A School Computer Changed His Life, Now He Helps 300 Children Get the Same Chance

At 11, Vivek Shangari found the thing that would one day give him back his life.

It was 1987. He was walking down a school corridor in Bhilai, Chhattisgarh, when he looked through a doorway and saw four BBC Micros being set up by technicians. On one screen, a ping pong game was running.

There were no computer teachers then. No curriculum. No one to guide him. There was only a thick manual and BBC Basic, the programming language that appeared every time the machine was switched on.

So, while his classmates went outside to play cricket during lunch breaks, Vivek went to the computer lab.

Every lunch break. Every library period. Every games period.

When school hours were not enough, he found another way. In Bhilai, some enterprising citizens had begun renting out computers by the hour for Rs 10. Vivek had a piggy bank, given to him by his grandmother to teach him the value of saving. He used those savings to teach himself computers.

Years later, the same self-taught skill would help him survive homelessness, build companies, and create wealth. Today, Vivek has donated more than 96 percent of his wealth to a trust that supports children who cannot afford education.

“I will not romanticise what came next. Being homeless at 18 is not an adventure. It is cold and exhausting and profoundly lonely,” says Vivek, now 49.

His story is also the story of LivingMyPromise, a community of Indians who believe that philanthropy can begin much before one becomes a billionaire.

Those who join the community must be over 18 years of age and have a net worth of Rs 1 crore. They pledge 50 percent of their wealth to charitable causes of their choice, either during their lifetime or in their will.

The pledge is moral and personal. It is made over email. There is no legal document binding the person to it.

Yet, for the people who make this promise, it becomes a way of thinking about security, family, legacy, and what it means to have enough.

A school lab, a manual, and a boy who taught himself

Vivek was four years old when he lost his mother. His father, who struggled with alcoholism and gambling, could not take care of him and his little sister. The children were handed over to their uncle, who took charge unwillingly.

Vivek was poor at studies. When he was in his first year of college, his uncle stopped funding his education. Worse, he threw him out of the house.

By then, Vivek had one thing he could trust: his ability to programme.

He approached the owner of a computer institute in Bhilai and told him about his coding skills.

“I told him about my coding skills. He gave me a test and since I did very well, I got a job as a part-time instructor and lab assistant. I was allowed to stay at the institute. I was surrounded by 20 computers and hundreds of books on computer science, maths and physics! I used these to teach myself what I had failed to learn in school,” he says.

By the late 1990s, India’s IT revolution was beginning to gather pace. In October 1998, a friend returned from Bengaluru and handed Vivek some books wrapped in a Bengaluru newspaper.

His friend thought he was giving him reading material. For Vivek, the newspaper opened a doorway.

Inside it was a job advertisement from a company in Bengaluru looking for freshers who could programme in C and C++, the two languages Vivek loved most.

He borrowed money, bought a train ticket, travelled to Bengaluru, took the test, and returned to Bhilai to wait.

The phone number on his resume was that of the computer training institute where he worked, because he did not own a phone. When the call came, the offer was Rs 7,000 a month.

“They noted, gently, that since I had no formal degree, they would start me lower than my peers and observe my performance. I agreed immediately, on the call, and then asked them to book my train ticket. They did,” he recalls.

When Vivek arrived in Bengaluru, his boss told him the job involved ANSI Common Lisp and Calculus.

It frightened him.

His mathematics teacher in school had once declared him a failure in front of the entire class. Now, the job was asking him to do the one thing he believed he could not do.

His boss, who was based in the US, became the mentor he had never had. He told Vivek to calm down. He sent books from America. He gave him time, patience, and the rare gift of believing that he was capable of more than he thought.

Then something changed.

Vivek realised he was good at it. Mathematics, the subject once used as evidence of his inadequacy, became something he genuinely loved.

“That was my first real awakening. Not the job. Not the salary. The discovery that I was not the student who had failed. I was the student who had never been properly taught,” he says.

Vivek became so absorbed in learning that he began teaching others. First, he taught colleagues on weekends. Then freshers. Then the security guard’s children, the office help’s children, and anyone in the neighbourhood who wanted to learn.

“My company gave me the resources. I gave everything I had. And I discovered something that has shaped every decision I have made since: the more you give, the more you receive. Not metaphorically. Literally. In every measurable way,” he says.

After one year at Rs 7,000 a month, the company raised his salary to Rs 40,000. In the year 2000, in Bengaluru, as a single person, that was a fortune.

Vivek spent four years at ICS. He then worked with Andale and ICICI oneSource. In 2006, he started AceNgage, which had a management buyout in 2010 after it turned profitable.

That same year, he started two more things: Vichaar Foundation, and a company called codeCraft.

The Common Lisp that had once intimidated him became central to codeCraft’s work. The company was building adaptive AI query resolution in ANSI Common Lisp at a time when artificial intelligence had yet to become a buzzword.

Then a Fortune 100 company entered India through its subsidiary. Its flagship search engine, A9, was written almost entirely in Lisp. The company needed Lisp engineers. As it happened, codeCraft had the largest concentration of Lisp engineers in Bengaluru.

They made an offer. It was an acquihire.

Vivek had taught himself BBC Basic in a school corridor in Bhilai in 1987 because there was no one else to teach him. Twenty-six years later, a Fortune 100 company bought his firm because of that obsession and his refusal to stop learning.

From homelessness to helping 300 children study

Vivek built companies and made money. Then, he made a decision that confused many people around him.

He gave almost all of it away.

“I have a home of my own. I have medical insurance. I am well-to-do for a single person. What more do I need?” asks Vivek with a gentle smile.

The decision came from a place he had carried since he was 18.

“When I was in a dire situation as a youngster, the universe took care of me. I decided when the right time came and I had resources of my own, I would give back more than I had received,” he says.

Vivek secured enough investments to generate passive income for his own sustenance and built an emergency fund. Everything else, including his salary from Ace Hacker, goes into a trust called Eklavya, which he started with two friends.

He does not draw a salary anymore. He lives on the returns from his investments.

Eklavya does one thing: it finds children who cannot afford education and pays for their needs.

Fees. Resources. Support.

The work Vivek is proudest of happens in rural areas, where the trust meets parents whose children are working instead of studying.

The team makes them an offer: let the child go to school full-time, let them study and play and simply be a child, and the trust will take care of every expense.

The only condition is that the child must never return to work.

“Education is not a part-time arrangement. Childhood is not negotiable,” says Vivek.

The first year, he says, moved slowly because they were building the infrastructure, fraud detection systems, and processes to ensure the money reached the child. They sponsored a handful of children while setting up those systems.

In the two years since, Eklavya has sponsored 300 children. The trust spends between Rs 80,000 and Rs 1 lakh per child per year. So far, it has invested Rs 2.5 crore in 300 futures.

Vivek, who still does not have a college degree, believes no child should be deprived of education because of lack of financial support.

This belief also brought him to LivingMyPromise.

How a group of volunteers turned giving into a pledge

LivingMyPromise, or LMP, was modelled on The Giving Pledge, a global initiative through which billionaires commit to giving away a large part of their wealth.

LMP takes a similar idea and brings it to Indians who have achieved a degree of financial security.

The initiative was launched in 2018 with six members. Four of them were Daan Utsav volunteers: Girish Batra, who first had the idea for LMP, Rama Arya, Bharati Dasgupta, and Venkat Krishnan. The other two founding members were Amit Chandra and Sridhar Rajagopalan, who support Daan Utsav but are not active volunteers.

Daan Utsav grew out of the Joy of Giving Week, a national celebration of giving that began in 2009. Girish had volunteered for the Joy of Giving Week that year, where he connected with Venkat Krishnan, one of the founders of GiveIndia.

For Girish, giving was something he had grown up around.

“We were spiritually inclined as a family, so giving was natural. We never felt insecure about the future. I come from a middle-class family. Shopping for clothes was a luxury. We went for two holidays in the first 20 years of my life. But we were content. Our lifestyle was minimalist. My father gave us a good education. His mantra was: hard work leads to money. I was lucky to be good at studies and completed engineering and MBA courses. After several years in the corporate sector, I now support startups,” relates Girish.

His own understanding of wealth changed as he built his career.

“I support the act of wealth creation. But I believe that the best use of wealth is giving back to society. Beyond a point, getting a bigger home or bigger car gives no satisfaction. With this belief in mind, we decided to pledge 50 percent of our wealth to charitable causes. My wife Tanu, who is a yoga teacher, is also a promisor,” says Girish.

The Giving Pledge had around 200 promisors at the time, including four Indians such as Kiran Mazumdar-Shaw and Azim Premji.

“When you speak to people, you realise that folks from all segments of society are happy to give. I have heard stories of vegetable vendors and auto drivers who have given to help others. That’s because there is a joy in giving,” he relates.

Gunjan Thaney, who now heads LMP, says the premise was simple: if billionaires could make such a public pledge, Indians with financial security could also think deeply about how much they truly need and how much they can give.

From six founding promisors in 2018, the community has grown to 175 promisors, including individuals and couples.

The Rs 1 crore question behind the pledge

To join LMP, a person must be over 18 years of age and have a net worth of at least Rs 1 crore.

The threshold is an eligibility criterion. LMP says it is meant for people who have achieved financial security, including salaried professionals, government employees, small business owners, and first-generation entrepreneurs who have built wealth gradually through savings, home ownership, and long-term investments.

In the Indian context, LMP says, many people with a net worth of Rs 1 crore to Rs 5 crore fall into this category. An average 2BHK in Mumbai or Delhi alone costs over Rs 1 crore, the team points out. Someone who has not reached this level of wealth is unlikely to be able to give away half their wealth without putting their own security at risk.

“There is no right time or age to take the pledge. You have to be over 18 years of age and have a net worth of Rs 1 crore, including property. Our youngest promisor is 27 while our oldest is 80 years old. We have couples where only one member is a promisor. We have single women who don’t have children as promisors. The pledge can be taken by Indians living anywhere in the world,” explains Gunjan, who has been running the initiative for five years.

The net worth includes all assets that belong entirely to the person, including the home they live in, inheritance, property, jewellery, investments, and assets in India or anywhere else, after subtracting liabilities. A spouse’s assets are included only when the couple signs up together.

LMP does not independently verify a person’s net worth before they join. The pledge is based on trust and individual integrity.

Prospective promisors are usually introduced through existing members or trusted networks. If someone reaches LMP through the website, Gunjan has a detailed conversation with them to understand their lifestyle, needs, family situation, and philanthropic intent.

“Our community is still small. New promisors are mostly known to existing ones. If someone new reaches us through our website, I have a detailed discussion with them to get a sense of their lifestyle, needs and family. We encourage the promisor to discuss with his spouse and children before taking the pledge. They have to be on the same page. Once I am convinced about their intentions, I have an existing promisor talk to them. Then we invite the person to join the community,” says Gunjan.

Although there is no legal binding, LMP insists that each promisor’s name is listed publicly on its website.

“While there is no legal binding to the LMP pledge, we insist that the promisor’s name is listed on our website. Almost 99 percent of our promisors want to remain anonymous, but we do not give them that option. The purpose of making their names public is to inspire others to follow suit. The only way to join this community is to be open about it,” says Gunjan.

A promisor’s name, photograph, and statement of purpose are published on the LMP website. Other personal details, including contact information, net worth, asset details, and current or future giving plans, are kept confidential.

Why education leads the giving list

For many promisors, the pledge is only the beginning. The harder question is where and how to give.

Susai Anthony, 30, is the giving manager at LMP and has been with the initiative for two years. He has a graduate and postgraduate degree in social work.

“The most common age group of promisors is the 55 to 80 age group. Among the total promisors, around 30 percent are couples. Among the individual promisors, 70 percent are men and 30 percent are women,” he says.

The promisor community comes from different professional backgrounds. Corporate sector professionals make up 32.7 percent, social sector professionals 26.5 percent, entrepreneurs 14.3 percent, retired professionals 9.8 percent, professionals such as doctors, artists and writers 5.8 percent, freelancers 5.4 percent, homemakers 4.5 percent, and those from family business backgrounds 1 percent.

The five causes closest to LMP donors are education, livelihood and skills development, health and medical relief, disability inclusion, and rural and tribal development.

Education receives the highest level of interest and support. This includes primary, secondary and higher education, vocational training, technical education, research, scholarships, informal education, and related initiatives.

Around 30 to 40 percent of promisors plan to give through their will. The rest, like Vivek, give during their lifetime.

Susai helps promisors identify a cause. Once they choose an area, such as elderly care, he researches the subject and maps different possibilities for donation. He also helps them with the process of giving.

The LMP team identifies non-profit organisations through social incubators, trusted networks, and other credible sources. They have initial conversations with these organisations, assess their work, and share insights with the relevant promisors.

The final decision rests with the promisor. Each promisor engages directly with the organisation and decides whether to support it.

LMP does not conduct formal due diligence for promisors. It also does not track or monitor later interactions, funding decisions, or the impact of donations. These remain private and are managed independently by each promisor.

Many promisors voluntarily share their annual giving details with LMP. So far, more than 100 of the 175 promisors have done so. The initiative maintains a broad understanding of each promisor’s giving plans, interests, and commitments, while respecting their privacy.

At present, all signatories are part of a closely connected community, where each member is personally known to at least one other member. As the community grows, LMP hopes to preserve these trusted relationships through regular engagement.

The team also connects promisors who support similar cause areas, so they can learn from each other, share experiences, and collaborate where useful.

The family conversations behind giving away wealth

A pledge to give away half of one’s wealth naturally affects family conversations, especially with children.

The LMP team has spoken to children of parents who have become promisors. Gunjan says many of them respond with warmth and maturity. A common view is: give us a good education, and then do whatever you want with your wealth.

Many children, she says, appreciate their parents for donating to social causes.

For Dev Sinha, 20, the son of promisor couple Dhiraj Sinha and Deepali Bhagat, the conversation began when he was 15.

Dev is now studying BBA in Bengaluru. His father has spent many years in the corporate sector, while his mother is a distributor for edtech products.

“One day, my father came up to me and asked me if I was okay if he donated 50 percent of his wealth to social causes. I told him I had no problem. I felt I was living a privileged life and if some of my parents’ wealth could help underprivileged people, it would be great,” says Dev.

His parents have donated to education, healthcare and disability inclusion. They have also contributed their time, skills and experience.

“My parents have always been socially conscious and taking the pledge has been an opportunity for them to support the causes they care about, and give back to society. The causes they have donated to so far are education, healthcare and disability inclusion. They have not just donated money. They also contributed their time, skills and experience. This has been an important influence on me. It has reshaped my thinking on responsibility and giving back,” says Dev.

Why LMP asks for such a big commitment

For LMP, the 50 percent pledge is intentional.

Gunjan says the number is meant to attract people who have thought deeply about how much they need and how much they can give.

“We do not take anything from anybody. There is no incentive to join LMP. The most expensive thing you can commit to is half your wealth. We want the right people to join us. Those who are willing to do this. We don’t want to make the community bigger by offering lower levels of donation,” she explains.

Promisors can change their mind and back out, especially in the event of an unforeseen need such as a major health requirement.

Gunjan says many members plan carefully before making the pledge.

“Most promisors have budgeted for major expenses. Most have taken health insurance. They have budgeted for children’s education and a home for themselves. So, they are not worried about the future and can actively focus on giving. Still, if they want to back out, they can. There is nothing binding them legally,” she explains.

Tax benefits are not linked to joining LMP. Each country has its own rules, and tax benefits apply only when promisors donate to an eligible organisation.

LMP itself is a fully community-managed initiative. Its operating expenses, including salaries for the core team, are funded through contributions pooled by the promisors.

Currently, the three core team members are employed through the payroll of two organisations operated by two of the promisors.

“We conduct events and meets where everyone pays for their own travel and stay,” says Gunjan.

What LivingMyPromise hopes to build by 2030

Gunjan, who is now based in Australia, spent a decade in the wealth management space, helping high net-worth individuals make more money.

She wanted to do something more meaningful.

Life came full circle. She now helps people give away their wealth.

For LMP, giving is a personal choice, but it is also a cultural act. The public pledge is meant to inspire more people to think about wealth, legacy, and responsibility.

The initiative does not do fundraising. It serves as a platform where people can connect, learn, share ideas, and give more meaningfully.

LMP aims to expand its community to 500 members by 2030.

For Vivek, the idea remains deeply personal. Long before he had money to give, people gave him chances: access to a computer lab, a place to sleep, books from a mentor, and faith at a moment when he had none in himself.

Now, through Eklavya and LivingMyPromise, he is passing that forward to children whose futures can change with the same simple gift he once received: the chance to learn.

Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: thebetterindia.com