Branson and his rocket

 

A few months ago, an Australian stand-up comedian who is beyond cure, told a small frigid gathering in Mumbai, "How can they call an airline Virgin. It's terrifying. You know what virgin means? Never done it before." He surveyed the room with a blank face and said, "I want my airline to be called Slut."

In the past, far more serious men have wondered if people will feel comfortable flying at nearly the speed of sound, 10 kilometres above the earth, in a pressurized metal capsule called Virgin. Especially if they knew that the airline is owned by one Richard Branson who has escaped death on several occasions while trying to set speed records in planes, balloons and boats. He rappels down buildings too, and has aborted at least one such attempt midway after a sudden backache that wise women will call ‘age'. Yet, thousands have paid him good money against a promise that in about three years he will send them to space. Over 60,000 people have registered with his Virgin Galactic, 200 of them have even paid the entire ticket price of $200,000. One man exchanged his Virgin Atlantic frequent-flier miles for his seat. They hope to leave a golden desert in California and shoot 100 kilometres into space. "They will return too," Branson says, "Virgin Galactic is not where you send your mother-in-law on a one-way flight."

He is in his suite at the Hilton in Mumbai. Somewhere behind him, through the large indestructible glass window, I can see the Arabian Sea ablaze in the afternoon sun. Some people are hovering around in the room, one of them is his blonde secretary whose stretch pants seem aghast at the tightness of it all. And she sounds like a man.

Branson looks pensive and unremarkable. Even mature. But the folklore around him is inescapable. A 57-year-old Englishman who is believed to be worth about $8 billion; head of an empire that is involved in aviation, rail, energy, telephony, condoms, pickles and leisure, who famously said that he did not know the difference between net and gross; once a lover of many; a rare celebrity who has featured in a list of Britain's most beloved and also the most hated; a spectacle whose autobiography is foolishly called Losing My Virginity, and more admirably, a man whom Donald Trump hates for reasons other than the fact that Branson has hair. "I don't believe he is a billionaire," Trump once said. Nobody believes that about Trump, either.

In the opulent suite, Branson tries to be polite and measured but he is evidently tired. That morning he had strung himself 20 floors above the ground and glided down to launch Virgin Mobile in India. He was in a few meetings after that, all vouchsafed with stringent time slots by his assistants. But he was five minutes late for this interview because Sameera Reddy, the buoyant nymph, had spotted him in the hotel and had wanted a chat.

Branson readily admits that his flamboyance endangers the image of Virgin as one of the most respected brands in modern times. He looks at the floor and chuckles as he remembers the day when his balloon crashed into the Pacific. "We took out full page ads in newspapers that said, ‘Next time, Richard, take the plane." (Strangely, in an interview to the New Yorker he had said that the wording of the ad was, ‘Come on, Richard, there are better ways of crossing the Atlantic'.)

"In this time and age, the things I do," he says, "is achro...anarcho...sorry... anachronistic. Actually, I am dyslexic." Taare Zameen Par missed this one. He is overtly embarrassed by the ordeal of pronouncing anachronistic. This shy face of Branson, so different from the image he has often tried to portray, this boyish sheepish face, I have seen before from as close.

Just over two years ago, his executives had agreed to play a cricket match with Mumbai's press club team. Branson arrived on the Oval Maidan flanked by a dozen white girls, all dressed in Virgin Atlantic's cabin crew uniform. They walked like doe. When Branson eventually got ready to bat there was a feeling that we will not measure up. The rumour was that the backyard of one of his homes was a cricket field complete with a pitch and all that. But he was bowled by the first ball. Since it was Richard, the umpire smiled kindly and called the delivery a no-ball. The second ball was slow. Branson was bowled again. He was bowled by the third ball too. I was at the Third Man position and as he walked back, I saw his face clearly. Beaming but demolished by embarrassment. However, for a man who did not know how to bat, he got a lot of publicity for playing cricket in Mumbai. He didn't field even.

"I am actually very shy," Branson says, "I was incapable of delivering a public speech until I was 25. Now I make half a million for just talking for charity. Not bad, eh? But I am still shy." Yet, he has received media space worth millions of dollars through relentless stunts. Once when British Airways, his bitter aviation rival, offloaded him from a flight, he held a press conference in the airport and made it a huge media event. British Airways was also involved in spreading propaganda against him. When he sued and won £610, he distributed it among his employees as "BA bonus". On another occasion, when his flight was delayed and he had to hire a chartered plane for $2,000, he divided the cost by the number of seats and went around the airport with a board that said something like, "Virgin Atlantic: Beef Island to Puerto Rico for $39".

Branson, through the creation of Virgin Galactic, comes across as a visionary today. So far, only 450 humans have ever been to space, almost all of them professional astronauts. Branson says he will send thousands out there. But some observers have voiced the concern that Branson's interest in space tourism is merely another attempt to seek publicity if not for himself, for the Virgin group. With an investment of about $120 million, an amount that is not very distant from how much global firms spend on brand building, Branson has bought the tag of space pioneer. A steal. But he says, "I am truly very excited by space tourism. I believe that the future of mankind is in space. Virgin Galactic will send 50 people to space every month. I expect this number to grow." He also believes that the future of aviation itself is inextricably linked to suborbital space travel. "In just 10 years time if everything goes well," he says, a plane from New York will head to space and use the gravity of Earth to fling itself above Sydney. "If we can bring that kind of technology to aviation, New York to Sydney is possible in 30 minutes."

His involvement in environmental concerns too is bitterly suspected by environmentalists. They claim his interest is not genuine, that he merely wants to throw money to buy a halo. Throughout the interview Branson consciously attempts to veer the conversation towards environment. He reminds me that he has pledged $3 billion over the next 10 years to aid the research and development of cleaner fuels. He has also announced a $25 million prize for anyone who can find a way to remove carbon from the atmosphere.

"Increasingly, private enterprise is doing what governments used to do," he says, "Also, while the life of an average head of state is just a few years, a business chief can go on for decades. So companies are able to exhibit more stability than governments. But nothing can replace the good that an honest government can do."

It will be interesting to watch how Branson's future unfolds. Will his space tourism succeed? Will his billions clean the air? After all the publicity, if he fails to deliver then he will begin to feel as though the world has got a whiff of the liquid component of his SpaceShipOne's hybrid engine—compressed nitrous oxide, which is laughing gas of course.