by Harish Bhat
HARISH BHAT
An Extreme Love of Coffee
PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
A Note on the Author
PART A: A Coffee Adventure
PART B: The Search
PART C: The Final Clue
PART D: The Monk’s Treasure
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
A Note on the Author
Harish Bhat is an author, columnist and marketer. He works with the Tata Group, where he began his career over thirty years ago.
His first book, Tata Log, was a bestseller and continues to enthrall readers with stories from the modern history of Tata. His second book, The Curious Marketer, addresses the topic of why and how curiosity is so important for marketers, and, indeed, for everyone. He also writes popular columns for The Hindu BusinessLine and Mint.
By day, Harish is brand custodian at Tata Sons and serves as a director on the boards of many Tata companies. Previously, he was managing director of Tata Global Beverages and chief operating officer of the jewellery and watches businesses of Titan Company Limited. An avid marketer, he has helped create many successful Tata brands.
An alumnus of BITS Pilani and the Indian Institute of Management Ahmedabad, he has won the IIMA Gold Medal for scholastic excellence, and later the British Chevening Scholarship for young managers. In 2017, BITS Pilani conferred on him its Distinguished Alumnus award.
Harish is an incorrigible foodie and fitness freak. He relishes the written word and loves spinning a good story. His wife, Veena, is a data scientist. They have a college-going daughter, Gayatri. Harish and Veena live in Mumbai, where he loves gazing out at the distant sea over his cup of freshly brewed black coffee. He can be reached at [email protected].
To my parents,
who gifted me my first storybook over fifty years ago
and encouraged me to constantly read, write and explore
PART A
A COFFEE ADVENTURE
1
When Rahul first developed an extreme love of coffee, he had not imagined even remotely where this affair would lead him. It had only been a year but this obsession had marked a sudden, clean and dramatic shift from his long-standing penchant for elaichi chai.
When his colleague Srinivasan, the accountant who sat in the cubicle next to his, commented on this change, Rahul was quick to respond, ‘It is elaichi chai that I’ve been having since my college days. How long can one keep drinking the same thick, syrupy stuff? Coffee, on the other hand, is so seductive and cool, man. Good coffee is like delicious, lingering sex, you know?’
Srinivasan, a nearly celibate Tamil Brahmin from Trichy (also called Tiruchi or Tiruchirappalli), did not like these casual mentions of sex in the office. However, well aware that Rahul was in an expansive mood, one where he would go on and on about assorted and inane things, Srinivasan persevered with the conversation, probably for the sake of friendship. It was only when it became quite likely that more graphic descriptions would follow to further illustrate what was already an inappropriate comparison that he thought it best to walk back to his cubicle. Shaking his head, he buried himself in the safety of his accounting ledgers where coffee and lingering sex thankfully made no appearances.
Rahul Kamath, a man from the world of advertising and a newly converted lover of coffee, sat back in his chair. He brushed back his thick black hair, stared into space and then closed his eyes. This almost always helped him think. Why did Srini go away so quickly? Rahul could never understand people who first initiated a conversation and then withdrew inexplicably. Unfortunately, there are plenty of such people in our offices these days—shallow guys with thick spectacles and a bucketload of grand degrees, most of them unable to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. Let it go, let it go, Rahul, it is not worth the thought. Only a nice hot cup of freshly brewed black coffee was worth his time now; some lovely Americano would allow him to think and rise above the usual rut that was office civility.
Rahul took off for the Starbucks café at Horniman Circle, his favourite coffee place. It was a delightful coffee house, cozy and warm, and just ten minutes away if one walked briskly. It had a buzz that fed his creative juices. But now, just the thought of a steaming cup of Americano had geared him up for some thinking. He had read somewhere that Americano literally meant American coffee though it had actually originated in Italy. This nugget of information had intrigued him until he found an unconfirmed story suggesting that the name owed itself to American soldiers fighting in Italy during World War II. They used hot water to dilute the strong Italian espresso to produce the sort of coffee they drank at home. The Italians must have been aghast. But he doubted if anyone cared; after all Americano helped the Americans win the war.
To reach Starbucks at Horniman Circle, one had to cross St Thomas Cathedral, a three hundred-year-old landmark of south Mumbai and one of the oldest churches in India. Rahul cast a glance at the cathedral, a bright yellow and white Gothic building that radiated cheer and peace. The intricately crafted ornate fountain at the entrance had always intrigued him. He also recalled seeing the beautiful stained glass windows inside the cathedral, which featured the apostle Saint Thomas with the Bible in one hand and a T-square in the other, showing everyone that he was a builder by profession. What an interesting visual depiction, he thought to himself. Then, he took a quick bend around the corner, saw the historic Horniman Circle right in front of him and reached the heritage building that housed the Starbucks café.
*
Even in the middle of the afternoon, Starbucks was abuzz with activity—people eating, drinking, reading and mostly talking. On that particular day, most of the men looked like they were aspiring artists, but Rahul knew this was purely conjecture based on their dishevelled clothes and banded ponytails. Three of the five women that he saw wore large silver earrings and pendants while the other two were without ornaments. There was also a strange-looking man he had never seen before, and the only vacant seat in the café faced him. Rahul had to make peace and sit there.
‘Can I have a Caffè Americano?’ he asked the young barista wearing a green apron. ‘And please make it as strong as you can. I love strong coffee.’
‘Absolutely!’ replied the barista with a nod of approval. The black coffee was soon served to him, a generous serving in a huge porcelain mug. And then, as he took his first sip, unbelievable things began to happen.
2
Aren’t unbelievable things too commonplace these days? Nothing surprises anyone any more.
Rahul was always sceptical of such things. Nonsensical stuff, figments of imagination, even downright lies, he thought. As the warm coffee streamed down his gut, he sat up thinking about his project. His boss, well-known advertising guru Haroon Sawant, had asked him to create a stunning film for an Ayurvedic herbal hair oil that served a single-minded purpose: using it before bed allowed for eight and a half hours of uninterrupted, deep sleep.
‘Nidra Hair Oil needs your magic touch, Rahul,’ Haroon had told him two weeks ago. ‘How do we break through all this meaningless clutter and create a film that makes people long for this oil? People need to sleep, Rahul. Sometimes, they need to sleep with each other. Or they may voluntarily want to sleep alone, though that makes no sense really to a guy like me. To each his or her own sleep, of course. But I can tell you this, irrespective of how we sleep, we need lots of it, all eight and a half hours. What is a man without sleep? For that matter, what is a woman without sleep? Nidra is such an apt name too. Don’t you think?’
For two weeks, Rahul had been working on the script. He had been trying, quite tenaciously in fact, but he had nothing to show fo
r it. One useless script after another had found its way into the bin. All was consumed. There was evidence too—Gold Flake cigarettes, Kingfisher beer and Old Monk rum. Just no script.
And then it suddenly struck Rahul. He knew what the problem was. He knew why he couldn’t think of a good film. Every good script he had ever written had started with the idea of his protagonist. In this case he would need to see who the model was, derive inspiration and write the story around her. This was his way.
Only this time, he had no idea who his muse was to be for Nidra oil. Amidst this general listless gloom, the first few sips of the black coffee somewhat brightened him. He looked up and was instantly taken aback, delightfully so. The odd-looking man in front of him had left and been silently replaced by two stunning women. They were drop-dead gorgeous. Rahul could smell the amalgam of their unique perfumes.
Interestingly, they wore identical sarees, leaf-green cottons with floral red patterns on the pallu. Both of them wore large gold nose rings, the kind that belonged to a different era, the sort no one wore any more. They also wore matching skin-coloured blouses. Rahul asked himself, when did they walk in? What were they doing here, and why had they occupied his table? Who were they?
Before Rahul could reflect on this sudden flush of questions, one of them fluttered her thick eyelashes and spoke, ‘Hi, Rahul. I am Urvashi and this here is my friend, Heena. Like you, we love our coffees. I like mild, freshly brewed arabica coffee. Heena likes a mean double shot of espresso. Stop looking around uselessly and look at our hair instead.’
The barista suddenly reappeared and handed over a white coffee mug to Urvashi and a small brown espresso cup to Heena. ‘Here you go, dearies, your regular fixes.’ She then turned to Rahul and smiled. ‘Don’t worry about these girls. They are nice and talkative, but if you really want space they will leave you alone. I know them well.’
‘Look at our hair, Rahul. Look, look, look,’ Heena was speaking now, running her hand through her tresses.
Rahul stared at their hair. Lush, dark tresses of jet-black hair falling past their shoulders and blouses, all the way down to their little feet that were partly hidden under the table. He looked up and down all the way a couple of times.
‘Do you girls sleep well at night?’ he asked. God alone knew what came over him and compelled him to ask this. It must have been the frustration of not being able to finish his project.
Urvashi said, ‘Yes, of course we did, Rahul. We sleep very well. Always.’
He thought he spotted a hint of a thin smile curled on her thick lips. How did they know my name? I am an anonymous twenty-eight-year-old trying to make it somewhere in life. I am no Haroon Sawant.
‘We sleep for eight and a half hours each night. Warm deep sleep; curled up in the trusses of our well-oiled hair. That’s what keeps us so bright and chirpy. We need our long hours of sleep, Heena, don’t we?’ With this, they broke into an endless stream of laughter. Then the laugh transformed. It became lighter, happier, almost bordering on flirtatious.
Right then, Rahul knew that he had found his models for the Nidra oil film—Urvashi and Heena—beautiful, long-haired women who slept for eight and a half hours every night. So perfectly authentic that it could be mistaken for a set-up.
‘But let’s speak about coffee now, Rahul. That’s why we are here, you know,’ Urvashi continued, cupping her mug in both hands. ‘This is my favourite brew; deep and earthy flavours. I can feel the notes of mild orange running down my tongue. There is that little hint of lemon too. You know, Rahul, I love citrus flavours in my coffee. This coffee must be from Coorg. Lightly roasted arabica, I guess. What joy!’
Rahul sipped on his coffee and recognized the orange and citrus flavours too. It tasted marvellous. If only he had discovered coffee a few years earlier. Instead of all those thick, milky elaichi chais and saccharine-infested diet colas, he could have enjoyed many thousands more warm cups of coffees by now. Suddenly, Rahul snapped back to his senses. These gorgeous women and their graphic descriptions of coffee didn’t seem to make any sense whatsoever. Why were they here?
He closed his eyes. He always did this when he wanted to focus and think. Sometimes, like now, he pressed his eyelids together even deeper and ran his hands over his eyes; it helped him think better. When he opened his eyes, they were gone, out of sight. Shortly after, Starbucks announced that it was closing for the afternoon. The barista thanked him with a smile and bid him goodbye
3
That night, sitting before his computer at his small, round dining table, Rahul typed out his script for the Nidra oil film. In one hour of frenzied, inspired writing, he had the entire story ready, down to every little scene.
INT. LIVING ROOM—NIGHT
MENEKA: Early twenties, glowing, fit, with thin hips, thick lips and shapely breasts, walks disheartened into her Lokhandwala living room (small and cramped, but chirpy and colourful). Her roommate, Saira (same physical features, but with curly hair), switches the TV off and approaches her. They both have dark circles under their eyes due to lack of sleep—not uncommon in Mumbai.
SAIRA (sadly approaching Meneka): Tujhe bhi call mila [Did you get a call too]?
MENEKA: Haan. Lekin kal 7 baje ABC studios jaana hai. Itna jaldi uthi toh director ko mein nahin, mere dark circles dikhenge! (points at her under-eye bags. Saira shakes her head and then smiles.) [Yes. But I have to be there at 7 a.m. If I wake up so early, the director will only notice my dark circles, not me]
SAIRA: Pagli! Solution mere paas hai! [Don’t be crazy. I have a solution]
Saira brings out a bottle of NIDRA HAIR OIL. She points it towards the screen and then hands it to Meneka.
MENEKA: Nidra Hair Oil?
Saira smiles.
CUT TO: INT. BEDROOM—NIGHT
Now in their nightdresses (modern, short and translucent, the girls get ready for a good night’s sleep. Saira slowly, and sensually, applies some NIDRA HAIR OIL (golden drops) on to Meneka’s long hair that falls to her feet. The latter smiles as she catches a whiff of the pleasant odour. Meneka repeats the process on to Saira’s hair. They cuddle for a while before falling asleep in each other’s arms, surrounded by the warm scent of the oil.
As the two sleep, we move to an insert of a clock that reads 10 p.m.
LAPSE TO 6 a.m.
The girls are still asleep.
LAPSE TO 6.30 a.m.
Without any alarm, the girls get up. Meneka feels fresh as she extends her arms into the air. Her under-eye bags are gone, her hair feels silkier. Saira, simultaneously, extends her hands forward. They hold hands softly, for just a moment.
INT. BATHROOM—EARLY MORNING
Meneka checks her eyes and finds no dark circles.
BLUR OUT.
A small on-screen product placement with narration. A young feminine voice takes over.
FEMALE NARRATOR (V.O.)
Nidra Hair Oil. Silky hair and eight and a half hours of sleep. Guaranteed, with the science of Ayurveda.
Rahul was particularly happy that he had featured two women in his story. There were clear homosexual overtones to this film, though everything was to be done tastefully without the slightest suggestion of anything semi-sexual, delicious or lingering or otherwise. He was sure the film would work because he had once read that seeing two women together in bed turned on both men and women. Everyone would want to see this story again and again, and then hopefully they would buy gallons and gallons of the wretched oil.
Rahul was certain that Haroon too would love the story because of its unique angle. He hoped it would be seen as a pioneering, liberating and progressive move in the world of Indian advertising. Maybe even an award at Goa or Cannes. Who knew?
Both Haroon and Ram Kishan Gupta, the marketing head of Nidra Hail Oil, loved the film. Haroon even gently patted Rahul on the back in a rare gesture of appreciation. When they looked around for the right actresses to cast in the film, a number of names and photographs came up as suggestions from various model coordinators.
/>
Rahul turned over these photographs and, suddenly, there they were. Honestly, even before he saw them, he was half-expecting them—Urvashi and Heena—to be there. Their names were tagged in a big, bold font. ‘Urvashi Mehta. Twenty-eight years. TV actress and model. Speaks Hindi and Gujarati fluently and a little bit of Marathi.’ And then there was Heena Begum. ‘Thirty years. Model. One small acting appearance in a Salman Khan movie. Speaks Hyderabadi Hindi, Urdu and Telugu.’ Both the pictures featured thick lips, sparkling eyes, sultry smiles, big gold nose rings, exactly how he remembered them from the Starbucks café at Horniman Circle. They were the perfect cast.
*
The Nidra advertisement delivered superbly. Everyone loved it. Social media went to town calling it one of the biggest creative ideas of the year. The Advertising Weekly wrote: ‘Why on earth had no one thought of this earlier? Casting two beautiful women together to advertise a product that clearly has its origins in gorgeous feminine hair is just the most natural thing to do. Rahul Kamath has started something new here, and we must rise and applaud him.’
The Bombay Marketing Journal was even more effusive in its praise. ‘Nidra Hair Oil is lifted into ethereal heights by this fantastic piece of advertising. It is sensuous and poetic at the same time, and the casting is perfect. Where were both these women hiding before they appeared in this advertisement with their long hair and deep eyes? How did Rahul Kamath have the courage to cast them together in the bedroom, something no advertising film-maker has ever done before? Here is poetry and hair oil blended together perfectly. Take a bow, Rahul.’
Ram Kishan Gupta was more matter of fact but equally positive. ‘Nidra Hair Oil has grown by an amazing 38 per cent over the past few months, making us the undisputed market leader in the sleep-well segment. With such fantastic growth, we are well on our way to providing many more millions of Indians their richly deserved eight and a half hours of sound sleep. A significant contributor to our success and growth has been the brilliant advertisement campaign crafted by Rahul Kamath, under the most able guidance of the one and only Haroon Sawant. Nidra looks forward to continued strong partnership with this creative and committed duo.’