The trajectory of life is truly peculiar. Sometimes it is turbulent like ocean waves, and at other times serene like the estuary of a quiet river. Six months ago, a storm had swept through my life. Under the sheer weight of uncertainty and harsh reality, at just twenty-two years old, I had to hold the hand of a man sixteen years older than me—a grave man trapped behind a wall of his own strict rules.

Arnab-babu—or rather, Arnab Singhania. Six months ago, on the day I first stepped into his mansion-like house, I held in my hands a list of strict guidelines. 'Rule No. 1', 'Rule No. 4'... and so much more! But today, looking back after six months, I realize that behind those rules lay a deeply shielded, wounded soul trying to protect himself.