I was born in the quiet heart of Odisha, in a small village called Nilgiri in Balasore, surrounded by green hills and open fields. Life there was simple — small brick houses, dusty roads, and evenings filled with the sound of crickets and temple bells. In that small world, I grew up in a large joint family of twelve, full of love, chaos, and togetherness.

My father, Gouri Shankar Swain, was a government teacher, a man of discipline and kindness, and my mother, Sarmistha Swain, was the heart of our home. Along with my grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and siblings, our house was always full of energy. Six of us kids ran through the courtyard every day, laughing, fighting, playing, and dreaming. There was never a quiet moment, but it was a home filled with warmth and love.

I have very fond memories of my grandfather. He was a wise and kind man who always shared stories and taught me values. One of the hardest moments of my life was when he passed away. I was very young, and losing him left a deep void. That moment taught me the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every moment with family. Even now, I remember him and the lessons he gave me.

As a child, I was mischievous and endlessly curious. I never sat still, always touched everything, and asked endless questions. My teachers called me naughty, my relatives called me stubborn, but what they saw as mischief was really curiosity. I always wanted to understand how things worked, how a fan rotated, how a mobile phone could talk without wires, and how people created big things from nothing.

Even at a young age, I was fascinated by technology. By Class 7, I had already started learning the basics of HTML, CSS, and web design on my own. While other kids were just playing games on the computer, I was experimenting with creating simple web pages, changing colors, fonts, and layouts, and trying to understand how websites worked. That early exposure to coding and web development sparked my lifelong passion for technology.

My childhood was full of small adventures, climbing trees, stealing mangoes, playing cricket until dark, running across the fields, and coming home covered in mud only to face my mother’s scolding and my grandmother’s laughter. I might have been mischievous, but my heart was pure. Everyone knew that.

My early education began at SSVM Berhampur, where I studied from Class 1 to 7, but the years from Class 1 to 5 shaped me the most. Those were the days of endless mischief, small victories, and lessons that had nothing to do with textbooks. I was never the quiet, obedient student. I was always the one making noise, asking too many questions, and pulling little pranks. Everyone called me naughty, and honestly, I wore that badge proudly.

We used to carry tiffin from home every day. I still remember the morning rush, my mother packing my lunch, and me running out the door thinking about cricket after school. One day I was a bit late leaving home and rushed to school without my tiffin. My mother told me not to worry and said she would buy a snack from the shop near the school and give it to me before the bell. When I reached the school gate she promised, the shop did not have the Kurkure she planned to buy. She told me she would bring something later and that I should wait. But I was so mischievous that middle of a class I suddenly felt I needed to go to the toilet. Instead of politely asking, I used that as an excuse and ran away from the classroom, straight out of the school. I ran and ran down the road like a little escape artist.

I remember the panic — teachers searching, classmates whispering, the whole school wondering where I had gone. My father saw me on the road and that was the end of my little adventure for that day. It was not just my embarrassment; the peon who was supposed to watch the children that day got blamed and was even removed from his duties for a while. I felt terrible when I learned that someone lost their job because of my prank. That moment taught me about consequences, even though I was still very young and full of mischief.

There were many other small episodes like that. I did things that made everyone laugh and sometimes made them worry. I climbed trees I shouldn’t have, hid other kids’ crayons, and once convinced a group of friends to perform a mock play in the middle of assembly. Those incidents are still remembered by family and teachers, and they became part of the stories people told about me. Life in the village also had a very different kind of freedom. I would run to the fields and, as a child, I used to drink milk straight from the cow. Yes, really — I would go to the cow, press my mouth to her teat, and drink warm milk without any filter. It sounds silly now and a little gross, but back then it felt natural and exciting. Those mornings, with the smell of hay and the sound of cows, are some of my happiest memories.

Even while I was playing and being childlike, there were small sparks of something else inside me. By Class 5 I had got my first government scholarship. The scholarship was not about money for us; it was recognition. My family celebrated and I felt proud. It proved to me that even a mischievous, curious boy from a small house could be noticed for his effort. That mix of playful troublemaking and small achievements is what made those early school years unforgettable.

School life wasn’t always easy. I noticed that students were often treated based on their marks. Teachers and classmates focused on toppers and ignored the rest. It hurt, but I never let it break me. Instead, I turned it into motivation. I laughed, I joked, I stayed happy, because I believed marks can’t measure real intelligence. After Class 7, I moved to SSVM Mitrapur for my secondary education. Those years taught me a lot, not just about subjects, but about people. I saw how attitudes changed based on achievements, how students competed not to learn but to prove they were better than others. Still, I stayed true to myself. I balanced fun and studies. I always loved logic, understanding the reason behind everything, instead of just following blindly.

After Class 10, I joined Jhadeswar +2 Science College to pursue science. For many students, college was all about ranks and marks, but for me, it was about exploration. I met all kinds of people, some helpful, some jealous, some inspiring, and some who only competed. I noticed how groups formed based on marks. Those who scored high acted superior, and others were ignored. This invisible ego line irritated me, but I stayed focused.

Chemistry was my favorite subject. I loved understanding how molecules reacted and how equations balanced. While others memorized reactions, I visualized them. That’s what made Chemistry my strongest subject. When my 12th board results came, I didn’t score above 90%. But I was proud of my effort. I knew marks didn’t define my intelligence. I had worked hard and learned deeply. Knowledge mattered more than grades to me.

After 12th, my parents wanted me to take a drop year to prepare for NEET and JEE, two of India’s toughest exams. I didn’t want to, but I respected their decision. That year was one of the hardest times of my life. The pressure was real. Everyone compared marks, teachers reminded us of ranks, and relatives constantly asked about results. It was stressful, but I kept reminding myself of my grandfather’s words about perseverance and patience. Instead of following the crowd, I followed my own way. I joined a private coaching institute but rarely attended classes. My friend marked attendance for me while I studied online at home. I learned through YouTube videos, online lectures, and articles — my own style, my own rhythm. It was unconventional, but it worked.

When exams came, I gave my best. Slowly, results started coming. I qualified for JEE, cleared CUET, ranked AIR 300 in the Air India exam, and also cleared the OUAT exam. That was a big turning point. It proved that even doing things differently can bring success. Finally, I chose IIT to pursue Computer Science, the field that truly fascinated me. My love for computers had started long before IIT. Back in Class 6, when others were learning to type, I was already exploring how computers actually worked. Even though I didn’t take IT in 12th, I knew I would learn programming deeply in college — and I did.

In IIT, my world completely changed. Surrounded by brilliant minds, I discovered endless possibilities. I learned coding — HTML, CSS, JavaScript — and later advanced frameworks like React, Node.js, and MongoDB. Building websites became my passion. I spent countless nights coding, debugging, and bringing ideas to life. I realized that technology isn’t just about coding; it’s about creation, turning imagination into reality.

In 2024, I launched OdishaRider, a bike rental startup to help students and travelers find affordable transportation. It quickly gained attention and generated good revenue. It was one of my most successful ventures. But later, due to management issues and a shift in my vision, I decided to close it. That wasn’t an end — it was a redirection toward something bigger.

That something bigger was 3Skill — the idea that changed everything. In late 2024, I founded 3Skill, an education platform built to empower students with practical knowledge, real-world experience, and opportunities. It started small but grew rapidly. What made 3Skill special was its vision; it wasn’t just teaching, it was transforming students into professionals.

Within a short time, 3Skill trained over 3,000 students, partnered with IITs and NITs, and built a 40+ member team across AI, Data Science, Web Development, Social Media, and Marketing. It wasn’t just a company anymore; it was a movement. Students from all over India joined to learn, grow, and get career-ready. I built 3Skill from scratch — no investors, no family money, just determination, sleepless nights, and belief. There were hard days — times when funds ran out, when people doubted my vision, and when my first co-founder left. But I didn’t stop. I rebuilt my team, found stronger partners, and kept moving forward. As the Founder and CEO, I never believed in just managing from behind a desk. I worked with my team, built websites, handled marketing, solved problems, and mentored students. I wanted to build not just a business, but a culture, a culture of learning, growth, and resilience.

Over time, 3Skill became known for its real impact. Thousands of students thanked us for shaping their careers. We organized workshops in IITs, launched internships, and connected learning with industry. For me, this wasn’t just business — this was my dream turning into reality.

My philosophy is simple: Don’t listen to everyone. Listen to your heart. Do what you believe is right. Never let fear stop you. People may call your dreams unrealistic or foolish until you succeed — then they’ll call you visionary. That’s why I never worked for validation; I worked for impact.

Today, I continue to lead 3Skill as its Founder and CEO — mentoring students, building communities, and shaping the future of education. I stay grounded, always remembering where I came from, and grateful for every single step of this journey. When people ask me what keeps me going through failures, I smile and say, “My hunger to create something meaningful.” To me, success isn’t about fame or money; it’s about how many lives you impact. Through 3Skill, I’ve already touched thousands, and this is just the beginning. No dream is too big, no beginning too small. From a mischievous village boy to a visionary entrepreneur, my story is proof that passion and persistence can truly move mountains. And even today, I work with the same energy and curiosity I had as a child, still learning, still building, still dreaming. Because deep down, I know, my journey has just begun.