I was assigned as the founder and CEO of a newly formed startup in Hyderabad, the capital city of Telangana, India. The startup aimed to help design an 800 MW natural gas power plant using one of the most complex industrial design software families, Intergraph Smart Plant 3D. I was assigned to lead the project, build the organization from the ground up, and deliver the requirements planned. In the final round, we were 15 people: 13 engineers, one finance manager, and one HR manager. Thus, the Indian team and I visited the EPC team in Istanbul, and we aim to cooperate with Samsung EPC parties. The following lines encapsulate my arrival in Hyderabad and the remarks concerning the first week there.
Since I've been here, we've communicated business matters and performance across geographically diverse functions and business endeavors. So, on Sunday morning today, I'd like to share my one-week general observations about life here, a social perspective, and impressions.
On July 11, at 7:30 PM, the airplane was in line on the runway to take off for India through Dubai from Istanbul. The following day, I was at Hyderabad Airport. The airport looked quiet and calm compared to Istanbul Ataturk and Dubai airports, where I took my connected flight. I arrived in the passport queue at Hyderabad airport, just as I came to a passport check cube. The lady at the desk scanned my passport and clicked on some keys on the keyboard. Her fingers crossed over the keyboard, and it seemed something was wrong. Finally, she said, "Please go to another line; my computer has a problem." She called someone to solve her problem with her computer. The failing computer was supposed to be like a welcoming line to India. I lined up again for another passport control cube. This time, I had no problem; the officer completed my passport checks quickly, and I was in India. Then, I followed the signs that said "Exit" and headed out of the airport.
On the way, a person from a small hut with "Currency Exchange" written on the sign said, "This last point is that you can't cash in elsewhere," in English. I said, "Thank you," and moved on. I picked up my luggage and headed for the exit without facing any other issues that would delay me. On the way out, Praveen (The company's first employee in India) met me in the crowd with a sign that said my name. We moved together to the parking lot. Our friendly driver in the Honda car awaited us, and we made our way toward the city without delay. The atmosphere along the airport and its surroundings were green, quiet, and calm. It was serene and relaxed on the road connecting the airport to the city.
As if misrepresenting my convictions, it was a scene out of nowhere upon passing almost 15 minutes to an intersection from the airport. Like a wedding procession or a protest march, a crowd of cars traffic hit us that I thought was a protest of taxi drivers and car owners. Noticing the surprise on my face, Praveen swiftly sensed the urge to provide clarification. It was the regular daytime city traffic, and we encountered the natural look of Hyderabad very early. Out of the blue, the driver skillfully maneuvered his car into a tight space between two vehicles in the bustling traffic, almost like fitting a Lego piece. He carefully glided the car into the flow, creating his own space. It felt like we were in a bubble or swaying in the water, divinely shielded from any potential contact with neighboring vehicles. As long as we stayed within the stream and weren't nudged out, we were secure, akin to beads in a necklace seamlessly threading our way to the city.
We were driving slowly; usually, most vehicles in traffic were either motorcycles or tricycles with no doors on the sides, with a small windowless opening on either side and back. Here's a video of traffic in some areas of India: https://tinyurl.com/2p86ctkp
Tricycles typically have two in the back, with the driver seat designed to be ridden by three people, but the most seen in the traffic are full of people; some hang on their feet next to these vehicles at the sides. The unique, endless honking sounds are actually in my ears that looked like a form of universal communication of the traffic that says, "I'm coming, get out," "Oh careful," "Hoops," "Hey, watch out," "Oh no, accident," and "hey, wait, I've got a chorus" don't bother anyone but me. But as we got closer to the hotel, it started to trouble me; at one point, I almost tried to caution the driver to "stop that horn," but I held back. It would probably be a pointless and impossible task for me to convince the culture of ancient old India to modify a behavior concerning traffic.
Around 10:30 AM on July 12, we reached the hotel in Hyderabad and completed the check-in process. Tucked away in a sprawling green belt, the hotel exuded charm, offering a refreshing escape from everyday life with its delightful garden and pools. However, the constant honking still echoed in my mind, remnants of a sleepless night, as I grappled to comprehend the reception chatter. Eventually, a young lady stepped forward, leading me through the hotel amenities, guiding me to my room, and offering concise details about the available services.
I exchanged $20 for 1,000 Indian rupees (IR) at the reception and sought Praveen's advice on tipping the bellboy. The 1,000 IR received in exchange was 100 IR, leaving me grappling with the currency's value of Indian Rupees. At that moment, I gave 100 IR to the bellboy and another 100 IR to the lady who assisted me to my room. Reflecting on it later, I felt embarrassed for my seemingly frugal gesture.
After showering and getting some rest, I met Praveen at the hotel entrance at noon; he had an air of surprise on his face, thinking I would be late or overslept. Instead, we were in the car and on our way to the office in the same traffic again. It was as if we were intertwined with motorcycle riders or three-wheeled taxis going too close to us. They look like they're going to whisper something in our ear, but then they move on hurriedly in the traffic as if something else has seized their attention. The ladies' cyclers stood out and were surprising among this male-driven crowd. In Western countries, we've seen women riding bicycles or motorbikes. Still, in a more gender-inclusive scene in this traffic, understanding how women are perceived regarding qualities and class hierarchy likely provides valuable insights and mixed feelings into this puzzling Indian culture.
We also pass through places that feel like wealthy regions on the way, but their look mixed with the slum areas of the city disguises all; this intertwining vista confuses newcomers like me. We see damaged roads, and bus stops you know from the crowd, giving you the feeling of waiting for a ride. The busses immediately make apparent that it is a public transport vehicle. It looks old as if it is doomed to work, and some divine power holds it around so it does not fall apart. The buses are full of people, reminiscent of an elderly bent to one side at the waist carrying a heavy load, feeling like they will get fractured at any moment.
A bewildering surprise awaits us everywhere or at any corner we cross. This time, I saw people sitting on the sidewalk with their backs to the road, and a barber was cutting the hair of two; the other two people were, you think, in a barbershop waiting in line for their haircut.
A water buffalo with its calf is on the streets in the dense traffic; it crosses the street as if it were shopping; everyone gives way. We're approaching the site of our office. It's a middle-split road for commuting. I spot those low containers by the roadside, seemingly holding garbage awaiting collection by the carts. The litter appears quite unsightly. Folks are rummaging through the trash barehanded, searching for who knows what treasures amid the garbage.
Right after that, we take a dirt road. We'll be right back to the building where the office is. The ground floor was considered a semi-open garage with walls half-built, and cars could hardly maneuver. We get out of the car; there's an elevator, like a knitted shutter, with the door only pulled to open or close by hand. Praveen immediately presses a button; the lights are on in the elevator, and he presses another button, and the elevator starts moving. We're on the third floor. The wall right across from the elevator says "Enprode Engineering and Consultancy India Pty Ltd" in giant letters. First, a steel door opens with a key, and we come across a glass door that opens only using an electronic key or card reader that appears on the wall. An iron cage protects the office windows. The building is also guarded by a concierge living in a one-room ground-floor space.
The office is about eight by ten, 80 square meters. Still, it is a bit rectangular, and the stair area and elevator take up the space at the side, leaving a dent in the office and occupying some space. Two rooms with two glass doors surrounded by walls on the left side. Adjacent to rooms, a glassless division, a toilet, and a tiny room designed for storage or computer servers. There are clean and tidy desks covered with lighter-colored wood coating. The tables inside the offices have sizable office tables for managers. The employee desks were designed to be practical with large computers. However, sockets are embedded in the wall under every table to connect phones and computers to a network. It feels carefully done with thought in mind.
The commencement of my adventure marked the beginning of my endeavor to populate every desk with skilled engineers. These are my brief reflections on the initial week spent in Hyderabad.
Turgut A.
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