Jeeva Meshram

I remember the first time I stepped into Mahidharpura’s diamond market. The heat, the noise, the sheer energy of it all—it felt like standing in the heart of a storm. Men sat on sidewalks, crouched on low walls, velvet trays on their laps shimmering with wealth beyond measure. Deals were whispered, fortunes made or lost in the flick of a wrist. I was younger then, barely starting out, a man from Mumbai who had found his way to Surat, India, with a dream and borrowed money.

Now, at 54, I stand on the same streets, though I no longer crouch on the sidewalk. My workshop handles only large stones—five carats and up—cut with precision by men whose hands are as steady as their ambitions. I remember the risks I took, the first diamonds I bought with money I didn’t have. Luck was on my side. I made my profit and never looked back.

Surat has transformed in the years since. It was once a provincial town; now it’s the nerve center of the global diamond trade. Ninety percent of the world’s diamonds pass through our hands, our eyes, our grinding wheels. Every morning, I walk through my workshop, watching my cutters work under the hum of machines. Their hands move with speed and precision, pressing rough stones onto polishing wheels, breathing life into lifeless carbon.

But not all diamonds carry light. Some arrive with histories no certificate can erase. The Kimberley Process is supposed to keep blood diamonds out, but stones have a way of slipping through borders, through hands willing to look the other way. By the time a diamond reaches my workshop, its past is invisible. It’s just a stone, waiting to shine.

The business has given me wealth, but it has also given me questions. How much do we really own when everything we have can be traded, sold, or locked away? The stones I hold today will be in someone else’s hands tomorrow. They outlive us, and perhaps, in that, they mock us. I watch my cutters, the younger men, the dreamers. I wonder what they see when they look at these diamonds. Perhaps they see what I once did—a future, a promise. Or perhaps, like me, they now see only the weight of it all.