Khairul Bashar

I was born in a small village in Bangladesh. A simple middle-class family — father worked hard to run the household, mother took care of the house. Money was tight, but love was never lacking. My parents never said 'you can't' — that was my biggest strength.

I was a bit different from childhood. While everyone wanted to be a waiter or doctor, I wanted to build something myself. I'd open up radios to see inside, try to understand clock mechanisms. People said 'this boy ruins everything' — I knew I was learning.

I first entered my school's computer lab in grade 5. That was the first time I saw a computer. Typing something and seeing it on screen felt like magic. From that day, I decided I would learn this. No matter what.

Electricity in the village was inconsistent. I'd read books by candlelight when there was a power cut. My school results were always good — teachers said 'this boy will do something big one day.' I kept those words in mind.

But dreaming is one thing, fulfilling it is another. We couldn't afford a computer. I'd write code on paper at home — yes, literally on paper. I'd write HTML tags and imagine how it'd look in a browser. Friends laughed, but I knew it was just a matter of time.

I'd go to cyber cafes. 20 BDT per hour. Even that 20 BDT was hard to gather. If I got 30 minutes, I'd learn HTML, and the rest of the time I'd write notes on what to learn next.

In grade 8, I decided — I'll buy a computer myself. I couldn't ask my father; I knew he couldn't afford it. He worked all day to feed us, how much more pressure could I put? So after school, I started working as a mason's helper.

I carried bricks in the sun, mixed cement. My hands would swell, my body would ache — but I had one thought: 'I'll buy a computer.' In the evening, I'd write code on paper with a tired body. My mother would cry seeing me, saying 'don't work so hard, son.'

After almost a year, I saved 4,600 BDT. I bought a second-hand desktop — old, slow, it'd hang occasionally. But to me, it was the most precious thing in the world. I had tears in my eyes when I turned it on at home. My father stood beside me and said — 'You can do it, son.'

No money for coaching, no mentor, nobody nearby who understood programming. But there was the internet — and that was enough. YouTube and Google were my teachers. I'd stay awake until 2-3 AM watching videos, writing code, making mistakes, learning again. Mother would say 'sleep, son' — I'd say 'just a bit more, Mom.'

The internet was slow too. A 10-minute video would take 30 minutes to load. I'd write notes while it buffered. Sometimes the internet would go out — then I'd practice using previous notes.

I spent the first 3 months just learning HTML and CSS. Then JavaScript — my head spun. Closures, Prototypes, Async — I understood nothing. I got frustrated, felt it wasn't for me. But I'd sit back down the next day. I told myself: 'If I can't today, I will tomorrow.'

I built my first website after six months. Very simple — just some text and a button. But the feeling of seeing it in a browser is beyond words. Me, a village boy, built a website!

I didn't stop. Learned React, Node.js, Databases. Every new thing was a war. But I won every war — just by refusing to give up.

Started freelancing. My first 10 bids were rejected — nobody believed a village boy could write good code. I got my first job on the 11th bid — for just 500 BDT. That 500 felt like 500,000. I gave it to my mother and said — 'Mom, I earned this by coding.' She burst into tears.

From freelancing, clients slowly increased. Small jobs at first — a landing page for 2,000 BDT, a form for 1,500. I worked nights, school/college by day.

I got my first big client for an e-commerce project. 40,000 BDT. The biggest amount of work in my life. I was scared — can I do it? But I delivered before the deadline. The client said — 'You've done a great job!' In that moment, I knew — I really can.

I learned from every project. Learned how to talk to clients, how to meet deadlines, how to work under pressure. The client would send bug reports at 3 AM — I'd wake up and fix them. That was my life.

During this time, I started learning Mobile Development, Desktop Apps, and AI/ML. I realized — staying only in web isn't enough. A real software engineer can work on all platforms.

There were tough moments too. Once a big project got canceled halfway — 2 months of work wasted. No pay. I was broken that day. But the next day, I started looking for new projects.

Today I'm 21. Working as a software engineer. Web, Mobile, Desktop, even AI/ML — I can build production-ready software on every platform. React, Next.js, React Native, Flutter, Electron, Python, TensorFlow — these are my tools now.

From that 4,600 BDT second-hand computer to here. Nobody showed the way, no expensive courses, no elite institutions. Just willpower, the internet, and a refusal to give up — these three were enough.

When I look back today, I can't believe it myself. The boy who carried bricks in the sun now builds software in an air-conditioned room. This isn't a movie — it's real, it's my life.

Now I can support my family. I can tell my father — 'Father, you don't have to work hard anymore.' I see proud tears in my mother's eyes — that's my biggest success.

To build something from this small village in Bangladesh that people all over the world will use — that's my biggest dream. I want to build a global SaaS product that makes life easier for millions.

I also want to guide new developers in Bangladesh. Build a community where village boys and girls like me can learn and grow. I want to ensure nobody has to fight alone like I did.

Planning to start an open-source project for Bangladeshi developers. Documentation in Bengali, tutorials in Bengali, everything in Bengali. So nobody lags behind just because they don't know English.

One day I'll open my own tech company. Hire village boys and girls from Bangladesh. I want to show — it doesn't matter where you're born, it matters how hard you try.

I believe — where you're born, how much money you have, what your father does — none of it matters. What matters is the fire inside you. Keep that fire burning.