Sony Kumar's BLOG

A Personal Threshold, A Public Reckoning

On the 15th of October, I crossed a threshold I never saw coming. I was rushed to Accident & Emergency at St Mary’s Hospital, London, with an unsustainable heart rate—later diagnosed as high atrial fibrillation (AF). My body was in crisis. My heart, volatile beyond measure. And yet, what unfolded was not just a medical intervention—it was a human miracle.

I remember the voice of the emergency doctor, Maddie, cutting through the chaos: “Sanjeev, you’re not dying on our watch.” That sentence became my anchor. In that moment, I surrendered—not to fear, but to trust. I placed my life in the hands of strangers. They didn’t know me. I didn’t know them. But they gave me everything: every injection, every test, every idea, every ounce of care. And when Maddie smiled and said, “We’re winning,” I believed her. A bond formed in minutes. My life decisions were now hers to guide.

In hindsight, it felt like my own Diwali—an unexpected festival of light inside a hospital ward. On the brink of collapse, I was surrounded by strangers who became protectors, and their care lit up the darkest moment of my life. Diwali celebrates the triumph of light over darkness, and that’s exactly what I experienced: a human victory, a second heartbeat, a renewal.

The Volatility of a Heartbeat

Later, I joked with the resident cardiologist: “Watching my heart rate during AF is like watching the markets during a financial crisis. Except this time, my body is the market—and you’re the central bank.” My degrees in finance, commerce, and an MBA couldn’t save me. No algorithm could stabilise my pulse. No portfolio could buy me time. In that moment, I reaffirmed my understanding: a human life is the most valuable asset of all.

Strangers Who Became Guardians

When I was moved to the Acute Medical Unit, I met the night and day shift teams—diverse, overworked, underpaid, yet unwavering in their commitment. From changing bedsheets to monitoring vitals, they embodied the goodwill of humanity. They didn’t just treat me—they held me. And I trusted them completely.

The Economics of Existence

Our economic systems have failed to account for the most vital resource: humans. Financial markets reward assets, not bodies. Governments allocate budgets, but forget that every department ultimately serves people. There is no incentive to invest in our greatest asset—our health. And yet, without people, nothing exists. No economy. No democracy. No innovation.

This is why I conceived the Harley Wellness Dollar—a resource backed by people, designed to deliver health equity without burdening public finances. Inspired by nature’s blueprint for sustainable value creation, it’s a protocol for life itself. Because money should never be a hurdle to healthcare.

A Posthumous Perspective

We are temporary phenomena. The categories we invent—Arab, American, Asian, African—are irrelevant to nature. The calendars we follow are made up. The systems we worship often harm us. But in the end, what matters is this: Did we come to each other’s rescue? Did we create value together? Did we honour life?

I have committed myself to building long-term value for society. Not for applause. But because I don’t want another human to die when they could have been saved. If I succeed in building a hundred-billion-dollar company, a significant portion will be reinvested into healthcare workers and the communities they serve. Shareholders will thrive—but so will humanity.

Maybe Life Wants Me to Live

One of the doctors said to me: “Maybe God has a plan for you, Sanjeev. Someone wants you to live and achieve all this for us.” Maybe life wants you to live some more—because now you represent life itself.

And in the quiet moments that followed, I received a message from someone very dear to me: “Please take care of yourself. You are valued. I do not want to exist in a world where you do not exist.” That message became an instant anchor. A reminder that perhaps my survival is not just mine—it also belongs to those who love me, those who believe in me, and those who see my life as a vessel for something greater. Perhaps I was never mine anyways.