Sujeet, Maneesh, Ankit and Anuj were all based in Delhi until the middle of 2011. The Delhi office operated independently from the Bangalore headquarters. The Flipkart founders were, in fact, rarely seen in the Delhi office. The operations team in Delhi jokingly referred to the Bangalore headquarters as Shaktipeeth, the seat of power. In Hindu mythology, ‘shaktipeeth’ refers to places of pilgrimage and worship linked to the god Shiva. The inspiration for the name had come from Jwalamukhi, the IIT Delhi hostel where some of Flipkart’s senior executives had lived. Jwalamukhi is a shaktipeeth in Himachal Pradesh.
In 2011, on a rare occasion, Sachin visited the company’s warehouse in Delhi. The security guard there had been instructed to allow only those employees to enter who could show their Flipkart identity cards. That day Sachin had forgotten to carry his. Not knowing who Sachin was, the guard wouldn’t allow Flipkart’s co-founder into the warehouse. Despite Sachin’s requests and orders, he refused to yield. Soon after, a seething Sachin had to be coaxed out of firing the unsuspecting guard!
In its early years, Flipkart tolerated irreverence from its employees. In 2011, in an attempt to rile the marketing head Ravi Vora, an engineer had wondered out loud in the former’s presence, ‘Who made this Flipkart campaign? It’s so full of shit!’ Ravi, who had come to Flipkart from more formal workplaces such as Unilever and Heinz, had maintained a stiff upper lip in response. The same engineer had also caused a furore by making Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses – banned in India in 1988 after Rushdie was issued a fatwa by the religious leader of Iran – available on Flipkart. In reality, Flipkart didn’t stock the book. But the engineer wanted to read it and believed that Flipkart should source any book that a customer asked for. Soon, word spread on social media that Flipkart was selling The Satanic Verses. Many orders were placed. Eventually the company had to cancel them and apologize to the buyers. When the infuriated Flipkart executives asked this engineer to explain himself, he responded, ‘I don’t know ... I just wanted to read it.’
FLIPKART STRUGGLED INTERNALLY with the problem that blights every fast-growing internet startup: chaos. By late 2011, the company’s staff numbered a few thousand employees, up from less than 100 employees two years ago. It had several offices in Bangalore and one each in Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta. It was no longer a startup; Flipkart had become a medium-sized company.
The Bansals and their team were locked in a constant struggle to control and direct the ever-growing beast. Every day new problems arose: goods would get stuck at state borders, the warehousing software would break down for hours, there would be a severe shortage of packaging workers during a spike in demand. Dealing with cash was an intractable issue; on occasion, Flipkart delivery workers carrying cash given to them by customers, were attacked by robbers. The company even had to deal with criminal offences by its own delivery workers, a few of whom would abscond with large amounts of cash. Some of the areas where Flipkart had set up warehouses were notorious for poor law and order – this was especially true for northern India. In 2012, a guard working at a warehouse in Gurgaon was murdered by a group of men. Executives in the logistics team filed a police complaint. Thereafter, more cameras were installed across the company’s various warehouses and collection centres, security staff were increased, stricter processes implemented.
There were several less serious problems which also sprang up on a daily basis. In 2010, the company shipped a mobile phone that exploded in the customer’s hands, an event that naturally drew negative publicity. Sachin and the head of the phone brand jumped onto a conference call with the aggrieved customer and begged for forgiveness.
The Bansals believed in hiring bright young people and giving them free rein. But they were unable to build a strong human resources function. Hierarchy was loosely imposed, systematic routines were largely absent. Flipkart rewarded people who ‘took ownership.’ ‘It’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission’ was the company’s mantra, which permeated its corporate culture. Young hires just a few years out of college were given enormous responsibility. Those who did well were instantly handed out promotions and pay hikes in an unstructured manner. Many employees received generous stock options, or employee stock ownership plans (ESOPs). This was one of the most beneficial aspects of Flipkart’s legacy in the startup ecosystem. After the company awarded and honoured ESOPs, other startups were forced to follow suit so they could attract talented employees. Until Flipkart instituted a proper ESOP policy, stock options had largely been worthless assets for employees. Flipkart’s rise changed that; employees elsewhere now grew more vociferous in their demand for ESOPs, and startups had to set aside anywhere between five and fifteen per cent of the company’s stock for employees.
While Flipkart’s freewheeling approach in managing employees paid off, it had significant drawbacks as well. The company became an intense political battlefield at the senior levels. Hierarchical restructuring took place every few months. Senior executives would often be found locked in shouting matches. Roles were changed depending on the need of the hour. Most employees came to believe that they had played a pivotal role in the company’s success, that they were indispensable to Flipkart. But suddenly, without notice, they would lose favour. Those who were put on a pedestal would be rudely pulled down, without warning. Many senior employees felt they had done the best work of their careers at Flipkart. But this is where they also experienced their most bitter parting, finding themselves burnt out by the end. For junior
