Three Marketeers Page 2

  He performed a neck exercise thinking of a suitable answer. It was solely his decision to come to India, but Ira hardly ever complained. ‘Need a few weeks to wind up the company. Have to make and collect payments. I also have to look for a buyer,’ he answered in one breath.

  ‘You’ve decided to sell the company?’

  ‘That’s all I can do to recoup a part of the losses.’ Rishi looked at the laptop screen—not a single relevant result. He guessed the company must have withdrawn the ads. ‘Can you pass my phone?’

  Not able to get his full attention, Ira slithered out of the bed and picked up his phone from the table. She punched his thigh and handed him his handset.

  ‘Ouch!’ He recoiled.

  Ira lolled out her tongue and wrinkled up her nose at him. He wrapped his arm round her supple waist, drawing it near his ruddy face. Dimples appeared in her cheeks. Affectionately, she ran her hand through his dark brown hair and slipped out of his embrace. It was salsa time.

  Rishi scrolled through the contact list and dialled.

  ‘Hey, Rishi,’ spoke Karan Jaani from the other end.

  ‘Hope you weren’t sleeping.’

  ‘Oh, I woke up early.’

  ‘Can we meet again?’ asked Rishi.

  Out of all the people Karan had met in the past month, Rishi was among the few who called for a second meeting and the only one Karan wanted to meet again.

  ‘Sure. Anything in particular?’ He faked indifference.

  ‘It’s concerning your business plan.’

  ‘Oh, the business plan.’ Karan maintained the casual tone. ‘Sure. When?’

  ‘Today? Six in the evening?’

  ‘Where?’ It was difficult not to sound excited.

  ‘Café Coffee Day, Hauz Khas?’

  ‘Coffee, huh? Sounds good. Will be there.’

  That evening, Rishi was late for the meeting, as he had to spend some time trying to convince Ira that not everyone who proposed a business plan at a bar was a conman.

  4

  ‘I’m not interested! You understand?’ screamed a store owner.

  ‘But … there’s a new scheme our company has launched,’ Vidu tried to reason out.

  ‘Scheme?’ the ferocious retailer sneered, placing his spongy palms on the counter. ‘Aren’t all of you a bunch of schemers anyway?’

  Vidu Nandi, sales executive of V.V. India Private Limited, was getting his daily dose of humiliation in the field. He looked at the customers in the utility store. They were watching. Why do they always have to be around when a shopkeeper pulls my pants down? he thought. The obese retailer resumed typing on his keyboard, billing the customers. Vidu waited for the man to shoot another glance at him so that he could continue with his sales pitch. No matter how much he hated his job, he always performed his field duties honestly, diligently, and patiently.

  ‘Anything else?’ the retailer growled.

  Vidu was undeterred. ‘The scheme—’

  ‘Guard!’ the retailer called a uniformed man standing at the door, who leapt up to the counter like a genie. That meant, ‘Throw the nuisance out of my store’, which was the final signal for the sales executive to leave. As Vidu turned to leave, the shopkeeper warned, ‘And don’t you come again. Your soaps stink like rat poison. Go tell your bosses.’

  Vidu walked to an old and battered Tata Ace loaded with cartons of unsold soaps and other toiletries. The driver leered at him and turned the ignition on for the next market. In the heat of the summer afternoon, Vidu tied his helmet, mounted his old Yamaha, and rode out of the crowded Laxmi Nagar market.

  In the evening, he reached his office—the Regional Sales Office—in Nehru Place and, as always, dropped into his chair. He looked like a beaten athlete—face glistening with sweat, chest heaving, and mouth open. He could feel the sweat coursing down his body. The puff he started his day with was now a sticky net of hair that clung to his scalp.

  It was a single-floor office with cubicles everywhere. Other sales executives, who returned from the field, also sagged in their chairs. A few were typing their reports, others were staring at their computer screens—excel sheets were open—faking serious concern as to why the sales volumes would not increase.

  Shekhar Manocha, the area sales manager, or ASM, of East Delhi, who was Vidu’s supervisor, came around. ‘How much today?’ he asked. Shekhar was not a happy manager.

  ‘Not much,’ replied Vidu, stroking his goatee.

  Shekhar tilted his head. ‘Not much means?’

  Vidu snorted. ‘Not much means not much.’

  A few employees around stopped doing what they were doing.

  The ASM stared at Vidu, thinking of the best possible way to pummel him. ‘Can we talk?’ he said and strode away.

  Vidu laughed insolently as his colleagues tried understanding his odd behaviour.

  ‘You coming or not, CEO?’ shouted Shekhar from his corner desk.

  Vidu got up and marched to him.

  Shekhar was on his feet, hands akimbo. ‘Have you mailed me today’s report?’

  ‘Nope, I have not mailed you today’s report, and screaming won’t help you build a market share.’ Vidu stood with his arms folded, a shoulder resting against the wooden panel of the cubicle.

  Shekhar felt a surge of blood within his body. He sat down in his chair. ‘Your field performance has been a horrible show. Do you—’

  ‘Horrible show?’ Vidu reacted as if he heard something very confusing. ‘Listen to this.’ He turned to the others in the office. ‘The company launches ill-fated products and expects us to make a monster sale every day.’ There were sniggers. He placed his hands on his supervisor’s desk, and added, ‘And you have the nerve to blame your team?’

  Shekhar was sure Vidu had decided to quit. He should have sensed it earlier. He had to douse the fire now. ‘Vidu. Sit, sit.’

  Vidu glared at him and pulled a chair. ‘There’s a love message for you from Kapoor Utility Store. Wanna hear?’

  Shekhar took a deep breath. ‘Go ahead.’ He could quite guess the kind of message it would be.

  ‘The retailer has asked me to inform you that your bathing soaps stink like rat poison. Want me to call him … in case you think I’m fibbing?’

  ‘I know you don’t fib.’

  Vidu fluffed his hair a little. Then he took out of his pocket a folded sheet of paper, unfolded it, and tossed it towards his boss.

  Shekhar was losing the best sales executive in his team. He read the handwritten resignation letter:

  Shekhar Manocha

  Area Sales Manager

  V.V. India Ltd

  Regional Sales Office

  Nehru Place

  New Delhi

  May 31, 2013

  Dear Shekhar,

  I am resigning from my services at V.V. India Limited, New Delhi w.e.f. June 1, 2013, as I am finding it increasingly difficult to work under undue pressure from your side.

  I look forward to a smooth clearance and relieving on an immediate basis.

  Thanks & regards

  Vidu Nandi

  Sales Executive, V.V. India Limited

  The ASM concealed his frustration. ‘Hey, Vidu, there’s nothing that can’t be resolved. I think you’ve got it all wrong.’ He slid the letter towards Vidu.

  ‘I am not taking it back.’

  It was quarter to eight in the evening and, for a change, leaving late for the day wasn’t a bad idea for most employees.

  Helpless, the boss reclined in his chair, shifting his eyes from cubicle to cubicle. ‘Do one thing, write it in our official format, and use the standard language.’ He tried to mitigate his loss.

  ‘What’s wrong with the language?’

  ‘It’s your reason to resign,’ said Shekhar casually. Anger was building up, though. ‘You can mention a personal reason.’

  ‘But there is no personal reason. That’s my reason.’ Vidu leaned forward and placed a finger on the letter.

  ‘Hey, lose that smartness. What if
the company terminates you for misconduct? Do you understand the repercussions?’

  ‘Misconduct? Termination?’ Vidu behaved as if the ASM had said something very ridiculous. ‘Go ahead, boss.’

  ‘Vidu …’

  ‘If you think a termination letter satisfies your injured ego, serve me one. That would go in my favour anyway. A sales officer is fired because he couldn’t sell stinky soaps? I am confident that would make a great case in court.’

  Shekhar shuddered. It’s going too far, he thought. The best way to end it is to accept it the way it is and let the pest go. Without wasting time, he signed the letter and wrote, ‘To be relieved immediately.’ ‘Forward it to the Personnel for clearance and,’ leaning forward, he said softly, ‘get out of here.’

  Vidu Nandi had shot a wild boar in its head. That evening, he walked out of his office like a man freed from prison.

  The next morning, inside her small cabin, Sameera Bali went through the resumes of candidates called for interview that day. Positions had to be filled and finding the right candidate was a challenge. She had to conduct the second round now. The first round was telephonic, in which her direct reports had shortlisted candidates on general-fitment.

  Sameera was the HR manager at the Mayford Ritz Hotel in Connaught Place, New Delhi. She was a twenty-seven-year-old woman and a typical HR employee—non-controversial and resourceful. She had been with the hotel for more than two years and looked forward to spending a few more. Sameera belonged to Chandigarh and loved every moment of her independence in Delhi.

  Just when she was about to call in her reports for details about the candidates, Leena Goswami, the marketing manager of the hotel, entered her cabin.

  ‘Oh, Sameera.’ She sounded harried.

  ‘Hey,’ Sameera greeted her colleague, who was also a dear friend. ‘Everything okay?’

  Leena slumped into a chair. ‘It’s Vidu. He’s chucked his job again.’

  Leena’s boyfriend, Vidu Nandi, had been the cause of her dismay for quite some time. In their courtship of two and a half years, he had changed three jobs and this was the fourth one.

  ‘Oh, come on. He’ll get another one.’ Sameera tried to perk her up.

  ‘Another one? No, darling, it’s a different story this time,’ squealed Leena.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The idiot says he doesn’t want another one.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a new one.’ Sameera glanced at her laptop screen. There was an email from her boss asking for the interview schedule.

  She had always been a frank adviser to Leena on various matters, including the lecherous intentions of their boss. The two reported to the same person. Sameera, however, felt that her advice on matters related to him always went unheeded.

  ‘Only he knows what he’s up to!’ whined Leena, touching her forehead in anguish. Her long reddish-brown hair, neatly tied in a suede holder, slithered to one side of her back as she moved.

  ‘Did you speak to him about it?’

  ‘I did. He says he wants to be an entrepreneur. God, I feel like …’ She breathed heavily.

  ‘What’s the harm, Leena, in being one?’

  ‘Harm? Does that twit even know what the word means? I want you to help me take a decision,’ said Leena, controlling her anger.

  ‘What decision?’

  ‘Yesterday, I advised him to apply for jobs. If he doesn’t do that, it’s over with him. Can’t spend the rest of my life with a man who can’t handle a career.’

  ‘You’ll hurt yourself, sweetie.’

  ‘I’ll get over it.’ She looked away.

  ‘What business does he want to do?’

  ‘The loser says he—’

  ‘Leena, have you stopped loving him already? Give him a chance.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. But damn it, imagine venturing on a new career when you are twenty-nine. That too when you’ve committed yourself to a relationship. Aren’t my folks gonna oppose my marrying a jobless man?’

  ‘I suggest you discuss the matter with him patiently. Find out what his plans are before you take a decision. I bet you’ll end up not breaking up with him.’

  Leena brooded over that. Then in a determined tone, she said, ‘I’m going to speak to him again and will try to get him off the entrepreneurial plane he’s flying. He’ll have to find a stable job if he wants me in his life. A man with an unsteady career makes a horrible hubby.’

  5

  ‘Someone’s working very hard, hmm? Saturdays too?’ Karan unlocked his door as Sameera Bali, his new neighbour, appeared on the stairs, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Interviews. Most candidates want to come on Saturdays.’

  Karan had a meeting with an investor and it did not go too well. The investor needed details he did not have. ‘Coffee?’ he asked her as she turned a key in her door. He did not get a response. ‘Hellou,’ he said.

  ‘Ya?’

  ‘Come over, I’ll serve you a stimulating cappuccino.’

  ‘Thanks, but I am tired.’

  ‘Good reason to have a cuppa.’

  Sameera changed into a magenta top and a pair of jeggings, and fifteen minutes later, she was in his study. She sat in front of a rack that contained novels by Dan Brown, Vikram Seth, and David Baldacci among others; books on brand management, advertising, and tennis; and stacks of DVDs and CDs—Sonu Nigam and Coldplay seemed to be his favourites.

  Karan entered the study holding two mugs.

  ‘Thanks.’ She picked up one of them. ‘You have a great study.’

  ‘Oh, it’s my little den.’

  ‘Cosy one too.’

  He lowered himself into a chair. ‘This small space is where I feel closest to myself … where I can put my feet up and think with a cool head.’

  ‘Mmhmm.’

  ‘So Mayford is the lucky place, huh?’ he flirted, taking a close look at her—unblemished skin, black almond eyes, and a perfect pair of lips.

  She smiled broadly.

  ‘A hotel is an interesting place,’ said Karan.

  ‘There are times when it gets on your nerves.’

  ‘Oh, that’s how it is in every industry. In my industry, everyone’s on the nerves of others—on a daily basis.’

  ‘You were with Festi. Right?’

  ‘How do you—’

  ‘Google.’

  ‘There you go. Background check before you dropped in?’ he teased.

  ‘Oh, come on. How do you know I work with Mayford?’

  ‘Your car sticker.’

  They laughed.

  Making conversation, Karan asked, ‘Is the hotel recruiting heavily these days?’

  ‘We need people. In my department itself, there are only three of us.’

  ‘No wonder you toil on Saturdays too. The worst part about being a manager is you have no one in the office you could open your heart to.’ He was finally able to divert his attention from her dense and shiny black hair—wavy at the top and curly around her shoulders.

  ‘I agree. But I do have a good friend in Marketing.’

  ‘Great.’

  He told her about his business plan, wondering if she would be interested. But she listened intently. Then he told her about Rishi Verma and the meetings he had with him, the second one at CCD, Hauz Khas.

  In courteous reciprocation, Sameera told him more about her office, her small team, her work, and Leena Goswami and her boyfriend, who had developed an entrepreneurial instinct. She was dismayed about how serious relationships ended on trivial matters.

  Karan winced. ‘Everyone is an authority on the subject of love, Sameera. Even before we fall for someone, we form standards for our would-be partners to endure. A slight deviation and we cry foul. But love is all about accepting the unexpected,’ he professed.

  ‘Wow, you’re one hell of a thinker.’

  ‘A chronic one,’ he said. ‘So what’s your colleague’s boyfriend doing at present?’

  ‘I’m not aware, Karan. As I told you, Le
ena broke up with him a day after he resigned. That was the last time she talked to me about him.’

  Karan was quiet for a while. Then he asked, ‘Can you do me a favour? What’s his name?’

  ‘Vidu Nandi.’

  ‘Vidu Nandi. Can you ask him to call me? I’m looking for people.’

  ‘I’ll try. Give me your number.’ Sameera put her phone screen on and Karan gave his number to her. ‘What do I tell him?’ she asked, saving the number.

  ‘Tell him if he sincerely fantasises about making it big in business, this is his chance.’

  Sameera had only briefly met Vidu a couple of times earlier, when he would come to the hotel to pick up Leena in the evenings. Sameera felt sad for him. An unsteady career shouldn’t be the reason to lose in love, she thought, and decided to help him. The next morning, she took out his business card from her drawer and called him.

  ‘I’m Sameera Bali, Leena Goswami’s colleague from Mayford Ritz. Hope you’ve recognised me.’

  ‘Uh, what now?’ spoke Vidu.

  ‘And Leena doesn’t know we are talking.’

  ‘About what? Missiles?’

  ‘You were planning to be on your own. Have you thought of something?’

  ‘I am on my own already. It’s me and my life and nothing in between. Hasn’t she asked you to find out what I’m up to?’

  Sameera was a patient woman. ‘No, she hasn’t. As I said, she is not even aware we are talking. Actually, Vidu, I met a person who could be of some help to you in—’

  ‘Listen, woman, I’m not interested in doing hilarious jobs anymore and would rather stay unemployed than serve those swindlers.’

  ‘You misunderstand me. It’s a business opportunity. The person I’m talking about has a plan and is looking for someone who could join him.’

  ‘Business opportunity’ sounded more like multi-level marketing to Vidu.

  ‘Hello. You there?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you informed this contact of yours about my current status?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ There was silence at the other end. ‘Hello?’