Because Shit Happened Read online

  ‘But you are going to become a businessman. After a degree from IIT, a businessman—how bad does that sound?’

  ‘Ma, it’s not just business. It’s called entrepreneurship.’

  ‘A french word doesn’t make it sound cool. You are going to sell T-shirts—do you expect IITians to do that? Absolutely not. You are going to sit for the next company that comes in the campus.’

  My mother was rigid. I didn’t know a way to maneuver around her logic. I gave it my last try.

  ‘Mom, what does Sinha aunty’s son do and how much does he earn?’

  ‘He works in some IT company, gets around 6 lakhs.’

  ‘Mom, he passed from NIT Patna and is getting 6 lakhs. Now imagine me getting a similar salary with the next company that comes here. What would you say to Sinha aunty? That even your son, who got 993 rank in the JEE, is doing a similar job. Entrepreneurship is at least better in the sense that you get to tell that your son recruits people for 6 lakhs.’

  ‘But that will take time to happen.’

  ‘But that is not impossible, right Mom? Please. I can’t miss the IIT Bombay b-plan contest for placements. I’m going to Mumbai next week.’

  ‘Your father will speak to you regarding this.’

  ‘As you wish,’ I said and heaved a huge sigh. My Dad was far more practical than my mother and if given a proper reason, he wouldn’t shy away in supporting my unconventional dreams.

  It was 9 am. I expectantly opened my Facebook profile hoping to see a flood of likes and congratulatory comments, in awe of my decision to go full time with my fledgling venture. But, as luck would have it, it was the other way round.

  1.

  Are you frigging crazy? Do you have any idea what not having a job means?

  2.

  Happy for you, but I seriously think you should reconsider. There are many other good companies that are still left.

  3.

  yourquote.in—a day 2 company. In your dreams buddy, in your dreams.

  4.

  Bro, please stop being so impulsive. Entrepreneurship is cool in college, but the real world is full of struggles.

  I didn’t read any further. My friends had given me enough impetus to go ahead and prove them wrong. What I had chosen brought me immense happiness, but they didn’t care about my happiness. They instead cared about my ability to earn bread and butter which was fairly practical on their part, but very insensitive towards me.

  I went to the YourQuote fan page and initiated a new category, ‘Sermon of the Day’ and posted the very first sermon that reflected my mood—Don’t let earning for your living stop you from living.

  ‘Are you sure that you want to go full-time with it?’ Priya asked me on the phone.

  ‘One hundred percent.’

  And then she said what I would never forget in my life—‘I am with you.’

  Her four words meant more than the world to me. She was the first person to support me in my decision and her support empowered me like nothing else. For an entrepreneur, the person who shows the first support is the person who truly understands his passion. I was glad that for me, it was Priya and her support which became a testimony to our unwavering understanding.

  ‘I love you,’ I admitted, just after the call got cut. The dropped call rendered my utterance more meaningful.

  I was curious about what Rishabh had in mind. He was nowhere to be seen. I went to his room, knocked on his door, and found out that he was sleeping all suited up. I feared he had cracked a Day 1 job, partied all night, and was now sleeping. His selection meant I was going to become a solo entrepreneur. The very thought of being the solo sailor made my feet run cold.

  Nervously, I shook him up from his sleep and shrieked, ‘Did you crack a job yesterday?’

  ‘Schlumberger,’ he muttered in sleep. I was dumbfounded. Schlumberger was one of the best companies on campus with a whopping package of around 22 lakh rupees per annum. My feeling of failure now quadrupled.

  ‘What? You weren’t even shortlisted,’ I screamed to wake him up.

  ‘They called me just half an hour before and said that there had been some goof up with another guy named Rishabh and it was me who had been shortlisted.’

  ‘Oh, wow. Congratulations.’

  ‘What congratulations! I didn’t make it. They raped me in their HR interview.’

  ‘Oh God!’ I exclaimed with hidden joy and evident sympathy, ‘How could they do that? Damn!

  ‘Won’t you ask about McKinsey?’ I said.

  ‘What? Everybody knows that you didn’t make it. Chill, there are other good companies,’ he said sleepily.

  ‘Like YourQuote.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going full time with the venture. There is no pressure on you. You sit for the placements, get a job, and support the start-up—financially or by getting business for it. But I am not going to slog 14 hours a day for second-rung companies that are going to come now and pay me peanuts. No offence.’

  ‘Oh man,’ he said, now visibly awake, ‘Are you really sure?’

  ‘Absolutely man. This is our child. We would make it big.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he grinned. I thanked God for giving me a partner and a friend like Rishabh.

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘That’s the toughest nut to crack. I’ll figure out something.’

  ‘All the best.’

  I had to convince my parents. Especially my mother. I could think of just one resort. Writing.

  Dear Mother,

  I’ve been fortunate to be the reason for your incomparable happiness since my early childhood. Perhaps that’s why you named me Amol—the one who couldn’t be compared. It has always been my endeavour to make you proud of me in things that I give my heart and soul into. Lately, I haven’t been able to give you that contentment which you had always expected of me. I’m not sorry about it since the truth of the matter is that the thing that I’ve given my heart and soul has still not borne fruit and is going to take a long time to do so. And you’ve got to wait, along with me, to celebrate the fruits of my passion.

  The road that I’ve currently chosen is tough, full of prickles and deadly thorns, and has countless possibilities—both heartening and disheartening. It’s going to take a lot of time to be able to achieve anything which would make you proud of me, which would enable you to say proudly to your friends that your son is an entrepreneur, that your son pursued something different and made a mark. The road is deadly; it might be possible that in the middle of the journey, I get so bruised that I am not able to carry myself further. Reinforce my faith, if I falter. Because it was you who taught me not to fear mistakes while chasing my dreams. I won’t stop at anything.

  Believe me mother, when I say that I heartily enjoy what I’m doing, despite knowing the facts that I might not be able to lead a comfortable life for the next two years, that I’ve become the least prospective bridegroom in consideration for any of the well-off families, that you have to fight the whims of the society which constantly pesters saying that I had been stupid in choosing the road less travelled over the conventional options, that it might ruin my chances of living a life free from hassles, that I might end up being bankrupt if things don’t turn out as expected. The good thing is that I’m not scared. The better thing is there is no bad thing, just because of the good thing. I’m ready to take the leap—leap into the unknown just to know where my end lies—across the sky or beneath the ground. I can’t promise you success but I can promise you my hard work, and I’ll make sure that I leave no stones unturned to bring my dream to perfection.

  Coming from your womb, I’m fortunate to be endowed with all your traits—determination, passion, and love—which give me the confidence to trudge through this dangerous path with unmatched vigour and resilience to make the impossible possible. From my end, I can assure you that I wouldn’t stop, not until my last breath—to sculpt my passion into a living dream. Please don’t worry, and be hap
py, because I’m happy too.

  With love and faith,

  Your Son

  Amol

  As soon as I finished the letter, I realized that my eyes were wet. I reread it a few times and felt that it was the most sincere piece I had ever written. I had always written for others, but this was the first time I had written something for myself.

  I sent it to my father and mother separately, messaged them both to check their mails and call me. I shut down the PC, jumped on my bed, and started reading Steve Jobs’ biography.

  Fifteen minutes later, my cellphone rang. The screen said ‘Mom calling’. I expected a shift in the paradigm. Or maybe a reprimand. In nervous anticipation, I picked up. What would be the first thing you would want to hear when you write a letter explaining what your dream means to you? Understanding, encouragement, or appreciation? But I didn’t get any of those.

  I got her tears. I felt so bad. I had made her cry. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

  ‘Mom, please stop crying.’

  She didn’t seem to listen.

  ‘Mom, please.’

  ‘Why do you have to make me cry? Wasn’t your decision enough to worry me?’ she croaked, gasping for breath.

  ‘Mom, I just wanted to let Dad and you know about how willing I am to go ahead with my choice.’

  ‘We allowed you to start-up just because we thought it would help you in getting a job. Nobody in our family has ever had anything to do with business before, son.’

  ‘That’s why nobody in our family has ever done anything great.’ I retorted. I realized I should not have. Mom started crying again.

  ‘Amol, now that you don’t want to sit in the placements, come home.’ It was my Dad on the phone.

  ‘Dad, but I have my company and I have to go to Mumbai as well, you remember Eureka—Asia’s biggest b-plan competition.’

  ‘Go from Dhanbad. Your mother needs you. Also, we need to talk,’ my Dad said seriously. I hadn’t ever heard him this serious before.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About your life,’ Dad said. I had nothing to say in return. I waited for him to drop the call. He perhaps waited for me. An awkward pause that had a ghastly silence ingrained in every passing moment, prevailed for around half a minute.

  ‘Take care of Mom,’ I said and disconnected.

  Next morning, amidst all the placement chaos, I sneaked out of my hostel without telling anyone. I was already placed, so it was but natural that I would run off home. I took a flight to Kolkata. Luckily I got a ticket at a reasonable price. Dhanbad was just a four hours’ drive from there. During the flight, I immersed myself into Steve Jobs’ biography. I was reading the portion where he left University, became a hippie, and travelled across India in search of salvation. I so desperately desired to do the same. There was just one problem—unlike him, I couldn’t choose to neglect my parents.

  Dhanbad

  The call bell was not functioning. I had tried it thrice. I knocked on the door. I was giving them a surprise. It was a Sunday and I expected my father to be at home. After encountering the outburst last night, I was excepting a very cold reception at home.

  The door opened and my mother was in front of me. I put up a mild smile to anticipate her reaction and touched her feet. She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t, as tears welled up in her eyes and she was back to her previous avatar. She was sobbing, hearing which my Dad turned up. Upon seeing me, a proud smile came up on his face. It was the most reassuring smile I had ever encountered, as if it said to me, ‘Son, don’t worry. Everything is fine.’ I was so glad it came at the right time. He hugged me and greeted me with immense respect. Mom’s sobs were over. It appeared that even she was delighted to see me.

  It was after six months that I had gone back home. Mom and Dad very tactfully didn’t initiate any unwanted conversations immediately. They left me alone, to freshen up and get acclimatized to the environment. Home was peaceful. The hustle of students, the chatter and nervous discussion of the job aspirants was long gone.

  I looked at my room—the room which carried the memories of my most focussed phase of life—preparing for JEE. My parents were so proud of me when I cracked the exam that they didn’t whitewash the walls of my room for the last three and half years. They still had the picturesque structure of organic compounds, benzene derivatives, and mathematical proofs. One side of the wall contained quotes which caught my attention. Henry Ford’s famous quote: ‘Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you are right,’ was at the top. I had highlighted it with a fluorescent orange pen. I realized how subtly quotes had crept into my mind back then, much before the idea for YourQuote was born.

  I looked at the library. I considered myself lucky to have been born in a home which fostered good habits. Reading, music, art, writing, and gardening. I skimmed through some of the new additions to the library. Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach was one of them, which I had already read at IIT. It recounted the story of a bird which didn’t adhere to the herd mentality and developed a passion for flying, ultimately becoming an outcast but awakened in the end. I wished my Dad had read it.

  Mom had prepared a sumptuous lunch: two curries, basmati rice, dal, and my favorite cucumber raita. I realized that coming back home was way better than I’d presumed. Good food should be accompanied by good talk, isn’t it? And that’s when it started.

  ‘Son, what made you take that decision?’ my Dad asked patiently.

  ‘Did Rishabh brainwash you?’ my mother asked.

  ‘You keep quiet. Let me talk to him,’ Dad reprimanded Mom.

  ‘Dad, I took that decision because I don’t want to slog for someone else’s dream for 14 hours a day and get paid peanuts for it. With McKinsey it was fine, as the pay was going to be good and I would also have the opportunity to build my reputation for the work. But with other companies that followed Day 1, I would be exploited mercilessly and YourQuote would suffer in the process.’

  ‘Who has brainwashed you?’ Mom started again, my Dad calmed her once again.

  ‘How much money are you making with YourQuote?’ Dad asked. He was a banker—he knew how the real world worked.

  ‘Nothing at the moment. But if I go full time, I will find a tech guy and get the website designed, after which I’ll get investment for it.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as you say. Investors won’t back you if you don’t make money.’

  ‘Dad, that’s an old theory. Right now, investors invest in teams and ideas. And you know that my idea is innovative and totally original.’

  ‘That’s not true. I have seen a lot of investors in my banking career.’

  ‘Dad, you have no idea. There are angel investors, those who are ready to invest at the idea stage when you don’t even have a revenue model in place. You know that Facebook started in 2004. But do you also know that, it didn’t have a revenue model even by 2008? That’s how it works,’ I said defensively. My Dad had no option other than to surrender. He smartly maneuvered the discussion in another direction. Emotional.

  ‘Okay, okay, I get it. But tell me, how would you feel when your friends make 60,000 per month while you will be making only around one-sixth their salary?’

  ‘I will be proud of myself, Dad. I would be earning that 10,000 working for something that I love rather than for someone.’

  ‘Is Rishabh also leaving his job?’ My mother asked. She didn’t like Rishabh at all. She thought that Rishabh, being academically less bright than me, wanted me to come down to his level and sell T-shirts.

  I knew that he wouldn’t. His parents were not going to be as easily convinced as mine. But if I would have told this to my mother, she would have ended my entrepreneurial journey then and there. And so I lied.

  ‘Yes. He left his Schlumberger offer of 22 lakhs.’

  ‘Did he? You said he didn’t crack any shortlists.’

  ‘He didn’t tell anyone. He left it too, Mom.’

  There was a sudden shift in
my parents’ view about Rishabh. They discovered something that I had months ago—respect for Rishabh.

  ‘Son, you know I was just chatting with your Mama yesterday. He can get you an interview in his company.’

  ‘Mom, no. And, don’t start that topic ever again.’

  Her face suddenly lost its glow. She was unhappy and I couldn’t do anything about it. I had all the more reasons to be unhappier. I went to my room and lay down, contemplating. Start-up is all about passion and as a co-founder, it was my responsibility to instill passion in all my employees, investors, and stakeholders. If I was going to make my parents my first investors, I had to make them invest their trust in me.

  ‘Mom, Dad, are you free tomorrow morning at 8 am?’ I had rushed to their room, my face shining in excitement.

  ‘Yes. Why? Where do you want to take us?’

  ‘Nowhere. Just a small meeting in the drawing room.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  I have had terrible experiences with mornings. Most sleep-inducing classes in college were held in the morning, so were the long and boring daily speeches made by our principal in school, and lastly, morning was when the disastrous interview with the Sardarji from Mckinsey happened.

  I was not very confident, especially because I hadn’t slept well the last night. Impressing Mom and Dad was no easy feat and required immaculate preparation. I had a quick bath and googled how to tie a knot. Yes, I was suiting up. It was going to be my first pitch. Even before my parents had woken up, I had finished the investor’s pitch and connected my laptop with the TV in the drawing room. I had even sneaked into the kitchen and prepared chai for them.

  Exactly at 8, they came out of their room and were aghast to see me dressed in formals. I escorted them to the sofas in the front, poured down tea in their cups, and began with my pitch.

  ‘Good morning. I welcome you to the elevator pitch of yourquote.in. Elevator pitch derives its name from a short and crisp description about one’s business that could be given during an elevator ride. So, here shall we begin.’