The first architect of my resilience — my father.

With that ₹80 lakhs, I built That Crazy Hostel in Anjuna — 112 beds, 6 private rooms and a bar with a plunge pool. We won recognition: The Times of India awarded us as one of the best party hostels in Goa for two consecutive years.

It felt like vindication — an MBA paid in sleepless nights and scars.

Then life tested me again. Tourism dipped. An investor's promise for a villa pivot collapsed. I borrowed from a friend’s NBFC at 20% interest to survive. I brought on a partner who was also my girlfriend and gave her a stake together we revived the hostel, until the world shut down.

When Covid hit, we did the only humane thing we could: we opened our doors to 85 stranded travelers free of cost. Ten team members, eighty-five guests we became a family locked inside. Those months were the hardest and the most human.

In survival mode, I started brokering villas. A client asked me for 15 rooms — then 25, then an exclusive buyout. No single villa fit the brief, so I hustled and secured 25 rooms at a luxury resort.

Then came the question that would change everything: “Will you do my event?”

I had never planned a high-end event before, but I said yes.

We prepped: vendors, a consultant, freelancers. Just days before the event, the client called — his brother had tested positive for Covid. Everything was cancelled. I was crushed. But instead of despair, I acted. Hilton agreed to extend a one-year credit and vendors trusted me enough to hold payments.

A month later, the event was back on. But Hilton was fully booked — no availability. I fought hard and got Hilton to not just hold credit, but refund the entire sum into my client’s account. That trust meant everything.

With funds back in hand, I scouted and secured a boutique resort that fit perfectly. Five days. A high-profile guest list. We executed and the result was electric.

The client told me something I carry with me still: “I trusted your zeal. You’ll be my first choice.”

That was the turning point.