Simply Fly

by Capt G R Gopinath

  Entrepreneurship has a lot to do with marketing. You have to get noticed to get started. You must stand out in the clutter of new products and services. You need to be in a space which is new, different, has no competition.

  According to Peter Drucker

  An entrepreneur is oft en defined as one who starts his own new and small business …. But not every new small business is entrepreneurial or represents entrepreneurship. The husband and wife who open another delicatessen or another Mexican restaurant in the American suburb surely take a risk. But are they entrepreneurs? All they do is what has been done many times before … but they create neither a new satisfaction nor a new consumer demand. But a true entrepreneur is one who creates wealth where it did not exist earlier by creating a new market and a new customer. They create something new, something different; they change and transmute values; and, on a size and scale that will impact society.

  I picked that last sentence out of the quote: must impact society for the better. Summing up Drucker, a true and great entrepreneurial venture must impact society for the better; must focus an unexplored area; must benefit as many people and as vast a geography as possible.

  I had heard of but not read this particular book, Innovation and Enterprise by Drucker at the time. I had read about Sam Walton and read his story where he scaled up one pop-and-mom grocery store on the basis of the simple idea of low prices every day and turned it into the largest corporation on the planet, Wal Mart. I had seen Gandhi’s algorithm for scaling up a simple idea and galvanizing the entire country. I, therefore felt, I was on the right track and had the conviction. One factor weighed heavily against me. As a first-generation entrepreneur, I had little money. The factors that weighed in my favour were ideas, energy, and enthusiasm. The idea was a powerful one. Nobody who owned helicopters saw the enormous consumer space lying vacant for me to tap. There was no existing clutter of products like toothpaste or powdered milk. This was my epiphany. I was confident helicopters were the infrastructure of tomorrow, and there was no one for me to compete with. Existing helicopter owners were not customer-focused because they were not customer-dependant. Rahul Bajaj needed to sell scooters to fly his own helicopters. Anand Mahindra had to sell jeeps and tractors to get airborne on his own flying machine. Vijay Mallya had to sell beer to take off. Their helicopters were not dependant on paying customers. It seemed incomprehensible to me that the country was chugging along the reform track and did not have a single helicopter company.

  The combination of factors for a dedicated helicopter business was just right. India had a well-trained and handy pool of pilots and engineers, the market was untapped, there was no competition, a congenial political and policy environment seemed to be unfolding with reforms in process. A fleeting shadow of a doubt occasionally flitted across my mind. I asked then: ‘Is the risk worth taking?’ The answer was always driven by the inextinguishable optimism that the reforms were here to stay. Parties on the leftist horizon did raise an outcry against reform and liberalization. They perceived the threat of a neo-imperialist invasion and saw an ‘invisible foreign hand’. These were not frequent, so I made up my mind. I did not know how much a helicopter cost. Fortunately, I never asked!

  On my return flight from China, I was a man possessed. Plans unfolded in my head. I would get buddy Sam to join me. I would also get Col. Jayanth Poovaiah to join me; Jayanth was another friend from the army, a helicopter pilot still serving in the army. I knew other helicopter pilots and would handpick them. Not once did it occur to me to ask: who would I approach for the finances? Had I thought along those lines, there would perhaps have been no helicopter company!

  When I returned, I went to Sam. ‘Let’s play squash tomorrow!’ I said. On the court I said, ‘How is the job, Sam?’ He said, ‘I hate it, but I do it. I have to. I hated freelance flying too.’ He said his boss was a 28 year-old guy; an MBA. Sam had to report to that ‘kid’. The time was ripe to throw the bait. I said, ‘Sam, I’ve been thinking about what you said. I now know exactly what we can do. Let us set up a proper helicopter company. We will begin by carrying VIPs and the rich and the famous. We will be the first movers. The sky is the limit!’

  I went on to explain to Sam how the economy was opening up for us to seize the opportunity. I said, very solemnly. ‘Sam, resign from your job and join me in setting up this company. I know nothing about helicopters, you know nothing about business. You look after operations, I will look after business. I will get the investors and create the brand. I will drive the company. Give it a thought, Sam old boy!’

  I planted the idea but did not want an oversell. I loved Sam as a friend and wanted him to join me but I would set up the company anyway. A chartered accountant friend of mine from my early days of business in Hassan, Balakrishna Achar had once alerted me. He said most businesses fail in the initial stages because of ego problems between partners and incompatibility. He also cautioned that this could occur between the best of friends. Achar said that under the Indian Partnership Act, incorporated in 1932, ‘it is easier to divorce your wife; it is harder to get deliverance from a partner in business.’ One of the partners has to be willing to take a back seat. I firmly believed only one person can lead a business and I knew Sam would let me lead. He has a wonderful temperament. I would structure the company in such a manner that a parting of ways between partners would not kill the business. I also bore in mind the words of Henry Mintzberg, a friend and one of the greatest management thinkers of our times. Mintzberg said, ‘All great businesses involve only two things. One is having a great idea. Two is having great people around you.’

  I would add a third factor to Mintzberg’s list. Your ability to retain good people is what will count most. An entrepreneur is like the Pied Piper. He needs the people who come behind him. All through history everything that has been achieved has been achieved because a leader sold an idea, sold a dream, and people followed him.

  I wanted Sam too to be possessed by the idea. I did not want to say, ‘Join me, Sam, and this is what I will pay you?’ That would make it a non-starter from the outset. Instead, I said, ‘This can’t fail. It can fail only because of our stupidity. The only thing between us and success is our willingness to commit ourselves to this dream.’ I quoted some figures to Sam. ‘Brazil has 400 helicopters. India has 25. That should ring a bell. The message is writ large and clear. The market is staring in our face.’ I described to Sam what I had seen in China and Vietnam and left it there.

  We met regularly over the next two to three months. Sam never uttered a word about the helicopter business. I did not press him. If the idea had not set his heart aflame he should not be there in the first place. A lot of people come to me and say, ‘I have set up a business. My boss does not know. My company does not know. When the business succeeds, I will resign.’ My reply is, ‘That business will never succeed. Your business will succeed only when you can’t pay your rent, you can’t pay salaries, you can’t buy your wife a sari, and you can’t pay your children’s school fees. Then you will learn to innovate. You will be forced to improve. Nothing breeds invention like necessity. Necessity will ensure you do not become complacent. You will be unable to sleep because your business may go bankrupt. This is how your business will succeed. Any other way of setting up a venture is a recipe for disaster.’

  It was 1995. One day in April that year, a few months after Sam and I had this conversation, Sam dropped into my office. I still ran my agriculture business from a small office off Infantry Road. I saw Sam walk in. My army friends occasionally dropped in for a cup of coffee. I preferred to catch up with friends in the evening. During office hours I would get impatient. Sam, I saw, did not seem inclined to leave. I did not ask him to do so but got up myself to say goodbye. Sam said, ‘Hold it, Gopi. I have come away.’ I did not understand what he meant. He said, ‘Gopi, you asked me to resign. I have left for good this time.’

  Sam has this habit of saying the most serious things with a poker face. He has large, gentle eyes.
You can never tell whether he’s joking or means business. It took a while but I suddenly I realized the import of his move. He had resigned from his job to follow my dream. He had placed his future and security in my hands. At once I saw what a huge responsibility we had on our shoulders. A kind of shiver ran down my spine. I recovered my poise and said, with solemnity, and a touch of laughable pomposity, ‘The helicopter company is hereby formed.’

  I moved across to Sam and hugged him. I said, ‘Sam, that’s great! Sit down. Don’t leave!’

  That small office in Infantry Road was where Deccan Aviation was born. It took a nudge from Sam for the idea—I had been incubating to come into the world. I said, ‘Sam, I am in a state of happy shock; stupefaction. This is the beginning of a great journey. Let’s start right away. I want to know all about helicopters. What kinds there are, their make, the list prices. Make operational plans. Let’s get going.’

  I began preparing a blue-print for Deccan but still did not ask ‘How much will the project cost?’ I knew I would have to come to that eventually! I took a piece of paper and jotted down a few things that needed doing immediately. I also needed to test my ideas on others to figure out who I could take on-board. I would have to form a company. I must figure out how to raise the money. Money, I was certain, would be the least of my problems. Getting a licence from the government, getting the clearances, getting the people together—yes, those would be the real tasks.

  I decided not to put the cart before the horse. I told Sam, ‘Let us get the licence’. Those were still the days of Licence Raj. The aviation sector was perhaps the most tightly controlled. I suggested we used my current office space and secretariat as our registered working place. I had a computer, a fax machine, and basic office infrastructure. I asked Sam to set about devising a plan and setting up operations.

  Sam too felt overwhelmed by the decision. It was a tough one. I had taken the decision twenty years ago without any money, he had taken it now. He, however, had three children and a pension of Rs 7000. That was not enough money to look after a family in Bengaluru. I was conscious of these considerations and therefore decided I would put whatever income I had into the new venture and Sam would similarly put in all his savings.

  Sam was entrusted with obtaining the licence and creating the operational base of the company. He would have to get the parameters right, find out what conditions needed to be fulfilled, and look for ways to see that those conditions were met. There would be bribes to pay. I knew, however, of ways of doing things without paying bribes. I believed then, and continue to believe, that even in the corridors of power not everybody is venal or corrupt. There are people who have ideals, who have dreams for the country’s future and are patriotic. If one person is not willing to help, there is always another who is. Eventually you will meet someone with integrity and vision. That will not however happen unless you relentlessly pursue your objective with focus and vigour. Sam and I decided to start doing our homework. Then we parted. We met again a few months later.

  Sam visited Delhi and went to the DGCA, the regulatory body that issues licences. He learnt what needed to be done and made a list of conditions for the licence. We settled for a two-pronged approach. Sam would proceed from the bottom and move upwards. He would approach the grass roots of ministries, prepare the documents. He would tie up loose ends as he went up. I would go top-down. I would approach the ministerial entourage and the bureaucrats. We took a vow that we would not give up until we obtained the licence. There was no deadline: the objective was to keep going till we reached the goal.

  This is a good way to approach a project. When you decide that you won’t give up till it happens, then it happens. It is relentless pressure that creates the crack. If a bureaucrat is like a rock that won’t let the river flow, muster a will that is as powerful as the rapids that swirl, whirl and drill a hole through, bursting forth and rushing on unchecked. The river has only one purpose: to join the ocean. Your will has to be the metaphoric river rapids. You have only one purpose: to reach the goal. To achieve—that you just have to do it.

  When you start something you cannot give yourself a time-frame for success. You can’t say: if it doesn’t work out in six months I will give up. Your only task is to keep doing whatever it takes to achieve the goal. That is what Sam did. He never asked a question. He went to Delhi several times a month. Delhi is a den of power-brokers who know how objectives move and how to navigate in the flurry of hundreds of power brokers. Coming from another city, it is difficult to find one’s way out in the maze of bureaucracy.

  There was a new kind of financial institution with which India was not familiar. I had heard a lot about venture capital, as it was called, which had been the force behind the rise and success of American industry. It had created and sustained the Silicon Valley. I began my search for money with venture capital.

  There was a company called TDICI, an offshoot of ICICI headed by Vijay Angadi. I called him and said I had a great idea and would like to meet him. He gave me an appointment. I told him the story. Opinions are made within the first five minutes of meeting so the story must be attention-grabbing. I said plainly, ‘Vijay I want to set up a helicopter company’. I focused on the proportion of helicopters to the size of the country. India had about thirty helicopters. Though about forty were registered, ten of them were relics. Malaysia had twice the number, Brazil about 500. I deliberately did not compare India to Germany, the UK, France, or Japan. I compared India to the emerging economies which had recently stolen a march over us. I said, ‘You are a venture capitalist. You can see these figures for yourself. India has to get there.’

  The idea seemed to have grabbed him. ‘Captain, this is a fantastic idea,’ Vijay Angadi exclaimed excitedly. His colleague was an IAF officer’s son and said, ‘You know, Captain, I have an air force background. I understand helicopters. I think India needs this kind of project. We are excited about this. We will talk to our head office about your proposal. Meet us in a fortnight’s time.’

  I left, a happy man. It was the first attempt and by the manner in which they spoke to me, it appeared I had hit the bull’s eye.

  I was a little too quick to rejoice. After fifteen days, I called up Vijay. I asked him if I could come and meet him. Vijay received me warmly and we got chatting. He offered me coffee. We talked of this and that. Vijay did not broach the subject I had come to discuss. I was even expecting some kind of offer letter and imagined we would be advised about the application process and documentation for funding. It showed that I had been naïve. Vijay took his time and said, not without some embarrassment, ‘I am extremely sorry, Captain. I spoke to my head office about your proposal. They are excited about your story but they have given me a mandate only to invest in IT and software, and perhaps to an extent biotechnology.’ I was deeply disappointed.

  Those were the early days of venture capital in India, which had just started investing very small amounts tentatively in IT. The government had laid down several rules and regulations to govern it, and TDICI was the first venture capital company operating with a very small fund base. I could understand the caution with which my project had been received, but the response fell on me like a bucket of cold water. I sat for some time digesting the news. Before leaving I said, ‘Vijay, that’s fine. I can understand your compulsions. But can you do me a favour?’ He looked surprised. I said that since his job was to meet entrepreneurs and evaluate their proposals, he must have also met their financial advisors. I had pilots and engineers on board. I now needed a very solid financial adviser; someone who was sharp and had a long-term vision; one who could figure out ways of raising finance and also stay with me long-term. Most importantly, I could not afford to pay huge sums upfront. The compensation would come in good time.

  The ability to gauge my own inadequacy in locating a good financial advisor was the key to the success of my future ventures. I therefore asked, ‘Vijay, among the many finance people you have been meeting, is there anyone who has impressed
you with the attributes I am looking for?’ Vijay asked for two days to think over.

  He was prompt with his phone call. He said, ‘Capt. Gopi, I have found someone for you. His name is Mohan Kumar. He has an exceptionally sharp mind and has an incredible way of thinking out of the box. For that alone I think he will fit your requirement. Besides, he has a way with supporting new ventures.’

  I thanked him. Looking back, I am glad TDICI did not pick up equity in my company. Had they done so I would have been left with next to nothing of my own equity. I had hardly put in any money into the venture at the time.

  Without losing a second, I got in touch with Mohan Kumar and asked if he could partner me in this venture and join me on this exciting journey. ‘We do not have much by way of funds, but Sam and I are ready to mortgage whatever little we own.’ Even if we had liquidated all our assets at that point in time we would have been unable to buy even a pair of helicopter blades which in those days cost $60,000! I said I did not want to build a company for Bengaluru but a great aviation company for the country with enduring values, and in consequence create jobs, customer value, and wealth for all partners. Mohan Kumar said, ‘I understand you, Captain. You can count me in.’