Three Marketeers

  To

  Molli and Anshumaan

  …And in memory of my father,

  K.L. Sharma, and my sister, Preeti Sharma

  Life is short. Dream, act and rejoice. There isn’t a better way.

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  PART TWO

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  PART THREE

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  THE NEXT SIX MONTHS

  54

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  PART ONE

  1

  Gurgaon.

  ‘You shouldn’t have aired these inflammatory advertisements,’ said Ramesh Choksi, the marketing director of Festi Beverages, angrily.

  ‘The campaign is not at all inflammatory,’ said Karan Jaani. ‘We’ve just launched it. Soon—’

  ‘Oh, shut up. Protesters have broken every one of our bottles they could lay their hands on. Worst of all, retailers are shunning our brands too. Have you looked at last week’s sales figures?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘You have ruined our image in the market.’

  ‘I disagree with your accusations. It’s just an initial outcry. Consider the bigger—’

  ‘Jaani …’

  ‘Let me finish,’ said Karan. ‘Consider the bigger picture. The campaign has created enough awareness about the issue. Today, there may be a negative reaction but tomorrow, we’ll be appreciated for having, at least, raised our voice. Besides, you had always agreed to the idea. Why now—’

  ‘Jaani, leave,’ ordered Choksi.

  ‘I haven’t yet—’

  ‘Jaani, the HR will have a word with you.’

  The next day, The Economic Times reported:

  FESTI BEVERAGES SACKS ITS BRAND MANAGER

  Festi Beverages has sacked Karan Jaani, the brand manager of Festi Cola, even as it withdrew its controversial television commercials after the intervention of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting.

  The ad campaign for Festi Cola, comprising three TV commercials launched early last month, caused violence in the rural areas of Haryana, Punjab, Uttar Pradesh, and Rajasthan. The commercials communicated a common message to the rural youth: unite against honour killing.

  In its first two weeks, the campaign, which also went viral on the web, had a positive effect in these states as it had in other parts of the country. The young audience appreciated the social initiative taken up by the company to rid rural India of the evil. However, in the last week of the month, the excitement around it ended when certain sections of the population in Haryana questioned its righteousness. They accused the MNC of airing anti-cultural messages. The situation turned violent in a village in the Hissar district when a large group of men, armed with lathis, attacked a youth rally that was raising slogans against honour killing. Many young men and women in the rally were seriously injured. This provoked more such incidents in other villages in the state and later, in the neighbouring states. The so-called custodians of Indian culture vandalised the shops selling Festi’s beverages and destroyed thousands of bottles and cans in protest. The beverage major has been at the receiving end of countrywide public castigation, that it flared up a sensitive matter to get the attention of its young and gullible audience.

  Ramesh Choksi, the marketing director of the company, stated that their objective was not to offend anyone or any section of the populace of India. He said the company would soon publish a public apology in all leading newspapers.

  2

  One month later.

  Delhi.

  ‘So, what do you do, Rishi?’ asked Karan, once again trying to start a conversation with the quiet man sitting next to him.

  ‘Well, I am … an entrepreneur.’ Was, he thought. Rishi Verma couldn’t recall the last time he had talked to a stranger. He looked at Karan—hooded eyes, cleft chin, thick and silky hair, and a no-surrender expression on the slim and unshaven face.

  Karan placed his whisky glass on the counter after taking a sip. ‘What kind of entrepreneur?’

  ‘I own a software firm.’ Owned, he thought.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘I shut it down today,’ said Rishi.

  ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Take it easy. I am no small loser myself,’ said Karan, and adjusted his long and lean body on the stool.

  The bartender knew what his regular one-month-old customer’s words would be to yet another stranger this evening.

  Karan took another sip. ‘A month ago, I was fired from my job at Festi Beverages.’ He grinned and the bartender shook his head.

  ‘My turn to say fantastic. What happened?’ asked Rishi.

  ‘Was a brand manager there and aired a few commercials in public interest. Forget it. I’m happy not working with them. You tell me.’

  ‘Was a project manager with a leading tech company in the US before I moved back to Delhi.’

  ‘So—’

  ‘Why did I come back?’ Rishi sighed. ‘There I was, just a component at work. I wanted to be an instrument … and thought I could be one in India.’

  ‘Where was your company here?’

  ‘It’s in Noida. I mean, was in Noida.’ Rishi took a long swig of his beer and placed the mug on the counter.

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘HR problems, poor quality of delivery, not a single international project …’ Then he told his story.

  Two years ago, Rishi Verma quit his job in Boston, USA, a job that had given him an apartment in the outskirts of the city and memberships of fine clubs. He returned to India and started his own technology company in Noida, the satellite city of Delhi. He earned a maintenance project from an old American client and so, the operations started with four software developers and three others in Business Development and Human Resources.

  ‘Nothing went right,’ said Rishi. ‘I had a tiring experience retaining people. Despite offering them salaries they asked for, not even one would stay for more than a few months.’

  ‘Story of every start-up in India.’

  ‘A year later, my American client withdrew its project as swiftly as it had awarded it. I failed to acquire more international business. I did get a few low-value projects from some Indian firms, but the earnings could barely cover salaries.’

  ‘End of the story …'

  ‘Eleven months later, that is today, I shut down my company.’

  ‘It must have been tough.’

  ‘Climbing to the top of Mt Everest would be easier.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Thirty-one,’ replied Rishi.

  ‘What’s next?’

  ‘I have two options now: fly back to Boston or find a job here.’

/>   ‘And often, there emerges a third option.’

  The bartender served them their drinks one more time.

  It was 11.15 p.m. and more than half the patrons in the bar had left. The place was less noisy and Rishi felt better.

  ‘I have a plan,’ said Karan.

  ‘Plan?’ asked Rishi.

  ‘A business plan.’

  ‘After what you’ve told me about yourself, you think I’d relish it?’

  ‘The entrepreneur in you would.’

  ‘Brand man, if it’s bagfuls of American dollars you’re looking for here, you’re wasting your time. I drowned every penny I had in my business.’

  ‘Just—’

  ‘I don’t even know you. What’s more, both of us are drunk. Wait till the morning and you won’t remember if it was me or you who wanted to speak of a plan.’

  ‘Come on, a few lagers can’t smash you. Not after what you’ve been through today.’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me,’ said Rishi. What a persuasive man. He gave up. ‘All right, shoot, and kick my knee if I fall asleep.’

  ‘Bet you won’t need it.’ Karan drank some more whisky. In the past one month, he had talked to many men at the bar about the plan that had been germinating in his mind since the day he was sacked. Either he received an impatient hearing or he was stopped short in his narration. This evening, he had another chance.

  ‘There is a carbonated drink manufacturer and marketer,’ said Karan. ‘His name is Gul Manwani and he is the owner of a small company called Manwani Beverages in Okhla, Delhi, with a 70 per cent stake in it. His brand is Yodel and it has three flavours: cola, lemon, and orange, all for the local market.’

  ‘You plan to buy the damn company?’

  ‘It’s an Exclusive Sales and Marketing Rights Agreement I want to sign with Manwani Beverages. I have tasted the drinks. The flavours and quality are excellent. In addition, the company complies with the regulatory bodies like FSSAI and the laws in India. Manwani started this business seven years ago, but somehow, he hasn’t been able to snatch a significant share in the market. Until a couple of years ago, he was hopeful of turning it into a profitable venture, but of late, Yodel has kind of vanished from the market as the retailers aren’t accepting it any longer. The—’

  ‘Hey, can you cut the saga short?’ interrupted Rishi, checking his watch.

  ‘Patience, IT boy. I’m trying to make a point here,’ said Karan, his look intense. ‘The man has held senior positions at major beverage companies, including Festi Beverages and Crown Cola. With us—I mean, with Festi—he worked for four years at its Pune plant and was the vice president of Manufacturing when he moved on to join Crown Cola. But that was long before I joined Festi.’

  ‘Which means you never met him.’

  ‘No, I never met him,’ replied Karan. ‘Crown Cola was the last company where he worked as an employee. There, he held key positions in Manufacturing, Quality Assurance, and Research and Development across Chennai, Mumbai, Tokyo, and Melbourne for over twelve years until he quit for his second innings—his own beverage business. He is recognised as an ace in his field, yet he’s in a fix.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Although he has set up the manufacturing and bottling processes, marketing is where he’s faltering. He has done nothing in seven years to make his brand stand out in the clutter. That’s tragic, considering the industry trends. He hasn’t been able to find the right people … who can cause a blitzkrieg in the market,’ said Karan, snapping his fingers. ‘Fighting big players like Festi and Crown has been a back-breaking experience for him. I’ve learnt he has borrowed enormous amounts from financial houses and is now under pressure. Of late, it seems, he has discovered his faults. The production manager of his company has informed me that Manwani, without making it public, is looking for a sales and marketing partner and wants to sell the rights at a price he hasn’t divulged so far. He wants a partner who can invest an undisclosed amount as capital in his company and become a shareholder.’

  Rishi finished his beer. ‘What makes you think he’d want you as a partner and shareholder?’

  Sitting upright on the tall stool, Karan ran a hand through his hair. ‘That’s where the action begins.’

  ‘Is Delhi his only market?’

  ‘He is a local player. Couldn’t expand.’

  ‘What gives him the feeling that he has to fight the two biggies, Festi and Crown, to survive? His competitors are those small companies selling substandard drinks in the local market. Someone needs to tell him that.’ The entrepreneur in Rishi Verma came back to life.

  ‘I never said the local companies are not his competitors, but in many ways, he is way ahead of them in the market. Yet, he has not been profitable in the recent past, as his costs have shot up. Manwani is a professional operator, offering quality through his certified processes. To be profitable, he not only has to increase the price but also has to bite into the shares of the two biggies. Having worked with Festi, I believe his brand could become a threat to them, provided someone lends him a helping hand in marketing.’

  ‘You think that hand would be yours, huh?’

  ‘Oh, I sincerely think so.’ Karan grinned. ‘But before I even go and propose to him, I have to build a strong team. Almost everything rests on the team … because a business is like an automobile. Its people its wheels, their passion its fuel.’

  ‘Team … Of course,’ said Rishi. His mind went back to his sunken business. A strong team was what he could never build.

  He had lost a large amount of money. For the first time in his life, he was in a financial crisis.

  ‘You listening?’

  Rishi looked up. ‘I’m drunk … and so are you.’

  Karan ignored him and passionately talked at length about the scope of the beverage business, market potential, and opportunities. Then he finished what remained of his drink and flashed his glass to the bartender. ‘Last refills for us.’

  ‘God, no! I gotta go home,’ cried Rishi. It was midnight.

  ‘What’s the hurry? Wife’s gonna whip you?’ Karan cackled. Ignoring him, Rishi waved to the bartender for his bill. ‘All right,’ said Karan. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  They walked out of the bar exchanging their numbers.

  ‘So, IT boy, it was a great head-on,’ said Karan. ‘Hope we meet again. You take it easy.’

  As Rishi drove back home to Green Park in his Mitsubishi Pajero Sport, he couldn’t quite figure out if it was the drinks at the bar or the chat with Karan Jaani that made him feel better.

  Karan sat inside his Hyundai Accent, a used car, which he had bought a week ago after selling his Corolla Altis. He needed money.

  It took him twenty minutes to reach Vasant Kunj, drive into the car park, and brake near his building. From inside an apartment on the second floor, Sameera Bali peeked through a window. Her tipsy neighbour was back.

  3

  ‘Where were you last night?’ enquired Ira Bhat in her American accent, placing a coffee mug on the bedside table.

  ‘At a bar in Greater Kailash,’ replied Rishi. Lazily, he pulled himself up and adjusted a pillow behind his back. He glanced at the clock. It was 8.25 a.m. He was late for his workout this morning, a habit he had formed in good old America that rewarded him with a flat abdomen, bow-shaped shoulders, and a toned frame.

  Ira threw a contemptuous look at him. He had not even cared to change his clothes. She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Who were you with till 12.30 last night?’

  ‘Karan Jaani.’

  ‘Is he a friend?’

  ‘No. Met him for the first time last night. Was with Festi … and was fired recently.’

  ‘Great, that’s whom you needed in life,’ she taunted. ‘Isn’t it unusual? Someone like you spending hours with a stranger at a bar? And what was the topic of discussion? The great women of India?’

  ‘Oh, please, Ira.’ He grimaced.

  She clicked her tongue pitiably. ‘Keep a watch
on yourself, Mr Rishi Verma.’ She got up and went out of the room.

  Rishi reached for his laptop on the study table. He logged on to Google and typed ‘karan jani’ in the search box. Within seconds, the search engine threw back many results. After surfing through a few, he came across a link, ‘Marketers of India’, and clicked on it. A well-designed site opened up. The content of the page was titled, ‘Festi’s Controversial Campaign’. Eagerly, he clicked on it and the screen turned white.

  ‘More coffee?’ Ira’s voice floated into the room.

  ‘Ya.’

  Within seconds, the page opened. Rishi read about the ad campaign against honour killing, the controversy, violence in the rural areas, and Karan Jaani’s ouster from Festi Beverages. ‘Oh, when did all this happen?’ he mumbled and clicked on the brand manager’s name to learn more. He read that Karan was a thirty-year-old marketing professional who was with Festi for five years. Earlier, he was with a snack food company in Mumbai for two years.

  Rishi’s live-in partner entered the room with another mug of coffee. Her pixie-cut hair, wet after a bath, was neatly slicked upwards. Smelling like fresh flowers, in an off-white top and yoga pants, she was ready for the day.

  ‘Late for your studio today?’ asked Rishi, as he surfed for more information on Karan.

  ‘You didn’t wake me up,’ she complained, placing his coffee near him.

  Ira, a petite twenty-eight-year-old woman, was a salsa instructor and conducted her dance sessions on weekdays, an activity that killed her boredom. After she landed in India along with Rishi, she initially worked with a real estate company in Gurgaon, another satellite city of Delhi, but had to quit in a few weeks. As she was born and brought up in America, adapting to the Indian work culture was tough for her. It was on the advice of a neighbour that she decided to open a salsa studio in the basement of their building.

  ‘What time will you leave for office, or wherever?’ she asked.

  ‘Afternoon maybe.’ He moved a finger on the touchpad and typed ‘honour killing festi cola campaign’ in the YouTube search box.

  ‘Look at me.’ Ira sat beside him, stretched herself across the bed, and picked up a pillow. The movement caused her short top to slip up and show an ornate tattoo on her lower back—a dark green snake and an indigo peacock. ‘Rishi, I don’t intend to trouble you but what are your plans?’ she asked, placing the pillow on her lap.