The bank, the Internet and the mobile phone all operate in a similar fashion. Tokens were sent from source points to a central hub, sorted there, and re-sent to target points. In the case of a bank, if you issue a local cheque of your bank to a service-provider in your neighbourhood who uses a different bank, his bank branch sends the cheque to a common centre called the clearing house. At this common point representatives of different banks come to match and reconcile cheques issued with the relevant accounts, and send or take away mutual advices to honour or dishonor cheques drawn on their banks. On the Internet, if you are sending email to a friend or colleague in the office, the electronic stream of bits is first sent to a server that could be anywhere in the world. The server acts as the central hub where your email addressee is located and the mail is sent out to him/ her. In offices, emails are often sent between colleagues sitting across the aisle from each other. On the mobile phone, too, your signal is sent to a common point in the neighbourhood and forwarded to the receiver, who could actually be in another part of the same house!
The philosophy of logistics companies like Blue Dart Express, an Indian cargo company that has now been acquired by German cargo company DHL, and FedEx and UPS, has been to link India with the rest of the world. Their focus was import and export and their mandate was not integrating India. There was not a single air cargo carrier going to Jamshedpur or Coimbatore; the six metros were their destination, and that was it.
The idea of a cargo carrier aimed at the small Indian cities—got into my head some time during those five days spent waiting for the engine to be airlifted to Kolkata from Delhi via Singapore.
The transport of the engine from Delhi to Kolkata via Singapore, which had given us all a nightmare, had nothing to do with the customs but the officials had got involved. They asked us why we were sending out an engine to Singapore and bringing it back to India without any repair work being done on it. The customs authorities refused to believe that in India we did not have the capacity to send the engine safely and without damage from Delhi to Kolkata. It took a lot of painstaking and patient convincing.
It was another eureka moment. Without another thought I reached for the phone and called a Belgium-based friend of mine, Thierry Lindenau of Spencer Stuart, who had helped me source my COO Warwick Brady for Air Deccan. I said: ‘Thierry find a CEO for me, either from FedEx or UPS or DHL.’;
It took me just an instant to decide that I would start a complete end-to-end logistics company. I was not keen to set up an air-cargo company. Air-cargo is different. I had no idea then that Deccan would be merged and was confident that Deccan would stabilize in the course of two or three years. Once it had grown big, there would be no challenge for me so I would set up another company. The idea had been conceived; it took hold of me and took on a life of its own.
It was six months before Thierry and I could find a CEO. I interviewed people from across the world and selected Jude Fonseka who had been with FedEx for over twenty years. I told Jude that this time around I wanted to do things differently. There were huge lessons to be drawn from Deccan. There had been mistakes. Here was an opportunity for us to build a new company with the right DNA. I was going to be its chairman and play the role of investor and incubator. I would obtain the licences and the seed money. Jude wouldn’t have to waste his time with ministers and the bureaucracy. He had a clear mandate. He would bring in a team, he had two years to build it up, and I would monitor and guide him. I said I wanted to build a company with good corporate governance and build a solid infrastructure for India.
Immediately after deciding on Jude as CEO, I made a call to Mohan Kumar and asked him to take charge of the new company and guide and show Jude the way.
I told Jude that our factories and industries were deep in the interiors; that farmers had apple farms in Jammu, reared fish in Gujarat and Kerala, and grew rice in Punjab. Large parts of India were languishing for want of logistics connectivity. Industries and agriculture ran sub-optimally and were desperate for logistics support. The new company would integrate the country into a seamless technology platform ranging from—transport and delivery to warehousing. India needed it more than ever. India was over a trillion-dollar economy and its GDP was growing at a frenetic pace but we had only five dedicated cargo aircrafts, all with Blue Dart Express, while China had a hundred.
This was also a time when the major cities had grown hugely and it had become difficult to find space for expansion of manufacturing facilities or service hubs. Existing manufacturers and service-providers were moving out of cities and towns to relocate in rural centres. This was profitable too for many major companies, because it meant the release of a lot of expensive real estate in the urban centres, for more profitable use. They were attracted to the new special economic zones (SEZ) being set up everywhere, to which the government was offering tax holidays and other subsidies such as land at inexpensive prices or free.
When I was incubating the new company, I told Vijay Mallya that I was stepping out to take charge of my new company, Deccan Cargo and Logistics. Vijay Mallya said, ‘Why do you want to do that? Why don’t you go and retire to your farm?’ I said, ‘Vijay, that is like asking Subbulakshmi not to sing or Ravi Shankar not to play the sitar.’
Vijay Mallya offered to pay compensation if I signed a no-competition agreement undertaking not to start anything in the aviation sector because Kingfisher would be in cargo, in MRO, and other such areas. I said, ‘Yes, I will sign a no-competition agreement undertaking not to set up an airline, but as I said I’m an entrepreneur and will do that which gives me the adrenalin rush; what gives meaning to life. I will build and create; I will start all over again.’
Under the no-competition contract, I agreed not to start another airline but I would not be restricted in spaces in which he was not operating. I told him I should be free to use the Deccan name because he was in any case extinguishing it.
I also told Vijay Mallya that Kingfisher would need Deccan to survive because the consumer before migrating to Deccan was travelling by train. It was a natural progression from a train to a low-cost airline, and from a LCC to a full-service airline. I cited C.K. Prahalad, ‘Wealth in India gets created at the top. But the top of the pyramid cannot survive unless the middle and the bottom of the pyramid are thriving.’ For Rahul Bajaj, for example, to be able to buy a Mercedes Benz and dine at the Oberoi and fly his own business jet, he would have to sell motorcycles and scooters to millions and millions of common middle-class individuals. Unless you have a huge ecosystem where there is a vibrant middle-class with disposable income, wealth does not get created at the top.
I realize that the task ahead is daunting: the venture is huge. On the day we launch, we will be twice the size of our nearest competitor. We will have greater cargo capacity and twice the reach. We will integrate large parts of India to the metros. We will go where the industry is going, we will go where the SEZs are going, we will go to states like Chhattisgarh and Uttarakhand. Hero Honda is setting up industry in Himachal and Bajaj in Uttarakhand. These states are offering incentives. We will go to ports like Kandla and Tuticorin which are desperate for connectivity. This venture will be larger than Deccan ever was.
I have acquired 50 acres in Nagpur to set up a cargo hub. I chose Nagpur over Hyderabad because we got resources and land from the government of Maharashtra on easy terms. Nobody wanted to go to Nagpur so the government gave us a special package. Nagpur is in the heart of underdeveloped Vidarbha. It is underdeveloped because there is no connectivity and no infrastructure there. I have decided to be at the forefront of creating infrastructure there and with infrastructure will come investment. Nagpur will become India’s central warehousing hub.
I have plunged headlong and invested all I had. Many of my friends remarked that I must be crazy, and advised that I should simply return to my farm and settle down. They want me to go and play golf, perhaps buy an island. The challenge for me is in building; in creating wealth. It is a criminal waste to keep mo
ney idle. It is not in my blood or heart to put money in stocks.
Successful business people became successful because they took risks. The biggest risk is that once successful, they stop taking risks. I become insecure if I cannot take risks. Without risks life becomes meaningless, and would imply that I had courage when I built up Deccan, but that now have become timid because I wish to protect my wealth. I find any such thought disturbing and I say to myself: ‘It’s a criminal waste of money to lock it up. Like Ulysses, I must start all over again.’
With Jude and a large number of people from the aviation side of Deccan who joined me with Capt. Preetham as their head, and a bunch of very bright kids who have joined me in the new venture, I repeat to myself the words: ‘The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.’
The exhilaration lies in building and creating. I am embarking all over again on another great journey. With my old buddy Sam, ever in the background, and Jayanth and Vishnu, taking over the reins of Deccan, the future beckons. There is great adventure in store for the future.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone…
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
—Lord Alfred Tennyson
GOPI’S FARM
GOPI’S FARM
Henry Mintzberg
G
opi grins a lot. So I didn’t take him seriously when I met him. That was my first mistake.
Gopi lives in the city, where he does his deals, and escapes to his farm, where he grows coconuts. So I took him to be a gentleman farmer. That was my second mistake.
The city is Bengaluru, in southern India. Bustling Bengaluru, where Gopi bustles. Now it’s helicopters. And bread. Before that irrigation systems. Honda dealerships before that. And lots more before that.
Deccan Aviation, ‘Your limousine in the sky,’—will do almost anything its helicopters can do. Like just getting to Bengaluru the first time, from Singapore. Gopi signed the contract ten minutes before the helicopter had to take off. He and his partner pilot flew it over Malaysia, then Thailand, then Myanmar, then Bangladesh, and finally down the Indian subcontinent, stopping every few hundred kilometres—twenty times in five days—for liquid refreshments. A very thirsty helicopter indeed. ‘No destination is impossible. No boundaries exist,’ Deccan’s promotion claims, with some authority. They have six helicopters now, or at least they did when I wrote this, only to get an e-mail that Gopi was expecting three more.
Bread was in the family, at least in K.T.’s family (a famous old bakery in Bengaluru). K.T. married Gopi’s sister. Franchising is the thing—Gopi decided—so now he takes care of that. He would like to open one in London. You have to call it ‘Gopi’s Bakery,’ I kid him, and be sure to put underneath, ‘Let them eat bread.’
Bhargavi is Gopi’s wife. She runs production. Ye Gods, I thought before I met Bhargavi, he’s married to a bakery boss. Poor Gopi. That was another mistake. Bhargavi is small and adorable. You would never guess that she runs a bakery, let alone is the mother of Pallavi, aged 17, whose soft, shy look could stop a helicopter, and Krithika, 11, who dances around the house like a little lady Gopi.
The Gopi family is urban. So I was surprised when, shortly after meeting Bhargavi on our way to buy a couple of bicycles said, ‘I miss the farm so much.’ There were almost tears in her eyes.
It’s four hours to the farm by car, and with the kids in school (which is why they moved to Bengaluru) Bhargavi rarely gets back there for more than a few days at a time. You will understand her feelings when you find out how Bhargavi came to the farm.
Captain Gorur R. lyengar Gopinath left the Indian Army at the age of 27, thanks to a signature he wrangled out of some high official. He returned home to find his native village in crisis. A dam had been built that flooded the ancestral lands. The government paid compensation, but that was only money and quickly being used-up. Other land was offered, but at some distance, and suspected by everyone. Except Gopi. He decided to go have a look. So he hopped on a motorcycle, and when the road ended, he walked the last four kilometres through the bush. He came back and offered to buy everyone’s land for deferred payment in five years. Better than nothing, they agreed.
Gopi was determined to grow coconuts on that land. So he took a kid named Raju from the village, pitched an army tent, and they began to plant little coconut trees. Then the rains came, and carried the little coconut trees away. So they began again, planting them earlier and more solidly. In the dry season, with no sign of the promised electricity, Gopi and Raju carried water to the trees by hand, one pail on each side. A thousand little trees each thirsty for about four pitchers of water a week.
Almost a year of that and Gopi began to dream of donkeys. So he found a deal—four donkeys for ninety rupees each (about $7 in those days). He got his money’s worth: they were even less enthusiastic about carrying water than Gopi, and, tired of grazing, they insisted on eating the beans Gopi had grown to sell. The local farmers come to look and laugh. Mercifully the electricity arrived soon after.
When the time came to get Gopi married, a match was proposed, in proper Indian fashion. Bhargavi and her mother and sisters set out in a bullock-cart to visit the farm. Gopi loves to tell that story. (Actually Gopi loves to tell all his stories.) Bullock-carts have two huge wooden wheels that rock back and forth through the ruts. So it’s a good idea to put in the little pins that keep the wheels in place. Otherwise a proposed marriage could end up in the mud. Well, on arrival, after an hour of this rocking, it was discovered that someone forgot to put in the pins. Someone else, apparently, was looking after Gopi and Bhargavi.
But they were not out of the mud yet. Bhargavi’s mother took one look at the scene and warned her daughter off this crazy marriage. Coconut trees take ten years to mature; what would they eat in the meantime, and in a tent at that? But proper Indian marriage or not, Bhargavi had made up her mind. So Gopi got a wife as determined as he.
They planted coconut trees together, Gopi and Bhargavi, and gradually earned their farm. In the meantime, they lived off silk cocoons, and in a mud house with a thatched roof that Gopi was able to build in place of the tent. After Pallavi came along, and had to go to school, the family moved to Hassan, near Bhargavi’s village, where Gopi started to do his deals. Later they moved to Bengaluru, a bigger city with better schools and bigger deals, while they continued to tend the land they love.
Like lots of people who do deals, Gopi wears a Rolex watch. Like them, he’s proud of his watch. But they bought their watches. Gopi earned his.
On the back is inscribed ‘The Rolex Award for Enterprise,’ with Gopi’s name. But not for the kind of enterprise you might imagine. This international award was in recognition of Gopi’s contribution to organic farming. The fancy book that accompanied the watch cites his work to ‘expand ecological silk-farming to improve living standards.’ It explains that, after failing with various crops, followed by dismal results with silkworm-rearing, Gopi ‘switched his approach radically’.
There followed a string of innovations. To grow mulberry berries to feed the silk worms, ‘Gopinath … does not plough the land. Instead he covers it with a thick carpeting of mulch …’ (One newspaper wrote that the Rolodex Awards are given to people who ‘break new ground’.) Moreover, ‘Gopinath protects his silkworms without powdered disinfectants or fungicides .… To keep out rats, he instilled a low electrified fence outside. Mosquito nets guard access to the rearing houses. Water channels prevent ants from invading the premises.’
Gopi sent me a big pile of articles on his organic farming, some written by him, others about him. There are technical papers presented at conferences and practical papers published in farmers’ magazines. A comment Gopi made to a national newspaper, The Hindu, shows how he thinks.
Farmers and people from the agricultural department adv
ised me to keep the soil ‘clean’ and use chemicals to prevent termite attack. I posed the question: If termites are indeed so lethal how could forests have survived over thousands of years? Termites ought to have slowly assaulted and reduced them to dust. But forests have survived. So have termites …. I supposed the termites must have lived off the litter and the debris that you find on the floor of the forests. I sought to create a similar environment here on the farm … I dumped the debris closely around the trunk of the trees as mulch, hoping that the termites would find it as rewarding to feed off the debris as off the trees. And, I discovered to my surprise that instead of attacking the trunk, the termites attacked the mulch and found it delicious. Th ey left the trees alone.
Another article, in a magazine called The March of Karnataka, from his home state, tells about the water.
He noticed the depletion of ground water and the stream running along the farm going dry soon after rainy season. He had read about ‘zero cultivation’ resulting in increase of water table. A thirty feet width of land along the stream was left uncultivated. Soon shrubs began to grow … and trees began to emerge. The weeds were left free. Soon the erosion was stopped. Water holding capacity increased. Th e microhabitat was revitalised. Insects, birds and earthworm population increased. Deposition of humus increased leading to increase in soil fertility. Water table shot up.
Anything but donkeys!
Gopi is a big fan of weeds and pests. Some weeds should be kept and recycled, he told a reporter. They ‘indicate a healthy soil …’ And farmers should ‘budget a portion of the harvest for insects and for rodents.’ They ‘aerate and enrich the soil with their droppings and carcasses. You can’t kill the pests without killing the rest’ he said, so ‘we will not fret or get desperate at the sight of a rat nibbling a coconut, for instance, if we understand the intricate, benign workings of nature.’ To Gopi the soil is not inanimate: ‘agriculture,’ he told another newspaper reporter, ‘is not a physical science, but a life science.’
Simply Fly Page 52