Every founder is supposed to have a business plan. Mine was a tissue paper.
In late 2010, I sat with two friends at a restaurant in Greater Kailash market. I had just decided to resign from a job where I was working sixteen, seventeen hours a day. I picked up a tissue paper and wrote on it: who I would approach, who might join me, what I wanted to do every month, what I hoped to earn.
My financial ambition was modest — if I could eventually take home six or seven lakh a year working for myself, that felt like enough. The ambition that was not modest was the other line on that tissue: build the most trusted and professional services organisation.
The conversation that mattered more
Before anything could start, I had to have a harder conversation — with my father. I told him that for a few months, I might not be able to contribute normally at home. I wanted time to build something of my own.
He said yes. Later, when money was needed, he sold some land. He never made it feel like a sacrifice. That is what founding capital actually looked like for us — not a term sheet, but a family's quiet belief.
Why I still keep that tissue
That tissue paper still exists in my office. I keep it because it reminds me that clarity matters more than polish. A plan does not need forty slides. It needs honesty about what you will do, who you will serve, and what you will refuse to compromise on.
Fifteen years and thousands of campaigns later, when we sit with a client to plan a summit or a market-entry program, I still reach for the same discipline: write the plan simply enough to fit on a tissue. If it cannot be said simply, it is not ready to be executed.