people did not.

I built IndianPotholes in two days. Most people would have talked about it for weeks and never shipped.

I coded after exhausting night shifts when my body was begging me to sleep. Most people would have just slept.

I learned skills on my own time. I took risks when it was easier to stay comfortable. I said yes to a stranger on the internet and delivered what I promised.

Luck opened the door. But I was standing at the door because I put myself there.

That is not arrogance. That is just true.

---

The colleagues who are happy for me

I do not get much time to talk to my old colleagues now.

When we do talk, they are happy for me. Genuinely happy. No jealousy. No bitterness. Just warmth.

They are good people. I mean that.

But I also know why I am here and they are still there.

It is not just luck. I did things they did not do. I learned skills they did not learn. I took risks they did not take. I stayed up when they rested.

That does not make me better as a person. But it does mean something.

I will not pretend it was all random. It was not.

---

The weight of climbing

Nobody tells you that climbing comes with weight.

Not guilt exactly. Something heavier. A constant awareness of the distance between where you are and where you started.

I sit in rooms now where people talk about crores like I used to talk about vada pav. Where opportunities are assumed, not earned. Where the baseline is so high that my starting point is unimaginable.

Sometimes I feel like I am still catching up. Like I have to prove I belong.

Other times I feel like I belong more than anyone. Because I know what it costs. Because I remember the night shifts. Because I have seen both sides and I chose to climb anyway.

Both feelings come and go. I have stopped fighting them.

---

What my father gave me

My father never pulled a rickshaw so that I could feel guilty about sitting in a boardroom.

He did it so that I could sit in that boardroom.

He tore his first salary note in joy because he had never held that much possibility in his hands. He wanted me to hold even more.

I think about that torn note often.

The raw, uncontainable happiness of someone who came from nothing and finally held proof that he had made it somewhere.

I want to feel that too. Not just arrive somewhere, but know that I earned it. Know that I built something. Know that the distance I crossed was real and the effort I put in was real.

I think I am getting there.

---

No neat ending

I do not have a lesson to wrap this up with.

I am not going to tell you that luck does not matter. It does.

I am also not going to tell you that luck is everything. It is not.

The truth is somewhere in the middle. Doors open randomly. But only some people are ready to walk through.

If you are on a night shift right now, exhausted and wondering if anyone will ever see you, I want you to know something.

The world is unfair. Opportunities are unequal. Some people start closer to the finish line.

But you can still run.

You can still learn skills when no one is watching. You can still build things when no one is paying you. You can still reply to that tweet, send that message, take that chance.

My father pulled rickshaws. I answered printer calls. And now I sit in boardrooms.

The distance is immeasurable.

But I crossed it. And if you are willing to do what most people will not do, maybe you will too.

---

This article is for my father, who tore his first salary note in joy. And for everyone still on the night shift who refuses to stop building.