From Remote Control Fights to Funding Rounds: My Brother, My Co-Founder

It’s just past 10 PM on a Wednesday night here in our small Bengaluru office, and the air is thick with the smell of stale filter coffee and the low hum of servers. My younger brother, Rohan, is hunched over his keyboard, his face illuminated by lines of code, a familiar silhouette I’ve seen since we were kids. Twenty years ago, we’d be fighting over a single video game controller. Tonight, we’re arguing about the deployment strategy for our app's next major update.

Some things never change. And for that, I’m incredibly grateful.

[Image: A candid photo of two brothers working late in a modest, modern office. One is coding intensely while the other looks at a whiteboard covered in diagrams and notes.]

Anyone who has a sibling knows it’s a relationship forged in a unique fire of rivalry, shared secrets, and an unspoken, unbreakable bond. You’re each other’s biggest cheerleader and harshest critic. Which, as I’ve discovered over the past two years, are the exact same qualities you need in a business partner.

Our journey into the chaotic world of tech startups wasn't planned. I was on a steady corporate track in product management, mapping out quarterly goals for a large MNC. Rohan was the quintessential code-ninja at a fintech unicorn, building systems that handled millions of transactions. We were comfortable. Safe.

The idea that shattered that comfort came during a trip back to our hometown near Nashik. We saw local artisans and small-scale farmers struggling to find a wider market, their incredible products limited by geography and a lack of technical know-how. They were creating world-class goods but selling them in a hyper-local pond.

That train ride back to Bengaluru was different. We weren’t just brothers catching up; we were two professionals seeing the same problem from different angles.

"What if we built a platform?" I had mused, staring out at the passing landscape. "Something simple. A tool that lets them create an online store, manage inventory, and handle logistics, all from their phone."

Rohan, without missing a beat, replied, "The payment gateway would be the tricky part. We’d need to support UPI, and the logistics integration would have to be rock-solid, especially for shipping perishables."

By the time we pulled into Yeshwantpur station, the blueprint for "VyaparLink" was sketched out on a coffee-stained napkin. The spark was lit.

[Image: A close-up shot of a napkin with a hand-drawn flowchart and notes, next to two empty paper cups of chai.]

Quitting our jobs was the scariest conversation we’ve ever had with our parents. "A stable job is a blessing, beta," my father had said, his voice laced with concern. But seeing us united, passionate, and armed with a plan (and our combined savings), their worry slowly turned into cautious pride.

The first year was a blur of Maggi-fuelled all-nighters from our two-bedroom flat that doubled as our office. Our old sibling dynamic came roaring back, but in a new context. Our arguments were legendary. I’d be focused on the user experience and market strategy, while Rohan would be obsessed with server architecture and scalability.

"It needs to be simpler! A weaver in Solapur won't use this if it has ten steps!" I’d argue, pointing at a wireframe.

"If we get a thousand users at once, your 'simple' design will crash the whole system!" he'd shoot back.

But here’s the magic of working with your brother: the fights are brutally honest, but the resolutions are quick. There’s no corporate ego. An hour after a heated "debate," he’d walk over with two cups of chai, and we’d find the middle ground. That inherent trust, knowing that we both ultimately want the same thing, is our superpower. He worries about the engine; I worry about the steering wheel. Together, we make the car move.

As we stand here in October 2025, VyaparLink is now a team of twelve. We have over 5,000 sellers on our platform, from Rajasthani leather craftsmen to organic spice farmers in Kerala. Last month, we closed our seed funding round. It was a surreal moment, signing those papers together. The two kids who once built forts out of pillows had just built a company.

The journey is far from over. The Indian market is a beast, and there are new challenges every day. But every time I feel the pressure mounting, I look across the office at Rohan. I remember him teaching me how to code in BASIC on our first computer, and I remember me helping him with his essays.

He’s still the brilliant builder, and I’m still the storyteller. He builds the product, and I tell the world why it matters. It’s the same partnership, just with higher stakes than the last level of a video game. And honestly, I wouldn't want to be in this battle with anyone else by my side.