‘“As you sow, so shall you reap.” Ma’am, do you know who said this?’
My mother shook her head to say no.
‘Sir, do you?’
My Dad said no as well.
‘Neither do I. Neither does anyone in this world. But consider this…’ I said, and paused to assess the situation. They were sitting enraptured, with their curious smiles asking me to continue.
‘But consider this, sir. How would you have felt had you been the one to coin that proverb and no one gave you the credit for it? You would have felt bad, wouldn’t you?’
They nodded their heads in agreement.
‘Growth in various social networking sites on the internet is testimony to the surge in creativity in the recent past. But there is a downside to this as well. Every day, creator’s copyright is getting lost in massive chunks of data. There was no way to ensure that what you have said today will be credited with your name tomorrow.’
‘There was no way. But now there is: yourquote.in’.’ I continued.
‘At YourQuote, you can archive your original quotes, share them with the rest of the world, and claim your credit forever.’
I further discussed briefly the three different revenue models that I had in my mind which like any other astute entrepreneur, I am not willing to fully disclosing here. I showed them the scope of the idea and how it had the potential to become as big as Twitter with a little bit of hard work.
‘Sir, would you be willing enough to invest in the venture?’ I asked my Dad.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ he said and wished me luck.
My mother had other things on her mind and asked me my favorite question of all, ‘Do you want to eat chicken curry at night?’ I laughed and put my arms around her and led her to the kitchen. I had won their trust and now, they set me free to make me happy and them proud.
I was sittng comfortably in my room talking to Priya on the phone at night when Mom suddenly made an unexpected entry.
‘Hi Mom,’ I said nervously. I had managed to disconnect the call just in time.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, having seen me clung to my cellphone.
‘Nothing. I was writing a one-liner about life to post on YourQuote.’
‘Interesting. Tell me what you’ve written,’ Mom said.
I started looking at the ceiling first, then awkwardly scanned through the messages in the saved folder. Other than a couple of ‘muahhs’ and a lot of ‘missing you’s’, there was nothing else in the folder. Just when I thought doomsday had arrived, phat, enlightenment!
‘Life has two ways. One way leads you to where you want to be. The other leads you to where you need to be. Often, the latter takes you to the prior.’
Mom took two minutes to reflect on what I had said. Impressed, she patted me on the forehead and left my room.
Eureka
I was a runaway. I had broken free from the shackles of placement and while it brought me immense pride, my friends at IIT were not as appreciative. When they figured that I had run back home, they thought that it was a result of my depression from not cracking McKinsey. I wouldn’t blame them though. I had never tried explaining to them my side of the story, but their consistent concern and worry had now started bothering me.
When Pratik, who had cracked Royal Bank of Scotland (RBS), called me and suggested I apply to the Day 6+ companies that were visiting campus, I got irritated. I disconnected his call in between and posted an angry status message:
If you can’t see the future that I’m seeing for myself, it doesn’t give you the right to say that I’m right or wrong. It just means that you are acting like a dumb and interfering swine.
My friends got angry with me. Not because I didn’t pay heed to what they were saying but because I didn’t care to explain what was going through my mind. They had every right to get angry. I was still at home. I had to leave for Bombay on 9th December, to meet mentors and prospective investors for YourQuote.
Rishabh, unable to find himself a job, had to choose placements over Eureka under parental pressure. He instead sent Shikha, Armaan and Tanay to Mumbai, to join me.
My Dad made sure I took a flight to Mumbai. When I insisted on taking a train, he remarked, ‘Now that you are the Director of a company, time is of utmost value. Invest in saving your time and make money in the extra time that you get out.’
The moment I set foot on Mumbai soil, it captivated me like no other city had in the past. I took an old premier taxi which drove me from the airport to IIT-Bombay.
As the taxi flew past the skyscrapers of Hiranandani overlooking Powai lake, I was already day dreaming. My desire of earlier making just a successful company was now transformed into a dream of making a billion dollar company. I visualized the top floor of the 30+ storey tower displaying a massive banner saying: YourQuote.
The taxi driver dropped me at Hall 2, a hostel at IIT Bombay, where I was to stay for the next three days. The trio from Delhi had already arrived and greeted me as soon as I entered the hostel. Shikha, in her black one-piece that showed her cleavage, looked especially attractive. I was surprised to find that girls were allowed in the boys’ hostel.
We had to prepare for the mentor session the next day, construct our financial model, and figure out a way to impress our mentors with the limited knowledge of what we were doing. But we did none of that. We instead made a grand checklist of places to be covered in the next four days, irrespective of whatever happens in the competition. Being their leader, I chose to be the most indulgent and seconded fun over work.
Juhu, Marine Drive, Nariman Point, the Gateway of India, Bandra Bandstand, Worli Sealink—the list went on. It seemed like we were on vacation. IIT Powai had already sponsored our stay and travel. What more could a man want? The first night, we all were a bit weary from the strenuous journey and decided not to strain ourselves more by travelling.
We sleepily dashed into the early morning session the next day. It was being conducted at the lecture theatre by one of the most prominent lawyer firms in the city—Batra and Associates. As we drowsily cruised through the sessions, we were glad to find that we had more than half of the day at our disposal. We decided that the remaining part of the day would be spent in Mumbai darshan.
We divided ourselves in groups of two, two groups each. Shikha and I were put in a group together.
‘Are you single?’ I asked her, breaking the silence between us.
‘Yes, why?’
‘No, was just curious. Haven’t heard from Rishabh lately. How did it end?’ She knew that I knew about Rishabh and her.
‘It wasn’t right. In all perspectives. I broke up. Moreover, I found Rishabh very dumb. He is all talk, no substance,’ she criticized openly. I was nonplussed. I wondered whether I should defend my partner who was being bitched by our employee or should I allow her to bitch as he had been her ex? I chose the latter, muting my conscience.
‘Why do you say so? He’s my partner.’
‘Come on. Have you heard him talk about design or creativity?’
‘Yes, but again, he’s a gifted marketeer.’
‘I am not denying that. All I’m saying is I find him dumb.’
‘And Kartik—he still has six months left in France, right?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Does he know about what happened between Rishabh and you?’ I asked, careful not to exceed my limits.
‘No, he is very emotional. I would explain the situation to him when he comes back.’
Day 1 was spent exploring Mumbai and before long it was day 2. After a tiresome first day, we remained asleep till late. Since we had already missed the first mentoring session on Day 2, we rushed back to the college for the second round as soon as we got up.
A bald man, was waiting to assault the four of us. He was an angel investor and a former entrepreneur who had sold his company to Infosys. He was in a terrible mood, as could be seen by his demeanour. He asked all of us to sit around him and began with his torture.<
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‘Who is the founder of the company among you?’
Fearfully, I raised my hand.
‘Give me your pitch,’ he ordered. I blurted out my sixty seconds elevator pitch that I’d practised one month ago. He didn’t seem impressed.
‘How much time have you given to the plausibility of the idea?’ Baldie asked us.
‘Quite a lot. Almost six months.’
‘I think you should give it more time. There is no place for such a shitty idea in the market right now. Don’t you think so?’ Baldie quizzed us.
I got scared. I didn’t know how to respond. Armaan was vexed with the criticism and I overheard him whispering a cuss word to Shikha. It set me ablaze, in disgust and anger. I wanted to smash Armaan’s face against the table. I just prayed that the mentor’s ears weren’t sharp enough. Luckily, the mentor didn’t seem to notice, so I heaved a sigh of relief. For the next question, Tanay, the smooth talker among us, took the lead.
‘Sir, even Coca Cola was not needed at the time it was launched. People were happy with water, but ultimately it created a market for itself, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see any purpose in your idea. It’s not a commodity, it’s a service. I wonder why anyone would use it,’ the mentor said furiously, realizing we were not going to be bogged down so easily. More than 10,000 people are already using our services,’ I told him. Our Facebook page had recently crossed the 10,000+ fans mark.
He seemed a little interested. He asked us whether we had any angels on board. We said no. He asked us to send him the business plan. We already had the plan ready and I handed it over to him. Being engineers, the finance portion was all screwed up.
‘All these calculations are shit. Meet a CA, get these financial projections sorted out by him, and then forward it to me,’ he said and left our table.
The next mentor we met was Mr Jain, a senior entrepreneur who owned a business of bubble wraps. When we discussed our plan with him, he frankly informed us that he had no idea about internet space but really liked our idea. As we probed further, he disclosed that he was a closet poet and our idea could help writers like him get recognition for their creativity. Though he didn’t have the necessary profile to invest in us, his encouragement powered our resolve.
After our encouraging talk with Mr Jain came to an end, we got up and walked out to an open hall and saw that journalists from all prominent newspapers like Mid-Day, DNA, and the Times of India waiting with their cameras and notepads.
But soon we realized that it was PR coverage for Eureka rather than for us, as most of the questions were either, ‘How did you find the entire programme?’, or ‘How was the experience with the mentors?’, or ‘Why do you like Eureka?’
The four of us were thoroughly disappointed by the turn of events. We decided that we would soothe ourselves by going to Marine Drive, and this time, I would indulge in a beer or two with the rest of the gang as well. By 11, I was really tired and the other two guys were slightly high. They went for a quick walk, leaving Shikha and me behind.
‘What happened? You look really tired,’ Shikha said.
‘Slept in a bad posture last night, so my shoulders have become stiff.’
‘Can I help?’ she asked and moved her slender fingers near my shoulders.
‘What will you do?’
‘Give you a massage,’ she said, much to my surprise. I kept thinking whether it will be right or wrong to have her massage my shoulders.
If Priya was around, would I have done that? No. I would not have even dared. I thought to myself.
‘When I am home, I massage my father’s shoulders every day after he returns from office,’ she said, making me feel a little relaxed that she didn’t have an ulterior motive. I relaxed a little and offered my shoulders at her service. She was good. Really good—unlike Priya who was too delicate to give me a massage.
‘You are awesome. Your boyfriend will be one lucky chap,’ I complimented.
‘Don’t talk about my boyfriend.’
‘Okay, sorry,’ I said after realizing that I might have touched a wrong nerve.
Armaan returned just when Shikha was finishing off with the massage. Tanay wasn’t to be seen. Either it was just a co-incidence or they had intentionally thought of not disturbing me during my ‘rejuvenation’ process. A moment later, upon seeing the wicked smile of Armaan, I realized that things were twisted. I could smell a forthcoming dig.
‘How was the massage, sir?’ Armaan taunted.
‘Do you want it as well?’ said Shikha lifting up a nearby book. He was a year junior to her and she treated him like a brother.
‘What happened to Tanay?’ I asked Armaan while he was busy making ridiculously lecherous noises in response to the shoulder massage that Shikha was now bestowing on him.
‘Ah, ou…Tanay is…oh…oh my God…on phone,’ Armaan said and ended his speech with, ‘Oh fuck!’ when Shikha rebuked him and asked him to get lost.
Minutes later, Tanay returned with a gloomy look on his face. Shikha ran to him, concerned like a mother, and asked him what was wrong. The suave, sophisticated, and smooth-talking Tanay crumbled on the ground and started sobbing
After drinking a few sips of water, Tanay finally disclosed to us that his girlfriend had cheated on him. The news shook all of us, even Shikha who, despite being experienced in this field, was at loss of words. My curiosity was quenched and I exhibited a mature indifference. Shikha held his hand.
I swelled with pride as my relationship with Priya had crossed two-and-a-half years without a taint. Thankfully, Shikha cheered Tanay up and he recovered soon enough. Two games of bluff were enough to set things right, temporarily.
I had got up at six in the morning, courtesy an upset stomach. With sleep a distant possibility because of the condition of my stomach, I checked the status of our return tickets online. They were still in waiting. The four of us had to return via the Mumbai-Amritsar mail. An hour later, Tanay’s phone buzzed. He talked drowsily on the phone for a few minutes, got up, and told me in his half-asleep state, ‘I need to cancel my ticket. My uncle has booked one for me in today’s Rajdhani Express.’
‘How did he manage to get one for today?’
‘He’s a judge at the Supreme Court,’ he said. His one-line introduction was enough.
‘Bro, couldn’t you get ours confirmed via your uncle as well?’ I asked.
‘I can’t bother him anymore, you know. He’s the Supreme Court judge, for God’s sake! Do you realize how senior he is?’ I couldn’t understand how he could act so selfish all of a sudden.
‘My father had told him to do so, not me. I was only informed of it just now,’ he exasperatedly said. I chose to not stretch it anymore.
It was the last day of the Eureka mentoring session. There was a grand lunch for all the participants which kept us busy the entire afternoon, despite my upset stomach. At lunch, my cellphone beeped. It was Rishabh’s text with an emoticon filled message that said—Got placed, in EWZ. 4.5 lakh package.:)
The four day session had finally come to an end. Thankfully, our tickets got confirmed and we had to bid adieu to Mumbai. A month later, the results of Eureka came out. We failed to make it to the top 8. We were least bothered, relishing the contentment of having enjoyed our stay at Mumbai.
Mishra
Back in college, we were looking at recruiting more people for our company. I first interacted with Mishra during the time Suresh had been dropped from the scene and we were searching for a prospective technical partner. He was referred to me by my batchmate. He had been actively involved in the web development work of the institute, having developed several websites for its cultural festival. However, what bogged my enthusiasm during that time was his keenness to freelance for us rather than coming on board full time as a partner. He wanted regular payment to complete our task within three months. But we wanted someone who could stick with us for a long-term period.
Mishra’s full name was Anant Mishra. But he preferred
to to be called Mishra Anant instead. When I once asked him about it, he said it just sounds right. I shrugged it off, thinking it was yet another peculiarity of a tech genius.
After struggling for four months to find a tech guy, I approached Mishra once again—this time as a partner rather than a freelancer. We had already made waves in the IIT circuit and I thought it would be a piece of cake to convince him to come on board.
Before initiating the discussion, Rishabh and I formalized our offer.
‘What should be his incentive to work with us?’ I asked Rishabh.
‘Tell him that we will call him our Chief Technical Officer (CTO),’ Rishabh said.
‘Any share in the equity?’
‘Why do you always come down to equity? First let him work, then we will figure out something for him if he turns out to be indispensable.’
We told Mishra that we were students ourselves and from whatever we would earn, we would share with him from time to time. He was like an unpaid executive level employee with perks such as experience, recognition, and free exposure.
With Mishra as our right hand to spearhead technical development, it was time for us to reclaim our lost pride and let the world know that forgoing my placements was a smart decision. For getting the rest of the employees, I came up with a grand recruitment plan along with Rishabh.
It all sprouted in a discussion we had with our Core Team. Thanks to the placement season, we realized how important a start-up experience was for students who had not done much in their four academic years. Working in a start-up would enable them to mention it in their CVs. The idea behind the recruitment was that we would create teams across campuses that would be self functionary, with a manager, preferably a third-year IIT-Delhi student—to ensure smooth functioning.
Shikha created a very catchy poster which said in bold letters: ‘YourQuote Mass Recruitment Drive: It’s time to spike up your resume’. I marketed it thoroughly on social networking sites and the scheduled date of interviews was kept for February 8. We divided the hiring year-wise and started with hiring 10 third-year students who would hold the position of Business Development Managers (BDMs), so that they would help in subsequent hiring, 15 second-year Business Development Senior Associates (BDSAs), and 30 Business Development Associates (BDAs). Besides, seven people were to be inducted in the Strategy and Content team.
Because Shit Happened Page 10