Three Marketeers

by Ajeet Sharma

  ‘Dan, there is an article in The Economic Times,’ said Rishi, as he pushed a copy of the newspaper in Zabar’s direction. ‘It’s on page nine.’

  Zabar took a cursory look at the article authored by a research associate at the University of Delhi. Its title read, ‘Rebirth of Yodel: What’s in Store?’. He did not comment.

  Karan proceeded and spoke uninterrupted for the next thirty minutes on areas such as increasing operating expenses, bills receivable, and amortization of advertising expenditure. Zabar only made notes and did not ask any questions.

  As Karan’s presentation ended, Zabar turned over the pages of the research report and, at the same time, scrolled through various files open on his laptop. ‘Based on your presentation, the report, and my analysis of the situation, here are my thoughts,’ he said and cleared his throat. ‘You have been flying directionless.’ He shook his head. ‘The scenario is not at all encouraging. I had different expectations from all of you. Here are my observations.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘One, you have failed to formulate a firm brand strategy. By now, that should have been accomplished.’

  ‘That has happened, Dan,’ said Rishi. ‘We are—’

  ‘Let me finish. It’s time all of you realised that Freedom is failing. Now my second observation … While I have a reason, and not a strong one, to be happy that the brand recall has increased as consumers now know there is a brand called Yodel, the sales volume upsets me.’ He pointed to the research report. ‘Something you did not dwell on in your presentation, maybe intentionally so. Considering the amount you are spending on promotions, the sales volume should at least encourage me to go on with Freedom. It’s summers, when the beverage industry does up to 40 per cent of its annual business. Whatever increase in recall you are claiming, will fizzle out a day after the IRL ends.

  ‘The only strategy you have is to ride Festi’s promotions and controversies,’ continued Zabar. ‘Therefore, the hype, that you say is generated by you, is not your doing. And now your commercials have been banned. Are we seeing a skull and crossbones here?’ He observed Karan’s silence.

  Vidu, who had flown down from Mumbai for the meeting, said, ‘Dan, we agree, the sales volume—’

  ‘Sales is the only thing I’m concerned about! Everything else is escapism.’ Zabar did not want to listen. He picked up the report again and went through some key areas, carrying out more calculations in his mind, in between referring to an excel sheet on his laptop. ‘Six months ago, when I invested in this business, one of the factors that motivated me was the viability of your plan. What I see now is non-performance.’ He peered at his notepad, straightened the jacket of his designer suit—a grey Ozwald Boateng—and continued, ‘Keeping in mind the operational effort, investments made in terms of money and time, and the human resources deployed, I will wait for this season to end and see if your campaign can increase the overall volume by 20 per cent—as was agreed upon—and sustain the venture. Thereafter, a decision on the second round of funding will be taken.’

  ‘When are you reviewing again?’ asked Karan.

  Reading from his notepad again, Zabar said, ‘On first July, forty days from today.’ With that, he shut down his laptop and rose from his seat. ‘All the best, gentlemen,’ he wished and smiled. It was not a friendly smile.

  For Dan Zabar, it was business as usual that day. For the three marketeers, it was the beginning of the last lap. If their campaign failed to increase sales, Windlyn would stop the funds, and they did not have any money left with them to go on. In all, they had raised thirteen crore rupees and invested large amounts in Manwani Beverages, the signing of the contract with Kabir Raja, and advertising. The balance went to operations. They might have to shut down the venture or have it acquired by Windlyn, something that Zabar could be secretly wishing for, but not revealing.

  43

  Kabir Raja was a busy man and did not have a date free for the next two months. Shinde refused to schedule a day for another shoot at such a short notice. When Karan talked to Kabir directly and informed him about the ban after a complaint filed by Festi Beverages, and the immediate need to air a fresh message, the actor asked Shinde to roll back one of his film shoots and adjust Freedom for a day. Shinde felt that Kabir was being more than generous to the company.

  On the day of the shoot, all concerned were present in Delhi. As usual, Ricky Pinto was with his group of cameramen, stylists, technicians, and engineers, among others; and Kabir with Shinde and bodyguards.

  The location for the shoot was Fotedar’s Home for Women. A special permission was taken from the Indian Commission for Women. Bagga made all the arrangements. When Karan had first mentioned to Rishi and Vidu that he was casting the inmates this time alongside Kabir, the two of them thought that was a desperate cost-saving move … until he shared his script with them.

  Kabir did not have to be convinced. He believed, as he did in the past, the script would work in their favour. ‘Your ads have been like bombs. Haven’t they blown your intended targets? For once, I thought all of us would land up in Tihar.’

  Before the shoot began, Rishi narrated to their endorser the hardships of the inmates, the cause of the recent violence, and the arrests of Fotedar and others.

  Pinto, along with his team, went on for the whole day and, as usual, Kabir delivered his best. Moved by the pain of the women, he also wrote a cheque for twenty-five lakh rupees favouring the NGO. Shinde did not flinch at the generosity this time.

  When it was time for Kabir to leave, the inmates followed him to the gate to say goodbye. It was like a marriage procession led by a groom. Rishi knew that every woman at the Home would treasure the memory of the day for the rest of her life, as if it were a precious diamond.

  Most women that night, including a few ageing ones, dreamt of making a career in films as Kabir flew out of India to reach his number one destination: Las Vegas.

  44

  Las Vegas, USA.

  It was a week-long shoot for an untitled film. Kabir and Priya Sen were the main leads and the director was Abbas Anwar, a well-known name in the thriller genre. The cast and crew, including Harish Shinde—in all, a team of fifteen members—landed at the McCarran International Airport and were headed towards their hotel. Anwar had arranged to book it only after confirming that it suited Kabir’s status.

  ‘Hey, Abby. What’s your plan for Vegas?’ Kabir asked the director as their hired vanity van sped towards the Las Vegas Strip. The van carried everything the superstar might need, including painkillers.

  Abbas Anwar was a fifty-five-year-old man with a hive of grey hair that invariably had his big eyeglasses stuck in them. He scowled at the way Kabir addressed him. ‘No plans, Kabir. Only work is on my mind.’

  Priya got up and tottered to a window. She had darkish, shiny skin and a flexible body. She was not one of the top ones in Bollywood but a couple of her films had done well. This would be the fourth film of her career.

  ‘Priya,’ said Kabir, ‘what’s on your mind?’

  In her opinion, Kabir was overbearing and uncouth to the extent of using foul language in the presence of female members of the crew. She so hoped that the shooting would end before time and that she could return to India at the soonest. ‘Whatever we’re here for, Kabir,’ she replied.

  Kabir turned to his manager. ‘What boring people we have here, Shinde. Do the needful for me. Find out the best gambling dens and nightclubs I can walk into in the next seven days while we are here.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ replied Shinde dutifully, and decided not to be of any help. His master, anyway, knew about the place more than anyone else did. The actor was a regular visitor to the Sin City until five years ago.

  Anwar was vexed. ‘We’re here for a shoot, Kabir.’

  ‘And also,’ Kabir ignored the director, ‘the finest eateries.’ He sighed. ‘Five years …’

  Others in the van were Sarika Khanna, an upcoming actress; Sam D’souza, who had appeared in more number of flops than the rippl
ing muscles in his body; and Jayant Sinha, a tawny- skinned veteran, who had done more than two hundred character roles and was one of the most talented actors in Bollywood.

  ‘Wow,’ uttered Sam, as the vehicle passed by the beautiful façade of a country club. ‘I wish I had the money,’ he crooned.

  ‘And that’s a beautiful wedding chapel,’ said Sarika, who had an upturned nose and a bright face on a slender neck, seeing the popular tourist attraction of the city.

  ‘Who’re you getting married to, Sarika? Sam or Jayant? Or both?’ joked Kabir.

  Everyone ignored him. The driver drove for another mile before turning to the Vegas Boulevard. After a ten-minute drive, he pulled up in front of a hotel located on a tree-lined road.

  Kabir was not much of a nuisance during the first two days. On the third day, he switched his phone off and vanished. Fox Bay Resort & Casino, a fifty-story property on the Strip, was where he decided to burn his money. He had last visited the place when he was in his self-imposed exile and used to be a high roller. Long time, thought Kabir. It’s a crime not visiting this place if you’re in Vegas. In no time, he was there and ushered into a hall having many rows of tables, most of them occupied.

  ‘Look, Kabir Raja!’ shrilled a young Indian girl as he passed her. She followed him for an autograph.

  ‘On this?’ he asked, as she stretched the fabric of her tee and extended a pen. ‘Love’, he wrote on it and scrawled his signature with a flourish.

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a winning gesture of her hand. ‘This is for keeps. Thanks.’

  Gently, he patted her head and strode ahead.

  ‘He has switched his phone off,’ said Shinde. ‘And stop asking me of his whereabouts. I am not his bodyguard.’

  ‘Fine. Let’s cancel the day’s shoot,’ shot back Anwar. ‘Shinde, it’s going to be tough this way, if Kabir—’

  ‘Mr Anwar, speak to him when he comes,’ pleaded Shinde. He was in his overseas outfit—a green polo shirt and baggy jeans—certainly not wanting to be the odd one in the city of casinos, despite the leather planner in his hand.

  The film crew and cast sat under a canopy at the Chinatown Plaza, the location for the day’s shoot. The props were in place and the technicians and artists were ready.

  ‘What do we do? Play dumb charades?’ asked Sam, who was in a black shirt and black trousers, with a black sparrow hat on. His role in the film was that of an impersonator who had to kill the protagonist.

  ‘Can’t anyone get him back?’ asked Sarika drearily.

  ‘He’s gone for the day,’ said Jayant, dressed in a modish suit as a rich and classy businessman.

  Priya turned to Anwar. ‘You need to be firm with him if you want your movie done in time. I’m heading back to the hotel.’ She got up. ‘Anyone coming along?’

  ‘Not me, Priya. I am going to try my luck at some casino,’ said Sam. ‘And I promise I won’t switch my phone off.’

  ‘I’d like to join you, Sam,’ said Sarika jauntily.

  Jayant eyed a blonde passing by. ‘I’ll go back to the hotel.’ He had other plans in mind.

  ‘And I’ll go look for Kabir,’ said Shinde.

  ‘Where’ll you go? This is not a familiar place, Shinde,’ said Anwar.

  ‘Give me a few hours and I’ll be back with him.’

  ‘God bless you. We can finish a part of the day’s shoot then.’

  After exhausting himself playing several rounds of blackjack and baccarat, losing some and winning some, Kabir walked out of Fox Bay. He had played safe. Gone were the days when he would lose the last dollar in his wallet.

  It was evening and the Strip was a busy place. Kabir took a cab.

  He looked out of the window. Something happens to this place after the sun is down, he thought, marvelling at the boulevard as various clubs and casinos came into view on either side of the speeding cab.

  Sometime later, he walked into Passione, a club famous for its adult shows, exotic food, and drinks. A scantily clad, supple woman welcomed him as he entered one of the most savage places in Vegas. A steward, primly dressed in a maroon suit, approached Kabir and accompanied him to the inner dens of the property.

  Two hours later, the next place he visited was Hard Plectrum, a sanctum for those into rock music. As he was guided into a hall, the sound of drum beats grew louder. It was none other than Will Mayne on the stage, one of his favourite rock stars. He was singing his all-time hit, ‘Gimme the Cold Fire’. The twanging of the guitars and the drumming of machines created a psychedelic madness around the hall, the fans swaying and jerking their bodies along with the beats. The madness began to enter Kabir’s system. He made his way through the crowd to the end of the hall, shaking his gym-trained body to the beats. Kabir knew his way around such places. There they were—a group of men and women sprawled on the floor, smoking crack to the music. He squatted among the junkies, took out a golden case containing cannabis from his pocket, and made his first joint of the evening.

  Resting his back against a marble pillar, he sat with the group for some time … quietly … listening to the song and aligning himself with the hysteria:

  Give that wild thing to me

  Gimme the live wire

  Give the insane feel to me

  Gimme the cold fire

  Shinde wasn’t so concerned about a shooting day’s loss. It was Kabir’s eccentricities that worried him. The city wasn’t a pilgrim’s destination after all, nor was his master a man who practiced self-control. He could pick a fight, over-indulge himself, or meet with an accident.

  Shinde was aware of Kabir’s preferred places in Vegas. The night before, the actor had given him a low down on his escapades in the city when he was in exile.

  Only after Shinde had checked at least a dozen establishments, he found Kabir lying in a stupor on the terrace of Hard Plectrum.

  45

  New Delhi.

  The knockout stage of the Indian Royal League began. It was the fifty-seventh and the first qualifier match of the tournament between Chennai Rangers and Chandigarh Stallions. The first ball of the second innings was about to be bowled when a message from Freedom came on air for the first time.

  It’s a long shot of the nursery at Fotedar’s Home for Women. Kabir Raja, wearing a stern look, marches towards the moving camera zooming in ahead of him. He looks taller and broader than he actually is. His voice echoes as he speaks sonorously and rhythmically:

  ‘You brave the lust like a saint

  You bear the animal till you faint.

  You flee the place crying in vain

  They catch an’ cage you once again.

  You lead a life of gloom and fear

  Does ever a soul lend you an ear?’

  Cut to the next frame, Kabir approaches a large group of women working at the nursery and affectionately places a hand on one’s shoulder. The camera focuses on the muted but seemingly intense conversation he has with them as his voice booms in the background with the violin playing an emotional note:

  ‘Now an angel comes and stands by you

  To rouse the dying spirit in you.

  So flex your arms and clench your fists

  With courage and hope, you keep a tryst.

  Light a fire and hold it high

  And cross the point of no return

  Cross the point of no return.’

  The camera floats over the innocent faces, hardened by time and toil. The women grit their teeth and, in slow motion, run in rage facing the camera, as if wanting to attack an enemy. Kabir stands aside, smiles, and nods agreeably.

  ‘You pray for victory no matter what

  The belief you’ll win should not be lost.

  Now swing the mace and strike the beast

  Strike the beast, you strike the beast.’

  Dust rises over the excited faces as the scene fades out. Cut to the next frame, the women frolic around trees, as if freed from their misery forever. Kabir’s voiceover says:

  ‘Songs and cheers will fi
ll the sky

  At your feet as the beast will lie.

  Never a flower will be crushed

  Never a voice will be hushed.’

  The scene fades out and the logo of Yodel appears with a message that reads: ‘This film was shot at a welfare home for women in Delhi where, recently, its inmates rebelled against years of sexual abuse. The team behind Yodel stands in solidarity with them and millions of others in their fight against the crime. May the brave spirited win.’

  They were in Karan’s cabin that evening, watching the match on a newly purchased small-screen TV.

  ‘Man, where are we heading!’ said Rishi, as the first ball of the second innings was bowled.

  ‘We’re heading in the right direction,’ said Karan. ‘The inmates have done a fantastic job.’

  ‘No doubt about that,’ said Vidu.

  ‘I’ll call up Bagga.’ Rishi took out his phone.

  ‘Do they have a TV there?’ asked Vidu.

  ‘Now they have, in the common room of the hostel,’ informed Rishi and dialled the number.

  Bagga was at the Home, watching TV with the inmates. He had been staying back at night along with the police force deployed in the campus. He sounded ecstatic. ‘There’s no one here who does not want to do a film with Kabir Raja,’ he warbled over the noise at his end. The women were celebrating. ‘Rishiji, the inmates want to meet and thank you for everything.’

  Rishi promised to be at the Home the next day and finished the call.

  ‘Gone nuts, haven’t they?’ said Vidu.

  ‘Totally,’ said Rishi. ‘So who’s suing us this time?’

  ‘Who cares?’ said Vidu.

  Karan picked up his phone. ‘I’ll call up Kabir and thank him for doing a fantastic job again.’ He never missed calling him every time a commercial was launched. Kabir too was happy with his role as Yodel’s endorser. He liked the way Karan operated and even answered most of his calls. He wanted Yodel to triumph. ‘Didn’t he have to fly to Vegas?’ asked Karan.