Because Shit Happened

by Harsh Snehanshu

  It was while talking to her that I got an idea. We could take four team members to IIM-A and I thought that I might include Priya into the list, thereby assuring us a mini-honeymoon at India’s best management institute. She tried to convince her parents for the next three hours but when they came to know that there were boys in the group as well, they refused.

  ‘Had it been only girls going, they would have asked you to back off then too, saying it’s unsafe. I know your parents, they are…’ I messaged her online at night.

  ‘No need to curse them. Howsoever they may be, at least they are mine.’

  ‘I am not cursing them. All I’m saying is that they are typical orthodox parents. I wonder whether they will let us marry someday or go for an honour killing.’

  ‘Come on, it’s time to celebrate. Don’t spoil your mood thinking about the future. Your present is so bright. I’m sure that my parents will agree if you carry on like this,’ she said boosting my morale. Her words of encouragement meant a lot to me because she was the only person who wouldn’t flatter me without any reason.

  In the evening, after giving a treat to our small team, I came back and dropped down on my bed with a happy smile. The world knew about something called yourquote.in but didn’t know what we did. Our development was still under process and the website didn’t carry anything other than a timer which showed ‘15 days to launch’, an about page which hardly interested anyone to read further, a team page carrying the photos, and a two line introduction of both of us.

  I opened my laptop thinking that I would ask Animesh to mention the fact that we had cracked the prestigious xIncubator program on the website. As I logged into my blogger account, there were notifications about two comments on the YourQuote blog announcement status we had put up, one of which anonymously said—‘It’s foolish of you guys starting up a venture on such a shitty idea. If it could have been a feasible idea, it would already have been done.’ I felt choked. My blood boiled and I started posting something vile in return but chose not to.

  Letting go of my anguish, I read the other comment, which said, ‘It has been months since you guys updated the blog. Eagerly waiting for the next set. You guys are good! Even I want to post my one-liners on your blog. Keep it coming.’

  It sparked a smile on my face. I replied in a go, ‘Check yourquote.in, we are arriving in a month. Till then, we have an operational fan page with the same name. Until the website is up, post there.’

  And, thus I posted the first post on the fan page—the yourquote of the Day:

  ‘Some people will hate you because you are doing what you love. Make sure you don’t love them more.’Amol Sabharwal

  It was perhaps for the first time in the world that a common man was quoted in public. The 500+ likes on the fan page assured me that I was indeed on the right path and the very first post received around 50 likes—nearly ten percent interaction.

  What happened thereafter was etched in our venture’s history. Floored by the likes, the noise that we created in the social media, our fan page had become our loudspeaker to announce to the world our arrival. We invited people to pour down their one-liners on our fan page. If they received 10+ likes we would feature them as YourQuote of the Day. I introduced other categories like Midnight Thought that featured a philosophical thought at night, Sarcastic Quote of the Day, Slapstick Quote of the Day, and so on.

  People flooded the fan page. We crossed 1000 likes within the next day itself. As people had to get 10+ likes to get featured, the people who posted their quote brought their friends to fetch some likes. The entire fan page had been ‘gamified’, meaning, there were incentives to participate, there was a viral element that brought in more users. By the 23rd, we had 1500 people on our page.

  When I went for my internship the next day, I felt very awkward to find Pratik congratulating me for yourquote.in. Before he could send me on any further guilt trips, I changed the topic to Anjali and Rishabh and the awkwardness fizzled down a bit.

  May 22

  Early morning, I received Praneet’s mail in my mailbox. It carried a four page term sheet with words that were way beyond my vocabulary. While Rishabh and I went through the term sheet over three times, we were unable to comprehend it completely. One clause, however, was particularly puzzling. It said that for five percent of the equity, Sanjay—the investor—was giving us 2.5 lakh rupees as loan for one year. If we succeeded in our execution, he would invest further. If we didn’t, we would have to return to him the 2.5 lakhs along with three percent interest. And there was a catch; we would be invited for the ten days’ workshop at IIM-A only if we agreed to sign the agreement. We had no idea what to do next.

  Unaware about legalities about the business, I forwarded the agreement to my uncle who was a prominent lawyer at Supreme Court. He called me back in the evening and explained that the term sheet was completely one-sided. He advised me against it, as they were not even doing equity investment, but instead giving us a debenture. My uncle went to the extent of saying that 2.5 lakh rupees was so small an amount that he or our parents could lend us that much money without interest instead.

  ‘Right now in the initial phase, your job is to build your product/service and increase your valuation so that you can get a better deal later for the same percentage of equity,’ my uncle advised me.

  It was time to call Praneet for an elaborate discussion. When I told him that the term sheet seemed one-sided and we just wanted to come over for the workshop without accepting investment, he politely asked us to get lost, as it was only meant for those who accepted the investment. I felt disappointed by Praneet’s hypocrisy. At first they had said that the purpose of their endeavour was to promote entrepreneurs, but they were actually promoting investors.

  After the call, Praneet sent a message that didn’t go well with us. It said, ‘YourQuote didn’t even feature in our Top 10. However, Sanjay was keen on you guys and your idea. That’s why we had selected you. Personally speaking, I doubt this idea has any scope.’

  It was the last thing we heard from him. Rishabh and I dejectedly looked at each other. We had announced everywhere that we were going for ten days to IIM-A but all in vain. But, soon disappointment turned into something else. Determination.

  The next thing that I did was I posted one of my quotes on the fan page as the YourQuote of the Day:

  The best motivational line that I’ve ever heard is— ‘You can’t do it.’ —Amol Sabharwal.

  It fetched 25 likes within two minutes. Rishabh and I didn’t speak to each other for a long time after Praneet’s call.

  ‘We would get certificates about our selection, don’t worry,’ I jokingly assured Rishabhafter a half an hour gap.

  ‘Damn Praneet and those certificates. I will make them see what we are capable of,’ he said angrily. The anger was born out of insult, born out of belittlement of one’s dreams.

  We both had a definite resolve to continue. What xIncubator did for us was that it gave us the push at the critical juncture when we had decided to let go of our efforts. It gave us the push to forge ahead, fight with all our zeal, and prove someone wrong. And there is no better inspiration that that.

  YourQuote was alive and we were certain that it would remain alive till its founders were alive.

  Affairs Aplenty

  We had shifted gears. Meeting hours had become elongated, documentation of points had moved from a paragraph to a dozen pages, the web development hours had increased from five to ten, and the fan page was seeing unprecedented activity. People now knew what YourQuote was all about. Along with these things, Anjali was back in Rishabh’s life. While I was busy with the web development team to create the skeleton model for the website, they were roaming around in campus late at nights. I know it’s unfair of me to keep an eye on them like a detective, but since both of them had become a part of our company and were accountable for its activities, I had to observe.

  On May 28, Rishabh, Anjali, and I were sitting at the Wind Tunnel at around
1 o’ clock at night when Rishabh’s cellphone buzzed. It was Shikha at the other end. The same Shikha, who during our first meeting had acted like a dumb statue, had now outgrown her earlier self. She laughed often, loved to be a part of our team hang-outs, and realized that the element of fun was missing in her life. All thanks to Rishabh and his ability to induce fun in the environment.

  ‘What happened?’ Anjali interrogated Rishabh.

  ‘Nothing. She wants to meet me.’

  ‘At this hour?’ I questioned.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t know,’ Rishabh shrugged and bid farewell to us saying that he would be back within half an hour. I observed Anjali’s face. She didn’t look pleased.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked Anjali.

  ‘I hate Shikha. She has been spending quite a lot of time with Rishabh,’ Anjali said with wife-like authority. I just nodded.

  An awkward lull followed and I asked Anjali if she wanted to join me for a coffee break at the nearby Nescafe which remained open till three in the morning. Rishabh and Shikha were already seated there. Three smiles and a frown passed.

  ‘Do you know she even has a boyfriend?’ Anjali said on our way back to the Wind-T.

  ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘He is presently in France on an exchange program,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. I didn’t opine about Shikha. I had hardly talked to her to form opinions on her. The only opinion that I had formed till then was that she was well-endowed.

  Half an hour later, Rishabh and Shikha joined us at the Wind T. Rishabh said that Shikha was really frustrated and wanted to take her mind off irritable things. Shikha complimented Rishabh for lightening her mood with his great sense of humour. It made both Anjali and me cringe. While I was envious of Rishabh’s popularity with well-endowed girls, Anjali was still angry about the half an hour with Rishabh that Shikha took away from her.

  ‘So, what were you frustrated about?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Rishabh answered. ‘Let’s play dumb charades. It’s been a long time since we chilled out a bit.’

  When Rishabh asked Anjali to team up with him, she refused and said bitterly, ‘You team up with your 1 o’clock friend,’ and teamed up with me. The game went for over an hour and in the process, I made everyone, especially Shikha, laugh a lot, which boosted my confidence. As a consolation prize to Anjali, we won the game.

  Since Priya had gone home, all my nights were completely free. Earlier, the time between 11 pm-1 am used to be hers. Now, I was free to do anything of my choice.

  May 31

  It was the day of our team party. After ten days of consistent work, a respite from work was necessary. We were five people: Armaan, Animesh, Shikha, Rishabh, and I. Anjali could not join us as she had another party held by the Dramatics Society to attend. She had gotten a decree from her Dramatics Society friends that if she skipped Dramatic Society get togethers for the sake of YourQuote, they would stop speaking to her. We had earned ourselves a bad name in the dramatics society, as Anjali preferred us over them, despite being associated with them for nearly two years. It was quite late when they realized that it was not because of YourQuote, but Rishabh, that she preferred us more.

  The five of us assembled at the institute gate. Shikha stuck to Rishabh all throughout, sometimes clinging to his sleeves and at other times, clasping his hands. It seemed that the last half an hour late night chat with Rishabh had casted a deep impression in her mind. When we had to board an auto, Shikha grabbed the opportunity and said, ‘You three go in the auto. Rishabh and I will come in the other one.’ We followed her command.

  Since the matter involved my partner, I chose to keep mum about it in front of other team members, even though my gossip-loving self wanted to talk about it. We reached DLF Promenade Vasant Vihar, one of Delhi’s few luxury malls. Rishabh and Shikha arrived around half an hour late, citing not being able to find an auto as the reason. The three of us, Armaan, Animesh, and I, observed everything but preferred to remain mum. It was the Director who was involved, they couldn’t dare say anything against him and nor could I for fear of letting his respect dwindle among the team members losing him.

  We decided to watch a movie and, as expected, Shikha asked Rishabh to sit next to her. I sat next to Rishabh on his left. In the stark darkness, my eyes veered to at his seat. Her hands were wrapped with Rishabh’s.

  The movie began and though the movie seemed interesting at first, a really irritating song made my ears flinch in pain and I turned sideways to see Shikha resting her head on Rishabh’s shoulders. Stunned, envious, and distracted, I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the movie, until the intermission brought some light into the surroundings.

  During the interval, Rishabh asked me to accompany him to the loo. I followed. He seemed nervous.

  ‘Buddy, things are really weird.’

  ‘What happened?’ I pretended to not know about anything that was going on.

  ‘She looks desperate. She has been holding my hands all through the movie. I don’t know what is the matter with her.’

  ‘Oh, I thought there was something already going on between you two.’

  ‘No man, come on. Ever since I listened to her story that night, she had been behaving like a nymphomaniac.’

  He gave me the lowdown on her. Her boyfriend Kartik had been treating her with contempt and had completely suffocated her freedom. Now that he was abroad, she realized that she didn’t love him anymore. Rishabh was nervous and asked me a difficult question.

  ‘Should I go ahead with her?’

  ‘Is it an ethical question to ask?’

  ‘Not from the point of view of her already having a boyfriend, but from the point of view of her being our employee.’

  ‘I don’t know. If you get committed, then it won’t be a problem. Just a fling might cause a problem.’

  ‘I like her. And now she seems ready too. God knows what she is going to do in the second half.’

  ‘Ha, ha!’ I faked laughter adorned with envy. I was in a relationship but who doesn’t want attention. Physical attention, especially.

  When we returned, I observed that Shikha had removed the hand-rest between their seats. Slut! I exclaimed in my mind. I inwardly wished Anjali was present at the scene to make her realize that she was nothing but a conniving little woman taking advantage of Rishabh who could any day get a prettier girl.

  Nothing happened between Shikha and Rishabh for the next three days. However, something did happen between Rishabh and Anjali. They fought. I don’t know the exact reason, but I guessed that maybe Animesh, being Anjali’s batchmate, would have told her about the advances Shikha was making on Rishabh.

  June 4

  Despite our best efforts, the countdown timer for our launch had to be extended from 24 to 120 hours. There were several bugs, unsolved errors in codes, in the website and they needed some time to get resolved. We announced the news on our fan page and our followers, who had been eagerly waiting, were quite dismayed. It was our first tryst with extension of deadlines and we blamed it on our inefficient execution for not being able to deliver on time.

  The real reason though was that our developers, second-year students, were inept at building a social network. Having no idea about the developmental process, I pressurized them to perform better, with sometimes strict mails like: ‘I can’t see any development on the website. It’s stagnating from where it had been the last day.’

  After over five such mails, Animesh freaked out and replied saying, ‘Amol, we are working tirelessly every day. You don’t understand that to see one little change in the front-end, there has to be hundred lines of codes written in the back-end. It’s like making the skeleton before putting the skin. It takes time.’

  I gave in. I was a technical imbecile. So was Rishabh. I concentrated on social media and let the web development team take the required time to deliver. Rishabh, in the meanwhile, scheduled several meetings with T-shirt manufacturers, via JustDial or reference
s from people in the industry. He called each one of them at the hostel and they would show us the samples ranging from as cheap as 70 rupees each to the best ones that were around 160 rupees. The aforementioned prices stood only when we bought T-shirts in bulk (greater than 200 tees at least).

  I was being exposed to an entirely new industry—the prissy dealers of Delhi who lied with such sky-high confidence that you would have no doubts about their assertion. They promised to offer the most reliable services and the readiness to bargain. However, Rishabh was well-versed with this industry of crooks. He credited his delicate negotiation skills to his father and would courteously win over these dealers by addressing them as Uncles and buttering their egos with namastes and warm greetings, developing a relation with them right from the very beginning. Such was his expertize over his tongue that he, despite being completely insincere, cast a wonderful first impression on every dealer he met. I, on the other hand, was totally opposite. I was direct, at times blunt enough to offend someone.

  The art of buttering wasn’t exactly in my blood and though I’d started appreciating it after seeing the adeptness with which Rishabh carried out marketing, I didn’t try learning it. Having complementary skills was our asset. I prided myself in my strengths instead.

  June 5

  We were converting some of the quotes into T-shirt designs. As our website was going to be launched on the 10th, we needed to have some designs ready. Armaan, Rishabh, Shikha, and I spent half an hour in finding out the best quotes by our followers from the fan page. Some of them were super-awesome. We chose five of them and put them in order of the likes they fetched, along with their contributor’s name:

  1.

  ‘Silence is always misunderstood, especially during vivas.’—Sumit Dugar