Why you need to be broke to jump start your venture

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Starting a venture of your own means you need to sit down and do some serious number crunching - what is the investment you are willing to make, how much money do you need to raise in order to take this idea forward, how comfortable are you yourself so you can take care of your financial needs while your business takes the time it needs to establish itself. This results in elaborate plans and detailed timelines of the amount of time you have in your hands to prove your concept.


One of the first things you do is separate your private funds from the business account, so you get a really clear picture of the fund that are available to invest in the business, and what you can use to buy yourself an evening in town. If this choice of starting your own venture comes after a salaried career, chances are that your bank isn't empty and there are some savings to pull you through the beginning.


The best thing you can do for yourself is to lock up as much of your savings in fixed term investments as possible, leaving yourself with as little spare cash as you can. A smaller bank balance results in lower consumption, cutting down on frivolous expenses, and reducing the amount of money you spend on social outings. These are regular money saving measures that we all can adapt to fairly quickly, which would make it easier to make your savings last longer than they normally would.


However, the real reason to lock the money away is not as much to make your savings last, but more to make yourself available for your business. Having freed up your time from your salaried job, may mean less human interaction as you may not have as many colleagues and business acquaintances as before. The concept of being a free bird also allows you the luxury of planning brunch, going out shopping in the middle of the day, and essentially allowing yourself time off any time you see anybody else having a good time. You are your own master, and there will always be ways in which you justify the break to yourself, and make yourself promises on how the lost time is going to be made up for. So while you are allowing your money to flow away, the bigger (and more critical) resource you are squandering away is the time on your hands.It is necessary to either be truly broke, or at least create a sense of having no spare cash while starting on a new venture (you'll really have to be good at deceiving yourself to make this work though). This is what creates a sense of panic, a sense of urgency, and keeps your mind from wandering, making plans to have fun instead of getting to work. Sometimes all the number crunching that you do, to prove you have enough spare cash to tide you through the tough times, may only be detrimental in making sure you have no tough times after all! I suppose this also justifies the argument that a good idea does not need to wait for the right time!

Lawlessness in the concrete jungle

Life in the jungle would be exciting, adventurous, dangerous, relaxing - but mostly fair. Survival of the fittest it may be, but the laws of the jungle prevail. A wild cat wouldn't hunt just for fun, neither would an animal attack unless provoked. One may imagine that it is a dangerous, scary world out there, but experience, caution and respect goes a long way in nature.

On the other hand, life in the city is chaotic and unfair. The rude and oppressive thrive, while the gentle, fair and respectful are trodden upon. A decent upbringing has no value any more, it has become "in" to be abusive, violent and disrespectful.

A recent addition to my home, Sultan a 6 month old rough collie, was left in the custody of my parents for a couple of weeks since I was on a visit to Germany. Being a young and energetic puppy, he needs his share of exercise and my father religiously took him out for a walk twice a day. One evening he walked past a group of young boys playing cricket, and they showed some interest in the dog, asking what he was called. My father spoke jovially, and announced his name as that of a king's - "SULTAN". As my father walked away, the cricket ball hit him on his back, an incident which my father preferred to believe was an accident. The next day, as he was walking by, the same group of children decided to further their game by throwing stones at my father and dog! On confrontation, there were lies, denial, and laughter, not a sign of remorse at having thrown stones at an elderly man, a fellow human being, and a young puppy.

Here's another story - a close friend of mine was visiting my family while I was holidaying in Pune. At the end of her stay, I was dropping her off to her parents house, take a route through a quiet residential layout (Model colony). My days of racing and speed are past me, and I prefer a steady pace while navigating through the city. I was at an intersection, and making my way around a circle, when a two wheeler overtook me at top speed. It was a young woman, all covered up in her bandit-like mask, with her mother sitting behind her, seated sideways with both her legs on the same side of the seat. She was abreast with the car on the right, when she realized that I was going around the circle and she wanted to turn off to the left. I stopped immediately, giving her space to cross over, but she lost her balance and tumbled onto the ground with her mother.

I stopped the car immediately, pulled the window down as I was unbuckling my seat belt to step out and help them. However, they both were up on their feet within a couple of seconds, and the young lady strode up to the car, screaming at me at the top of her voice, implying that it was my fault. Her mask remained on her face, and the only thing we could make out from her was the string of abuses she kept hurling at us.
Even though I didn't think I was at fault, I realized she must be in shock and wasn't interested in a confrontation. I remained calm, and even apologized when she insisted that I was in the wrong. As soon as she sensed that I wasn't being aggressive in the situation, she flung her arm into the car window and whacked my head, right across my forehead, eye and cheekbone. I blanked out for 10-15 seconds, I couldn't see a thing except darkness in every direction, and could only hear loud and oppressive voices all around my head. My friend was now defending me, but her concern for me prevented her from stepping out of the vehicle and continuing the fight.

When I could finally open my eyes, I was aware of the mother looking at me with concern and embarrassment, pulling her daughter away so they could flee the scene. My instant reaction was to leave the unpleasant situation as soon as possible, and I didn't gather my wits quick enough to hold her responsible for her behaviour. I should have taken her to the police for physical assault.

I drove about a hundred metres and was overcome with rage, anger at doing nothing and allowing this to happen to me. That moment, I am not sure I would have the sanity to control my actions, had she still been present in front of me. This is the kind of irresponsible behaviour that triggers violence and road rage.

My only take-away from these incidents is to stop being decent on the streets, or you'll only get punished for it. Don't make conversation, don't smile at people, even children, and worst of all, never stop to help somebody who has had a fall. My next purchase is a pepper spray, and the next time I am in an accident, even if it is my fault, I am going to drive away and never bother to help. I apologize now, to the few decent people out there, who may suffer my inconsideration in the future, I've learnt the hard way and maybe they need to do the same too.

Sometimes it feels like a better life to risk being hunted down by a pack of wild dogs, than try and put up with this farce of civilization and society.

Country for sale

I spent a relaxing month with my mother here in Germany, we travelled a little, did some sightseeing, but most enjoyable times were spent taking walks in the countryside. The countryside I talk about isn't particularly made up of stunning landscapes, or snow clad peaks – this is good old plain countryside – farmlands and meadows, with little streams flowing in between. There are patches of scrub and forest land that belongs to nobody, where one comes across an occasional cottage with a modest façade and an apple tree in the backyard. Fruits on the trees are available for all to eat, and nobody will complain if you pick a few raspberries from the bushes along the path. The streams and rivers are clean, and ducks paddle up and down. Now and then one sees families riding bicycles, or dogs playing fetch bounding across a field – simple pleasures that suddenly seem like impossible luxuries.

Forests and meadows

Like I have mentioned before, I grew up in NCL colony, in a beautiful big house with the slopes of the hill behind blending naturally into our backyard. We couldn’t see the neighbour’s house – as the foliage in between was too dense! Family outings were on bicycles, cycling down to NDA or towards Balewadi – the sports stadium that was built for the 1994 National games, located on the Pune bypass. Even beyond, was Nature Trails camp, run by Leela and Ashok Broome – this is the place I went to for my first ever nature camp, its a farm that was considered to be located far outside the city. The closest village from this farm that had more than 10 homes was called Hinjewadi, and we had to remember the name so we could ask for the way in case we were lost on our bicycle route. There were many ways to get there, but one of the easier routes was to go down Pashan-Sus road, hit the highway, go past Balewadi, and turn at Wakad. Then on, it was a single lane road, and it was nicer to pedal on the side of the road on the mud track than in the middle which was semi laid and very bumpy. The whole route was pure and simple countryside, with very little plastic strewn around, where birds of all colours and sizes could be seen on trees and electric lines along the road, where we could feel lucky to see a snake wriggling across the road. In the monsoon, these places would be covered with little waterfalls, and the electric green could make spirits soar.

The good old days

The countryside in Germany reminds me often of those days, where the outdoors was simple, open for all to enjoy, and belonged to nobody.

My parents home is now in an apartment complex on the same Pashan-Sus road. This was one of the first apartment complexes to come there, and now the road is bustling with cars, apartments, banks, supermarkets – you name it! 

A couple of years ago I caught a watchman killing a snake in the apartment, unfortunately it was already too late, as the snake had very little life left in it by then. In response to my outrage and fury, he explained that there were children in the area and it was unsafe to have a snake around. One look at the snake told me it was a wolf snake – completely harmless, and possibly the last one left in the area thanks to the ruthless development that has taken place. Not many years ago, the number of snakes on this road would have far outnumbered the humans.

A wolf snake in happier times

The roads we once went cycling on, now lead to an enormous IT park – Hinjewadi is well known in Pune, with its wide roads, well lit software complexes, high end security and endless facility. The roads are famous for accidents and carjacking incidents. Today, cycling on these roads would probably equal suicide. Every other road around Pune suffers a similar fate. The open fields, patches of scrub jungle and beautiful hill slopes are now replaced by buildings and exposed rock where great excavations are in progress, to make it more suitable for a cutting edge software park or luxury apartment complex. There remains no place where one could take a peaceful walk, taking in the countryside, without worrying about trespassing on private property. Everything is now private property, all the countryside we grew up in now suddenly belongs to somebody. Who sold this land? Who ever owned it – there never were fences in these places! The whole landscape seems to be getting divided into neat little plots, and you need to buy it to enjoy it! Those who have the money to buy it, immediately surround themselves with a high wall, a watchman, flatten the ground out and build themselves a garish house where they can enjoy every urban luxury without having to step out of the door. Of course – this is only a weekend getaway, and the place remains locked up all week long. 

Wonderful countrysides of once-upon-a-time

I like to believe that the wonderful nature that we are blessed to have in our country is tough to equal. It is frustratingly difficult to understand how our educated middle class can throw all this away in their race for affluence. Where is the country that I belong to, where I can feel free to roam and breathe in the fresh air? Where did it disappear?

A Few Good Men

It has been almost six months of being in Germany, and the call of the Indian jungle gets stronger as time passes by. One way to feel in touch is to read the books by the great men of the Indian forests. Last year I read through the collection by Kenneth Anderson, and now it’s the Jim Corbett Omnibus that keeps me occupied.

I know I read Jim Corbett’s books as a child – but I do not remember whether I enjoyed the books or not. I remember reading several books by Enid Blyton, James Herriot and the likes over and over but I have no recollection whatsoever of being addicted to Corbett’s books. I think I always omitted the part where a hunt actually happened, and only possibly read the parts in between where one can get a feel of the jungle. I managed to get a set of the books recently, and decided to read them again, to see what I think of them now.

Kenneth Anderson was a hunter turned conservationist, and in every book he regrets his years when he hunted for sport. He was especially careful never to shoot a wild cat, unless he was sure it was the man-eater he was looking for. By the end of each story, one can only feel sorry for the man-eater, which was forced to get into its man-killing habit thanks to some or the other human interference – be it a trap laid for the tiger or a badly aimed bullet from a pseudo -macho hunter. I enjoyed the books, and to a large extent agreed with Anderson’s thoughts and opinions – I disliked his son, Donald, who continued to hunt for sport and never seemed to come around.

I was hoping for a similar experience while reading Corbett, but found to my discomfort that Corbett was quite the sportsman, as he himself calls it, right through the days that he hunted man-eaters. I still haven’t reached the end of the collection, but his cold blooded narrative of each kill, several times quite unnecessary, leaves me squirming that our country could have its largest national park named after him! An encounter with a bear, which he chased and hacked to death using an axe, particularly sends shivers down my spine. I find myself blaming him to a large extent for the depleting tiger population we have in our country today.

All the “great” hunters always talk about the local people of the forest – every story has an incident about a villager and his incredible human spirit. A few visits to the jungle have also given me a chance to come across some such personalities – although in a more modern setup. Every jungle always has the veteran guide who has been around for years, and has experiences with every possible kind of animal behaviour. Of course, there are the few of them, who pride themselves on the fact that there couldn’t be a single jungle moment that wouldn’t miss their keen eyes. These are the entertainers, the PR representatives of the jungle – they take each day as it comes, and each tourist at face value, and are happy and easy going as long as you don’t hurt their pride. There is also the hardworking, earnest naturalist, always waiting to know more than he already does, who can rattle off the sub-species of every mammal, reptile of bird that comes his way. The simpleton, who typically works in the background like in the kitchen, who smiles easily every time you take notice of him, because he isn’t used to being spoken to, as most tourist these days are much too occupied with themselves to even acknowledge the fact that another person is serving them all the while. And then there are the men whose expressions are full of character, hardened with difficult stories, be it being mauled by a wild animal or due to severe financial hardships, who just do their jobs as well as they can so that they can and go to bed each night with a clean conscience.  There is of course the rogue in every place – the slacker, the pervert, the person who will do anything to make a quick buck, with no qualms whatsoever.

The truth is, the jungle experience hasn’t changed that much from the times of Kenneth Anderson and Jim Corbett as far as the people in the jungle go – modern settings and tourist setups may give a place a different face, but the people always remain the same. The same goes for the corrupt officials, and the so-called honest forester – who has a clean and savvy look to him, and manages to get good reputation amongst the educated middle class, although his intentions or actions are either down-right criminal, or simply negligent. The few good men, who struggle through their lives to consistently do their best for nature and wildlife are mostly taken for granted, or even called crazy. It seems that it is only with the right mix of bad blood that one can ever be successful!

The only thing that has changed, to a large extent, is the frequency with which one could see the majestic inhabitants of the jungle. Jim Corbett came across a new tiger every day – Kenneth Anderson needed about a  week to come across a tiger, and today we sometimes need years before we first see our first wild tiger! How can it be, that the jungle has changed so much, and yet our people and attitudes remain exactly the same! Many years ago, the most successful hunter of the North earned the right to have a National Park named after him – and today, each corrupt, scheming forester, with houses built of teak wood and marble, earns his promotions with equal ease. I would think it is time to introspect about who really is the rare good man.