Now, I tell you—the boy in that story is me.
My name is Mukul Sharma, the youngest son of one of the most respected and powerful families in Delhi, the Sharma family. Maybe to others, I was just a child with big dreams and innocent eyes. But to my family, I was their youngest hope, born under the mark of seven stars.
The head of my family was my grandfather, General Raghav Sharma—a man whose very name still makes people stand straight. At the age of thirty, he became the head of all three defence forces of our country—the Army, Navy, and Air Force. People called him "The Iron Strategist" because he never lost a battle, not in the field or in life. He played a big role in the Kargil War and saved thousands through his fearless planning.
He looked like the kind of hero you see in old patriotic films—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp eyes that seemed to read everything. His hair had turned silver early, but that made him look even more dignified. His voice was deep but calm, the type that could command a whole army or soothe a crying child with just one word.
Despite his power and position, he was a simple man at heart. Every morning, he would wake before dawn, do a hundred push-ups, and sit with his tea while reading the newspaper from front to back. He never tolerated lies or laziness. But he wasn't just strict—he had a gentle side too. He often told me, "Discipline is power, but kindness is what makes power human." I never understood it then, but I still remember it now.
Beside him stood my grandmother, Upasana Sharma—a woman just as legendary in her world. She was a world-famous journalist, known for solving impossible cases and uncovering truths that even governments hid. She had worked for top international channels and was respected everywhere she went. People used to say, "If Mrs Upasana writes your story, the whole world listens."
Even with all her fame, she was the heart of our family. She was graceful and beautiful, always in a crisp cotton saree and wearing small golden earrings. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth. She was strong, fearless, and spoke like a poet. My grandfather often said, "Her words are mightier than my army."
Together, they were like two pillars—one of strength, one of wisdom.
Then came my father, Rajesh Sharma, the eldest son and the pride of my grandparents. He followed his father's path of duty but chose a different road. He worked as a Senior Central Government Officer in a position most could only dream of. Honest to the core, strict, disciplined, and respected across ministries—he believed in doing what was right, not what was easy.
He was tall like Grandfather, always clean-shaven, always punctual, and rarely smiling unless it was with family. Many called him emotionless, but I knew better. Behind that serious exterior was a man who handled everything with care—country, office, and family. His sense of justice was so strong that once, he politely argued with a minister in a public meeting when something wrong was being passed. That day, news channels praised his courage, but my mother just smiled and said, "He's exactly his father's son."
My mother… But her story will come later.
My father had only one language—truth and hard work. He raised all of us like a soldier raises his unit—strict, but always fair.
Then there was his younger brother, my Uncle Rajendra Sharma, another gem of the family. While my father built his name in government service, Rajendra Uncle became one of the most powerful businessmen in the country. He had connections all over the world and was known for turning impossible deals into reality. He was cheerful and confident and had a smile that made others trust him instantly.
He often wore sharp suits and spoke gently but with confidence that filled the room. Yet, even with all his wealth, he respected our grandparents deeply. He would always say, "Power means nothing if your elders don't bless your success."
His wife, Anjali Sharma, was no less accomplished. She served as a senior IPS officer, posted with the CBI. Everyone respected her because she was both brave and just. At family dinners, when she talked about her investigations, I listened wide-eyed, imagining her catching criminals with her team.
Together, they were the perfect balance—business and law, charm and courage. Their children, my cousins, were like siblings to me.
Then came my father's two sisters.
The eldest, Sunita Sharma, was an entrepreneur and founder of a women's empowerment NGO. Her husband, Vikram Rathore, was a real estate tycoon. Their three kids were all talented—one in tech, one in fashion, and the youngest in dancing and art. I admired the energy in their house; it always buzzed with creativity.
My second aunt, Tanushree Sharma, was a diplomat at the United Nations, always travelling for meetings and peace talks. Her husband, Arvind Malhotra, was a senior IFS officer. Their children were brilliant and confident, each already shining in their own way—future leaders, poets, and inventors in the making.
Every member of the Sharma family was like a different jewel—bright, sharp, and one of a kind. But my grandfather always said, "Together, we shine brightest."
Our home in Delhi reflected that unity. The two grand villas of the Sharma-Yadav families stood side by side, joined by a big veranda without a wall. Outsiders saw two houses, but for us, it was one—filled with laughter, arguments, and love. I remember running through those hallways with my cousins while our grandfathers argued about politics on the veranda and our grandmothers shared tea while planning family dinners.
That house was my whole world. A world full of love, warmth, and pride—a world that felt like it would never change.
But fate had already drawn another path for me, far beyond Delhi's shining lights and my family's powerful name. Back then, I didn't know that the mark of seven stars on my neck was more than just a birthmark—it was a calling.
And soon, that destiny would take me away from everything I knew.