Simply Fly

by Capt G R Gopinath

  Rodents are the bane of every coconut farmer because they feed on coconuts. If you use rodent poison, the rodents die, but their carcasses are eaten by other animals. An owl or eagle or other raptor bird that eats a poisoned rat, dies eventually. Over a period of time, the rats become resistant to the poison. They resume their old rate of multiplying. The owls on the other hand do not reproduce as quickly and there is eventually an imbalance in the proportion of rodents to birds. There will be more rodents and fewer owls. It is therefore prudent to accept that while you may lose a part of the crop to rodents and insects, in the larger scheme of things they maintain the ecological balance and give you a better yield in the longer run.

  I decided to gradually increase the number of coconut trees and mulberry plants on the farm. The journal like Science, Nature, National Geographic, featured articles written by biologists, botanists and scientists of various natural sciences, and using their insight I evolved package of practices for the farm. The farm was slowly but surely being transformed. My input costs began falling, the yields began increasing. At this point I really wanted to quickly scale up silkworm-rearing. I experimented a great deal with mulberry and innovated new methods of growing it. The different kinds of practices I attempted included integrating rain-water harvesting and impounding water in ponds, managing weeds, moisture retention in the soil, discreet ploughing, and selective biological pest control.

  I took advice and learnt from traditional sericulture practitioners. Their native sense and their intuitive ways greatly impressed me. The older farmers had been farming silkworms for the past sixty to seventy years and knew how to enlist nature as an ally in farming. Based on my observations of them I made radical changes in my farming methodology. This helped me scale up my sericulture project.

  I began to grasp an idea for which I may not have had researched empirical data but one that was born out of my experience and observation, and more importantly because my farm was becoming more and more viable. I realized that whatever ‘was not ecologically sound, was not economically viable in the long run.’

  I introduced new measures at the cocoon-harvesting stage. Farmers used bamboo stems and branches as the cocooning sites for the silk worms. The general preference for bamboo translated into a demand for thousands of bamboos. Cocoons were harvested on bamboo montages, and these required storage space and had to be kept free of infection. Farmers used disinfectants that harmed both workers in the vicinity and eventually the soil into which the chemical drained.

  I decided to harvest silkworm cocoons in paddy straw which could be recycled as mulch enriched by the droppings of the worm back to the farm. This is a forgotten age-old practice. I revived it and improvised on the basic technique. The financial return was too less but my input costs had become negligible. It became profitable and my balance-sheet looked respectable. The method consistently proved its worth, and I did not lose a single crop. Also, the yields were higher and the rates better than they would have been had I followed the chemical route. A corollary emerged to the central idea of linking economy and ecology, initially vaguely and later coalesced as: ‘What is low-cost is eco-friendly and conversely many eco-friendly practices are low-cost.’

  Besides harvesting cocoons in friendly paddy-straw beds, I did away with bamboo montages. I realized that if this was adopted across the state it would save millions of bamboos from felling, and simultaneously eliminate the repeated use of disinfectant on the generally reused bamboo montages. I also used a large thatched hut to house the project rather than a concrete building. By doing so I managed to eke out four times the built-up area in the thatched building for the same capital cost. In addition to the extra space, there was automatic and better temperature regulation: the interior was warm for the cocoons in winter and cool in summer. It lowered costs while improving the climate for the silkworm.

  The cattle-feed I bought in the market was nothing other than grain repackaged by cattle-feed companies. The companies bought grain from the farmers and sold it back to them as cattle-feed. The value they added was perceived in the packaging and the brand name which dazzled the farmers. This was a redundant cycle, and the farmers were just paying for their own grain. It got me thinking. It occurred to me that instead of buying cattle-feed from the companies I could buy the grain directly from surrounding farmers and grow some of it myself to feed my cattle. I also kept some country chicken and allowed the chicks to forage in the cattle shed to control the ticks on the cattle. The cattle egret and the mynah are assiduous tick-pickers. In modern dairying, milch cattle are kept in enclosures, where the population of ticks multiplies quickly because egrets and mynahs do not get access to the cattle. The farmers for their part resort to the use of chemicals to get rid of the ticks.

  These creative ways of farming with nature helped introduce many useful practices on the farm and opened up an entirely new life for me. Fairly soon I became financially solvent and repaid all my bank loans. I was not rich but reasonably well-off in four or five years.

  People came to visit my farm. They came in buses, on motorcycles, in cars. Farmers came in droves: from Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, and many other parts of India. They were curious to see how I had transformed silkworm farming.

  Local newspapers and magazines wrote about the sericulture experiment. Local radio stations aired programmes and discussed the new ideas. More and more people got to know my name. The Rolex committee recognizes people in three different categories through an award plus cash, identifying people who have done pioneering, and groundbreaking work. The three areas are: technological innovation that has changed the lives of people, adventure and discovery that has furthered our knowledge of the world, and work done to preserve local ecology that has led to improvements in living standards for people. The award, given once in three years, is called the Rolex Laureate Award. Someone asked me whether he could send my name as a nominee, describing the work I had done in support of the nomination. I agreed. I gave lectures at agricultural universities and was invited to sericulture seminars. I had also begun writing articles for magazines. These were not serious in nature but in them I described my experiences as a farmer. My work was sent to Rolex and the committee sent a team to my farm. The team met and discussed the merits of my work with various people in the state. They met Dr Udupi Shrinivasa, professor at the Indian Institute of Science, who is known for his many environment-related innovations and research. They also met people from the department of silkworm-rearing. The team then visited my farm. They said they had shortlisted 100 candidates from thousands of nominations from around the world. They also told me they would eventually choose the best projects and work from across the world for the award comprising a cash component and a steel-and-gold Rolex watch. I was awarded the Rolex Award for Enterprise in 1996. More than the money, it gladdened me that my work would help spread environmental awareness and eco-friendly ways of farming. There is always the danger of being dubbed a Luddite if one strikes a posture that seems to oppose modern farming and technology.

  I seriously believed that farmers must not get blindly carried away; that they must think like prudent businessmen and realize that the existing methods will not only not enable them repay their debts but will gradually become a vicious cycle of debt, environmental damage, poor yield, more fertilizer and chemicals leading to further damage to the environment. Through their current practices they are destroying the very foundation of the environment: the soil and the mixture of habitats. They must realize that agriculture is not a factory and appreciate that everything in agriculture is a community of living organisms.

  The insights into nature, and intuitions and instincts, proved to be the foundation of my future businesses. If something is not ecologically sound, it is not economically viable. This is a simple law that I think applies to every aspect of life. For a business to be viable, entrepreneurs need to create the right ecology for business and for the interactions that it entails. That seed of my future low-cost airline and
other businesses was sowed here.

  After the farm became self-sustaining, I shifted to Hassan, shuttling between Hassan and the farm. There was a particular reason for moving to Hassan, my daughter. Two years after our marriage our daughter Pallavi was born. She grew up like any other child on a farm. Village children quite routinely see cows giving birth or a bull mating a cow. They gain an understanding of nature’s ways all quite naturally and freely. Now I needed to attend to her education.

  I must not forget to mention the kind of dilemma I got into with dairy farming. Dairy farmers were impressed by the achievements of the White Revolution in milk led by the legendary visionary, Dr Verghese Kurien. There was however a flip side to it when, across India, large-scale artificial insemination was undertaken. Cattle that are indigenous to India are highly adapted to conditions here, but they are not prolific producers of milk. They are nonetheless hardy, low on maintenance, and also good draught animals. Most farmers do not need to spend a rupee on the Indian cow. The irony was that many farmers who went in for dairy farming ended up bankrupt. Any farmer will tell you that very high-yielding milch cows bred through intensive artificial insemination led to unviable business models. The cattle are injected with calcium on a regular basis to replace the calcium lost through heavy milk production. Their maintenance costs also proved to be high. At the end of the day, the dairy farmer’s income generally doesn’t meet his expenditure. This was the story of most farmers who got into dairying. However, the genius of Kurien lay in getting the farmers to organize under a cooperative society and derive the benefits of production and distribution of milk and milk products without the intervention of middlemen. It also led to the creation of a mechanism of harnessing the entire milk potential of the country. Kurien has no parallel in this achievement, but independently of Kurien, the National Dairy Development Board (NDDB) and similar state-level bodies took up a massive artificial insemination programme across the country which led to the loss of the country’s genetic pool of cattle.

  While the local variety of cattle delivered only two or three litres of milk against the 25–30 litres of the hybrid/imported cow, the farmer had to spend nothing on the upkeep of the former. They grazed in the fields and ate household leftovers. The two or three litres of milk they brought in gave the farmer a net income as he had no expenditure whatsoever. Though the initiatives of NDDB and other state-level bodies have made India the largest milk producer in the world today, it is not known what catastrophic outcome this may have.

  Thanks to Verghese Kurien of Anand, whom I met later, the lives of farmers across the country have been transformed. The Anand cooperative movement has succeeded in creating a brand and a smooth distribution mechanism for the dairy farmers and also empowered them. It is however unfortunate that in the blind rush for artificial insemination, farmers have routinely begun inseminating every cow in the village. This craze for the imported variety has led to neglect of local breeds. We are in danger of losing native breeds of cattle such as Amritmahal, Halikar, and Ongole.

  A New Enterprise Begins

  I also dabbled in enterprise. I rode an Enfield motorcycle in those days in my travel from farm to farm. One day I went to Hassan to get my bike repaired. The shop was closed and the mechanics said the dealership had been terminated; the owner had closed shop. There were two very popular motorcycles. One was JAVA manufactured by Ideal Java in Mysore, one of the great enterprises of that time. It no longer exists but used to be a favourite with youngsters. The other was the Royal Enfield made in Chennai, its manufacturers later becoming Enfield India. When I heard the dealership had been closed, the first question that arose in my mind was, who would now service the hundreds of motorcycles on the road in the region and who would provide the spare parts? Whatever the reason for the dealer being removed, services would still be required in Hassan. At the time I was also thinking of taking up residence in Hassan and enrolling my daughter Pallavi in a school. Hassan had a Central School—Kendriya Vidyalaya. I also needed to get my own bike serviced and maintained. This set me thinking about a bike dealership.

  I had friends who lived on their farms on the fringes of Hassan. Ravi Khandige was one. He ran a mobile restaurant at the time. He had worked at the Taj and was an experienced hand in the hospitality sector. I sometimes went over to his place to share a drink and exchange ideas. One day I asked him whether he would like to be my business partner. I did not want to live in Hassan. This was largely because I thought the work I had done on the farm might go waste if I didn’t live on the site. I was not the kind of farmer who could afford a manager and this would also serve to alienate me from the farm. I felt I needed to dedicate myself to the farm for at least nine to ten years, living it, breathing it, and working it. Only when the coconut plantation reached maturity would I be able to delegate its oversight to helpers. Until then it needed me.

  Assuming that we would be able to get the motorcycle dealership, I told Ravi that as a business partner he would have to run the venture on a day-to-day basis. Ravi agreed to the plan and the deal was struck at five in the evening.

  It was customary for established local business people to take up dealerships and franchises. Here I was, however, a complete novice, with no business experience or background. Even so, I never felt diffident or inadequate for want of it, I felt confident that as I had been riding the bike for the last four years, I knew how to cater to a customer because I was one myself. The customer’s point of view was the most critical aspect I could bring to the dealership.

  The matter was settled. That same evening instead of taking a bus back to Javagal as my motorcycle needed repairs, Ravi and I took a night bus to Chennai and went straight to the Enfield corporate office. The Enfield official asked us to find real estate to set up the business and handed a set of documents for compliance. He asked also to design the premises in such a way as to include a workshop, a garage, and other such components. They would come and inspect the premises before finalizing the dealership. I had it on my plate. Less than twenty-four hours later we were on our way to becoming businessmen. It all happened so rapidly that the enormity of the task ahead hit me only when I emerged from the manager’s office. My friend too was surprised by the sudden favourable turn of events.

  I knew that opportunities are lost if you don’t seize them. I had the confidence that if the dealership came through I would be able to muster the resources. I knew too that if I hesitated on account of resources, I would lose my opportunity, and told myself that I’d find a way to fund the venture.

  The deal was sealed and we received a letter of intent from Enfield India. For me it was more the beginning of a new journey. On the return trip, from Chennai to Hassan I dreamt plans non-stop. I would set up a showroom in Hassan and expand to twenty. Ravi and I decided to get a small place. From the money we made, we would move to larger premises. We found a very small building, 9 by 6 metres, facing the Bengaluru–Hassan–Mangalore highway. It had a large government field behind it. I reckoned that while the place was very small we could put all the bikes that came for repair in the open field without paying any rent. The front portion would function as the sales office. We settled on it. The asking rent was Rs 600. We put down an advance of Rs 10,000, an amount I had in my account.

  In those days, motorcycles were in short supply in relation to demand. Customers would pay in advance, thereby providing us with working capital. Even then, we still needed some capital. We therefore went to a bank, gave a business plan, and asked for a loan. The bank, seeing the investment we had ourselves made, readily gave us the loan we sought.

  That loan amount financed our purchase order for two Bullet motorcycles, each costing about Rs 10,000. We planned to launch the business with a display of these two motorcycles in the showroom. We also invested in specialized tools and bought some inventory for spare-parts trading. I was awash with a sense that from nothing we were creating something. From that something we were creating jobs and also serving a large rural customer base.r />
  We got some interior decorators to do up the place. One day, while I was busy setting up the business, the head mechanic of the previous showroom approached us for a job. I took him on as head mechanic. He was our first employee. I hired a boy to look after the front office. The head mechanic’s salary was Rs 500 and the office boy’s, Rs 250.

  I have always been fascinated with the creativity associated with naming something. These days, of course, naming is a major brand-building exercise, with companies hiring brand consultants. It has always struck me that the names of the great companies are the names of the men and women who founded them, whether it is Tata, Bajaj, or Ford. Your name is what your father gave you. You became famous or not because of what you did and not because of your name. Similarly, the brand of Tata or Bajaj or Ford became famous because of what they did. I took ten seconds to think of possible names. We were in the Malnad region, in the motorcycle business. We therefore combined the two and came up with Malnad Mobikes. We registered the name in Hassan, and it continues to exist there to this day. We decided on a date for the inauguration. We invited the superintendent of police and the local MLA to attend as special guests. We wrote to the head of marketing and sales at Enfield India saying that the showroom was to be launched and invited him. We put an announcement in the newspaper. These actions triggered an immediate cash flow. People rode-in on their bikes seeking repair, servicing, or spare parts. Others wanted to buy a motorcycle. We told our customers that they would have to wait for a while for the motorcycle and quite honestly told them that we had to send them—that is the company in Chennai, a demand draft. Only after its receipt would they send us the motorcycle consignment. As we were short of cash, they would have to pay upfront if they were in a rush, and even then it would take a few days. Customers paid us an advance and this became our working capital.