In the year 1981, in the northernmost part of the state of Madhya Pradesh, India, I made my grand entrance into the world. I was born.

My mom often recounted that I was a quiet baby who never bothered her, a fact that seems so contradictory to the annoying chatterbox I became later. I often ponder at what juncture in life I took a detour from the normal path of evolution.

Back in the early 1980s, my hometown Morena was a quaint little place, compact enough to fit into a corner of Disneyland. The name Morena, a mashup of “Mor” and “Raina,” supposedly means “the abode of peacocks.”, yet I never actually spotted one as far as my eyes could see or my legs could carry me. Maybe they were off partying in the outskirts, or perhaps they were playing hide-and-seek with feather snatchers, especially during festivals like Lord Krishna’s Janmashtami.

Now, let’s talk about the town’s claim to fame: mustard oil and bandits. Mustard oil owes its prominence to the abundant mustard crops in the region, while the town’s proximity to the ravines of Chambal made it synonymous with the exploits of the bandits. Despite the pungent aroma of mustard, its vibrant yellow flowers create a visual spectacle. Driving through the outskirts of town evokes images of the picturesque fields of yellow flowers, reminiscent of scenes from the movie “Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge.” The landscape truly is a breathtaking sight.

Growing up in Morena came with its perks and pitfalls. College seniors thought twice about ragging me, fearing a possible bandit ambush. As for marriage proposals, well, let’s just say my “Chambal ka Daku” reputation didn’t exactly make me the hottest bachelor in town. This label stuck with me through college and work, adding a touch of outlaw charm to every conversation and sparking laughter along the way. The struggle was real. To this day, I’m still not sure if being from a place with such a notorious reputation is a blessing or just plain bizarre—maybe a bit of both!

And Bollywood? Oh, it couldn’t resist the allure of Morena’s bandit tales either, turning bandits into box office gold. Names like Phulan Devi, Man Singh, and Paan Singh Tomar became household names, representing just a fraction of Chambal’s notorious outlaws. Some surrendered, while others met their fate in encounters with law enforcement.

As a child, my grandmother’s tales about my grandfather’s close encounters with bandits were fascinating. My only visual memory of a bandit, however, came one day when I was fetching milk from a local seller. The police had just eliminated a bandit, showcasing his lifeless body tied with ropes at the back of their van. They paraded around town, recounting their heroic showdown—a sight that left an unforgettable impression on a six-year-old boy. Born into a Bania family, India’s financial wizards, I sometimes wonder if my first words were “compound interest.” We’re so money-minded that even our dreams have price tags. Among the 330 million gods and deities in Hinduism, guess who takes the spotlight? No surprise—Goddess Lakshmi. As the epitome of wealth, fortune, and prosperity, she embodies abundance. But does merely mentioning her name capture the essence of being born into a Bania family? Perhaps not. Allow me to share a few anecdotes that provide deeper insights.