Three Marketeers Read online

  ‘Am here,’ he said faintly.

  ‘What’re you thinking?’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Karan Jaani.’

  ‘Karan what?’

  ‘Jaani.’

  ‘Sounds like a ranch owner’s name.’

  ‘Seems you’re not interested.’

  ‘What’s his business?’

  ‘I don’t have the details. If you are—’

  ‘Anyway, gimme his number. I’ll see how I can help him.’

  Karan was not wrong when he had told Rishi Verma at the bar that often there emerged a third option. Ten days after their meeting at CCD, Hauz Khas, he received a call from Rishi, who informed that he wanted to join him in his business plan. It was not the plan itself but the vigour of the plan maker that encouraged Rishi to go ahead.

  However, he did carry out his research on Manwani Beverages before doing so. Along with Karan, he had met the production manager at the plant, who once worked with Festi and was known to Karan. The manager shared with them that, in his entire career, if he had committed one mistake, it was quitting Festi. Had the manager not been distraught about not getting a pay raise even once since he joined Manwani Beverages, he would not have personally delivered—to Karan’s home—dockets, brochures, and CDs on the company’s products, operations, finance, and marketing and promotional expenditures incurred in the previous years. The manager also promised to have a meeting scheduled for them with his boss, Gul Manwani. Rishi had spent a week analysing the data before agreeing to Karan’s plan.

  Much had to be done before they could meet Manwani to propose an Exclusive Sales and Marketing Rights Agreement with his company. The manufacturer would not appreciate sketchy proposals. Moreover, Karan needed at least one more member on board.

  A few days after speaking to Sameera on the phone, Vidu rang up Karan Jaani. The conversation was crisp. Vidu briefed him on his background and experience. Karan gave a whiff of his plan and invited him to dinner at Rishi Verma’s house that weekend. ‘If we join hands, you’ll be a co-promoter in my business,’ said Karan.

  Despite all misgivings, Vidu Nandi did not decline the invitation. Wearing a rugby shirt, cargos, plimsolls, and a confident look, he reached the meeting place. Karan and Rishi received him as though he were an important client.

  Ira Bhat welcomed the guests. She had gradually come around to accepting the fact that Rishi was moving his oars in uncharted waters. ‘I hope this meeting results in a long-term association,’ she said. ‘And while you talk business, don’t forget to treat yourselves to my delicacies.’

  ‘Thanks, Ira,’ said Karan. ‘But don’t bother. We don’t want the beautiful lady to sweat it out in the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine, Karan, thank you.’ She blushed. ‘Have a nice evening, all of you.’ She turned and left.

  Rishi fixed his favourite, Jack Daniels, for all.

  Vidu observed Karan, whose demeanour told him he was the mastermind—someone who could never be outwitted. In his black-bordered turquoise tee, Karan looked like a rogue footballer to him. Rishi, he surmised, was a person who would prefer to talk less.

  Rishi shifted back into the high-backed Yuba chair. ‘Vidu, I hope you are broadly aware why you are here.’

  ‘Sort of. Karan did tell me briefly on the phone.’

  Ira came with a tray in each hand and served meatballs, chicken fingers, French fries, and nachos before going back.

  ‘All right.’ Rishi clapped his hands once, as though he were about to start a round of Blackjack. ‘Where do you stay, Vidu?’

  ‘Noida.’

  ‘You’re single?’

  ‘Single as a lamp post.’ He whisked away a thought of Leena.

  ‘We’ll first talk about ourselves, and then the business opportunity.’

  ‘Sounds good. You have an opportunity and I have ambition.’

  Rishi drank from his glass. ‘Tell us about your work experience.’

  ‘One second.’ Vidu took out from his folder a copy of his resume and handed it to him.

  Karan, sitting opposite them, regarded Vidu—a square face, a broad nose, hair with a puff at the top, and a goatee trimmed thin. Quite a chaotic countenance, he thought. ‘Let me recall the brief conversation we had on the phone the other day and let’s take it from there,’ said Karan. ‘You have six years of work experience in the consumer goods industry. You have worked with eight companies in these years. The last organisation where you worked was V.V. India. Now, you want to be an entrepreneur.’ Karan glanced at Rishi, who was listening and, at the same time, reading every word of the candidate’s resume.

  ‘Vidu,’ continued Karan, ‘two questions come to my mind: one, why such a flux in your career? And two, why this decision to be an entrepreneur?’

  Rishi looked up and said, ‘Before you answer the questions, Vidu, always remember, an entrepreneur is someone who is the king of his business one day and its slave the next.’

  Vidu smirked. ‘Answer to question number one, Karan.’ He raised his forefinger. ‘In any industry, it’s your initial years that lay down your career track. If you are placed in a big or stable house, you’re made for life, unless you turn out to be a useless ass and have yourself hurled out.’ Vidu sipped his drink. Karan and Rishi exchanged looks. ‘On the other hand,’ he continued, ‘if you end up doing your first job with a shady company, you get stuck in the mire for the rest of your life.’ He paused. ‘Quite like those unfortunate fish in there.’ He pointed to a large and bright aquarium, which adorned the dining area of the living room. ‘I was like them, sludge everywhere and nowhere to go.’

  Rishi did not appreciate the analogy.

  ‘Every time I changed my job, nothing else changed—similar profile demanding of me to sell sleazy products, same level of incompetence and insecurity in the new boss, and same level of dressing down in the market. I spent six gruelling years selling cheap soaps, shampoos, gas lighters, spices, ketchups, wall clocks, and hosiery.’ Vidu squinted at his drink. It’s unusually smooth and tastes so different. Rishi and Karan waited to hear more. ‘Now your second question. Why do I wanna be an entrepreneur?’ he said. ‘I won’t lie to impress you by saying how I always wanted to have my own biz, blah, blah, blah. Honestly speaking, I’m sick of working with these dark companies. No good organisation will ever hire me now, as the stench of the rotten products I have been selling refuses to leave my body. But if I were given a chance by the leading ones, I would make the sales curves rupture their ceilings. I’m sure they’ll never give me one. So, the only way out for me is entrepreneurship. Call it escapism, if you want. That’s my answer to question number two, Karan. And Rishi, I’d rather be a slave as an entrepreneur than one as an employee.’ He drank, closing his eyes.

  Rishi picked at a chicken finger and bit into it. ‘That’s good escapism,’ he said. ‘You have anything in mind?’

  ‘You guys have a plan, don’t you?’ Vidu was flummoxed.

  Rishi chortled. ‘We do. Let me, first, tell you about Karan and myself. The business plan that we’re going to discuss is his.’ He pointed to Karan. ‘Like you, he too was into consumer goods, more precisely, the fast-moving consumer goods industry for about seven years. Festi Beverages was the last company he worked with.’

  ‘Got fired from there?’

  Karan liked the audacity. ‘Fired is the word,’ he said, as Rishi shook his head.

  ‘And why did they have to do that?’

  Karan answered Vidu’s question without a change of expression. ‘I took some advertising decisions that the management thought were wrong.’

  ‘What decisions?’

  ‘Can you recall the Festi Cola commercials against honour killing?’

  ‘Honour killing? You mean the ads that caused violence in Haryana and other states?’

  ‘Exactly. That campaign was my idea,’ said Karan.

  ‘When I first watched one of those commercials, my reaction was like—what madness,’ said Vidu.
/>   ‘Rishi, why don’t you tell him about your own escapades?’ Karan helped himself to nachos and meatballs.

  Rishi told Vidu in short about his American days, how he started his tech firm in Noida, and why he had to shut it down. ‘You want to know the details?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll have one large instead.’ Vidu slid his glass across the table.

  ‘Sure.’ The host prepared one for him.

  Vidu sat pensively, nibbling on a meatball. So here I am, sitting between two losers, reason why they are interested in me. Who else would take me?

  ‘Where’s your office?’ he asked.

  Karan dropped his head sideways in disappointment.

  ‘We don’t have any office yet, Vidu,’ said Rishi. ‘What we have is a plan, which we can tell you, if you’re interested.’

  Vidu stretched out his leg and took out a Wills Navy Cut pack from his pocket. ‘May I?’

  ‘Sure.’ Rishi slid an ashtray towards him.

  The smooth talk is a sham, thought Vidu, lighting his cigarette. ‘Why do you think I fit in your plan? You don’t even know me.’

  ‘We do know you, Vidu,’ said Karan. ‘I also happen to know the personnel manager at V.V. India. By the way, you almost socked your boss the other day.’ He winked.

  Vidu was astonished.

  It was a day after the phone conversation with Vidu that Karan began to collect information on him. V.V. was a company Karan had never heard of earlier, but he had to make only a few calls within his network. An ex-colleague in Mumbai told him he had a friend in the personnel department of V.V.’s New Delhi office and gave her contact details to Karan. When Karan called her—the personnel manager—she was glad to help and provided information about Vidu, including his reason for resignation. She informed him that he was the best they had. When Karan prodded her more, she said that on his last working day, he was vengeful and had a spat with his supervisor.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she’s given you all the ugly details about me, hasn’t she?’ mocked Vidu, expelling smoke.

  ‘She sounded quite impressed,’ said Karan.

  Vidu did not find that funny.

  Karan presented his plan to him as he did to Rishi earlier. It was a thirty-minute monologue on the brand Yodel—the sales figures, the market share, the competitors, the problems faced by Gul Manwani, and what they intended to propose to the beverage manufacturer.

  The data did not impress Vidu. ‘This Manwani is killing the brand,’ he said. ‘Is he aware that there exists a field called Marketing?’

  ‘That’s where he needs help,’ said Rishi.

  Karan nodded. ‘Precisely.’

  Rishi knew there were more questions flying in Vidu’s head. Two weeks ago, Karan had put him in a similar situation.

  ‘Why do you want me despite my brilliant record?’ asked Vidu.

  ‘Rishi, the lad needs a little adulation,’ joked Karan. Ignoring the comment, Vidu picked at a French fry and patiently waited for an answer. ‘On a serious note, Vidu,’ explained Karan, ‘I’ll tell you why I want you on board. I am running against time. If I spend the next six months scouting for the best candidate, I may again pick someone no better than you, considering the situation I am in. If luck favours me, I may find someone better, but in the process, I’ll waste a good amount of time. If you lose money in business, you can still cover up the loss. If you lose time, the only thing you have by your side is wreckage.’ Karan sounded like a man hardened by experience. ‘My plan warrants each one of us to hold a stake in the venture.’

  ‘When do you plan to kick off?’ asked Vidu.

  ‘Kick off what?’ asked Rishi.

  ‘The damn business, what else? Soccer?’

  ‘In many ways we already have, Vidu,’ replied Karan. ‘With or without the third member, we’re going ahead and getting the business incorporated.’

  It was not before one o’clock in the night that Ira entered the room and insisted they have dinner.

  6

  The meeting at Rishi Verma’s was a bitter realisation for Vidu. It occurred to him he should have at least made a plan for himself before going jobless. Was that a manic impulse he fell prey to? He was worried. Five days after the meeting, he rang up Karan. ‘I don’t have any money to invest in your business,’ he complained.

  ‘Money you don’t worry about. Can you invest some sweat?’ asked Karan.

  ‘Enough of it.’

  ‘Then come over to my place right away. We’ll see how you can hop on.’

  Karan Jaani, Rishi Verma, and Vidu Nandi ventured off with a seed capital of twenty-five lakh rupees. Karan invested ten lakhs, an amount he generated from his savings and by selling his Corolla. Rishi contributed an equal amount. He had found a buyer for his low-value projects. He sold them for eleven lakh rupees and was left with the commercial space, redundant hardware, air conditioners, and old furniture. The value of the property, which he had bought two years ago, had trebled in the period and was now worth three crore rupees. That mitigated Rishi’s loss, though only notionally, as he had no intentions of selling it.

  Vidu borrowed five lakh rupees from Rishi at the going interest rate and contributed the entire amount as his own capital. Rishi was to receive thirty thousand rupees as monthly rent for his commercial space, which was now leased to their new venture. In a matter of days, the place where Rishi’s technology company once existed was renovated into a new office. He only hoped he would not see another disaster.

  They had to register their business as a private limited company and much before, had to decide on a name.

  Rishi suggested ‘Brainworks’.

  ‘That sounds like one of your tech companies,’ remarked Vidu. ‘Can we discuss fundraising, a more important topic?’ Their corpus was not even a small percentage of the amount they would need to sign the Sales and Marketing Rights Agreement with Manwani Beverages. ‘Chief, can you tell us where the money will come from? You’re the plan maker, the rainmaker,’ rapped Vidu, turning to Karan.

  With his eyes closed, Karan stroked his forehead, thinking of a suitable name for their business. The name has to be special, he thought, not hackneyed. The sound of it should chime a special meaning.

  Vidu shook Karan’s arm. He opened his eyes. ‘Money? Where’s it coming from?’ asked Vidu.

  There was a time when Karan had a prompt and befitting answer to every business question. Solutions to problems came out in no time in the good old days and life was a smooth road. ‘Weren’t we brainstorming for a name?’ he asked.

  ‘We better discuss the money part first. A venture without a name can still take off,’ said Vidu.

  ‘Yeah, if it’s a tea stall, it can,’ retorted Karan. ‘Sing a song, Vidu. We will find an investor.’

  ‘There’s not much time left,’ said Vidu. ‘Don’t forget, whether we earn any income or not, we still have to pay for the rent, electricity—’

  ‘To raise money, we must first ascertain how much is to be raised,’ said Karan. ‘And that we’ll know once we meet Manwani. He has to tell us the price he has in mind for the rights. Only then we can approach whomever for funds.’

  ‘We should at least enlist the possible investors,’ said Rishi. ‘Shouldn’t we?’

  ‘If the two of you are so flustered, let’s start visiting people from tomorrow on. We don’t have to go to a big, private-equity firm only. Any industrialist is an eligible investor,’ said Karan. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘I agree,’ said Rishi.

  ‘I second that,’ said Vidu and eagerly typed a few words in the Google search box.

  ‘Karan,’ said Rishi, ‘let us be clear that what we want is only money from our investor and not meddling of any kind in our affairs and decisions.’

  ‘Meaning?’ asked Vidu.

  Rishi, an experienced entrepreneur, explained, ‘Most venture capitalists I know of in the US are concerned only about their returns and do not want to get involved in the operations and management of their ventures. That’s the kin
d we should go for.’

  ‘But can we guarantee fortunes to an investor?’ asked Vidu.

  Karan dropped his pen on his writing pad and stretched backwards. ‘Not always, funds are raised on such guarantees, Vidu. And I agree with you, Rishi. We must find someone sincerely interested in our plan, who understands the risk factors, and won’t bother us about operations and management. How we give returns should not concern him. Note that, that makes our search more difficult.’

  ‘The question is,’ said Rishi, ‘where do we find a sincerely interested investor who won’t interfere much?’

  ‘And won’t expect high returns too,’ said Vidu.

  ‘I strongly feel,’ stated Rishi, ‘he or she will have to value our style of doing business more than anything else.’

  ‘Or we aren’t taking the money,’ said Karan firmly. ‘Why do business then?’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Rishi. ‘We must be clear why we are in business. Can anyone give me a non-profit reason?’

  ‘For independence, of course,’ replied Vidu.

  ‘You, Karan?’ asked Rishi.

  ‘Umm, yeah, I think that goes for me too,’ answered Karan. ‘Freedom, something I hankered for when I was an employee.’

  ‘And something,’ said Rishi, ‘that I revelled in when I worked for my own company.’

  ‘Now we are in tune,’ said Karan.

  ‘Freedom!’ Vidu jumped in exhilaration. ‘Money does not motivate us. And neither does position nor power. It’s freedom at work that we want. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we name our business on this thought?’ Vidu read their faces.

  ‘And call it Freedom,’ said Rishi agreeably.

  Karan smiled enormously. ‘This one best labels our thoughts.’

  ‘It does,’ said Rishi.

  ‘Not at all hackneyed and I can hear positive chimes already,’ added Karan.

  A friend of Vidu Nandi’s, who was a partner with a small law firm in Noida, managed the process of company registration, including the opening of a bank account in the company’s name, preparation of a Memorandum of Understanding and Articles of Association, registration for taxation, and application for a Permanent Account Number.