An ordinary Monday, when a clerk at the company registrar’s office collected a stack of files to take to the next room. On the top of the pile was a signed certificate. Voila! A company was formed.

This is the start of a story. A penchant for excellence, for meaning, for a way of life. One man’s foresight, another’s path. Someone’s journey, someone else’s success story. Someone’s envy, someone’s longing, someone’s moment of discovery.

For me, it was destiny. Not just serendipity, but the kind of destiny that history remembers. Like the point on a map where all roads silently meet.

I was nine years old. Just a child, happily learning to swim at summer camp, solving sums, scribbling science notes and finishing English sentences. A season stitched with schoolwork and sunscreen. I had no idea that this day, this ordinary Monday was drawing a line across my life that I would only trace years later.

But this isn’t just my story. It’s the story of an entire generation. The story of all the 700+ souls, past and present, who lent their hearts, hands and hopes to this journey. The story of our clients, who stand as testaments to our success and effort, who evolved with us, and shaped us in return.

From 5 people in an office to up to 500 virtually, this growth trajectory has been anything but linear. Galaxy grew like a game of chain-chain, the kind I used to play as a child. One friend catching another, and then another, until we formed a living, breathing link of laughter and labour.

In a warm, fuzzy, unhurried, organic manner; one that doesn’t necessarily explain EBITA, but brings together lives. Not just livelihoods. With a mission born out of responsibility to the households that built it. A belief so simple, so steady, you forget it’s there. An underplayed philosophy, like the quiet presence of your parents. Constant, unquestioned.

I grew up just as the company was growing. Its milestones became the metronome of my life. For me, the Diwali Poojas weren’t just customary, they were community gatherings. The kind you attend out of obligation, but secretly look forward to. They fill your days with the mundane moments that make up a meaningful life.

In my story, I learnt much from books. Some from my own experiences in the world. Others from family members, mentors and friends. And those learnings evolved with time. Beliefs that once felt certain softened at the edges.

Once, I believed friendships should outlast opportunities. A belief shaped in the corridors of my school, where community was currency and belonging came easy. A world of its own within Indore.

Then I learnt that presentation matters just as much as content. In the fast-paced, ambition-soaked streets of Mumbai, everyone seemed to be running towards the shimmering illusion of being the best.

Later came New York: bold, brash, and brilliant. A city where kindness hides behind sharp tongues, and helping hands come with hurried words. No one says it politely, but they care in their own peculiar way. And so, I learnt this too: you must care about your own work, because no one else will carry it for you.

Through these cities, these seasons, these shifts, I began to stitch a quiet quilt of understanding. And as I continue to travel, I learn, unlearn and re-learn.

The most important lesson of all? To balance my learnings. To hold them gently, with context and care. To root them in place and purpose. Most of all, to remain grounded; not in a place, but in myself.

But before this clarity, lived the imposter syndrome. I felt indebted to people, to the past, to a world I thought I was lucky just to be allowed into.

I felt so indebted, I thought all my achievements were obligations.

My confidence was conditional. At some point, I began measuring myself only through the eyes of others—what they expected, what they admired, what they criticised. I would walk into rooms doubting if I belonged, downplaying every compliment, and tiptoeing around others so I wouldn’t blind anyone with my own light.

I internalised success as luck, and failure as proof. My ambition was overridden by guilt. A constant, gnawing feeling that I hadn’t earned the right to be; that I was merely borrowing it.

The exhausting weight of imposter syndrome turns your own mind into a courtroom where you are forever on trial. What I lacked in experience, I made up in exposure, in depth, in intention. Yet, I kept seeking external validation more than my self-worth.

Now that I have broken free, I understand the depth of my purpose, my provision, my being. I understand the nuanced difference between achievement and contribution, growth and movement, passion and motivation.

Today, I understand that destiny is not created in the confines of conformity.

Today, as Galaxy Weblinks turns 25! Shaped by the shifting tides of AI and stirred by the winds of political and economic change. I, too, feel a quiet turning within.

Perhaps it is time to unfasten growth from growing up. To separate character from corporate, depth from designation. Perhaps it is time to walk my own path forward—not in departure, but in a quiet tribute. To all those who built, who believed, who became part of something far greater than profit. A part of my life, my learnings, and my becoming.