India's Good Giving Machine

How GiveIndia was born and raised to make donating to charity everybody's concern India's Good Giving Machine By Ashok Mahadevan.

It's the first time I'm using the internet to donate money and I'm nervous. Will I, sitting at home, be able to find a worthwhile charity? Will I be able to make my donation without having to fumble through an interminable number of pop-ups and steps? And will I ever know whom I've helped, and how?

I go to www.giveindia.org, the website of GiveIndia, a trailblazing Indian organization which was among the first anywhere to enable online donations. On its home page, I see that I can choose to contribute anything from Rs250 to Rs25,000 to any of over 200 thoroughly vetted charities from around the country. Each of these charities in turn will offer me specific causes for which I can donate. And I'll also be sent details of whom I've helped, so that I can, if I wish, independently meet them and verify that my money has been well used.

Since I live in Mumbai, it makes sense for me to select a charity in my city. As a former cancer patient, I'd like to help a needy person with a major health problem. And I'm prepared to donate up to Rs4000 for a really worthy cause.

I'm now offered 10 donation options, including `1200 to sponsor a breast prosthesis for a woman with cancer and Rs1000 to pay for the monthly rations of a poor HIV patient. But the one that appeals most to me is Rs4000 to "Save a very poor kidney patient's life by sponsoring his/her monthly requirement of eight dialyses."

The Mumbai NGO that offers this option is called MESCO (for Modern Educational Social & Cultural Organization). It's no fly-by-night outfit. It was founded nearly 50 years ago to help the poor, in various ways, to "live a better tomorrow."

Opting to pay by credit card, I notice that, to cover its costs, GiveIndia is charging me an additional Rs400-ten percent of my donation-thus increasing my total outlay to Rs4400. That's not much, given that it is significantly below the "industry average" of 30 to 40 percent for fundraising from individuals.

Within seconds of clicking on 'Pay' I'm e-mailed a receipt, which I can also use to claim a tax benefit. And I'm informed that I'll get details of the beneficiary in a few months. I'm willing to wait.

SINCE 2000, when it started, GiveIndia has raised more than Rs250 crore for charity from some three lakh Indians. The money has been used to pay for a whole host of causes-from repairing a village's check dam to nets for fishermen, from walkers for the elderly to the college fees of underprivileged students. GiveIndia has also introduced new and convenient ways of donating, prodded NGOs to become more transparent, and vigorously promoted philanthropy in the country.

GiveIndia's goal is to get all middle- and upper-class Indians to donate two percent of their annual income to the poor. And while it may still be very far from that target, its work has been widely praised. "GiveIndia is one of the most interesting innovators in philanthropy on the planet," says Katherine Fulton, president of the Monitor Institute, an American social change consultancy.

GiveIndia is the brainchild of Venkat Krishnan N., a remarkable IIM-Ahmedabad graduate who gave up a well-paying corporate career to work for the underprivileged.

It wasn't a sudden decision. Even as a schoolboy, Venkat, now 44, was haunted by the inequalities of the world around him. "Some of my schoolmates lived in nice two-bedroom houses," he says. "Others in a slum. It was so unfair."

From the time he was in Class Seven, Venkat was determined to do all he could to create a more just society. But it took him a while to figure out a way best suited to his temperament and talents. A brilliant student, he sailed through both the IIM and the Indian Statistical Institute entrance exams. And although passionately fond of maths, he opted for the IIM. "With an MBA you can earn a lot very quickly," he says, "and that can give you the freedom to do what you really want."

At the IIM, Venkat interned one summer with the government's Khadi Village Industries Commission. But that only confirmed his conviction that joining the IAS was not his way to help the poor. Nor was it by living and working amongst them. He had to use his brains and management skills to find another way of creating a more just India.

On graduating, Venkat worked in the corporate world for three years, paying off his debts. Then along with one of his IIM professors and two batch-mates, he founded a school in Ahmedabad that would provide a first-rate education not just to middle-class children but to a large number of poor students too.

In 1998, Venkat spent a couple of months backpacking around the US, visiting schools. He was struck by how philanthropic middle-class Americans were, volunteering their services and donating to worthwhile causes. In one town he visited, the residents even voted to impose a special tax on themselves to fund a local school gym.

His American visit set Venkat thinking. He had seen a number of small, little-known NGOs in different parts of India successfully using innovative methods to educate poor children. Nearly all, though, had had to struggle for money. On the other hand, there was a large untapped market of donors: Indian professionals, including his classmates, were now earning large salaries. But they held back from donating any of it because they didn't know which charities were trustworthy. Why not start an agency, Venkat thought, that would thoroughly investigate NGOs, certify those that were worthy, and encourage people to donate to them? Nothing like that existed in the country.

Venkat's idea caught the attention of Nachiket Mor, another IIM-Ahmedabad graduate who headed the ICICI Bank's anti-poverty department. But Nachiket was keen on more than an NGO-certifying organization. His department was experimenting with using the internet for various causes, and he suggested that Venkat raise money online. It was an audacious proposal because, at that time, there were only two or three agencies in the world doing this. But Venkat, a technology buff, readily agreed.

Many of his friends were skeptical. "I told him he was mad, that people won't donate money online," says Annabel Mehta, currently president of Apnalaya, a Mumbai NGO. "Luckily, he ignored me." (Last year, Apnalaya received more than Rs15 lakh in donations through GiveIndia.)

After ICICI Bank promised an office and Rs79 lakh for the venture's first two years, Venkat began looking for young professionals to hire. His first recruit was Kshitij Bisen, a management graduate who wanted to be a writer. "Venkat interviewed me in a chai-shop outside the IIM," recalls Bisen, who worked for GiveIndia for a couple of years and is now a journalist in New Delhi.

Venkat didn't always make a good impression on his recruits. Tejas Merh Desai, a young chartered accountant disillusioned with the corporate world, confesses that she was initially turned off by Venkat when she first met him. "His shirt was not ironed," she recalls. "A button was missing. And he had a superior air about him. It was as if he didn't care what impression he created."

But when Venkat began telling her his plans, Tejas was all ears. "They were so clear, so sensible," she says, "And he was doing something nobody else was."

To understand the concerns of potential donors, Venkat commissioned a five-city survey. It threw up an interesting finding: people were far more likely to donate if they could choose the way their money would be used.

"Donors want control over their money," Venkat says. "They don't like not knowing, for instance, whether it was used to pay an electricity bill or a teacher's salary. You've therefore got to give them precise options. The option 'To pay for a secondary schoolchild's textbooks for a year' will attract more donors than a vague 'To pay for a child's education'. "

But NGOs were not used to offering such choices, so Venkat and his team had to do it for them initially. "We thoroughly sliced and diced each NGO's budget and created credible options that donors could understand," Venkat says.

Venkat also insisted that every donor should receive a feedback report including photographs. "Seeing the face of the child whose books you paid for or the village well which was dug with your money," Venkat says, "gives you confidence that your donation has been well used."

Getting NGOs to start such practices wasn't always easy. Social activists are passionately committed to their work, but are usually not diligent about documenting the results. It also took time for GiveIndia's young professionals to appreciate the constraints that understaffed and under-funded Indian NGOs work under.

Working conditions at GiveIndia weren't great either: temperatures rise to well above 40 degrees C in Ahmedabad, but the GiveIndia office wasn't air-conditioned; the staff had to pay for their tea or coffee; when travelling on work, they had to take the cheapest mode of transport.

Venkat wasn't just tight-fisted; he was a slave driver too. He cursed freely and could reduce people to tears. On the other hand, he was much harder on himself than on anyone else, and encouraged his colleagues to take their own decisions.

"I felt very empowered," says Pushpa Aman Singh, a former chief operating officer of GiveIndia and now chief executive of GuideStar India, which provides information on NGOs. "I grew enormously as a person when working for him."

There was also a sensitive side to Venkat, which very few of his colleagues saw. One who did was Kshitij Bisen. Kshitij was gay but very much in the closet. When Venkat came by chance to know of it, he summoned Bisen. "I was very apprehensive," Bisen recalls. "But Venkat was very supportive. In fact, he gave me the courage to be more honest about myself. He's like a coconut. Very hard outside and very soft inside."

GiveIndia launched its website with nine certified NGOs on 15 September 2000. But donations trickled in disappointingly slowly until 26 January 2001, when a massive earthquake struck Gujarat. A special page for earthquake relief was quickly added. Within a day, the site recorded more than a million hits and crashed. It was put up again and by March end, GiveIndia had received donations worth nearly `1 crore.

Ahmedabad experienced several tremors during days that followed. But initially, Venkat and his colleagues remained in their 10th floor office, running down whenever they heard a rumble. Once, Pushpa Aman Singh rushed down without her chappals. "When I wondered aloud how I was going to get home barefoot," Pushpa recalls, "Venkat coolly climbed ten flights despite being warned not to and brought my chappals down."

Over the years, GiveIndia has pioneered new ways of giving. In 2003, it started a program under which employees in corporations can opt to donate anything upwards of Rs50 every month to an NGO of their choice. The money is automatically deducted from their salaries, and they receive feedback reports.

"Our employees love this program," says Amit Aggarwal, senior vice president of the IT company Genpact. "More than 10,000 Genpact employees in India contribute. Many of them are youngsters who earn relatively small salaries." Last year, GiveIndia raised more than Rs13 crore in this fashion from 50,000 employees in 120 companies.

Another GiveIndia innovation involved a unique way of fundraising at marathons. When Mumbai's first international marathon was held in 2004, GiveIndia was the official charity partner. But it wasn't able to raise much. So, the following year, it came up with an ingenious strategy. It divided the runners into different categories according to the amount they pledged, including a "Dream Team" for well-known film stars, sportsmen and heads of corporations. Sachin Tendulkar agreed to run-and although, at the last minute, police wouldn't let him for fear of his being crushed by the crowd-the event raised nearly `4 crore for charity.

Venkat also gave his friends tips on how to raise more money. Before the first Mumbai marathon, ICICI Bank's Nachiket Mor had written to his acquaintances, which included some top industrialists, asking for contributions. He got Rs5000 each from several of them. Next year, at Venkat's suggestion, Mor wrote again to all of them, saying his personal contribution was `10 lakh and requested them to match it. Several promptly complied. "The secret is benchmarking," Venkat grins.

In 2006, GiveIndia started i-Give, in which anyone can create their own page on the GiveIndia website. This has proved especially useful to individuals who wish to raise more than they can personally afford for a cause. Typical is Sudhir Kulkarni of Ahmedabad whose beloved elder sister died of ovarian cancer. In her memory, Kulkarni decided to collect money for an NGO that looked after poor women cancer patients. So he registered with GiveIndia, opted for an NGO on its list, and sent e-mails to everyone he knew offering to match whatever they contributed. He also posted the appeal regularly on his Facebook page. Within three months he'd raised nearly Rs7 lakh.

From early 2007, Venkat began saying he wanted to leave GiveIndia. "It's extremely rare for the founder of an NGO to voluntarily resign," says Ujwal Thakar, his successor as CEO. "But that's Venkat for you."

Venkat explains his reason: "For the first few years an organization can grow on passion and fresh air," he says. "But once it's established it needs to be run by a person who is more forgiving, less demanding. I don't think I could be the CEO of a large company. I felt that the biggest obstacle to GiveIndia's future growth was me."

Whether or not that's correct, GiveIndia has continued to flourish under Venkat's successors. Meanwhile Venkat now spends much of his time promoting Daan Utsav or the Joy of Giving Week [see Reader's Digest, October 2014], a movement he started after leaving GiveIndia.

I'M IN THE home of Arbaz Haseeb Quarasshi, an 18-year-old whose kidneys have stopped functioning and whose life depends on getting dialysis twice a week. Each dialysis costs Rs550, but his father, a zari worker, earns only Rs6000 a month to support a family of five. I'd recently got an e-mail from GiveIndia stating that the Rs4400 I'd donated a few months earlier had been used to pay for about eight of Arbaz's dialyses. Arbaz, who has just returned home from the hospital after a dialysis session, looks pale and small for his age. But he's in good spirits and sports a jaunty blue bandana around his neck to hide a surgically created fistula through which he receives dialysis. As he chatters away, I ask him what he would do if he could go back to school. "Study hard," he says. "Learn all I can." What more can any donor want?