Village

The next wave of India’s technological development is poised to happen in tier 3-4 cities. The infrastructure has gotten better and, most importantly, the connection among founders, team.

People who go to IIT/IIM talks about networking. Imagine half a dozen school friends ending up building small Micro-SaaS, apps development, software testing, and turning entrepreneur eating, playing at same grounds and fields.

The internet is a treasure trove with loads of knowledgeable tutorials, videos, and classes (MOOC). Anyone can become anything as long as they are dedicating enough time to it.

I have been very vocal about the emergence of cities like Kanpur, Lucknow, Guwahati, Surat, Bhopal, Madurai, and a few as the next tech hub on a world map.

Umeed

Ek umeed laga baithe the ankho ke age, jine ko tay kar liya tha ek maksad ke saath. Socha tha abb zindgi chal padege, mann chahcha uthega aur pholo ke khusbo me san zaige mukaan hamari.

Hame kya pata tha ki umeed hame bas khud se karna chahiye, auroo ke saath maksad kabhi bhi badal sakte hai. Apke umeed auroo ki na-umeede ho zaige.

chowkidaar

Ram Singh, aka Ramu Bhaiya, was in his late 30’s. A hanuman devotee with chandan smeared on his forehead. His haircut was a signature army cut with a mustache reminded me of Ravan from the famous Ramayana serial telecasted on Doordarshan. He ran away from his family in Nepal for a job and life in our hometown.

It was the year 1990, and we were still living in the pre-modernization era. Ramu Bhaiya had a torch, khukri, and a well-oiled danda(stick). At first, when he walked to the mohalla(society) head, he was cynical about the proposal of a night watchman. After all, how can anyone trust a stranger? Our mohalla was sparsely populated and, most were moving from village to district for a better life and kids’ education. Some were teachers, bankers but most state government employee. Many of us were not comfortable paying him money for the service, and we offered grains for his service.

Most of us would retire by 10 pm and, that is when Ramu bhaiya would begin his duty. A loud whistle, thud on the ground with his danda followed with loud shouts: Jagte Raho(stay awake). Much old age and early risers later requested him not to shout: Jagte Raho. Their sleep was getting affected.

After six months of his diligent service, sometimes in October, he mentioned to the society head about the regular death threats. Some miscreants and thieves were stone-pelting and giving him death threats. He did not take them seriously but, we reported it to the police.

In November, most of the mohalla gets deserted, school winter break plus chatt puja, and most active time for thieves. We had Ramu Bhaiya this time around. My father told me about the death of Ramu Bhaiya when for weeks I heard no thud or whistle at night after returning from Gaon(village). Some miscreants strangled him to death. His corpse stayed for a day, waiting for relatives to show up. It was local thana(police) subedar Sahab who did the last rites for poor Ramu Bhaiya. There were no witnesses and, the case was closed.

After two months, a foggy day, a lady and a boy of my age knocked on our door. Mother opened the door, the lady introduced herself as the wife of deceased chowkidar(watchman) and produced a marriage photograph as proof. Her eye, hair, and looks witnessed her misery. She has been living with her parents immediately after marriage. Her father had not paid a promised dowry money to Ramu Bhaiya’s father. It was this reason why he ran away and came to work in India. His goal was to pay money to his father and bring back his wife and son. My mom hugged, cried, and fed them. She also gave her some money and used woolen sweaters, shawls. She was not wearing any chappal(slipper), so mom gave her one of hers.

That was the end of Ramu Bhaiya. A faceless population in our country, carrying so much burden for their end meets and union. Who cares for a poverty-stricken person’s death investigation in our country.

Desh

Desh ka kya hai ji, chalta he rahega.
Achai, Burai, Aamir, Garib sab isme he simte hai.
Hota ye hai ki bas numainde aur siyasatdar badalte rehte hai.

Garib ke phatehaal ko kaun dekhta hai Ji, isme koi chuski ya mazza thore he hai. Kisan jiye ya mare, hai to wo khud pe he.

Nikal zaye kuch kos chakachaundh se, dikhege apko wahi duniya: zahan ek baap lachar hai bete ke biyah ko, ek beta lad raha hai baap ke bimari ke uper aur nanhe se jaan paida hote he lagg gaye hai kolhu me kamane aur parivar ko palne.

Gaon ke sahukaar bann ke bicholiye intzaar kar rahe hai gandi ankho se apke khet ko harape ne liye.

Apki biwi, bete aur bacho ke khwaish ko kaun dekhta hai jab har waqt, be waqt jine ke mohtaaz hai hum. Khwab aur rubab dono amiro ki he gulaam hai ji bas.

Desh apke khun ka payasa hai aur desh ke numainde apke chamri ke.
Desh hai chal he zaiga, bas log zite marte rahenge.

Winning over Allergies

Last week I picked up the book title: Winning over Allergies by Dr. Arif Khan. The book talks about various allergies and how it impacts on us. Thankfully I am not allergic to pollen or airborne. I suffer from a food allergy. My eating habits have gotten worst in recent times. I have been consuming a lot many meals outside and not getting enough sleep either.

The book has explained allergies from India’s perspective. Most examples are also from we locals. I was mostly interested in if a food allergy is making my eyes go red and getting boils all over my head. The reason could be many: oil, egg, wheat, seafood, food colors, antibiotics, etc.

I remember discussing gut microbiome with Aparna; she has extensively worked and studied on this domain. It was she who recommended me the book.

Reading the book has been a good start. I am feeling less bloated and cheerful; because of home-cooked meals and gut-loving fruits and vegetables. The quest is far from over. It seems like a lifestyle I have to adapt.

filter

A founder’s other important virtue is the art of filtering. Building a startup is no different than having a roller coaster ride or getting married. People are a priced asset and define success.

It is too easy to get carried away by the opinions of others. It is easy to get stressed on the critical feedback. It is easy to get on an ego trip hearing all the praise.

In the end, the founder’s journey is very lonely, and destiny depends on how he/she sees and sails through it. How much does opinion, praise, or critics matter when they have no skin in the game. They have played, took a demo for 5 minutes?

You have been building a product since inception.

Building a product is hard. Becoming a critic or cheerleader is easy. The sooner you have a Bullshit Detector wired in your head easier your life gets through the journey of running your company.

time

Time is the most valuable asset for us. We are dying every single moment. The more and more I see our neglected attitude towards I get hurt. People say we Indians do not value the importance of time. To me, it is not about being Indian or not Indian. It has more to do with us individuals.

I am in the sales business. I see how we are not spending our time to its potential, many calls that should not have happened, calls which could have been a simple email. I get hurt seeing how we are wasting it. Many hours go before or after any conversation in its preparation. On some occasions, I shared my feedback and displeasure as well after the call. Some took it graciously a few others did not.

Stoic Philosopher Seneca died teaching about how small our life is and how short time we are left.

“People are frugal in guarding their personal property; but as soon as it comes to squandering time they are most wasteful of the one thing in which it is right to be stingy.”

Seneca: On shortness of life.

like

You cannot live in this world pleasing everyone. Not everyone is alike, not even twins. The sooner we realize it, the better our life becomes.

Our ideologies are different. We are all biased. We cannot think alike: world wars happen for a reason.

The rule applies everywhere at the workplace, in relationships, or in sales. So don’t fumble, keep on living your life. Find the ones who like you.

process

Marty Cagen’s Inspired has a simple success recipe for an organization. 

  1. Hire a bunch of smart, independent people.
  2. Define a process, which has a roadmap and timelines.
  3. An outcome will be a successful product.

I always had this back of my mind, and we have worked with amazing people all these last four years. 

A few months back, while talking to Shobhit, he suggested reading Goals by Eliyahu M Goldrat. The story revolves around the loss making industrial plant. The owners gave three months to the author for fixing it, which he did with the power of process. 

It opened me more about the concept of bottlenecks and the overutilization of resources. Anyone building a company of any type can pick learning from it. 

kaun?

Nandkumar, we call him Nandu is a soft-spoken, wheatish, stout built. His mustache, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and bullet motorbike reminded me of Salman Khan’s Dabangg.

Nandu cleared BPSC(Bihar public service commission) and posted as BDO in the nearby block from my hometown. Nandu’s father was a headmaster in the middle school in my village. I grew up playing Gilli danda, goli-goli, spinning lattu with him every summer.

I wonder if it was not the strict grumpy father of Nandu, would he reached this far in his career. A moveable blackboard and a chair for the teachers were limited furniture at our village school. Students would bring their seats: ginny bags, pens, books along with them. Most classes would happen around the mango trees.

I met Nandu by fluke at the railway station while strolling to my old-time favorite comics shop at the railway platform. He invited me over for dinner that I gladly accepted with the hope of alcohol serving. Bihar is a dry state like Gujarat. One has to buy alcohol illegally in black by paying 10X more. But for babus and netas(politicians), it was always available in abundance.

For old memories and reciprocity, I was confident of my Old monk rum. Nandu was in Delhi preparing for the IAS exams. We had many alcohol sessions at his barsaati in Mukharjee Nagar. I paid for most of those sessions because I was earing and he had limited money.

I was at Nandu’s main gate sharp at 8 pm. Electricity condition has improved, so finding the house was not that difficult.

Nandu hai kya?
Aayee, wo aa zainge. A pretty lady opened the door and greeted and introduced me as Deepika. She was about six feet tall, well built. Her eyes reminded me of the female lead from Nagraj comics. The long sindur, dark red bindi, and hand full of bangles made me wonder if it was Nandu’s instruction. I was happy and surprised with the fact of Nandu marrying someone out of his league. It happens in Bihar; a government job gets you anything.

I could see a bottle of Old monk. Deepika bought hot water and a plate full of onion pakora. I was sober for two weeks, hence without further wait poured my first peg.

Deepika mentioned that Nandu had gone to the nearby village to buy lamb meat for dinner preparation. We kept talking while I was emptying my peg; Deepika was an orphan and, Nandu gave her a family and a shelter.

I had stopped counting my peg; I saw someone in the room in a white sari and milky white hair flying all over her face. I ignored it and focussed on my rum glass. As my clock gave 10 pm alarm, I saw the same structure running towards me with a plate and human flesh on it.

Khao, isko bhi kaho, tazza hai.

Was it Deepika, some devil or a trance meditated mind. Something was not right and, my alcohol effect cleaned in a second. Deepika’s eye was all in rage. I puked, cried for help, and was it god or Bihar electricity department magic; there was a power cut. The runner in me took over, and I was out from the village in quick.

How can someone sober a few hours back turn into a devil, I wondered while entering my house.

Sale gandu, Kahan tha tu? Screamed Nandu. Tera 4 ghante intzaar Kiya aur tu aaya he nahi. Thak haar ke mae he aa gaya.

Who was she? Did this happen to me or, was it a dream?

I told mom about the incident. She hugged me and said Ma Durga saved my life. Was it some newborn baby slaughtered by the devil and offered to me on that plate?

Nandu still thinks I took some weed or bhang and, there is no one named Deepika in her life or the colony. He is happily single and always ready to mingle like his idol Salman Khan.