ბოჭორმის ქ. #8, თბილისი, 0144
Ka ♦ En ♦ Ru

When asked what he hopes his epitaph will be, he pauses. The cafe hums with startup founders frantically pitching on Zoom calls.

“I lost everything—my savings, my marriage, my belief that hard work guaranteed anything,” he told me over coffee in Palo Alto. “But I gained the only thing that matters: the realization that most people in tech are solving the wrong problem. They optimize for speed. They should optimize for survival .”

In an ecosystem drunk on hyperbole—where twenty-two-year-olds in hoodies claim to be “disrupting the fabric of reality” before they’ve filed incorporation papers—B. S. Raghuvanshi is an anomaly. He doesn’t tweet. He doesn’t podcast. He has never posed with a hoodie pulled over a baseball cap. Instead, the 58-year-old managing partner of Equanimity Ventures wears pressed linen shirts, speaks in complete paragraphs, and has quietly delivered a 34% internal rate of return (IRR) over fifteen years.

It is, perhaps, the most radical venture capital thesis of all. B. S. Raghuvanshi’s Equanimity Ventures does not seek publicity. This article is based on interviews with six portfolio founders, three limited partners, and two hours with the man himself—the first long-form interview he has given in seven years.

“I don’t want to be the richest person in the cemetery,” he says. “And I certainly don’t want to be remembered for a hot IPO that cratered six months later.”

That insight became his investment thesis. While Sequoia and Andreessen Horowitz were chasing growth-at-all-costs, Raghuvanshi began writing small checks to “boring” infrastructure companies: supply chain logistics, industrial IoT, and B2B compliance software. In 2010, he launched Equanimity Ventures with $47 million from a handful of wealthy Indian families and ex-Sun colleagues. His first fund was considered embarrassingly conservative. He passed on Uber (“unregulated taxi service with a legal time bomb”), passed on Snapchat (“ephemeral messaging for teenagers is not a moat”), and passed on WeWork (“they sell office space wrapped in a cult”).

If Silicon Valley is a high school cafeteria, Raghuvanshi is the librarian: ignored by the jocks, respected by the few who know where the real secrets are buried. Born in Kanpur, India, in 1968, Raghuvanshi was the son of a railway engineer and a mathematics teacher. He arrived at Stanford in 1990 with $200 in his pocket and a Ph.D. in electrical engineering on his mind. What he found instead was a valley on the cusp of the internet boom.

Bs Raghuvanshi ★ Must Read

When asked what he hopes his epitaph will be, he pauses. The cafe hums with startup founders frantically pitching on Zoom calls.

“I lost everything—my savings, my marriage, my belief that hard work guaranteed anything,” he told me over coffee in Palo Alto. “But I gained the only thing that matters: the realization that most people in tech are solving the wrong problem. They optimize for speed. They should optimize for survival .” bs raghuvanshi

In an ecosystem drunk on hyperbole—where twenty-two-year-olds in hoodies claim to be “disrupting the fabric of reality” before they’ve filed incorporation papers—B. S. Raghuvanshi is an anomaly. He doesn’t tweet. He doesn’t podcast. He has never posed with a hoodie pulled over a baseball cap. Instead, the 58-year-old managing partner of Equanimity Ventures wears pressed linen shirts, speaks in complete paragraphs, and has quietly delivered a 34% internal rate of return (IRR) over fifteen years. When asked what he hopes his epitaph will be, he pauses

It is, perhaps, the most radical venture capital thesis of all. B. S. Raghuvanshi’s Equanimity Ventures does not seek publicity. This article is based on interviews with six portfolio founders, three limited partners, and two hours with the man himself—the first long-form interview he has given in seven years. “But I gained the only thing that matters:

“I don’t want to be the richest person in the cemetery,” he says. “And I certainly don’t want to be remembered for a hot IPO that cratered six months later.”

That insight became his investment thesis. While Sequoia and Andreessen Horowitz were chasing growth-at-all-costs, Raghuvanshi began writing small checks to “boring” infrastructure companies: supply chain logistics, industrial IoT, and B2B compliance software. In 2010, he launched Equanimity Ventures with $47 million from a handful of wealthy Indian families and ex-Sun colleagues. His first fund was considered embarrassingly conservative. He passed on Uber (“unregulated taxi service with a legal time bomb”), passed on Snapchat (“ephemeral messaging for teenagers is not a moat”), and passed on WeWork (“they sell office space wrapped in a cult”).

If Silicon Valley is a high school cafeteria, Raghuvanshi is the librarian: ignored by the jocks, respected by the few who know where the real secrets are buried. Born in Kanpur, India, in 1968, Raghuvanshi was the son of a railway engineer and a mathematics teacher. He arrived at Stanford in 1990 with $200 in his pocket and a Ph.D. in electrical engineering on his mind. What he found instead was a valley on the cusp of the internet boom.

ბრენდები