Three Marketeers Page 4

  On July 23, their company was incorporated as Freedom Marketing Private Limited with an authorised capital of twenty-five lakh rupees. Karan, Rishi and Vidu were its directors.

  When they decided to have their website hosted, a basic question challenged them: what should they write on it? None was certain. Yet, one thing was clear: they had to fill the white space to woo Gul Manwani. Karan explained, ‘We will pose ourselves before Manwani as a marketing consultancy specialising in consumer goods. Broadly, our website must put across three things: one, Freedom builds brands; two, its promoters are qualified professionals with varied industry experience; and three, it provides marketing support to struggling companies.’

  Only Vidu wondered if mentioning their work experience would impress anyone at all.

  7

  Sameera’s department was on the ground floor of the Mayford Ritz Hotel, right behind the foyer. On the same floor were Marketing, Food and Beverages and Banqueting, Housekeeping, Purchase, Uniformed Services, Health and Recreation, Maintenance, and Security. Marketing and HR were headed by Paresh Menon, the general manager of the hotel, whose office was also on the same floor. The heads of all other departments reported to him.

  Sameera went to Leena Goswami’s cabin for a quick chat, a daily morning ritual.

  ‘Competition is hitting us, Sameera,’ said Leena. ‘Indus Bank, one of our oldest clients, isn’t considering us this time for their annual seminar.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘The bank has other offers at much lower rates. If we lose this client, others will follow and I’ll be the one to lose a job.’

  ‘Who’s stopping you from giving them a better offer?’

  ‘The dimwits sitting at the top, who think we are the best hotel in the city and our clients can’t get anything better.’

  The intercom buzzed. ‘Leena,’ she spoke with the same bitterness. ‘Hi,’ she greeted the caller, her tone softened. ‘He’s in,’ she whispered to Sameera covering the mouthpiece.

  Sameera rose from the chair and waved at her. Once out, she glanced at Menon’s cabin, which was right opposite Leena’s. He was on the phone, talking to her. Sameera went towards the washroom and knew he would be calling her next concerning the recruitment status.

  Minutes later, when she returned, she unwittingly observed they were still on the phone, eyeing each other through the glass walls of their cabins.

  8

  Ira returned from a party, parked Rishi’s Pajero, and walked to their building. An old batchmate, Yuvika Balraj, had invited her to her birthday. They were together in college in Boston.

  Yuvika was now in Delhi, married to a real estate developer. Though she and Ira were never close friends in college, they were always together for two activities: salsa and trekking. When Yuvika learnt Ira was in Delhi, she phoned her and invited her and Rishi to the party. Rishi was too busy to go.

  ‘Hope you had a nice time … And how many men flirted with you?’ Rishi lay in bed, his hands under his head.

  ‘Rishi, you know well how I deal with such men and that’s what I did tonight too—ignored them.’

  ‘How was the crowd?’

  ‘It was after ages that I came across Americans—Yuvika’s friends from the US.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘And Yuvika … She looked heavenly in her red, deep-necked halter gown.’

  ‘Did you even remember to have your grub in the dazzle?’

  ‘Tasted everything that was served, from skewered chicken to fish wraps.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Guess what, I was introduced to Navjot Sidhu, Sanjeev Kapoor, and Shaan. What I liked best was the belly dance. The dancers, Rishi, were ethereal beauties!’ A vein in her neck swelled as she spoke.

  ‘Go India.’

  ‘It was quite a contrast to what you’ve always told me about India. You gave me such a drab picture.’

  ‘What was so special?’

  ‘The whole grandeur … refined people, though I can’t say the same about Yuvika’s husband, Jaggi Balraj, and some of his relatives and friends.’ She stood up and regarded her dress in the mirror of a dressing table.

  Rishi watched her posing. She was in a mauve cocktail dress. ‘Is this the one we bought from that mall in Saket?’

  ‘Yep. How do I look?’

  ‘Good.’

  Ira sighed. ‘Is that an entrepreneurial trait?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Being stingy with nice words.’ She bent over him and pecked his lips. ‘What time’s the meeting tomorrow?’ She inched herself towards him.

  ‘Nine.’ He held her manicured hand.

  ‘Oh.’ Disappointed, she eased out of his hold. ‘You better have a sound sleep and go with a fresh mind.’ She pecked his lips one more time and got off the bed.

  As scheduled, the three of them reached the beverage company’s plant and corporate office in the Okhla Industrial Area, Delhi, a few minutes before nine the next morning. After parking their car outside, they entered the premises and walked past a shed.

  ‘There.’ Vidu pointed to a board that read, ‘Managing Director’s Office’.

  They entered the reception and a portly woman requested them to wait in the visitor’s room. They were clear about the objective of the meeting: to learn from the beverage producer the amount they would have to invest in his company as a price to purchase the sales and marketing rights.

  Gazing at a large brass idol of Lord Ganesha, Karan revised his presentation in his mind. He had barely reached the third slide when the receptionist asked them to go inside. Karan’s contact, the production manager, chose not to be a part of the meeting and called in sick that day.

  Gul Manwani was a man in his mid-forties with a smooth and clean-shaven face and the look of a sharp businessman. In any business deal, the beverage manufacturer disclosed only as much of his intent as would help him gain a lead. The rest, he left to the other party’s imagination. That did not mean he talked less. He only revealed less—a skill he had perfected and used to his advantage.

  They entered Manwani’s office, which was not very well furnished but was clean and quiet. Karan introduced Freedom—a marketing consultancy—and its directors to him, touching on their experiences and accomplishments.

  ‘I know about you and your tiff with the Festians, Karan,’ said Manwani in his nasal voice as they were seated.

  ‘Good riddance,’ said Karan.

  ‘Festi used to be a different place.’ Manwani pushed back his gold-frame eyeglasses on his nose and began a monologue on his long stint with the company and how much more productive the teams were that time. ‘This Choksi, your ex-boss, is a team demolisher and he can’t see anything beyond his desk. The less said, the better about his vision.’

  Karan smiled and nodded, as he unzipped his bag, removed his laptop, and placed it on the desk. He did not care anymore about Choksi or anyone at Festi.

  ‘What kind of sales and marketing partner are you looking for, Mr Manwani?’ enquired Rishi.

  ‘Oh, well. You see, I established this factory seven years ago after quitting Crown Cola, a job I was insanely happy with. My wife still throws at me the big “why”,’ said Manwani. ‘And then I have to tell her that some men just love turbulence. You give them a peaceful life and they’ll find a way to screw it.’ The three men from Freedom laughed out loud. Manwani continued, ‘I raised money from the toughest investors, poached the best managers, erected the plant, soiled my hands in the grease and grime of the machinery, and swept the floors. It was I who suffered the labour pains and gave birth to Yodel.’

  Rishi stopped himself from speaking about his own experience.

  ‘And now, it’s time it outplayed the big boys,’ added Karan.

  ‘Absolutely.’ He turned and pressed a switch somewhere behind his chair. A short office boy appeared at the door. ‘Get the drinks,’ he ordered, and then announced to his visitors, ‘A rare occasion for you to have my baby for free.’ Rishi and Karan chortled, as he boasted
, ‘Crown Cola people have been after me. They want me to sell off the brand and join them at a salary that would make your ex-boss go hide somewhere.’

  ‘What was your response?’ asked Vidu.

  ‘Response?’ He ducked his head, showing a big ear and the side of his sharp nose to them. ‘Which mother ever sold her child? The truth is they can’t stand a better player on the turf. Yodel is grazing their backs now.’

  Minutes later, a young man entered the office with an aluminium tray containing several glasses of Yodel Cola, Orange, and Lemon.

  ‘Mr Manwani,’ said Karan, ‘if I could start with my presentation and—’

  ‘Please do and tell me how you are going to market and sell my brand.’ Manwani shifted back into his chair as if to watch an action thriller.

  Sitting at the corner of the desk, Karan began his presentation after everyone picked up a drink and the attendant left the room. For the next twenty-five minutes, he talked about the size of the beverage markets—local as well as pan India—their demographics, potentials, and the shares Yodel could garner in them. Presenting a five-year return on different levels of marketing investment, he explained how Freedom could help Yodel find a way into the neighbouring territories.

  ‘I strongly feel there is not a single brand that connects well with today’s youth of India, Festi and Crown included,’ asserted Karan, as others listened. ‘And that is despite their campaigns based on love, caring, fun, and friendship. That’s a favourable gap for your brand and so it can be relaunched with a fresh message to the youth. The ad campaigns and other promos could be based on a unique theme.’ Karan tapped his touchpad to show a five-year projection depicting annual marketing investment causing the sales volume to increase manifold by the year. Showing a comprehensive media plan on his next slide, he stated, ‘The three drinks will be positioned against the brands of Festi Beverages and Crown Cola, and there will be enough noise about it in the media.’

  The beverage maker noticed Rishi and Vidu had finished their drinks. ‘What do you have to say about the taste?’ He pointed to their glasses.

  ‘I must say, this orange one is very different from what I ever had,’ said Rishi.

  ‘Yeah, very,’ said Vidu, who otherwise preferred energy drinks.

  Karan picked up his glass to finish his cola. ‘I’ve had these earlier and I like all three, but this one wears the crown.’ He raised his glass. ‘A rare blend of caramel and black seed. Just the thing.’

  ‘With extracts of natural medicinal herbs,’ added the brand owner. Then, twitching his nose, he read from the PowerPoint slide and said, ‘I can quite understand how lavish your programmes would be. You suggest prime-time advertising, large-size ads in newspapers, sponsorships, sales promos … Where’s the money coming from?’

  That was one question Vidu asked Karan everyday. ‘We have reached advanced rounds with a few investors,’ said Karan, ‘and very soon, we should have funds.’

  ‘Very soon,’ assured Vidu.

  ‘At times, they even pull the rug from under the likes of you.’ Gul Manwani laughed alone.

  Karan showed a slide titled, ‘Exclusive Sales and Marketing Rights Agreement: A Proposal’, and Vidu handed a copy of the proposal to Manwani. It had four points. One, the scope of agreement would include all three Yodel drinks: Cola, Orange, and Lemon and all sales and marketing promotions concerning the drinks would be created, designed, and managed by Freedom; two, Manwani Beverages would continue to produce the drinks without any change in their compositions, unless otherwise mutually agreed upon; three, Freedom would not hold any rights to change the brand name or logo of Yodel; and four, as a seller, Freedom would earn a commission on the sale of every bottle and the two companies would share profit in a manner mutually agreed upon.

  The manufacturer wanted a marketing partner who could invest money in his company, but Karan chose to speak on it only later, much to Rishi and Vidu’s confusion and Manwani’s disappointment.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing extraordinary in it,’ said the beverage maker. ‘Every party I have met so far has a similar or more favourable proposition.’ Karan did not show he understood what the manufacturer implied. ‘Yodel must be taken seriously. It’s not an experiment object,’ said Manwani emphatically.

  ‘What’s your concern?’ asked Rishi.

  Karan knew that most parties had until then disagreed with Manwani to invest in his company, as they found the amount demanded by him too high for the loss-making brand.

  ‘Anything on expansion?’ asked Manwani wanly, ignoring Rishi’s question.

  Karan rubbed and tapped the touchpad of his laptop to show a slide on market expansion. ‘Once the local market is consolidated, other metropolitan cities will be targeted. Then in the next phase, we’ll expand to potential tier-two cities.’

  Manwani raised a few questions about the additional distribution expenditure. He and Karan then fell into a long discussion on such expansions—Karan on the pros and Manwani on the cons.

  Karan ended his hour-long presentation and shut down the laptop. Manwani was pensive. Like most other parties, Freedom did not seem to be interested in paying a price for the rights.

  ‘Any questions?’ asked Rishi.

  Manwani twitched his nose again and gave in. ‘I don’t find it very appealing. A Sales and Marketing Rights Agreement could also have something like a price clause.’

  Now is the time, thought Karan. ‘Price clause?’ he asked.

  ‘Correct. An amount you will have to invest in my company.’

  ‘What have you offered to other parties so far?’

  ‘I’ve always left it to their discretion.’

  ‘Could any party meet your expectation?’

  Manwani felt slightly exposed and fidgeted in his chair. ‘It’s a pity people don’t understand what Yodel is. My boys have done a great job in the field but the only problem they face is that Festi and Crown offer all kinds of baits and frills to retailers. Yodel, otherwise, is way ahead compared to their brands.’

  This man will never accept he’s one stubbornly dumb marketer, thought Vidu.

  ‘Every local brand worth three to four crore rupees faces such a problem,’ said Karan.

  After a moment of silence, Manwani said, ‘Yodel is certainly worth more than that.’

  ‘Oh, my mistake if I erred in conveying my point,’ apologised Karan like a magnanimous merchant, and made an important mental note.

  ‘Do one thing,’ said Manwani edgily, ending the discussion. ‘First, camp up with a dependable investor who concurs with your plan and then come back to me.’

  ‘How long can you wait for us?’

  Thinking, the beverage producer said, ‘I can give you a three-month period during which I will not go ahead with any other party.’

  ‘All right,’ said Karan appreciatively.

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Rishi.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Vidu.

  ‘Come,’ said Manwani, standing up. ‘Wouldn’t you like to tour the plant? You must see what it takes to produce the drinks.’

  ‘He has a high price in mind,’ whispered Vidu to Rishi.

  ‘This man has a problem and that is he believes he doesn’t have a problem,’ said Vidu from the backseat, as Karan drove his Accent back to their office.

  Rishi looked back. ‘Wrong. He knows he has a problem but doesn’t want to admit as much.’

  ‘How much is he expecting from us?’ asked Vidu.

  ‘The data we have tells me the figure could be around seven crore rupees. If we bargain hard, the man could settle for much less, as he’s in a debt hole,’ replied Karan.

  ‘Is he, or are we misinformed?’ asked Vidu sardonically, as Karan braked at a traffic signal.

  ‘Don’t go by what he said,’ said Karan. ‘Most of it was a clever haze he created to guard himself.’

  The three of them exchanged views about Yodel and were in instant agreement about its quality.

  ‘That was one concern I always h
ad. I’m glad we have something that tastes good,’ said Vidu, and thinking, he looked out of the window. ‘The government should burn all the bad products of this country,’ he grunted.

  ‘The man was sort of offended when you implied Yodel was worth only three to four crore rupees,’ said Rishi.

  Karan drove ahead as the light turned green. ‘Rishi, if a seller doesn’t tell the price, shame his product. In his defence, he’ll give you a clue. I wanted to gauge how much he was willing to come down as far as the price was concerned. He did not like what he heard but wasn’t so offended, reason why I say he could settle for less. He needs money.’

  ‘So that gives us an idea of what he expects, huh?’ said Rishi.

  ‘Which may not be more than six crores if we go by his reaction,’ said Karan.

  ‘We’ll have to use our personal contacts to find an investor. Friends and relatives, at times, can help generate leads.’

  ‘Lead generation is what leads to one’s degeneration,’ grumbled Vidu. ‘Rishi, why don’t you try getting in touch with some of your Yankees back home? Convince them you won’t sink the money this time.’

  Ignoring him, Rishi turned to Karan. ‘Ira met Jaggi Balraj at a party last evening. Could he be our man?’

  ‘Jaggi Balraj? You mean the real estate bull?’ asked Karan.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘We can try him. How soon can you get an appointment?’

  ‘I’ll ask Ira if it’s possible.’

  ‘How does she know him?’ asked Vidu.

  ‘Oh, actually she was dating him before me,’ said Rishi.

  ‘Was she? Kidding, aren’t you?’

  ‘Let it go, friend-o,’ said Karan to Vidu.

  Karan’s phone rang. ‘Hey, Sameera,’ he answered the call. ‘I’m driving. Will call in half an hour or so … Bye.’

  Vidu wondered if his ex-girlfriend too was lurking near Sameera. Karan glanced at Vidu’s reflection in the rear-view mirror and quite understood his state of mind. Boxed in love, he thought.