Skip to main content

I wanna hold your Haaannd...

Every week, I receive at least three emails from different Incubators and Accelerators, Indian and foreign regarding contests and programs, most of them paid, each invariably offering the same menu of mentoring, hand-holding and government and industry connections as a service. All have little appeal to us as most mentors I have come across or who were forced upon me, had zero idea or domain knowledge about what we are doing, with personalities ranging from simply inept to domineering know-alls.

The same applies to hand-holding as it can be interpreted in any way one chooses as there is neither assurance of the quality of the help rendered nor accountability. The promise of government and industry connections is an equal farce because most decision-making level Sarkari Babus even after granting a meeting, have little or no incentive to follow through on their commitments. 

Industry connections are usually worse, as the best one can hope for is a motivational speech by a CEO or a Chairman at a meeting, but mostly it's an interaction with a low to medium-level cog having neither authority nor any intent to risk his or her career by taking up the cause of a struggling Startup. In the worst case, your product or service idea can be pinched and touted to their bosses as their own work.

 

 Check out more great Startup related cartoons 

at https://freshspectrum.com

 

 I learned quickly enough that just like most so-called Startups are full of Bullshit and Buzzwords created  solely with the agenda of snaring investors money using the greater-fool template,  most Incubators and Accelerators also exist for their vested interests. First, it's their salaries, a rigged number game as to how many they take under their wing and lastly, a percentage as service charges in case they are lucky enough to snare an investor for a Startup.

Lately, with the government-promised funds to develop the Startup economy drying up, getting stuck or simply vaporising and with the investors not forthcoming any longer, considering the abysmal track record of Indian Startups, including unicorns, many are starting to devise paid programs, the kind I mentioned earlier. Peddling dreams of Investors and purported knowledge to the desperate and to make the programs seem more exclusive, they often claim to cap the numbers. 

As it is, Indian Incubators and Investors have both been playing safe all along, as evidenced by their preference for supporting only proven business models with a predictable business trajectory and revenue stream. Hence, the term Startup has been turned on its head and essential elements like innovation, the usage of technology to solve a problem and disruptive elements are forgotten, it is now used to define any new brick-and-mortar entrepreneurial venture. In the Indian context, a Jute Bag maker qualifies to be called a Startup, a Pickle maker is also a Startup, and so is the Tour Operator, offering rustic nature trails and village home-cooked meals! All that is required is a DIPP number and to sign up for incubation with a government recognised Incubator.

Oh you are cribbing again, so negative and frustrated” I hear a chorus of self-righteous chiding voices already!

Nope, I am just narrating from experience, and if you want to know what worked for us, it is working without intermediaries. We stumble, fall, pick ourselves up, learn from mistakes, knock on all doors, and sometimes open them ourselves. Nothing works like tenacity and confidence in the work that you are doing, moving one sure step at a time, going as lean as possible, crossing several milestones and attaining a certain critical mass to achieve a modicum of bargaining power.

Lastly, experience has taught me to dismiss right away all the big-mouthed, all-promising new people one meets at the exhibitions with shovel loads of salt, as well as with caution because that is where you meet all the  loudmouth and con-men, not to forget the bipolar, psychotic, narcissistic fruitcakes.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

When a Blind Man Cries - An Ode to Nivedita

Deep Purple’s “When a Blind Man Cries”  is arguably one of the saddest rock ballads ever  sung. But honestly, I was never a great fan of Purple and only started paying serious attention to the song after hearing a cover version by the German never-grew-old rockers  Axel Rudi Pell.  They did justice to the song in a way Ian Gillan and the rest of Purple could never dream—  powerful, yet  plaintive  heavy metal vocals, with canyon-deep guitar riffs emerging from the core of the heart only to rip it apart, while tears stream down from empty eye sockets.  Listening to this song invariably reminds me of a college senior and good friend, “Raja,” an ethnic Nepali who lived in a small room behind a pharmacy owned by his uncle, not far from my home. Short, stocky, thuggish but effulgent, we shared a love for books and rock music—though he leaned more towards metal. I started appreciating  Iron Maiden  thanks to him, while he tripped on Floyd...

Russi Topi and other Delusions

Ushanka-The Iconic Russian Hat a.k.a. The Russi Topi Out of the blue, I was contacted by a Russian chap I had once met at a conference. No prior message, no email, just a straight video call from his car. He claimed this was normal for them and immediately looped in a colleague. Nothing about Russia, or Russians, surprises me anymore, especially their business culture, or the apparent lack of it, so I didn’t react. From unscheduled calls to blunt emails and bullying tactics in meetings, it is all part of doing “Bizness wiz Mazeer Russha.” It was evening, I was free, so I let it slide. He had called for the unlikeliest reason, one I could never have guessed. They wanted to discuss sourcing construction workers from India. They began by complaining about how hard it was to get labour import quotas, pitched it as a “great opportunity” for me, and even gave me a glimpse of Lubyanka, former KGB and now FSB headquarters, from the car window. He then went off on a tangent, cursing the “pedera...

SHAME

  I first tasted deep shame in 10th standard, delivered personally by a girl’s mother, who kicked me out of their house like some neighbourhood pervert. The irony - I had never touched the girl. We were just friends. Soon afterwards, my friends in her school, some gleefully to cause hurt, others as a word of caution, filled my ears about she was caught with some boy in the school toilet. They faced disciplinary action.  While, I inherited the silent disgrace.   The second blow came when I confessed to a friend’s girlfriend, who thought I was a Casanova, that I never had a girlfriend, or touched a girl, and that I was completely inexperienced. In contrast, she had been sleeping with her coach since school, followed by a relay race of men, eventually devirginized my friend, then when he left for higher studies, helped his best friend become a man. A few more years and bodies later, she married a gold digger from the back end of nowhere - that's decades before Soci...

Enlightenment

  The voice on the phone delivered a phrase most men dread hearing from a woman, “Ravi, I have something important to tell you!”    In this case though, despite being completely smitten with her during that period and even entertaining the rose-tinted fantasy that she was the one who got away, I had nothing to worry about. My strict code of not getting involved with married women kept me safe.    I was, however, totally unprepared for what followed and even less how to visualise it.    “My third eye has opened,” she announced with absolute seriousness, then launched into a ramble about Shiva Lingams, visions, stream of consciousness and pre-Columbian Hinduism as evidenced by how a US state, made famous by fried chicken, was actually named after the Sanskrit word for thorns "Kanthaka". It is usually not very easy to unsettle or surprise me with things spiritual, bottled or otherwise, and her cosmic revelations too barely moved the needle. Well, except f...

Down Diya Brigade

In my class section in high school, there was a group of boys who weren’t particularly good at anything - not academics, sports, music, looks, not even cracking a decent joke or spinning a convincing yarn.    Yet, they were united by one habit:  Booing anyone and everyone who, in their view, dared to step out of line. Many of them were Boy Scouts as well, though not everyone. Told early on that they are a chip above the rest, with badges to proved it, they had an innate belief that they could lecture anyone. Same with delivering condescending comments to outright insults all in the name of greater good, and playing the victims when the tables turned. A trait many carried into adulthood, and by all evidence it still hasn't eroded for some now in their 50s.   Though the two of the worst offenders were not scouts, they just played the role of being too cool to be a part of anything except Booing Cheerleaders. With my outspokenness, sometimes unusual and often outlandish...