Author: Rajesh Jain

The following week, I was scheduled to do the same presentation at another marketing conference – this time in San Diego. My disastrous NY experience meant that I could not use the same title. I clearly needed something very different.

Looking back at what had gone wrong in New York, I realised the issue wasn’t just the delivery; it was about connecting with the audience at a more visceral level. The parallel session that had been taking place when I spoke on “Profitless to Profipoly: Re-engineering Retention with AI Twins and Email Apps” was titled “Your Post-Purchase Flow Is Terrible. Here’s Why.” I remember glancing at it and realising that it resonated more immediately. Taking a dispassionate view, it was clear which title seemed more attractive and likely to grab attention. Titles matter. They set expectations and draw people in before you’ve even had the chance to speak.

With this in mind, I decided to scrap my original title and take a new approach. My revised title? “Your Acquisition Strategy Sucks! 3 AI-Powered Fixes You Need Now.”  There were five critical reasons why I settled on this title (with a little help from the AIs, of course).

First, I learned the hard way that you must start where the audience is, not where you want them to be. It’s a fundamental principle of communication, yet one I had overlooked in my eagerness to share my vision. Customer acquisition is the primary obsession of marketing teams, not retention. So, instead of leading with retention (which should come later), I led with acquisition. It’s always easier to hook people in with something they’re already anxious about. It’s like fishing – you bait the hook with what the fish wants, not what you think they should eat.

Second, the title needed to be bold and hard-hitting. “Your Acquisition Strategy Sucks” isn’t just a statement; it’s a challenge. It triggers a visceral reaction, which is exactly what’s needed to cut through the noise at a crowded conference. In a sea of polite, jargon-filled titles, this one promised to deliver some hard truths. It’s provocative, maybe even a bit uncomfortable, but that’s what creates engagement. In fact, a colleague overheard an attendee tell another at the lunch table, “This is a session I want to attend. Rising cost of acquisition is a serious problem in my company.” This anecdote perfectly illustrated the power of addressing a pain point head-on.

Third, while the first half grabs attention, the second half offers a solution. It’s not enough to point out the flaws; you must also promise a way out. That’s where “3 AI-Powered Fixes You Need Now” came in. It’s not just pointing out a problem; it’s promising specific, countable solutions. There’s something psychologically appealing about the number three – it’s manageable, memorable, and implies a comprehensive approach without being overwhelming.

Fourth, let’s face it – AI is the buzzword of the moment. If AI is in the title, you’ve already given your talk a major head start because it’s what everyone wants to hear about. AI is synonymous with modern, cutting-edge solutions, and anything less would seem dated. Everyone’s talking about AI, everyone’s curious about it, and everyone’s a bit anxious about being left behind. By prominently featuring AI, I’m signalling that this talk is cutting-edge, relevant, and potentially game-changing.

Finally, the title had to suggest immediate actionability. The promise of “3 AI-powered fixes you need now” creates a sense of urgency, implying that these aren’t just theoretical concepts or future possibilities, but solutions that can be implemented right away. In a world where marketers are constantly bombarded with new ideas and strategies, the promise of something they can act on immediately is incredibly appealing.

This new title was a complete departure from my original approach. It was less about educating and more about provoking. Less about my vision and more about their pain points. It was a calculated risk, but one that I hoped would fill the room and create the engagement I needed to eventually lead them to the ideas of retention re-engineering and the path to becoming a profipoly.

It worked. I had a full room. (The competition in this case was not another session, but the amazing weather and views right outside the conference room; it was San Diego after all.)

**

The experience with the two presentations became a valuable turning point. It has reignited my passion for the art of communication and reminded me of the ever-present need to connect with our audience on their terms, not just ours. As I move forward, I carry with me a renewed appreciation for the delicate balance between innovation and accessibility, between complexity and appeal. In the end, this lesson in humility may prove to be the most valuable presentation I could have given – to myself.

In the heart of New York City, I found myself facing an unexpected challenge. I had come to share groundbreaking ideas at a marketing conference. My topic, “Profitless to Profipoly: Re-engineering Retention with AI Twins and Email Apps,” seemed, to me, a beacon of innovation in the marketing world. Little did I know that I was about to receive a stark lesson in the very field I thought I had mastered.

The conference hall buzzed with energy as attendees flocked to various sessions. My anticipation was palpable as I prepared to unveil concepts that I believed could revolutionise customer retention strategies – and eventually brand profits. However, as I stood ready to present, a harsh reality set in. The room, capable of hosting a hundred, held merely ten. The contrast was stark and humbling – a parallel session, with the enticing title “Your post purchase flow is terrible. Here’s why,” had drawn a crowd over ten times larger.

I watched, a mix of disappointment and realisation washing over me, as people streamed out of the room at the end of the previous session. Their choices were clear – they were voting with their feet, and the verdict was not in my favour. The scale of my misjudgment hit me like a tidal wave. I had committed a cardinal sin in marketing: I had failed to market myself and my ideas effectively.

In my eagerness to share complex, innovative concepts, I had overlooked a fundamental principle – the need for an appealing, accessible pitch. My session title, while descriptive and meaningful to me, had failed to resonate with the broader audience. It was a classic case of losing sight of the forest for the trees.

This experience served as a powerful reminder that even the most groundbreaking ideas need effective packaging and promotion. Innovation alone is not enough; it must be coupled with the ability to capture attention and spark curiosity. I had assumed that the merit of my ideas would speak for itself, forgetting that in a world inundated with information, the first challenge is simply to be heard.

The magnitude of this missed opportunity was not lost on me. It wasn’t just a personal setback but a lost chance for Netcore to showcase its cutting-edge thinking and tech innovations. I had envisioned pioneering new approaches to profitability and customer retention, but instead found myself grappling with a fundamental lesson in audience engagement.

This experience underscored a crucial truth: in the realm of ideas, presentation is as vital as content. Even the most revolutionary concepts need a compelling sales pitch. People make split-second decisions based on first impressions, and I had failed to make mine count.

As I reflected on this experience, I realised that when faced with such significant missteps, incremental changes are insufficient. This situation called for a complete rethinking of my approach to presenting ideas. It was a reminder that as marketers, we must constantly apply our skills not just to our products or services, but to ourselves and our ideas as well.

I had an opportunity waiting a few days later.

On the flight from Mumbai to NY, I was doing what I like best on long-hauls: listening to songs stored offline via Amazon Prime and my Bose headset, and thinking and writing in my notebook. Mine was the only overhead light shining. For me, flights are the best thinking pods ever created. (And I really hope Air India doesn’t do Wi-Fi on their US non-stops!)

A young woman from a few rows behind walked up to me and said, “I have been observing you and you write so much. What do you write? I don’t see too many people writing, so am curious to know.” I then explained to her about my writing habits and also a bit about me. I also gave her a copy of my book.

I have had this experience more than a few times. People asking what I write and who I am. Most mistake me to be a writer of some sort. (Which in a way I am.) And that made me wonder, why don’t more people write? Our mind is always active. We are observing the world around. Ideas come up. Not all may be actionable, but just writing them keeps the mind free.

But I was happy that the woman was curious and bold to come and ask me! (And observant.)

Here is a second story from my US travels. I was carrying a few of my books from our office to my hotel room to pack for the next event we were doing in San Diego. In the hotel elevator, a middle-aged woman (probably around my age) saw me with the books (all with the same title), “What are those books? Are they yours?” And I said, “Yes. I wrote a book on entrepreneurship, and these are for a conference.” She replied, “My son wants to become an entrepreneur. He has many ideas. Any suggestions for him?” I answered, “Focus on the problem. Ask him to find a problem that people have and which he can solve uniquely. That could be his company.” She thanked me and we parted.

A couple days later, we again met in the elevator. (What’s the probability of a second chance meeting?!) This time, her son was with her. She recognised me and introduced her son. I recommended to him Uri Levine’s book, “Fall in Love with the Problem, not the Solution.” I wished him luck.

Life is sometimes about these short sweet moments with strangers which bring a smile. Our paths will probably never cross again, but in that briefest of engagements, we have shared something and created a memory. And perhaps helped each other become better. These fleeting interactions, though seemingly insignificant, often leave lasting impressions that enrich our lives in unexpected ways. They remind us of the interconnectedness of human experiences and the potential for growth in every encounter.

In a world increasingly dominated by digital interactions, these spontaneous, face-to-face exchanges become even more precious. They challenge us to remain open, curious, and engaged with the world around us. Whether it’s a conversation sparked by a simple observation or a chance meeting that leads to sharing knowledge, these moments serve as gentle reminders of our shared humanity. They encourage us to look beyond our immediate circles and recognise the potential for learning and connection in every interaction.

In sharing our thoughts and experiences with others, we not only potentially impact their lives but also reinforce our own beliefs and values. It’s a beautiful reciprocity that enriches both parties involved, creating ripples of positivity that extend far beyond the moment itself.

Labour Day (US) weekends have become an unexpected milestone in my entrepreneurial journey, bookending two pivotal moments in my career, three decades apart.

In 1994, I found myself in the Bay Area around Labour Day, grappling with the challenges of a struggling entrepreneur. Two years prior, I had returned to India with grand ambitions of building a software products business, only to face a series of setbacks. My confidence was at its nadir, and while I had a few nascent ideas, the path forward remained obscure. The trip was a desperate search for direction, a lifeline for my floundering entrepreneurial dreams.

Fast forward to 2024, and I find myself in the US, again around Labor Day, in a starkly different position. Netcore, the company I’ve nurtured, has reached the impressive milestone of $100 million in revenue with healthy profitability. Yet, the road to $200 million and beyond seems shrouded in some uncertainty. Our growth, while steady, has decelerated from the heady days of 2020-2023. The market landscape has evolved, with competition intensifying in our core sectors. Once again, I find myself at a crossroads, seeking that elusive ‘next big thing’ to propel us forward.

The parallels between these two trips, separated by three decades, are striking. Both journeys are quests for innovation, born from the recognition that past strategies have perhaps reached their limits. However, the contrasts are equally significant. In 1994, I was a fledgling entrepreneur, my resume a litany of failures, desperately seeking my first breakthrough. Now, in 2024, I stand as a seasoned ‘proficorn’ business leader with numerous successes under my belt, yet facing the equally daunting challenge of scaling to new heights.

The 1994 trip bore fruit in the form of IndiaWorld, India’s pioneering web portal. This time, my mind buzzes with fresh concepts: re-engineering retention; reimagining email with Atomic Rewards (Mu), Email apps (Epps), ActionAds; AI Twins; and Kaizen services (Progency). Could this constellation of ideas form the bedrock of a new marketing paradigm, one that drives sustainable, profitable growth for businesses in the AI age?

What I’ve come to appreciate about these US trips is the mental space they provide. Removed from the daily grind of Mumbai operations, my mind is free to wander, connecting disparate dots and stumbling upon unexpected synergies. There’s rarely a single ‘Eureka’ moment; instead, it’s a series of micro-realisations, gradually coalescing into a coherent vision.

As I reflect on this journey, I’m struck by the profound changes in the technological landscape. The 1994 trip coincided with the dawn of the Internet era; now, in 2024, we stand at the threshold of the AI Age. Throughout these three decades, technology has been my constant fascination, a flame that shows no sign of dimming. What excites me is that I remain at the forefront of this revolution, still burning with the passion to make a meaningful impact on the world.

The juxtaposition of these two Labour Day trips serves as a poignant reminder of my entrepreneurial evolution. From a struggling dreamer to a successful innovator, the core drive remains unchanged: the relentless pursuit of the next big idea. As I navigate this latest chapter, I’m filled with a sense of anticipation. The challenges may have changed, but the thrill of innovation and the potential to reshape industries continue to fuel my entrepreneurial spirit.

On the flight to New York, I started reading a book, “The Notebook: A History of Thinking on Paper” by Roland Allen. I had read a Wall Street Journal review about the book. As someone who keeps a notebook and still makes notes and thinks on paper, the book was too good to resist!

From the review: “A fresh notebook exudes strange power. If you have ever opened one, perhaps while sitting at a sidewalk cafe, you will know the rising sense of possibility that comes with what Mr. Allen calls “the infinite potential of the blank page.” It is as though the unmarked paper is summoning something—an idea, a verse, a drawing—that might otherwise have stayed inside your head, undeveloped. A notebook thus becomes an extension of the self. Perhaps it is your deep personal self and you are writing down your emotions and experiences in a diary (or “egodocument,” as present-day academics have it). Perhaps it is your professional maritime self and you are documenting longitude and latitude in a ship’s log on a sea journey; or perhaps it is any number of aspects of yourself expressed in one of the other variants of notebook that Mr. Allen has discovered.”

From the book’s introduction: “You don’t need me to tell you what a Moleskine looks like, but you may not have considered how insistently its design sends messages to the ‘Contemporary Nomad’. The minimal black cover looks, at first glance, like it might be leather: robust, but also luxurious. The non-standard dimensions, a couple of centimetres narrower than the familiar A5, let you slip the notebook into a jacket pocket, and the rounded corners – which add considerably to the production cost – help with this. They also stop your pages from getting dog-eared and, together with the elastic strap and unusually heavy cover boards, confirm that the notebook is ready for travel. The edges of the board sit flush with the page block, ensuring that your Moleskine can never be mistaken for a printed book. In use, it lies obediently open and flat, and the pocket glued into the back cover board invites you to hide souvenirs – photos, tickets stubs, the phone numbers of beautiful strangers. Two hundred pages suggest that you have plenty to write about; the paper itself, tinted to a classy ivory shade and unusually smooth to the touch, implies that your ideas deserve nothing but the best, and the ribbon marker helps you navigate your musings. Discreetly minimal it may seem, but the whole package is as shot through with brand messaging as anything labelled Nike, Mercedes or Apple – and like the best cues, the messaging works on a subconscious level.”

I can attest to the power of a blank page. I have a 300-page ruled spiral notebook that I use for all my notes and thoughts. I complete one book in about two weeks. My notebook is always with me – it’s like a friend who is always around to talk with. I write everything; it helps keep the mind free. This practice has become an integral part of my daily routine and creative process. The act of putting pen to paper allows me to externalise my thoughts, giving them a tangible form outside my mind. It’s not just about recording ideas; it’s about exploring them, connecting disparate concepts, and often stumbling upon unexpected insights. Whether I’m brainstorming business strategies, reflecting on personal experiences, or simply jotting down observations about the world around me, my notebook serves as both a canvas for my thoughts and a time capsule of my intellectual journey. The physical act of writing seems to engage my brain differently than typing on a device (which I am not good at in real-time in meetings). Writing on paper often leads to more nuanced thinking and deeper reflection.

In many ways, my notebook has become an extension of my cognitive processes, a trusted companion in my quest for clarity and creativity. It is my Digital Twin.

Also see: Parts 3-5 from My Life System series.