by Ajeet Sharma
The surgeon did not seem to have an answer. ‘You see, the bullet that hit him,’ he slipped his hand inside a pocket of his white coat and took the bullet out, ‘is this.’ He held it between a finger and thumb.
‘God!’ uttered Sameera.
‘Can I?’ asked Rishi.
‘Sure.’ The surgeon handed it to him. ‘Now,’ he continued, glancing at the heart monitor, ‘the good news is that the killer missed your friend’s heart by, as they say, a whisker. A millimetre closer, and he would have lost his life on the spot. We have repaired the lung that the bullet penetrated.’ He scanned their faces to gauge the impact of his words. ‘The bad news is that the cavitation the bullet has formed in his chest wall may cause a cardiac arrest until the administered medicines bring things in control.’
‘So?’ asked Sameera.
‘Will he … live, doctor?’ asked Vidu, as Sameera dropped a tear.
‘Ronald Reagan lived. And that was more than thirty years ago.’
52
Festi Beverages was in mourning that morning.
‘What do you mean you were not aware?’ shouted Dushyant Gujral.
‘No one was, Dushyant. Not even the ICB or media,’ said Ramesh Choksi.
‘You have put us in a situation we could have avoided,’ growled Gujral.
‘It’s not—’
‘The truth is that your trusted sources at the ICB did not inform you about Kabir’s show. Was none of them aware that he was safe and sound all the time?’
‘Boss, Freedom will hardly benefit from all this. Besides, their campaign wasn’t against us. As the world can see, it is that MP who needs to worry and not us.’
Gujral looked at him in disbelief. ‘Borrow a head from somewhere, Choksi. So what if it was not aimed at us? The presence of their brand in the stadium during the match, the stage performance, and their endorser Kabir Raja’s sudden emergence … all of it was one brilliant integrated campaign to hit the consumer psyche. On the other hand, the ICB, the IRL, and the broadcasting channel can’t be happier as the whole drama could increase the TV viewership manifold the next year and treble the advertising rates for the tournament.’ Choksi looked agape. ‘See this.’ Gujral showed him the morning’s copies of The Times of India, The Indian Express, and The Economic Times.
The top headline in one of the dailies, running across the breadth of its front page, read:
KABIR RAJA ALIVE AND BACK: ABDUCTED IN VEGAS, HELD FOR RANSOM
Gujral read out to Choksi, ‘In a high drama at Feroz Shah Kotla Ground, New Delhi, after the IRL final between Delhi Hounds and Chandigarh Stallions, Bollywood actor, Kabir Raja, resurfaced before the audience after a week-long disappearance when the world believed he was dead. In his emotional speech, Raja informed the stunned audience that he was abducted in Las Vegas seven days ago. The kidnappers hijacked the car he was driving—a friend’s Dodge Viper—and drove him to the base of Mt Charleston, 56 km from Vegas. They pushed the car down from the top of a cliff, drove back with the actor in their own car, and held him captive for five days in San Francisco. Kabir escaped one night when his kidnappers were carousing.’
Gujral showed Choksi more news reports on the same page. There was a picture in which Kabir, dressed in the high-collared red shirt and black skintight pants, stood on the stage waving at the crowd. Another one was of a group of college students flashing Yodel bottles. There was only one picture, a small one at the bottom of the page, about the tournament—the winning team’s captain lifting the trophy.
‘I watched the whole damn thing live last night,’ said Choksi.
‘So did millions of people across the world. And now its videos on the web will be viewed by millions. What do you make of it, sir?’
‘It’s a coincidence that Kabir was abducted before he was to perform at the stadium.’
‘Correction. Perform at the stadium in support of the inmates of the welfare home funded by Freedom. And you believe the bullshit he was abducted, huh?’
‘I … I think it’s a true story.’
Gujral shook his head. ‘At five this morning, Choksi, I got a call from Singapore.’
‘Oh. Big boss,’ said Choksi nervously, referring to the CEO of Festi Beverages, Asia, Middle East, and Africa region.
‘You know what he said?’ Gujral almost whispered.
‘What … Dushyant …?’
‘He bit my head off. He wanted to know why Festi wasn’t there in place of Yodel,’ he drawled, ‘and why we couldn’t think of a campaign like this. He’s furious that our own laxity has enabled a puny player to rise before us.’
‘Jaani, anyway, is battling for his life,’ assuaged Choksi. ‘Besides, the next month is the first hearing of our case against them. Very soon our lawyers will throw them out of the market forever.’
Gujral shook his head again. ‘Choksi, I’ll have to talk to you later.’
53
‘Honey, I forgot to duck,’ was what Ronald Reagan, the president of America (1981–89), had said to his wife when he was shot in his chest—an assassination attempt he had survived.
Karan Jaani could say the same to his own honey … if he had one.
God was kind. It wasn’t before the lapse of twelve hours after the surgery that everyone’s prayers were answered and the doctors declared Karan was out of danger.
A week later, the first news that Rishi and Vidu gave him brought a smile to his dry lips. On a conference call the previous evening, Dan Zabar informed them that Windlyn Capital had decided to go for another round of funding with them.
Karan was in a private room of the hospital. He was in a gown and had a broad dressing round his chest. Despite his condition, he was jovial.
‘It’s so nice to see you smile, Karan,’ said Ira touching his shoulder.
He adjusted himself, inclining his back against a pillow. ‘Thanks, Ira, and all of you for everything.’
‘You should thank Sameera the most,’ said Ira and a smile dimpled her cheeks. ‘She has been chanting mantras for you since the night you were operated on.’
‘I chanted for a good neighbour.’ Sameera blushed, not meeting Karan’s gaze.
‘Just a good neighbour?’ jested Vidu.
‘Get lost,’ she said softly, as Ira and Baruni laughed.
After a few more jokes, Karan asked his partners, as he always did at the start of their day, ‘What’s the latest from the market?’
‘I’ve been in touch with the sales managers. For the first time in South and West Delhi, Festi Cola and Crown Cola are going to see a fall in their weekly sales figures, thanks to a third player,’ reported Rishi.
‘And the third player is none other than Yodel Cola,’ said Vidu. ‘Reason why Zabar is so happy.’
‘What else did Zabar say?’ asked Karan joyfully.
‘He has a question for you, Karan,’ said Rishi.
‘What question?’
‘What happened in Vegas?’
Raising a finger, Karan said, ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.’
Everyone laughed.
Fourteen days ago at the base of Mt Charleston:
When the Dodge Viper had begun to glide down the cliff, Kabir had pushed open its door, jumped out, and clutched a ledge as the car went down into the trench. By the time the four ruffians came running behind him, he had managed to hang from the ledge and hide between the rocky protrusions.
When the men left the scene, thinking he was dead, Kabir climbed back to the top of the cliff, which was at least thirty feet up, and he took about an hour to finish the climb.
It was around 6.30 in the morning and Kabir was walking down the road to Vegas, hoping to get a lift back to the city. The action performed by him, which matched the stunt standards of many of his own films, had bruised his legs, scraped his arms, and torn a shoulder ligament. Yet, he was not one bit shaken. He would rather die than let anything change him. He had to reach Basilio’s house. Good sense prevailed and he switched his phone on. As he was about t
o call Shinde, it rang.
It was Karan. After their message of solidarity was aired, he had wanted to congratulate Kabir on his good job. He believed early morning was the best time to catch him when he was returning after a night of revelry.
Kabir received the call and informed Karan about the accident.
‘Have you called anyone at the hotel?’
‘I don’t want to tell anyone, except Shinde, of course.’ Repenting, he said, ‘I shouldn’t have told you also. Mistake.’
‘You can trust me, ’ said Karan.
‘I gotta go to Basilio’s place now. Bye.’
‘Kabir, do you know you can send a shock wave across the world?’
‘I sent one when I was jailed.’
‘An idea just struck my head. About Yodel.’
‘We’ll talk once I reach India.’ Kabir disconnected the call.
A minute later, Karan called him again. ‘This is the only time to discuss it, Kabir, while you’re there. It’s for the Home. An idea that will be a hard punch in Festi’s face.’
The words worked at once. ‘Okay, finish fast. I am in a horrible mood.’
‘Thanks. You have a relative or a close friend somewhere near Vegas?’
‘I have an aunt in San Francisco. Why?’
‘Why don’t you go into hiding for a few days?’
‘Come again?’
‘Disappear,’ said Karan. ‘Hole up in your aunt’s house for a few days. Then travel back to Delhi incognito and stay here for a night before the IRL final. Don’t let anyone know.’
‘I haven’t killed anyone here. Why do I have to hide? And stay in Delhi? For what?’
‘For a dance rehearsal. It’ll be a live performance this time.’ Karan explained how his promo at the stadium would be organised. Then he talked about the agreements he would sign with Delhi Hounds and the Indian Cricket Board. ‘Don’t worry. All arrangements will be made,’ he assured.
‘Just to remind you, I am a very big star. In a day, the whole world will learn I am missing. The local police will begin their search operations too.’ He paused to think for a while. ‘And what if the authorities at the airports recognise me?’
‘You can tell the local police and the airport authorities there that you were abducted in Vegas for ransom but were lucky to escape. Request them not to make it public … to protect your image, as you are a star in India, big as Brad Pitt.’ Kabir did not like the comparison. ‘Likewise, for India, you can ask Shinde to contact someone in the aviation ministry about why you don’t want the media to know you’re alive—you’re disturbed after the escape, you’re unwell, and need privacy for at least a day after you reach the Delhi airport. Everyone, including a celebrity, has a right to privacy, and a victim of any invasion of such privacy can fight it out in courts. I know a lawyer who can get things done for you, if required. If we are lucky, you’ll get help in both the countries, and no one will ever know.’
The actor asked more questions, which Karan was only happy to answer. He dispelled all the fears Kabir had and said, ‘Shall we, superstar?’
Kabir was silent. Then he said, ‘Where did you learn the fine art of persuasion, Karan Jaani?’
THE NEXT SIX MONTHS
54
In terms of sales volume, Yodel Cola emerged as a potent contender. The three marketeers reckoned that it was time each of the three drinks had its own identity. They decided to devise separate campaigns for them. That called for an increase in the budget, but with the increase in revenue, it was manageable. They hoped to expand to all tier-one cities in the next two years and most tier-two cities afterwards.
What goes around comes around. Ramesh Choksi was sacked a week after the IRL final. Karan then had a private meeting with Dushyant Gujral. The former brand manager of Festi Cola put across only two things: he did not have any vendetta against the beverage giant, and that his ex-boss, Choksi, always misunderstood his campaigns. Gujral disagreed with him on both, but did not argue.
The three marketeers were not surprised when the beverage major did not demand any compensation. Festi and Freedom had an out-of-court settlement.
Festi’s legal team, however, inserted another clause in all its contracts with its celebrity endorsers. It was a ‘non-disparagement lifetime clause’, which restrained the brand ambassadors from disparaging the company and its brands in public even after their contracts ended. Later, when a news reporter enquired Gujral why his company withdrew the case against the start-up, he stated that Festi would rather deal with the troublemakers ‘in the field’ than in courts and show the world who ruled the markets.
Karan Jaani and his men were more than ready for another round of blitzkrieg in the field.
Jaggi Balraj got the approval of the Mayford board and the shareholders for his acquisition of the hotel company. When K&B India decided not to air more advertisements on Jaskirat Singh’s Northern Television Network, he had no option but to vote in favour of Balraj’s takeover bid.
It was a bitter shock for Paresh Menon to see Shigeru Yamazaki not only welcome the builder on board but also agree to the structural changes suggested by him. Menon found it difficult to believe how easily Shigeru surrendered before Balraj.
Balraj made it difficult for Menon to stay. According to a decision taken by the board, some key areas such as marketing and operations were taken away from the ambitious general manager. Within two months of the takeover, Menon resigned and left India for good.
Though out on bail, Fotedar was under media scrutiny. His political career was over, as his party had disowned him. Fotedar’s Home for Women was permanently taken over by the Indian Commission for Women. Freedom continued to donate money to it and Yodel became synonymous with the spirit of the inmates.
Kabir Raja became an evangelist for Yodel. Often, in shows, ceremonies, and public functions, he mentioned the power of the brand and its support for the Home. Most marketing companies in India wanted to have an endorser like Kabir, someone who could drive their brands into recognition overnight. The actor was inundated with offers but he made it clear, he would endorse a brand only if it had character.
END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I sincerely and enormously thank Ravinder Singh, the founder of Black Ink and publisher of this novel, for four broad reasons. One, he liked my manuscript; two, he offered to publish it; three, his critical review and suggestions invigorated me to make it better; and four, he spent his precious time understanding an author’s concerns. I could not have asked for more from a publisher.
The editors, Sabine Algur at Black Ink and Prerna Gill at HarperCollins, have proved that only an expert can notice what others can’t. I am immensely grateful to them for doing a meticulous job on the script and enhancing its quality. I also acknowledge the role and support of others in the team at HarperCollins.
I am thankful to Ajeeta Bakshi, an old friend, whose early critical review and bright suggestions helped me come out with a tighter and publishable version of the script. I am equally thankful to all other friends and contacts in the corporate world, especially Arindam Bose, Tanmay Srivastav, Shefali Mathur, Zeenat Khan, Bimal Chaudhary, Suhasini Gupta, Madhukesh Nambiar, and Dilip Deshbandhu, who, at different stages, assisted me in my research for this book.
I acknowledge the influence on me of some very interesting people I met in the field as a marketer, whose charm and conduct gave me characterisation ideas.
My special thanks to Harshad Godbole for the designing of the book cover, and to Ravinder for conceptualising it so aptly.
Time is one luxury a writer needs and I am deeply grateful to each member of my family (my mother—Saroj Sharma, my wife—Chanchal Sharma, and my kids—Molli and Anshumaan) for granting it to me, thus immeasurably helping me complete this almost ten-year-long project.
Above all, I am indebted to those who introduced me to Buddhism, as the faith continuously energised me to stay up for innumerable nights and write this book. With deepest respect, I offer my pr
ofound gratitude and appreciation to the Gohonzon.
About the Book
Karan Jaani, the brand manager of a beverage company, is sacked. Rishi Verma, an entrepreneur, shuts down his ailing tech business. Vidu Nandi, an unhappy sales executive, qurts his job.
What do they have in common? A beverage brand, just as deserving of a second shot at success as they are, which unites them in their quest for business glory in the face of seemingly impossible odds.
With the help of three bright and charming women – a resourceful hotel manager, an America-returned salsa instructor, and an aspiring Bollywood actress – the three marketeers will have to make the most of the available resources and navigate their way around those looking to remove them from their turf. It won’t be easy. but it’s their only chance at making it big in the world of business.
About the Author
AJEET SHARMA, the author of this book, is a marketing expert, a business school professor, and a keen follower of trends and action in the business world. He holds a PhD in Marketing and a Post Graduate Diploma in Business Management. In his career, spanning more than twenty years, he has also worked as a copywriter on several international advertising projects and mentored many young professionals along the way. Ajeet developed interest in literature and music in school (he studied at Mayo College, Ajmer) and believes that in many ways marketing too is an art form, and the world of business its stage. This book is a strong reflection of his own experiences and observations across different phases in his career. He lives in New Delhi with his family and can be reached at [email protected]. His Twitter handle is @ajeet_sharma
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