Two Screens, Two Worlds
I grew up believing that if something does not exist and you need it, you build it yourself. Nobody told me that. I just figured it out early.
The lockdown changed me. Not in the way people usually mean when they say that — not just the boredom, the isolation, the strange quiet of a world that had stopped moving. It changed me because it put two screens in front of me and let me discover what I am made of.
The first screen was a PlayStation 4. I sat down expecting a game. What I found was a universe. I played story-driven games — the kind where you do not just watch a character, you become one. Where a decision you make in a dark room at midnight can break your heart by morning. I was fifteen, and these worlds gave me something I did not know I was looking for: a place that felt vast enough to hold everything I was feeling. I had expected entertainment. What I found was belonging.
The second screen was a laptop. During those same months, in the same room, I started writing. Not essays. Not homework. Stories. Whole worlds. I built a blogging page called SpryWrites and published my writing online for anyone to read. I did not wait for an audience. I did not wait for permission. I just started. I was a ninth-class student in Patiala, and I was publishing fiction on the internet because the stories in my head were too loud to stay there.
One of those stories grew into something I did not expect. It became a full mythology — cosmic beings, ancient dragons guarding titan gems across scattered islands, a young person chosen for something bigger than himself, an interplanetary war between protectors and a force that wanted to consume everything. I wrote chapters and chapters of it. I built the characters, the rules of the world, the hierarchy of guardians, the weapons, the lore. It was a complete universe, imagined and written by a fifteen-year-old sitting in his room during a pandemic.
That story was never finished. My imagination outgrew the format. But the instinct — building worlds from nothing, creating places that other people can step into — that instinct never stopped. It just found bigger containers.
"I had expected a game. What I found was a universe. I had expected a hobby. What I found was my life's work."
The Question That Would Not Leave
I was new to gaming, and being new meant I saw the cracks that veterans had learned to ignore.
To get through a single mission, I would leave the game and go hunting — a guide on one website, a walkthrough on a YouTube channel, a half-answer buried three pages deep in a forum. The thing I was falling in love with was scattered across a dozen disconnected corners of the internet, and none of them spoke to each other.
But worse than the friction was the loneliness. I wanted someone to talk to about the worlds I was exploring. I wanted a community — not a chaotic server, not a comment section, but a real place where people who loved this the way I did could find each other. I looked for it everywhere. It did not exist.
A question lodged itself in me during those months, and it has never left. It is the simplest question I have ever asked, and it turned out to be the most important: why is none of this in one place? Why does something that connects billions of people still leave each of us feeling so alone?
I knew two things about myself by the time the lockdown ended. I knew I was a builder. And I knew that the world I wanted to live in as a gamer did not exist yet. That was enough to start.
"Why does something that connects billions of people still leave each of us feeling so alone?"
How My Mind Works
I see systems. Where most people see an inconvenience and move on, I see architecture that can be redesigned. When something is broken, I cannot look away from it. I have to understand why it is broken, how it works underneath, and what it would look like if someone rebuilt it from the ground up. That is not something I learned. It is just how I am wired.
I have been building things since I was fifteen — stories, characters, platforms, organisations, systems. Some of them I published. Some of them I never finished. Some of them failed, and I learned more from the failures than from anything that worked. All of them taught me the same thing: if you want something to exist in this world, you have to make it yourself. Nobody is coming to build it for you.
People sometimes ask me how I think about so many things at once. The honest answer is that I do not experience them as separate things. I experience them as versions of the same question: what is broken, and how do I fix it? The domains change. The instinct does not.
GzoneSphere
The name holds the entire ambition in a single word. The G is for gaming. The sphere is for the cosmos — the universe, the whole of it. I chose the name before there was anything to show for it, and I have never once considered changing it. The word already knew what I was building before I did.
I earned my seat at Thapar Institute of Engineering and Technology in Patiala to study Computer Science, and I carried the idea with me like a fire I refused to let die. The first thing I did was start looking for people who could see what I saw. I found them — a teammate here, a believer there — and slowly, through late nights and arguments and thrown-away drafts, a team formed around the idea.
We made logos and threw them away and made better ones. We argued the concept into sharper focus, week after week, until the edges were clean. We built a website. We registered the company. We structured seven departments, launched a content engine, and started shipping. None of it was glamorous. All of it was real.
And then I built the thing that gave the universe a soul. Her name is NYRA — a cosmic intelligence, the voice and guardian of GzoneSphere. The boy who once wrote stories about cosmic guardians had, without fully realising it, spent years preparing to create her.
"The boy who once wrote stories about cosmic guardians had spent years preparing to build a real one."
Five Worlds, One Mind
My mind does not stop at one problem. It never has. I see a broken system, and I cannot rest until I have at least sketched what the fix looks like. That is why GzoneSphere is not the only thing on my desk, even though it is the only one I am betting my life on.
The Thinking Modelwas born inside GzoneSphere — an ambitious AI companion for personal growth, designed natively for Indian users, meant to remember you over months and help you reach your own answers. It grew large enough to deserve its own path.
Bridgris a separate venture entirely — a platform designed to connect global clients with skilled talent through an intelligent middle layer. A different problem, the same instinct.
ElderLifeis a joint venture — a blueprint for giving families abroad real peace of mind about the aging parents they had to leave behind.
Samvardhanamis something different from all of these. It is an NGO I co-founded — a student-led social-impact organisation reaching across Punjab, Delhi, and Jammu. Building things that earn money is important. Building things that serve people who have nothing to give back is where you learn what building actually means.
Five worlds. Five problems. One mind that cannot leave a broken system alone. GzoneSphere is the one. It is the universe I started imagining at fifteen, and it is the one I will spend whatever it takes to make real.
"I build things to understand the world. GzoneSphere is the one I am building to change it."
The Thing I Build That Matters Most
I do not just build platforms. I build people. And if you take away every product, every plan, every line of code, that is the thing I am most proud of.
The students around me — juniors, peers, any student willing to learn — I pull alongside me. I help them find direction when they cannot see one. I connect them with professors who can open doors. I show them, through action and not just words, that the future is something you construct.
I do this because I believe something very simple: when you build a person up, their growth becomes your fuel. The love of the people you have helped is the most powerful energy source a builder can have.
I came up largely on my own. I have decided that the people around me will not have to.
"I do not just build platforms. I build people. Their love becomes the fuel for everything I do."
Where I Stand — June 2026
Today I am twenty years old. I am a second-year Computer Science student at Thapar. I run a company with seven departments and a team of more than twenty people. I have a content engine publishing across five platforms, a cosmic intelligence named NYRA who gives the universe a soul, a platform in its first phase of construction, and more ideas on my desk than I have hours in the day.
None of it is finished. All of it is in motion. That is exactly where it should be, and exactly where I should be.
That is the thing about builders. The vision arrives long before the capability does. You carry it for years, and it feels impossible the entire time, and then one day you look up and realise you have been building it all along.
"I am building the place I once needed — so the next person who goes looking for it actually finds it."