Amit Bhattacharya 1 I arrived in Pune on a Thursday morning, the kind of morning where the sun rises reluctantly, peeking through gauzy clouds like a child waking from sleep. The railway station buzzed with quiet urgency—porters dragging luggage, chai vendors chanting their rhythmic calls, mothers herding children in half-sleep, and the occasional clatter of metal from the stalls that never really closed the night before. I stepped out with a small suitcase, a laptop bag, and a mind still echoing with boardroom jargon and Slack pings. After seven years in a Bengaluru tech firm, I had resigned with no…