Mafia Marketing

For weeks now, we had been noticing a simmering of excitement in LL’s demeanour.

He would spend hours closeted in his cabin with his EA, who would then stumble out unsteadily, with sheaves of papers spilling out of her file.

Post such a tete-a-tete, we would often see her stagger back into our workstation* with a disoriented air, blinking a little. A bit like a convict let out into the free world after long incarceration. Then spend the rest of her time feverishly typing at her top speed.

* For those who’ve chanced upon this only now, scroll through the archives for a description of the Workstation in the introductory paragraphs of ‘The Day of the Call – I’

I didn’t ask her what it was all about as she’d been working beyond her usual 5 p.m. deadline and was consequently frazzled and tight-lipped.

I didn’t mind. It was so good to have some human company in the evening hours besides the hunk of machinery that crowded in from every angle.

I knew LL would tell us himself. All in good time. Ever paranoid about leaked secrets, it was usual for him to act like we were the headquarters of the NSA**. Or that there were hostile agents out to get his cherished trade secrets. This delusion was so much part of his personality that we learned to work with it.

** Oh c’mon! You’ve read Dan Brown, haven’t you?

Besides we’d already guessed. His desktop was littered with mountainous piles of books on branding and marketing by authors both Indian and international.

On this day, he called me in to be witness to a contract for his first literary effort. The success of the Ries’ recently launched book on 22 laws had cut him to the quick. Not to be left far behind, he’d decided to pen his own, for Indian markets. He was fulfilling yet another desire to be famous, this time as an author.

Over the next few weeks, any activity that wasn’t linked to his book’s launch was put on the back burner.

We sent out mailers on priority basis to every unfortunate who’d ever had reason to mail us in the past. No one was spared – this included job applicants to our organisation, cumulatively numbering in their hundreds.

The uncharitable would’ve called it spam, which we did try explaining but he chose to be conveniently obtuse and said that he didn’t understand all these new age words.

Still marvelling at LL’s clever and precautionary brainwave of inviting a whole regional sales team to the book launch event ensuring that the venue would appear to be bursting at the seams by his eager fans, we also prepared to attend it ourselves.

After LL grudgingly agreed to contribute cab fare for our ‘voluntary’ visit to his event, we all closed the office down early, for the first time in the history of Marrkit.

LL had also the foresight to order us to buy one copy each of his book that same evening from the store.

Needless to say, the launch event was deemed a success by the store manager who was bedazzled by the record sales of the book that same evening.

But LL couldn’t relax just yet.

Like an anxious new mother, he would daily scan the ‘Bestseller’ lists published by a variety of newspapers.

Finally, his book entered second from last – that too in a local rag.

This was unthinkable. Clearly the world would have to be made to sit up and take notice.

The lists were based on sales of books in categories of fiction and non-fiction compiled weekly book-shop wise, which the newspaper then printed as gospel. Having ascertained this fact from the newspaper’s editor, LL set his well thought out master plan into motion.

It remains the most perfect campaign I’ve ever seen. With a hundred percent success rate.

Directed personally by LL, with great finesse and precision.

To digress a bit, altruist that I am, here are pointers for those authors who aspire to bestseller glory:

• Call up certain friendly college principals and tell them about how the book has taken everyone by storm.

• Corleone style, make them an offer they can’t refuse. Suggest that you would, as a gesture of kind regards, like to donate your book to the college library.

• Further suggest that one book would not do for so many b-school students. You’d like to donate one for each student, but please don’t tell them that as you would like to keep your act of generosity anonymous.

• Send out an office employee, your very own trusted Sonny, to various bookstores in each suburb that happen to stock your book to place orders for it. Payments to be made only in cash, lest anyone suspect that the buyer is linked with you in any capacity.

• Give your gang of employees the mandate to buy your book, minimum 12 copies each over the weekend, again – payments to be made only in cash without revealing names or whom they really work for. Later, reimburse the amount to each employee. Extra books thus amassed at the office can be gifted complimentary to your clients or anyone who happens to wander in at your workplace.

• Ring up the remaining institute directors and drop into the conversation that so-and-so college has ordered 40 copies of your book for their marketing students and how they are simply cutting-edge when it comes to providing every sort of facility to their students.

• Tell anyone else who happens to ask that you don’t believe in the ‘Bestseller’ lists and that’s not important to you at all. After all, who ever understood the TRP racket? This is much the same. What matters to you is that only one, just one person find your book useful. That is all that would make you feel completely fulfilled. Really.

• Dial store managers of leading book shops and tell them how successful your book launch event at the other store was. Suggest that you are booked up for various other such launches but you can make time for their store if need be. Do this for all other metro cities too and plan your travel accordingly.

• Never let anyone outside the Family, know any of this.

Follow this and success is guaranteed. If you are a marketing person***, all this should come easily to you.

*** See ‘Glossary’ section for definition of a marketing person.

Thank you in advance and the least you could do to express your gratitude is send me a complimentary copy of your book.

And well, some day, and that day may never come, I’ll call upon you to do a service for me.

Nothing personal, strictly business.

Oh and before I forget, for those wondering about the fate of LL’s first book, by next fortnight it had blazed its way right to the top, no less than Number 1 on the bestseller lists of the two leading newspapers.

Heil…LL!

The Curious Case of a Chocolate Flan

On the personal front, I’d started feeling that anyone interesting of the male variety I’d lately met (or not met), fell into five categories. By interesting I mean – humane, witty, intelligent and attractive (to me).

This only reconfirmed my theory refined over the years, that all the good guys:

1. Have left the country for the USA, UK, Australia, New Zealand or S.E.A.*

2. Are about to leave the country for USA, UK, Australia, New Zealand or S.E.A.

3. Are married or taken.
4. Are gay.
5. Are too young for me.

For obvious reasons I refuse to acknowledge those who were just not interested in me.

* These are the most attractive destinations for all working professionals out here. In USA it would be NY winning hands down as the leading destination of the pack.

Not that it mattered. My working hours and the way I consequently looked over weekends – eyes ringed with dark c’s, the occasional sniffle attack due to sudden transition from heavy cool air-conditioning to searing or humid heat – did not leave me with the time nor inclination to socialize. Story of my life, so far.

On this day, I was geared up for my first day long excursion with LL. Naïve newcomer that I was, as per his instructions, I’d shown up on the dot at 7 a.m. below his residence building and was instructed to wait in his car, manned by his driver.

LL joined us at 8.30 a.m.

Though my enthusiasm for the exciting day ahead had wilted somewhat, it quickly revived as we started our journey.

In stark contrast to our claustrophobic workstation sans windows, it was nice to look at the blue sky, puffs of clouds and the lazy marshes whiz by.

Running late for the first meeting meant that we were hard pressed for time, and by late afternoon, having managed to pacify and satisfy various clients along the way who were not expecting us to show up considerably more than an hour after the scheduled time, we unpacked our delayed lunch tiffins of biryani (LL’s) and soggy sandwiches (mine) as we drove to our final two meetings from the suburbs to the South of Bombay.

On such days LL’s car resembled a mobile makeshift office, with files piled up on whatever space the driver, LL and I didn’t occupy.

Both LL, I and the driver were usually on calls the entire time, with brief intervals of respite.

Why was the driver on phone? Because LL never spoke directly to his driver. All instructions were conveyed by LL’s wife from home to the driver.

For any last minute change in route, LL would first call his wife and then she would call his driver. Watching this ritual did get my blood pressure up a little higher, but I never knew why it was done, so don’t ask.

Despite everything, our meetings were successful and the view from the window again captivated me. Okay, so this time, it was more buildings, shopfronts, hoardings and less horizon, but Bombay looks progressively cleaner and somewhat wealthier as you head southwards which gives a feeling of ascension to something better that really lifts your spirits. Only true Bombay ‘burbies will understand this.

Just before we reached our client’s office, he called LL and cancelled the meeting due to some urgent reasons. This gave us a couple of hours to kill until our next one.

I stayed quiet, waiting to hear what his next instruction to Mrs. LL would be. Strangely, LL made no move to speed dial her number. Curious and curiouser.

“Oberoi chalo”, said LL, spraying Polo liberally all over himself.

The car swerved slightly.

Bablu the driver recovered quickly from his shock at being addressed directly and drove on.

I slid open my window slightly so I could breathe again.

For once, the scenic curve of Marine Drive failed to capture my attention. The expression on LL’s face was very familiar – I’d seen it before. On kids who’ve discovered the junk food stash and TV remote while their parents are out.

“Let’s take a break, eh? If Mrs. L calls up on your cell just pretend it’s on silent”, puffed LL. What fun. This was a side to LL I didn’t know existed.

We plonked ourselves down on the plush couches in front of the famous windows at the cafe overlooking the sea. It was exciting. In pre office days and window shopping at the Oberoi, I would look with wonder at all the super-busy men and women lounging around the lobbies and cafes for power brunches, power lunches and power teas. It was all so aspirational. I wanted to be part of that fascinating world.

And there we were. I was no longer awe-struck student, walking past looking at all the corporate movers and shakers, but felt at home amongst them.

Well, once you’re seated, anywhere in the Oberoi can make you feel that way.

All around us were people just like us, seemingly in between meetings or conducting them. It was fun to mimic their snooty expression while glancing over to check them out.

LL, feigning disinterest, tried eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table. He fed me snippets of what he occasionally overheard.

I wondered though if that’s all he would feed me on.

I also wondered if it was okay to order myself, or wait for him to ask. I tried recalling etiquette pointers on ‘when unexpectedly out with the Boss, first time’**, but nothing really came to mind. Slightly tense and conscious, I wanted to avoid a faux pas of any kind. Or what LL the Martian, oops sorry, LL the Marrkitian would consider one.

Even after half an hour of arriving, LL showed no signs of encouraging the occasionally hovering server.

I remembered how my day had begun and steeled myself. “I think I’ll have a juice”, I ventured.

“Sure! Ofcourse!!”, said LL, ever the gentleman. “In fact, I’ll have one too!”, he boomed.

Midway through our juices, LL had thawed greatly.

This was partly because, given his uncanny luck, the conversation he’d eavesdropped upon had yielded results. One of our client’s competing product’s advertising strategy was being laid bare by the loud and eloquent ad account manager to our left, straight into LL’s eager ears. Having secured this little titbit of a nugget, LL leaned over to wink and whisper, “His voice got louder after he saw you. What a show off!”.

I didn’t get it for quite some time. Hey I was younger and innocent then. Ofcourse it stumped me. A compliment? From LL? I didn’t know how to react.

The other reason LL was really happy was that a group of newly hatched, smart MBAs at another table had recognised him and clustered around briefly telling him how much they admired him. Nothing made LL’s day more than public recognition. After subjecting them to a fifteen minute homily, he’d let them go.

Meanwhile, LL, feeling expansive, said, “Let’s celebrate. Order anything! This is for you, you deserve it!”

Recovering from this shocker, I took the menu he proffered. I knew him well enough to wait a bit.

“From here”, he suggested. He pointed to the truffles and pastries section. He still held on to one end of the massive menu so I pretended to study it and waited some more.

“Let me help you. How about the chocolate flan? It’s really good here, you must have it.”

I can never say no to chocolate but I knew LL well enough now not to get my hopes up.

“We’ll have a chocolate flan pastry”, said he to the server.

“Just one?”, the superior looking server raised his eyebrows, flicking his glance at me.

Just in case you’re wondering, the times I speak of, were not those of recession or economic slump.

“Yes, yes, just one will do. It’s for her, my colleague – I’m not allowed to have all this. I was telling her it’s the best here”, said LL loudly, playing the part of magnanimous, indulgent boss taking his employee out for a meal, for the benefit of his fans at the next table who were paying us a lot of attention.

The flan arrived and I suddenly realized that it was a wise move on LL’s part to order just one. It was massive, and flanked on either side by two dessert spoons. The server strategically placed it in the exact centre of the space between LL and me.

I picked up my spoon and waited for LL’s move. He slid the plate slightly closer to my end of the table.

Here was another etiquette related quandary. Given his oddities, would LL really not mind if I dug into the same pastry he would later have? Did he really want me to have it all?

“I’m not allowed, this is all for you”, he mourned.

Unable to resist the charms of a good chocolate for long, I dug out a minuscule piece. It was melt-in-the-mouth gooey, dreamy, dark chocolate, and I couldn’t wait to have more.

I pushed the dish over to his side.

“Do have some, it’s great”, I offered, inviting him to taste it before I polished the rest off.

“No, no, I really am not allowed, if Mrs. LL finds out…” His gaze was fixed on the flan and his fist was clenched hard around the dessert spoon.

Perhaps I’d misjudged LL. He wasn’t all self-centred and self-serving. I felt glad that he meant it this time and wasn’t faking it. It’s always a pity when people have to deprive themselves of the good things life has to offer. For the first time, I looked at LL with new eyes. I was slowly getting to see the real persona behind his “Boss” image.

I waited for form’s sake while he took a call on his cell. The loud-spoken agency guy had apparently finished his meeting and I watched him swagger out with his client.

My gaze wandered to the spectacular view which relaxed and mesmerized me once again. The gently swaying palms and the wide expanse of the aqua sea looked beautiful through the tinted windows.

LL was right. I deserved to indulge in chocolate like that. Eagerly anticipating the rest of it, I decided to pull the plate back to devote myself exclusively to the flan as the mandatory polite interval from the time I made the offer had passed.

I turned around and reached out. To an empty plate. And saw LL, licking the last few crumbs off his spoon.

It hadn’t even taken him a minute. More fool me.

He caught my eye. “We won’t tell Mrs. L about this okay?”, he winked.

“Sure”.

**Author’s note: Given my valuable experience working with LL all these years, I decided to pen my own helpful list called “Etiquette pointers when out with the Boss, especially if he’s LL “. Flatteringly, the list became worth it’s weight in gold and folklore amongst Marrkitians old and new. Will add it to the archives another time, if you like.

Hex and the City

After week upon week of meeting heads of businesses big and small, the psyche of entrepreneurs still fascinated.

I never tired of discovering anew another facet to their personality and work ethic. To add to this, the sheer variety of personalities was mind boggling, to say the least.

Some were their polished best and others downright boorish. However, it seemed that though entrepreneurs may differ widely in appearance, mannerisms and behaviour, they all had something in common. Canny business sense, a no-nonsense risk-taker’s ability and all the qualities that various management gurus have written more knowledgeably about.

Knowing that sound business sense was the only driving force behind anything the directors decreed, I puzzled long and hard over what could be the logic and reasoning behind their decisions.

The reason I bothered with bending my mind towards this, is that I was interested in what’s called Acquired Learning*. Which is what I saw as a job perk, given that we didn’t have anything else that could be labelled such.

*In case anyone’s planning to acquire learning from me, note how I made the term sound like management-speak just by using caps. Refer to the “Glossary of Marrkit’s Marketing Terms/ Office Jargon” section from the Archives for the definition of Acquired Learning.

Let me explain what I mean. For instance, one of our flamboyant clients, Mr. Mistry, closely connected with all things Bollywood (or so he claimed), apparently paid through his nose for our services. And let us know it each time he visited, at the top of his cultured voice – which seemed to lose that polished accent at the same rate that his temper accelerated.

Watching him part with our monthly cheque due was like watching a schizophrenic will at work. He never presented it except with great reluctance, always implying that this was his last meeting with us ever. That we were leeches sucking his lifeblood away.

Each time, I watched with bated breath to see if his iron grip on the cheque would relax enough to hand it over without tearing it into two. Just like the melodramatic movies he financed, after a few minutes he was back to feeling sentimental and maudlin about his not so veiled taunts and usually ended by spewing equally liberal praise on us.

We didn’t hold this against him though, as he had great charm, was otherwise cheerful to work with and one simply could not remain annoyed with him for more than a few seconds. Not with someone who usually offered us passes for the latest A-list movie premieres. Ofcourse not.

Given this, it was odd to notice that he usually skipped two meetings a month. This was pointed out to me by LL’s EA, who was similarly puzzled.

Two meetings a month on an average was huge, as from his point of view it was a considerable financial loss.

What was more of a mystery was that his team seemed to know in advance they needn’t visit, even though he always made a last minute call to us cancelling his meeting. I know this because he had me do the tedious job of calling his team up one by one, to tell them the meeting was off. Yes, we also threw in such secretarial add-ons for our clients, especially ones like Mr. Mistry who felt that by getting us to do these small additional tasks, he was getting his money’s worth out of our firm.

His being the last meeting of the day, scheduled at the unearthly hour of 8 p.m. onwards and ending at roughly 11 p.m., I celebrated each cancellation. It meant I’d reach home while my parents were still up and not have mom suspecting I’d been doing the usual movie and dinner thing with some unidentified guy about to lead me astray. As if. I’d have killed for that sort of attention. But unfortunately, the eligible single male did not ever enter the borders of the office complex we worked out of. The sort that did make it deserve an exclusively devoted chapter – some other time.

One week, on the day Mr. Mistry’s meeting was scheduled, I made a routine reminder call to Andy, Mr. Mistry’s operations head.

“Morning Andy! Just wanted to warn you that the report you’re looking for won’t actually be ready for Mr. Mistry and you in time for today’s meeting, but it will be done day after for sure”, I said.

“No probs, Ash”, said Andy, warmly. “Send it whenever. In fact, I don’t need it today for sure. Take your time.”

Hoping that Mr. Mistry would take this news as breezily as Andy had, I decided to bite the bullet and break the bad news to him in person. “That’s great Andy, but I’d still better speak to Mr. Mistry now and explain why.”

“Oh, he’s not here. How about a movie this evening? A group of us from office are planning to see the 8 p.m. show. We have complimentary passes. Join us?”, trilled Andy.

“You’re kidding, right. Are you planning a mass bunk? Have you forgotten, your meeting with us is for today!”

“Ha ha!” sang Andy, sounding way too cheerful. “There won’t be a meeting today. Except, yeah, at the cinema.”

“Okay”, I said, “are you officially informing me that the meeting is off?”

“No”, said Andy, “Unofficially. And you didn’t hear it from me.”

“How can you be sure? And where is Mr. Mistry? Travelling?”, I asked, hoping this tale of cancellation was true and not just something to do with Andy’s quirky humour.

“No, he’s very much at his own home, watching the match.”

“Right. And we both know even cricket wouldn’t keep him away from our expensive doors”, I said, disappointed that that was all Andy was making a fuss about. “So, forget the movie.”

“You mean you were ready to make it for the movie? Cool! So am holding a pass for you”, persisted Andy, maddeningly.

“Noooo!”, I screeched, sounding a lot like Mr. Mistry at a cheque parting. “You go ahead and take on Mr. Mistry if you want, but I can’t bunk the meeting.”

“Hey chill”, said Andy, “Okay, tell me, how many meetings has he cancelled in the last three months?”

“That would be…seven at least?”, I answered, marvelling anew at this statistic.

“And what reasons did he give?”, questioned Andy.

“The usual kind, I guess”, I said, trying to remember. “Someone visiting for dinner, another important meeting, or travelling.”

“Well, that’s all bull!”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t let onto Mr. M or anyone that you know this. And one more thing – you have to come for the show”, said Andy, cunningly.

“Sure, Andy. I do like the big screen experience. Just not at the cost of Mr. Mistry. So tell all.” I was intrigued by all this suspense and partly convinced that Andy was just wasting my time.

“What’s today’s date?” asked Andy.

“17th”, I said, wondering where this was going.

“Which adds up to the dreaded number 8. Mr. Mistry’s worst nightmare. He’s rabidly afraid of the number and his astrologer told him to never step out of the house on those days. Woooo… careful, it’s the 17th today!”, hooted Andy, irreverently.

“So, you see”, continued Andy, “He’ll never show up for a meeting on the 8th, 17th and 26th of the month. See you at the movie, then!”

Okay, well.

Sometimes there was no logic or reasoning.

Say Cheers!

A meeting which typically had an agency/ freelancer or two present in addition to the client sometimes posed diplomatic conundrums.

Especially when it came to Desmond, who for some unknown reason, was LL’s favourite man of all work of the small time advertising kind. Drinking Desmond was my moniker for him, for reasons which will become clear as you read on.

Desmond wore a jacket for most meetings, which really impressed me, since no one bothered with very formal attire at work except for certain occasions. In Bombay, the weather does not permit it.

Having believed in always erring on the side of being formal rather than informal when in doubt, I liked the formal corporate image Desmond projected amidst the denim clad, unshaven, pony-tailed, often tattooed and earring-adorned men which dominate the creative half of the advertising world. And there’s something about a jacket that just adds oodles of personality to any man.

I’m a sucker for just three things – guys who play the guitar/ drums, very tall guys and guys in jackets. I don’t know why, but these three and if luckily in combination together, are quite irresistible. Okay, getting back to the point now. And hey am not that shallow really – it’s always about the brain, not brawn.

My admiration for Desmond lasted only briefly however. Right upto the moment I realized exactly why he’d invested in a jacket.

It had a useful inner pocket that made a snug receptor for his favourite whiskey flask from which he no doubt derived great solace and sustenance for all the stressful meetings he had to make. Meetings where he had to explain to my maddened clients why he had skipped yet another deadline.

A typical meeting would consist of these attendees:

From the Client’s end:

- Owners/ managing directors (very often, a pair of brothers or, father & son, or MD & CFO)

- Their EAs or PAs as the case may be

- Resident astrologer and/ or current pundit in favour

- Family friend and/ or time-honoured well-wisher

Allied agency:

- The freelancer/s or head of agency handling any allied function like communication, PR, events, and so on

From our end:

- LL

- Me

- LL’s wife (sometimes)

- One of LL’s children (sometimes)*

* This was LL’s big family succession plan. His worst nightmare was that his children would not want to take over the mantle when the time came and fly away from his overprotective nest. So, LL decided to give new meaning to the devious gambit of starting them young. That his children were just 9 and 12 years of age, seemed to make no difference.

Our meetings were always extremely formal occasions – with preset agendas, and time limits to be adhered to. There were however, exceptions to this rule and this is one such chronicle.

One of our clients from an exotic state far, far away, whose company stock was considered the bluest of blue chip, was visiting us for a marathon session of meetings that would last the entire day.

The Director of this group, lets call him Mr. Kapil, was a born tycoon, with a stiff, aristocratic demeanour to match. I’d never ever seen him smile. Post meetings, I could never quite recall what I’d ever said to him. Somehow it was always blanked out thanks to his intimidating persona. I was always conscious of being in the presence of someone who personally contributed a healthy percentage to the annual GDP of India and generated employment for hundreds of people across rural areas.

Often, the meeting would take place in a room in our office that resembled the living room cum lounge of a typical home – complete with wall unit, couches lining the walls and helpfully placed corner tables, apart from two largish centrally placed ones. The couches were deep and comfortable.

That a client meeting held here consequently resembled a drawing room reunion amongst family members, some of whom are glad to meet each other again and some not, was not surprising.

On this day in my routine check of the room before the meeting, it struck me that some of the ceiling incandescent lights had blown out. It left the room much more dimly lit than usual. We’d still have to use this room as no other room would accommodate the sheer number of people we had to meet.

The reasons why I did not allow any of my clients to walk into this room without having checked it first were manifold. I remember one occasion when the client got settled comfortably in, and the air conditioning refused to work. Another time, the lights fused at one go. Yet another time, an office boy was found stretched full length and snoring on the couch.

The best or worst incident, depending on how you see it, was when a swarm of dragonflies flew out of the room straight at three co-directors about to walk in when the door was opened. Somehow, they’d gotten in through the window of an adjoining room and gotten locked in. Those directors flew out of our office too and were never seen again after making understandably snide remarks about the ten plagues of Marrkit.

On this day, the client arrived at 8:30 a.m. on the dot with an excited air and a bright glitter in his eye. Along with him came a pair of large carry-ons and he requested to be left alone for a while with his team of attendant CFO, wife, uncle, marketing manager, sales head, admin manager and other assorted coterie accompanying him.

Intrigued, LL and I waited for him to unveil the surprise. Which indeed it was.

Every table in the room was covered with a set of totally 3 dozen roughly pint sized bottles, called alcopops or breezers here. One half of these were a recently launched popular brand of alcopops that had taken metros in India by storm for it’s low price, low alcohol content and flavours like cranberry, cola and lime, attracting the young, and especially women.

Explaining that this was a new business he was planning to invest in, the Director waved us in and stated that most of his existing infrastructure would double to produce what is known here as Indian Made Foreign Liquor. For those who don’t believe I didn’t just make that term up, google IMFL and read all about it. Would not like to bore my better informed readers here.

The client was cleverly taking advantage of the fact that as per our terms, we would consult within the same fee for all their businesses, and any new ventures. We never dreamed that he would want to diversify into country liquor.

I wasn’t feeling comfortable about this.

My support lay entirely with those brave rural women who’d recently kicked their no-good drunkard husbands out in a mini-revolution of sorts. And now we would be contributing to placing a new label within reach of their misguided men.

It was disillusionment of a different kind. That of all people, it had to be Mr. Kapil indulging in a spectacular breakaway from the respectable family business, a cherished dream, handed down over generations and sow his alcoholic oats within the populace, so to speak.

But the sight of all the glowing colourful bottles had a different effect on LL.

He now appeared just as excited as every other man in the room.

Mentally, I started formulating strategy of a different kind. To ease away from this client – and how to bring that up with LL. I passed him a quick note saying I’d like to meet him briefly in private, whenever possible. No doubt, he’d be difficult. He had only one criteria for client selection – that they be able to pay our fees on time. No ethical scruples would be entertained.

This was apparently a tasting ceremony. Having come well prepared with lots of disposable glasses, the client flatteringly wanted our opinion on each and every flavour and help shortlist the final four to be selected for launch. Mine, particularly for what would appeal to the palate of women in general.

All the bottles were stuffed into every inch of our pantry fridge and so it came to pass that by 11 a.m. the bottles were pulled out and pressed into service. In that time we’d quickly prepared enough prints of an evaluation matrix with attributes for everyone to mark down rankings, flavour-wise, for the home brand versus the competitor’s. I mention this only so everyone knows some work actually got done too.

Before that, we called in Desmond to finalise the newsletter design and complete other sundry matters. For once Desmond had been suitably awed to actually bring the creative units and proofs along without mistakes, and in a generous mood, the Client invited him to join the tasting spree.

Desmond appeared delighted to oblige. I was sure he had taken a few fortifying swigs already to steady himself before the meeting but the client had no way of knowing that. Desmond, who couldn’t take his eyes off the glittering array of bottles, happily settled down in a nook.

We all dutifully sipped just one or two mouthfuls of each flavour and I was surprised to note that I couldn’t really tell the difference between the branded and the yet to be launched brand – but for one or two exceptions, which we duly noted.

I had seen wine tasting ceremonies on TV where people discreetly spit out the wine in a handy receptor, but come on, what do etiquette books say about doing the same thing in such a context? I wouldn’t dream of doing something that crass in front of people who probably rounded each meal off with caviar. Besides, they may have found it insulting, given they’d brewed it in the first place.

After a few more rounds of tasting everything, the client suggested a repeat of the whole thing. His point was that we should have a second round just in case we changed our minds about what we thought the first time.

No one disagreed with him.

As I sipped on, I had to admit it, the bottles looked really pretty.

An array of golden yellow, cranberry red, deep purple and sparkling lime, which seemed to glow from within as I gazed at them.

The soft clinking sound of bottles being passed around merged well with the dim, diffused yellow lights of the room.

Conversation began to flow more freely. We discussed a whole lot of interesting subjects – where we’d all vacationed last, what we did weekends, which movies we had caught lately, which book we would pick to read on a two-hour flight and many other absorbing issues like that. Mr. Kapil’s most trusted right hand man, the finance whiz, Mr. Jha suggested I use his first name only and offered to give me advice anytime on my tax planning. The jackets were flung over armchairs and the men’s ties seemed to have lost their perfected knots. I idly watched Desmond, lulled into a happy snooze and still sitting upright with one of the bottles balanced precariously on his belly.

Mr. Kapil described their huge family estate and invited LL and I to schedule an offsite visit. We were duly flattered to accept.

For the first time, I heard Mr. Kapil laugh out loud. A nice, honest laugh.

He seemed to be listing slightly to one side on his couch, but looked immensely comfortable and somehow more humane. Like just another regular guy, not a tycoon. Finding it more and more difficult to remember what exactly my objections were, I couldn’t understand why I’d ever thought of him as uptight or sombre.

Settling back more comfortably amongst the deep cushions in a happy haze, and helping myself to more of the cranberry, I realized LL was trying to catch my eye. He’d seen Desmond too and I could tell he was hoping the client wouldn’t notice. He waved me over and said that he was stepping into his office cabin briefly. I guessed the excess alcohol was catching up with him.

I was still wondering why on earth LL wanted me to go along, unless I had to help carry him, when LL prompted, “Didn’t you want to see me about something?”

“Who me?”, I responded. “No, not at all!”

Most guys I know have been found imbibing before noon at least once, and I had always found their tales intriguing. The scene of the crime in such cases is usually a destination like Goa, a land where all is forgiven. This is one account where I too stood guilty as charged, but as I’m sure you agree – amidst impeccable company.

Just a Random Day at Work

Venue: Boss's cabin, one fine day

I know you’ll excuse the overall poor sketch quality and the fact that I couldn’t quite draw the bodies.

Yes, those figures represent people.

The  ones without any visible hair are male.

Resuscitation

It was one of those days again.

Had reached office at 8 a.m. and a whole 12 and a half hours later, was still there.

Did I mention that we were understaffed and overburdened? Or that we could have held a record for the highest attrition? Lately, I’d forgotten what sunlight looked like.

Since it had always been my burning ambition since childhood to be ‘independent’, I was happy to be working in an office, earning my own income, rubbing shoulders with – well, not exactly the ‘who’s who’ of the advertising and marketing world, but quite close.

Plus, the terrible impression I had of those who worked in “business” was slowly changing. Some of the people who did this were actually human. Not heartless, cut-throat, ready to sell their own grandmother.

‘Some’ is the key word here, of course.

LL was a brilliant orator and he was quite different while interacting with our clients. He was charming, affable and humorous. He bent a sensitive ear to our clients’ woes when required and when a client wasn’t quite convinced, he was passionate and forceful in making his point.

Witnessing this for the first time, I was amazed at the transformation. I counted myself amongst his many admirers, for his intelligence and genuinely successful marketing tactics. And I was still proud to be amongst the chosen few recruited by him. (Notice the subtle self-flattery).

Thinking back, this must have been the quality that Adolf H. aroused whenever he spoke publicly. I’d read somewhere that without quite being able to recall any particular sentence of his speech, budding or fellow Nazis were willing to follow his ideology blindly, once at the receiving end of his magnetic oratory.

I was similarly still overawed by LL and admired the fact that he had set up a whole organisation like this, which ran on professional lines.

Ofcourse, I had many misconceptions as will become clear over time.

This was one of the days everyone at work had witnessed him being unnecessarily nasty with a newly recruited sweet, timid girl who had made a simple error in a communiqué to the client. His sarcastic comments yelled at the topped of his voice reduced her to tears. We also watched him spectacularly lose his temper with another guy who’d dared send a press-release write-up to the client without LL’s having seen it first. What upset him primarily was that his own quote was not included in the press release. LL did not like losing any opportunity of being quoted in media and ranked any journalist’s call as the highest priority.

I was sure he’d have a couple of resignations on his table by tomorrow morning. And we’d continue losing people almost as fast as we hired them.

All us Marrkitians* soon understood that LL was rabid about getting credit for his contributions no matter how negligible. We were so used to him taking credit publicly, even for our team’s ideas that we never thought about why he couldn’t share the credit a bit. Or use “we” instead of “I” while talking of a successful launch or repositioning.

*Refer to ‘Glossary of Marrkit’s Marketing Terms/ Office Jargon’ section for meanings

Still trying to come to terms with what colossal ego could get a kick out of picking on youngsters like that, I was revising my earlier impressions of him – largely got from his media personality. Oh yes, he was very often to be seen on the business news channels and widely quoted in marketing articles.

Did I mention already that we all had many misconceptions?

One of his favourite quotes recently was that the fifth ‘P’ – ‘People’ are most important in an organisation and must be treated well. Well, he didn’t seem to be acting on it himself, did he? I did reflect on how he had never taken such liberties with some of us who were still loyal. I would never have stood for this sort of treatment. I’d made errors in judgement too, but followed that adage of never repeating a mistake again, which was getting me ‘good’ to ‘excellent’ performance ratings every quarter. (I’m sure you’ll allow the continuing self-flattery here)

He also chose to mentor me, as this was my first job. This meant I was exposed to long, lengthy reminisces from him of his first job and subsequent ones. By now I knew his life history by heart. He was highly experienced in the corporate way of life, and passed on lots of useful tips on handling various situations, clients, people. I appreciated this interest and this was one of the reasons he fostered loyalty.

Over tea (for him), coffee (for me) and soggy biscuits in his office, he would narrate many interesting anecdotes from his early working days. I found these fascinating – each episode ended with him achieving fantastic targets, or reaching glorious new levels of sales for the companies in question, or devising a brilliant marketing strategy in the nick of time to save the brand from ruin by the new, deadly competitor. Or reaching hitherto unaccessed markets in remote locations and placing the product there.

I was enchanted and saw him as the gladiator of the sales and marketing world, who had now retired into consulting for lesser mortals.

Or perhaps it would be more correct to say – he saw himself that way.

I was beginning though, to feel uncomfortable about the fact that I was tending to take the easy way out. By simply doing everything his way – compromising on what anyone else thought was best for the situation, including my own judgement. To use a trivial example, in any press release we penned on the client’s behalf, I would automatically include a discerning quote from LL, which he sometimes found good enough to not improve on at times. One clearly needed to develop a very thick skin to be working with him. Was I getting one? Telling myself that I had to earn a living and that he was basically honest and ethical as far as I could see, I decided that we had no right to question any of his tactics. After all, we were earning a living thanks to him, and it was his company. Things could be worse.

All in all, the day was one of those which whizzed by with unimaginable speed, ate up my lunch break, and included uncomfortable thoughts crowding in, about my employer.

I badly needed to cheer up, get home, relax, watch some Frasier.

And an ‘approval’ from LL on another strategic note drawn up and his signature on it. Knowing that once I got this, I was a free bird for the day, nay, for the evening, I barged into his cabin.

I knew he was getting an update from another Sales head (let’s call him Mr. Milkah) on what was going on in his territory. Mr. Milkah had a naturally lugubrious countenance and I wondered why the atmosphere seemed funereal.

This was not one of my clients, however, so I barely listened to what was going on.

LL didn’t mind that I’d intruded. He knew that this note had to be sent right away. While nodding at Mr. Milkah across from him, he casually skimmed through my file.

“And our team is doing a really good job. We have expanded in many new territories already. A lot of first-time orders”, said Mr. Milkah, looking mournful.

“Good, good..”, said LL absentmindedly. His Cheshire cat grin was in place like a fixture. Depending on his mood, it could make him look menacing or happy.

“And we have even converted some outlets completely. They have stopped keeping our competitor’s product”.

“That’s great news. Congratulations..”, chuckled LL, still not looking up.

Mr. Milkah didn’t mind. He was on a roll.

“All thanks to you Mr. LL”, he said dolefully, giving credit where it was due.

Now I started to pay attention. I badly needed to hear something good, something that would affirm that I was working for a marketing whiz and that all this daily drama with emotionally battered colleagues, was worth it.

I looked over at Mr. Milkah. He finally smiled and so did I. LL very flatteringly introduced me as one of his brightest and best and spoke of how my clients had increased their business with us since I’d taken charge. Flattered, I promptly forgave him his past sins.

Yep, back in those days, it was usually that easy with me. And well, timely bonuses and pay hikes also helped.

Mr. Milkah decided to impress me, though his words again seemed at variance with his demeanour.

“You know”, he added, “Thanks to LL, our business has increased and my area’s sales have gone up so much that our Directors are really happy.”

“That’s wonderful”, I responded. “But I’m not surprised. That’s what we usually deliver for all our clients”.

“And that amazing idea he gave us, was so good..”, Mr. Milkah continued, looking even more depressed. I wondered if something was wrong, despite the breaking news of record sales he seemed to be reporting.

LL pointed out a minor rephrasing to me in the document. I peeked over while nodding at Mr. Milkah, now paying attention to what LL was trying to whisper.

Mr. Milkah continued his woeful rave, “The team was so reluctant at first, but I explained it to them like LL had to me. We arranged a bus ride for them and called them all for a training…”

I listened with half an ear trying to simultaneously fix my expression such that either party would feel I was paying them attention.

“…I had to give them all, what is it called? My English is not so good. I am so bad at all these terms. Ah yes, mouth-to-mouth. I personally gave them. Each and every one..”

My attention snapped back. My God! He was describing a catastrophe. Hadn’t I read something about it in today’s papers? A bus load of tourists got stuck in a landslide? Surely that wasn’t Mr. Milkah’s sales team? And that too, headed for a training that Marrkit was indirectly responsible for!

LL too was looking over his glasses at Mr. Milkah. He looked over and noticed my expression. And went back to reading the file. Thick-skinned indeed.

Unable to believe that even LL could be so completely heartless to this tale of mayhem and horror, I stared with shock at Mr. Milkah.

“Oh my God, how are they now?”, I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

Mr. Milkah too, apart from his general expression of woe, seemed to be maintaining his composure quite well. He frowned at my question.

“Who?”

“The sales team!”

“They are fine, thank you”.

“Glad to hear it”, was all I could say, still in some shock. I imagined them all in a row of beds, in some hospital, recovering from the accident and showing up for work swathed in bandages.

LL finally looked up. “Mr. Milkah, Mr. Milkah…”, he chortled. By now I was feeling sick that he could giggle at such news.

“Mr. Milkah….”, LL said, wagging a finger at him, “It’s called ‘Word of Mouth’. Not Mouth to Mouth. Hahaha! It’s word-of-mouth marketing – THAT’s what it’s called”.

Books to read to become a Marketing Consultant (in Recommended Order):

• How to Surprise Your Competition
• How to Kill the Competition
• Don’t Focus on Competitors
• Get Your Customer
• Know Your Customer
• Keep Your Customer
• What To Do When the Customer Starts Leaving
• Stop Selling, Start Living… Start Marketing
• Ageless Product, Timeless Profit
• So What if Your Product Doesn’t Meet Any Consumer Need?
• Reap First, Sow Later
• Principles of Marketing
• Business Ethics for Newcomers
• Marketing For Dummies
• Marketing Is For Dummies
• It’s Not About Marketing!
• It’s About Brand Building
• 360 Degree Communication
• Zen and the Art of Customer Maintenance

The Beginning

Let’s start with when I took up my first job. I was 23 then. A small marketing consultancy called Marrkit. People working for Marrkit were known as “Marrkitians”.

Am not kidding.

Each time I heard myself being referred to as one, I felt as if I’d turned into a distant species of some creepy-crawly alien life form.

The firm is headed by a super-thin and tall “Boss” whom you almost can’t see if he turns sideways. He’s called LL by most. Not short for LL Cool J, but Luvleen Lalitlalkishen. Don’t blame ‘em. There were a few diligent ones in our office who still persisted, or rather, laboured with “Mister Lalitlalkishen”. His wife called him Luvleen. I decided to join the throng of those who called him LL.

He loved jargon. For those who don’t know, jargon is official management speak. Let me elaborate.

You know how when you call up and the Secretary, oops, Executive Assistant* says, “He’s not available right now”? That really means, “He’s on his favourite toilet seat, pondering over the next marketing strategy. And taking way too long. Call later”. He also loved creating his own jargon.

My name is Aashita Joshi, of Hindu (Indian) origin, and means, ‘one who is full of hope’. I guess now I just have one small correction – ‘One who was full of hope’. I haven’t fully recovered yet.

Scott Adams had nothing on me, man!

*: At Marrkit, it was a mortal sin to call a secretary a secretary. You had to call her Executive Assistant. Yes, it was always a ‘Her‘ at Marrkit. You could tell which one she was as she was the only one who left at 5:15 pm sharp. Our office timings were from 9 am to 6 pm.

Not! far from the madding crowd

This is a narrative with a difference.

That it reflects what went on in the past, being jotted down only now, experience by experience. Another difference is that names have been changed, as the objective is not to be offensive to any one or provide publicity, positive or harmful, to any of the personalities mentioned.

This is about my first job. In the most ‘happening’ city of India – Mumbai. This is also a compilation of conversations and experiences from my somewhat eventful life (at least to me) interspersed with meeting an astonishingly varied and interesting set of people, some nice, some odd. I haven’t simply invented this. There are frequent jumps between space and time and myriad digressions, so pay attention. If it still doesn’t make sense, I’ll endeavour to clarify.

So what is this about? Read on to know more. Some of it would be in the form of conversations, or just plain rambling. Do visit often and comment if you like. Would be nice hearing from you.

I’m a single gal, living in India, in a city called Mumbai, also known earlier as Bombay, a teeming metropolis; like no other.