The Habit of Winning

by Prakash Iyer

  Was he behind a bush? Had he wandered off to the roadside dhaba for a quick cup of tea? Was he perhaps asking the owner about the brand of tea he used, and looking for feedback on Tata Tea? Or was he mingling with some passers-by, listening to their stories?

  None of these, in fact.

  While his colleagues were taking a break, RNT was busy helping the driver change the tyre. Sleeves rolled up, tie swatted away over the shoulder, hands expertly working the jack and spanner, bouncing the spare tyre to check if the tyre pressure was okay, droplets of sweat on the brow, a smile on his face …

  In that moment, the managers accompanying RNT got a lesson in leadership they haven’t forgotten. And that’s a moment that the driver of that car probably hasn’t forgotten either.

  Great leaders are really all about this. Leading from the front. Rolling up their sleeves. Being one with the frontline colleagues who get the work done. And working as a team, with scant regard for hierarchy. And doing all this because they believe. Not because someone is watching.

  Unfortunately, too many corporate leaders spend lifetimes waiting for that one big moment to arrive for them to demonstrate their leadership skills. That big competitive onslaught. That major crisis. That new product launch. The truth is that your true leadership style—your true colours—are probably most evident in ordinary everyday moments. Like that flat tyre. Such moments come up before leaders every day. Everywhere. How you treat each such moment is a terrific barometer of your leadership strength, a great indicator of how you will behave when the big moment of challenge really does arrive.

  Many young managers tend to spend all their time trying to manage upwards—focusing their attentions and energies on the boss, rather than on their subordinates. In a sense, like the managers in the car that day, we all too tend to look for what our own RNT may be doing … Not for what the hapless chauffeur might be up to.

  Over the past few decades, several of RNT’s colleagues at the house of Tatas have been privileged to be a part of the unique ‘flat-tyre’ brand of leadership. They have been privy to several such magical moments.

  Some years ago, RNT went public with his dream of creating a one-lakh-rupee car. Experts said it was impossible. Cynics laughed it off. And most seemed to agree that the great man had probably overreached himself.

  But then, in a culmination of the dream—and in what became one of the finest symbols of the great Indian entrepreneurial spirit—RNT unleashed the Nano on an incredulous country. At a price tag of—yes, you guessed it right—one lakh rupees only. Nano’s launch was in many senses the culmination of a dream shared by several people who worked shoulder to shoulder to make the impossible possible. Drivers, designers, shop-floor workmen, managers … and a fabulous leader. Against all odds, defying the experts, RNT and his team managed to do the impossible. As he put it, ‘After all, a promise is a promise.’

  Some years from now, as millions in India—and perhaps around the world—happily drive around in their oh-so-affordable Nanos, they may not know it … but one flat tyre probably started it all.

  Great leaders lead from the front. Roll up their sleeves. Become one with the frontline colleagues who get the work done. They work as part of a team, with scant regard for hierarchy. And they do all this because they believe. Not because someone is watching.

  Flying Kites; Managing Teams

  One of my abiding childhood memories revolves around flying kites in Jaipur. To be able to fly a kite was to come of age, as it were, to become a big boy. As a six-year-old, it felt real cool to be able to get a kite to take off and soar into the skies.

  I still remember the first time I managed to fly a kite, after several days of aborted take-offs. I remember how we’d wrap the string (or manja) around an empty tin of Cherry Blossom shoe polish. The right way to do it was to tie a knot, so the string would be secured at one end to the tin. But at six, while I was learning to fly a kite, I still hadn’t learnt to tie a knot!

  My heart filled with joy as the kite flew higher and higher. The joy soon turned to heartbreak, as the string slipped through my palms and the kite flew away … all because I hadn’t knotted the other end to the tin. I was left with an empty tin of shoe polish in my hands, tears in my eyes.

  That experience taught me a lesson and inculcated a streak of caution, a dash of prudence that has stayed with me ever since. It brought home the virtue of ensuring that the basics are right, always. The need to balance risk and reward. The need to blend caution and aggression. The need to ensure that the knot is tied before you set off to fly kites! To this date, when things are going well—too well—I worry that something might just go wrong. I feel a desperate urge to check if the string is tied to the tin of shoe polish!

  While my love affair with kites waned as I grew up, the lessons from kite flying continued. My next kite-flying lesson was thanks to the movies.

  Remember Namak Haraam? That fabulous movie of the 1970s starring the two superstars Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan? While opinion was divided about which of the two stole the show, my favourite character in the movie was a drunk poet-cum-kite-seller, played by Raza Murad.

  There is a particularly poignant scene when the drunk poet is about to die. He says something that has stayed with me ever since—sort of a guiding philosophy in my life. As he sees his end drawing near, the kite-seller looks at all the kites in his store and spells out his last wish. ‘When I die,’ he says to a friend, ‘distribute all these kites among the little kids in the slums. Let them fly the kites, so that everybody watching the kites soaring in the skies will know that the strings that control the guys on top are in the hands of the little fellows on the ground!’ (‘Ooper waalon ki dor neeche waalon ke haathon mein hoti hain!’)

  A powerful lesson when it comes to dealing with people and teams. Humility works, like magic. And it’s good to understand that when you have people working under you, or for you, you depend on them far more than you realize. You might think you are in control, that you are the boss, when the reality is quite the opposite. Whether it’s your secretary or your sales team—just about anyone who works for you—it’s good to remember the lesson from the kites! You are only as good as the team that’s supporting you.

  We see this lesson in sport too. Captains are only as good as their teams. The real power lies in the hands of individual performers. When a captain starts to think that he makes the difference—that he wields the power—that is usually the beginning of the end. Just recognizing the role of frontliners is often a great first step towards watching them soar in the skies.

  The similarity between teams and kites doesn’t end here. If you’ve ever flown a kite, you would have noticed that if you want it to fly farther and higher, you don’t push it. You pull it. To make a kite fly higher, you need to pull it towards you.

  People are like that too. Push them, and they usually won’t perform. Push them harder, and they will probably fall apart. As will you. But pull them towards you, show them you care, and watch them fly. Believe me, it works. With kites. And with people.

  Perhaps organizations should consider celebrating Makar Sankranti, the festival of kites (14 January) as the Day of the Frontliner. A day to honour the foot soldiers who actually make our world go round. The salesmen and the accounting staff and the folks in administration—unsung heroes who all make a difference. Recognize them. Thank them. And get reminded of some key lessons in life … The folks down there usually hold the strings to all those guys on top. If you want people to fly higher, don’t push them. Pull them towards you. And watch them take off!

  And while you are at it, as you take pleasure in watching your kite soar, it might also be a good idea to check and ensure that you have tied the string to your tin of shoe polish.

  To make a kite fly higher, you need to pull it towards you. Not push it. People are like that too.

  Of Sales Teams and Remote Controls

  It was the summer of 1987. The battlefield: Andhra Pradesh. The war: Rin versus Nirm
a. At stake: Market share leadership in India’s largest detergent bar market.

  Rin was the blockbuster brand of Hindustan Lever, now Hindustan Unilever. Rin was the undisputed market leader. The brand immortalized by some of the most memorable advertising campaigns of that time. Remember the tagline: ‘Bhala uski kameez meri kameez se safed kaise?’ (‘How is his shirt whiter than mine?’) And remember how the non-Rin guy always missed the bus?

  But away from the hallowed portals of Lever House in Mumbai, a silent revolution was gathering momentum in the marketplace. A low-priced, value-for-money yellow detergent bar was rapidly making inroads into the market and putting pressure on Rin’s sales graph. Offering more (20 per cent extra) for less (almost 50 per cent off the price of the market leader), the Nirma bar was changing the rules of the game.

  As Rin sales plummeted and sales teams found themselves falling short of their targets month after month, the pressure mounted. Understandably so. After all, Rin was the top profit grosser for the company. So when Rin sneezed, Hindustan Lever caught a cold.

  Brand managers unleashed attractive deep-discount trade schemes to load up the retailer. These schemes had worked well for several years but in the face of the Nirma onslaught, retailers didn’t quite bite the extra discount. Sales continued to dip.

  Innovative, attractive sales force contests were organized to reward the stars in Lever’s galaxy of salespeople. In the past, legends were created when several salespeople would beat their targets by a mile, to win not just a few grams of gold or a holiday trip but honour and glory. Against the Nirma juggernaut, however, that didn’t work either. Rin shares continued to slide.

  More pressure was placed on the sales team. The quality of execution was questioned. Experienced, star salespeople found themselves put on the mat. Distributors found themselves saddled with increasing inventory and, under the pressure, the entire distribution system started to crack up.

  Instead of rethinking the brand strategy or revisiting the marketing mix, and responding smartly to the changed competitive scenario, the spotlight stayed on the hapless sales system. ‘It has delivered all these years, so why not now?’ was the refrain.

  Seems the thinking in headquarters was somewhat like this: ‘The sales guys have just gotten lazy. Let’s put some pressure, let’s crack the whip, results will follow …’

  If you think about it, we are all like that. When things go wrong—as they often do—we blame execution. We blame people. We increase pressure. But to no avail.

  Our approach in such situations is akin to the way we handle the TV remote. Want to switch channels, zap that ad, mute that irritant judge on a reality show? Press a button on your remote. And it works!

  And that goes on for months. Press button. Change channel. Adjust volume. Whatever.

  But one day, the channel does not change. So what do we do? Press the button harder. Point it in the TV’s direction. Move closer to the screen. Slam the remote. Hit it against the palm. Hard. Harder. Everyone becomes a remote expert, and takes a shot at pressing the buttons. ‘It worked yesterday, no reason why it shouldn’t today’… goes the thinking.

  As we press harder, we increase the wear. The hapless remote gives up and calls it quits. All this when perhaps all we needed to do was change the battery.

  It’s like that with sales teams too. When targets are missed, the sales system comes under pressure. If you press harder, they will crack up. And leave.

  The next time you find your star sales team missing targets regularly, pause for a while before pressing the buttons harder. Perhaps it’s time to question your strategy. Time to change the batteries as it were. Like Hindustan Lever finally did. They unleashed a new brand, Wheel detergent bar, at a lower price point, to take Nirma head-on. Both Rin and Wheel flourished. The Nirma juggernaut was halted.

  And the Lever folks lived happily ever after!

  If the TV channel doesn’t change when you press the button on your faithful remote, what do you do? Press harder. Slam the remote. Hit it against the palm. All this, when all you need to do really is change the batteries. It’s like that with teams too.

  Lessons for the New Leader

  What happens when an organization gets a new CEO from outside? What’s it like when a sales team gets a new manager hired from another organization? When the Indian cricket team gets a foreign coach, why does it work on some occasions and bomb on others?

  It all boils down to the attitude of the new leader. There’s enough research to show that the first 100 days are critical for a new leader, in any such situation. The first few steps, the early interactions with the team, the initial impact and the overall chemistry between the leader and his team in the early days often define the long-term success—or failure—of that engagement. How should a new leader approach such an assignment?

  Well, he could learn a lesson or two from Dastur Neryosang Dhaval, the leader of the first group of Zoroastrians that came into India. It all happened in AD 755 in the small town in Gujarat called Sanjan. About five hundred Parsi families landed on Indian shores, having fled from Persia. They reached Sanjan, a prosperous little town ruled by a benevolent Hindu king called Jadi Rana. Dastur, the chief of the Parsis, went to the king’s court to request him for refuge. Being somewhat apprehensive of the tall, fair warrior-like tribe and unsure of his little kingdom’s ability to absorb and provide for the immigrants, the king called for a bowl of milk, filled to the brim. He showed it to the Parsi chief, to symbolize the fact that the kingdom was full. There was no room for more people!

  But Dastur was not about to give up so easily. He asked one of the attendants to get him some sugar. He took a spoonful of the sugar and mixed it in the bowl, letting it dissolve—signifying that the Zoroastrians would mingle with the people in Sanjan and sweeten their lives. Impressed, the king allowed the Parsis to settle in his kingdom. The rest, as they say, is history.

  Several valuable lessons in leadership flow from that bowl of milk and sugar.

  First, leaders moving into a new team or organization must remember that, in most cases, the bowl is almost always perceived to be full to the brim. The view in the team often is this: ‘We are doing fine by ourselves … We don’t really need a new leader …’ Remember, it’s got nothing to do with the way the team is or with who you are. The organization always sees itself as a full-to-the-brim cup when a new leader arrives.

  Second, like the sugar itself, leaders must learn to mingle with the team and be willing to let their identity, and their ego, become subservient to the needs of the team. After all, once the sugar dissolves in the team, you want people to exclaim how sweet the milk is. No one’s going to be talking about how good the sugar was. Yet, many new leaders focus more on being recognized as great leaders—good sugar—rather than on impacting teams and creating a fabulous organization (sweet milk)!

  Third, it also helps to remember that once the sugar dissolves in the milk, it sweetens the last drop of milk. The sugar’s impact is not confined merely to the drops of milk that come in direct contact with it. Leaders must aim to impact the man in the frontline, the soldier at the battlefront, the last drop, not just the coterie of direct reports in the corridor leading up to the corner room.

  Finally, it’s most important to understand and appreciate what’s inside the bowl. Is it milk? Or water? Or soda? Understanding the people and the organization has to be the first step in the leader’s journey.

  It’s also good to remember the advice from Marshall Goldsmith, the man who helps successful leaders get even better: What got you here won’t get you there. You may have built your reputation and career with a certain style (aggressive, task oriented) but your new role—and the new team or organization—might require a different approach. Young managers are like slices of lime. Early in their career, these slices of lime make instant impact. A few drops of lime turn soda into lemonade, make bland rice interesting and turn carrots and cucumber into delicious salad. As a reward, the manager moves up into a new rol
e. A new organization. What awaits them here? A bowl full of milk. And we all know what happens when you squeeze a lime into a bowl of milk!

  Good leaders make sure that their armoury includes equal quantities of sugar and lime. And, more important, they make sure they first understand the organization and then decide on what would work best!

  Every organization sees itself as a full-to-the-brim cup when a new leader arrives. Like sugar in a cup of milk, leaders must learn to mingle with the team and be willing to let their ego become subservient to the needs of the team. Once the sugar dissolves in the milk, you want people to exclaim how sweet the milk is. Not how good the sugar was.

  Catching Fish with Strawberries and Cream

  One of the more popular pastimes at home these days is playing Taboo, a popular word-guessing game. It’s simple and it’s fun. The object of Taboo is for you to get your partner to guess the word (or phrase) mentioned on your card, without using that word—or five other words—mentioned on the card.

  Here’s what I find fascinating. Often, very often, you come across a word that seems oh-so-simple. And you come up with what you think is the perfect clue, but your partner struggles to get it. It seems so easy to you and you think your clueing is bang on, so how come she isn’t guessing it. And instead of changing tracks and trying something else, you get frustrated, you show your angst and that makes your partner more nervous. And she doesn’t get it at all.

  Like it happened one night. The phrase I had was ‘private equity’. And I said ICICI Venture. (After all, they were the PE investors in the company I worked with then.) And my daughter responded with words like ‘owners’, ‘boss’, ‘Renuka’, ‘investor’—everything else, except private equity. And instead of just splitting it into two, and getting her to guess equity and private (pretty darn easy, I suspect), I got locked into the ICICI Venture idea. With scant regard for the fact that my daughter might just not relate to them as private equity.