Pranay Kapoor

Start at the right time, and you shall see great views. @pk037

@josephradhik Haha yes, Sapan was gracious with his time! Your DMs are not open, if you could drop me a hi?

@pk037 Hahaha, you hung out with Sapan! That is something to watch. 😁 Let's do a drive? 😁

Indian car content is so out of touch with global car culture. On one side you have Larry Chen, Petrolicious, and here we have this edit: youtu.be/HD_o5ZDM0Kk?si… Elevator music, a new sleep inducing track every 1 minute, and zero depth in the interview/narrative. We have to aim for better. :(

@josephradhik Hi Joe, inspired by this exchange a few months ago, I ended up doing a few episodes around car collections that did reasonably well. Wanted to share this here in case you'd like to see! youtu.be/2TxxevBEKKw?si…

@josephradhik Can you share a reference video from outside India that you think is gold standard / what you're looking for? Just for inspiration

@GabGrowth Love reading your analysis. Do you have a pov on Snap and Kweb?

Exactly 2 years ago, I was laid off at the PE firm I worked at after it decided to shut down its operations in Singapore. It turned out to be a huge blessing for me. In the following months that I spent looking for a job, I also decided to share my thoughts on companies online after being a lurker on X for over 5 years. These thoughts turned out to be of value to many people who appreciated a differentiated POV on emerging market businesses. I found a job at a family office 3 months later and continue to work there, spending my free time writing for 6,000 subscribers and 20,000+ on X. It has been an incredible journey, not least helped by some very kind individuals who have helped to boost my account, especially @amitisinvesting . I feel extremely fortunate to be in this position today, and hope to turn this into a full-time job one day. For now, it remains a hobby, but one that I truly enjoy. I appreciate all the support, all 20,000+ of you engaging. My goal is always to produce differentiated content, in a fully transparent manner. Thank you 🙏

@riddhamjain No idea. I don't have M4B. But if I had to guess, I'm pretty sure they will give a rate that isn't as good as IOB

@pk037 - how much does M4B RM negotiate on forex charges? Any number - how much lower than the quoted rate of exchange? Saw your video on Interactive brokers

@chiragbarjatya Sometimes on mountains and hilly climbs when you want control and don't want loss in RPM

People who drive car with paddle shifters, how and when do you use them? I drove 300km but I am still confused where to use them to make sense. Any video or any guide that can help?

@Rajan1969H Yes. Apex plan is expensive. I don't see value in it and hence didn't cover it. Access is competitive. And thank you for your kind words :)

@pk037 Can’t find recent Tweets but here goes. Seems too steep.

@MaazMz Tried to appeal to too many customer profiles and ended up appealing to none

What could be the answer?

@noyes99 @ccg33k @RushilM_ @VarunGaneriwal1 i actually was missing driving the creta ev after that video haha

@ccg33k @RushilM_ @VarunGaneriwal1 @pk037 your video on Creta EV was very nice..

Meanwhile Rents: 🚀#IDGAF

@jeevfordata Hahah good to see you made it that far!

@pk037 like Not every Thar guy is like that nor is every Fronx Guy. Appreciate your stuff!

@letsblinkit been trying to get a resolution to an issue but all you have is an AI bot on the app. Can a human get in touch?

@VijarKohli @ShaanVP I think Shaan used to start his power writing course with this post on writing by Scott

@ShaanVP Can't forget his original post on writing from 2007

RIP Scott -- As a little tribute, I'll share the "dog story" that sticks in my brain daily. This is the first chapter of the last book he wrote (Reframe Your Brain) I think of this everyday when I take my dog for a sniff!

@warikoo Always an inspiration, congratulations and thanks for sharing!

@Rahul_J_Mathur Legend

@BunnyPunia Just drove mine today for a long chore and had a big smile throughout given how much fun this car is. Congratulations!

Hello Roxx! Trust me, it’s easier for me to recommend cars to others but when it comes to self, it’s a hard and tough task. The decision took months - from BE 6 to Sierra, XEV 9e to 9s and the Roxx too. Finally got this home today. Year end deals were too tempting. Plus AX7L is loaded for a proper SUV. Had to be one in white. Miss you dad - wish we could go for a round today evening 😢 @Mahindra_Auto @Mahindra_Thar

@kunksed This must have taken a lot to write. More power to you!

I was in fifth grade when I learned to read my parents' silence. They were talking in the kitchen, late at night, in that particular hush that parents use when they think children are asleep. I caught fragments. Bombay. Tests. Something about a doctor. The next morning, everything was normal. Chai, school, the shop. But I had heard the frequency shift. It was 2004. My father was 39. We had just moved out of the room behind our kirana store—a chawl on the outskirts of Panaji—into a proper apartment. Our first EMI. Things were looking up in the way they do for Indian middle-class families who have spent years looking at the same ceiling: slowly, carefully, one calculated risk at a time. Then the diagnosis. Stage 3 follicular lymphoma. I didn't know what lymphoma meant. There was no internet to tell me, no Google to spiral into. Cancer was a word from movies—something that happened to people in cities, in dramatic hospital scenes with violins. Not to shopkeepers in Goa. Not to fathers who opened shutters at 7 AM and counted change at night. They kept me in the dark. The logic was simple: don't disturb the boy's studies. So I went to school. I came home. I did homework. And in the margins of this ordinary life, my father was taking buses to Mumbai for chemotherapy. I still don't fully understand how he did it. A biopsy, then a bus. Chemo, then the overnight journey back. Tata Memorial to Kadamba bus stand. The same man who winced when he cut his finger slicing onions was now traveling eight hours each way with poison in his veins, because what else was there to do? Goa didn't have the facilities. We didn't have the money for flights or hotels. So he sat on buses, probably in pain I can't imagine, probably next to someone complaining about the AC being too cold. My mother ran the shop. Not "helped out"—ran it. Wholesale orders, inventory, customers, credit books, all while her husband was in the jaws of something that might kill him. New scans kept showing the cancer spreading. The word "spreading" did a lot of work in those days. And I? I was a child. Which means I was selfish in the way only children can be—not out of cruelty, but out of not knowing. My father was alive and not going bald like he did so I assumed things were now fine. I was still in the dark. I remember crying for days because I wanted a geared cycle. All my friends had them. The fancy ones with the grip shifters. I needed it for school, I argued. I needed it because everyone else had one. I remember my parents' faces when I wouldn't let it go—that particular exhaustion of people who cannot explain why they're saying no, because the explanation would break something. Every rupee mattered. I didn't know that yet. I didn't know that they were borrowing money from friends, from family, sometimes from customers at the shop—the same aunties who haggled over soap prices were quietly lending us cash to keep my father alive. That's the thing about the Indian middle class: the safety net is made of relationships. Of people who've known you long enough to trust you'll pay them back, eventually. No paperwork. Just faith, and shame, and gratitude all mixed together. My father then spent 40 days in Mumbai for radiation. He stayed with my aging grandparents in a small flat while I finished my exams and my mother kept the shop open. I don't know what those 40 days were like for him. He never talked about it. Men of that generation don't. They just endure, and then they come home, and life continues as if nothing happened. The magnitude of what was happening to my family didn't hit me until years later. No health insurance, of course—it was unheard of for people like us. The treatment, the travel, the lost income from the shop, the interest on loans that weren't from banks. It drained us completely. Not metaphorically. Actually. The kind of drained where you stop going to movies. Where eating out becomes a memory. Where "vacation" is a word other families use. Miraculously—and I use that word carefully—things stabilized. By 2007, the cancer was in remission. Whether it was the radiation, the medication, or the wheatgrass cow dung milk ayurvedic concoctions my mother sourced from god-knows-where, I don't know. Probably all of it. Probably none of it. Cancer does what cancer does, and we tell ourselves stories about why. But remission doesn't mean freedom. It means waiting. It means every annual checkup is a held breath. It means the knife never really leaves—it just hangs higher for a while. It took us until 2015 to recover financially. Eleven years. A whole decade of my adolescence spent in the aftermath of something that happened in three months. That's the part nobody tells you about illness: the medical crisis has a timeline, but the financial crater doesn't. It just sits there, and you fill it in slowly, one repaid loan at a time, one favor returned, one customer you finally pay back. In 2012, I got admits to colleges abroad. Good ones. The kind of opportunity that I'd dream about for my children. My mother sat me down and gently suggested I reconsider. She didn't say "we can't afford it." She said: "What if it comes back?" The knife, always dangling. She was right to think it. I knew she was right. So I gave the BITSAT, got into BITS Pilani with a generous scholarship from the Goa government, and made it through. It was the practical choice. The safe choice. The choice you make when you've learned that life can pivot on a diagnosis. It did come back. In 2022, the lymphoma transformed—DLBCL this time, more aggressive—and everything we'd feared for eighteen years arrived all at once. My father went through treatment again. CAR-T therapy, a clinical trial. Brief remission. Then not. He passed in 2023. But the thing I think about now, the thing that connects that fifth-grade boy crying about a cycle to the man I became: when it came back, I was ready. Not emotionally—you're never ready for that. But financially. I could go all out. Best doctors. Best facilities. No borrowed money from customers. No buses to Mumbai. When the bill came, I could pay it. The CAR-T didn't work. Cancer won anyway. But I sleep at night. I sleep because I know I did everything that could be done. There's no version of me lying awake wondering: what if I'd had more? What if I could have afforded that other treatment? That guilt would have eaten me alive. It would have been worse than grief. I think about this when people ask me why I care so much about money. Why I write about financial security. Why I'm building what I'm building. It's not ambition. It's not greed. It's not even wisdom. It's trauma response. The boy who cried about a geared cycle grew up to understand something about money that no finance book teaches: it's not about the stuff. It's about what happens when the phone rings and someone says the word "biopsy." It's about having options when you have no good choices. It's about not borrowing from the aunty who buys soap from your shop. My father ran a kirana store. He woke up early. He counted change at night. He took buses to chemo because that's what was available to him. He never complained. He came home and opened the shop the next day. I don't know what he would think about me writing this. He wasn't the type to share. But I think he'd understand why I'm sharing it: because somewhere, there's a family in a small town, getting a diagnosis, doing the math, realizing the numbers don't work. I want them to know they're not alone. And I want the version of me that comes after them—the child who doesn't fully understand yet—to grow up in a world where this story is a little less common. That's all. Now go, get some insurance and take your parents out for dinner while they're still around.

@ankitdewan @AirIndiaX Shameful on Air India. No matter how heated the verbal scuffle got, raising your hand is just pure uncivilized behaviour. I'm sure Air India, the shameless airline that it is, will do nothing about this.

I was contacted by @AirIndiaX by 2 AVPs from their headquarters. However, the only thing they wanted to convey was that what happened was the actions of an individual, and not what the company stands for, and that they will fully co-operate with the police. I totally respect that and agree with it too. Here is what I conveyed to them: 🔸 While the actions of the pilot do not reflect the beliefs of the company, he was on official duty (entering as staff). Thus they cannot shirk responsibility. 🔸 AIX has to publically declare a date by which their internal investigation will be complete, and it cannot be too far into the future. 🔸 At the declared date, AIX has to inform the public of the action they have decided to take against Virender Sejwal. At the same time, I once again ask @DelhiAirport to release the CCTV footage.

Congratulations to the Indian Squash Team for creating history and winning their first-ever World Cup title at SDAT Squash World Cup 2025! Joshna Chinnappa, Abhay Singh, Velavan Senthil Kumar and Anahat Singh have displayed tremendous dedication and determination. Their success has made the entire nation proud. This win will also boost the popularity of squash among our youth. @joshnachinappa @abhaysinghk98 @Anahat_Singh13