Making It Big

  When I was setting up the corporate office at Sanepa, I had one important thing in mind. Now that I was collaborating with a multinational company, I knew I had to project a different image of myself. If you want to be successful, then you have to project an image of success. I hired an interior decorator for an ultramodern design for the flooring and furnishings. Father’s experience in the field was a great help. We had some difficulty choosing the right colour for the curtains. People came up with so many different options. The window of my office on the top floor of the Sanepa building overlooks the entire city of Kathmandu. Why would I want to block out a sight like that? I decided not to put up curtains at all. The flooring and furnishings have changed many times over the years. The colour of the walls has changed too. But the window still does not have any curtains. My desk faces the window, and I still have a sweeping view of Kathmandu. There is also a balcony with a small but nice garden outside my office.

  The collaboration with National Panasonic took my confidence to an all-time high. I was filled with enthusiasm and started to look far and wide for new opportunities through my professional contacts, friends and relatives.

  I soon found myself collaborating with Suzuki Motors of Japan. I had met a high-ranking manager of Suzuki Motors during one of my visits to Japan. They were looking for an authorized agent in Nepal. I immediately forwarded a proposal to them. Two other Nepali companies were also interested. Suzuki gave conditional, temporary agent status to all three of us; whoever sold the most vehicles in a six-month period would get the authorized dealership. This was an innovative way of doing business, pitting the parties seeking dealership against each other. A true businessman never works harder than when he fears losing a lucrative business opportunity. Suzuki’s proposition also ensured that our business dealings with Japan ran smoothly even during the trial period.

  I put all my energy into the project. My contacts helped me a lot. Within six months, I got the Suzuki Motors dealership, defeating my two competitors. It was a quantum leap from radios to automobiles, not just in terms of cost and size of business but in relation to the company’s market expansion and organizational growth. Later, Maruti of India also entered into a collaboration with Suzuki Motors and our dealership was changed to Maruti Suzuki’s. My youngest brother Arun still looks after that side of the business.

  I was growing, and so were my business and my office.

  The scattered energies were synergizing. I had formed a big hub from a number of comparatively small and disparate businesses. I was collaborating with multinational companies such as National Panasonic and Suzuki Motors. The foundation for a big and robust company with its own corporate headquarters was being laid. I had taken the leap from traditional business management into the corporate world. Sitting in a tall building, my horizons grew wider. My dreams began to grow new wings. I was ready to explore greater heights.

  The banner of Bhuramal Lunkaran Das Chaudhary was already displaying a new avatar: the Chaudhary Group.

  11

  Salaam Bombay

  ‘What will you do now?’ my father had asked me after I passed the School Leaving Certificate (SLC) examination with flying colours. I was ranked among the top five in the exams, which is still dubbed ‘the iron gate of life’.

  I glanced at my mother. Her eyes danced playfully. I understood her signal. Only a little earlier, I had told her what I wished to do, and she had told me that father had to approve it.

  I never had the guts to ask my father for anything directly. But now that I had done so well in the exams, I somehow mustered up the courage to make my request.

  ‘I want to see Bombay. Please let me go.’

  Father looked at mother. Mother looked at me. I lowered my gaze to the floor.

  Father walked out of the room. Mother too lowered her gaze, hinting that she was not happy. I sprang to my feet and grabbed a pair of pants from a hanger.

  ‘Where are you going?’ mother asked.

  ‘Out,’ I snapped.

  As I was about to wear my pants, my father reappeared. He was accompanied by Shyam Sunder Sureka, an employee at Arun Emporium. Father had brought him from Muzaffarpur in India to keep our accounts. He was always well groomed, and used fragrant hair oil and a dash of perfume. As soon as he entered, his perfume permeated the entire room.

  Pointing towards me, father told Shyam Sundar in Hindi, ‘He wants to see Bombay. Take him around there for fifteen to twenty days.’

  I wanted to hug him and say that he was the best father in the world, but I could not. Rather, I was overcome with shyness. Mother was smiling at me. I replaced the pants on the hanger and quietly left the room.

  Besides being an Indian national, Shyam Sundar had already been to Bombay. The fact that they were sending their child away for the first time could have been disturbing for my parents, but they felt my safety was assured with an experienced man like Shyam Sundar accompanying me. As for me, I was doubly excited about the trip because Shyam Sundar was taking me.

  Mother started to weep when she applied the auspicious vermilion powder to my forehead while seeing me off, as if I were going on a worldwide expedition, and not to a city in a neighbouring country. To me, it was actually as exciting as setting off on a world tour. It was the first long journey of my life.

  Father gave me ten Rs 1000 notes, adding that he had also given some money to Shyam Sunder.

  I grabbed my bag and followed Shyam. We took a bus to Birgunj and then headed to Muzaffarpur. There we caught a train to Bombay. That was my first rail journey.

  Father had also handed over a letter addressed to a cloth merchant by the name of Gulraj Babulal in Bombay, whose firm our family had been dealing with since my grandfather’s days. Babulal lived near the Kalba Devi temple in Bombay.

  After stepping out from the Victoria Terminus of the Indian Railways in Bombay, we caught a three-wheeler to the temple area. We did not have any problem finding Babulal’s residence. Everybody there knew Gulraj Babulal because of his old and established business.

  I handed over the letter father had sent him. He read it intently and then said excitedly, ‘So you are Lukarandas’s son! And you want to see Bombay, right?’

  I nodded.

  Gulraj Babulal was a fun-loving person who also encouraged me to have fun. ‘Eat, drink and be merry! You don’t need to worry about a thing,’ he told me.

  Shyam Sunder and I had a ball in Bombay. We ate, drank and pampered ourselves in so many ways!

  It has been a long time since I last visited the Kalba Devi area, though I visit Mumbai, as the city is called now, frequently. As a result, I do not know how the area is faring these days, but back then, it was a very interesting place to hang around.

  It was a big mundi for cloth merchants. They would sit on thick cushions and trade cloth all day long; at night, they would dust the same cushions and lie down on them. Babulal laid cushions out for us too. We would roam the city throughout the day and return to his place at night to dream of the city.

  We would be jolted out of our dreams when it came to answering nature’s call in the morning, when we had to wait in a queue for our turn to use the communal toilet shared by the entire neighbourhood. It was operated on a first-come-first-served basis, so those who woke up late had the most agonizing wait. Luckily, this ordeal I faced in Bombay was not that extreme.

  I was pretty shy about taking off my clothes and having a bath in the presence of another person. I never had to experience anything like that in Kathmandu. The two-week long stay in Bombay, however, forced me to get over my self-consciousness. There was not a single proper bathroom in the neighbourhood. All they had was a public tap where women would queue up from the wee hours of the day to fetch water for their homes. Someone would always try to push into the line and the other women would shout and curse that person. To bathe, you had to somehow manage to get a bucket of water from that tap and take it to an almost open bathing area for men nearby. There was another bathing area strictly for wom
en on the other side of the tap. People would be busy applying soap to their body and socializing while bathing.

  Initially, I would hurriedly apply soap, pour water over myself and run out of the bathing area as quickly as possible. I did not even rinse the lather off properly, and my body would itch through the day. To add to that, the humid climate of Bombay made me perspire heavily. Soon, I started to bathe properly, regardless of who might have been looking at me.

  The mundi would open between seven and eight in the morning. We would wake up at six, pack up our cushions and freshen up. We would have breakfast and dinner at Babulal’s place and, in between, would eat out while exploring the city. I really relished the famous pav bhaji of Bombay, which is ubiquitous on all the sidewalks of the city. Despite its other shortcomings, the mundi served food that was great and filling. The merchants would keep their own cooks, who were popularly known as ‘maharaj’. They offered a thali, a plate of assorted vegetables, fritters, yoghurt, milk, poppadum, salads, and several other items, besides rice and rotis.

  Shyam Sunder would say, ‘The way they feed themselves and others is simply exemplary.’ I would say, ‘Agreed. But you don’t feel like eating anything when you think about the toilet.’

  I wanted to tour Bombay on those three-wheelers, but we did not have enough money for that. Father had given us only a limited amount to spend. Though he had told us we could call him up if we needed more, we did not want to bother him. We travelled around the city by public bus and train.

  I was crazy about movies. How could I possibly visit Bombay and not see the homes of famous movie stars? I would take Shyam Sunder around and show him the houses of superstars like Dev Anand, Amitabh Bachchan and Rekha. God knows whether they were indeed the houses of these stars, but my heart would start to race like a local train as soon as we approached those sprawling bungalows. I would think to myself: What if I run into Amitabh Bachchan or Dev Anand? What would I say? What would I do? Would Dev Anand still remember me, the boy who ran from pillar to post in Kathmandu searching for black Jaguar socks for him? Would he recognize me if I reintroduced myself to him? He was yet to pay for the socks!

  I was jolted out of these reveries by Shyam Sunder who would suddenly grab my hands and pull me towards him.

  ‘Stop daydreaming, would you?’ he snapped at me once.

  But then, he too was mesmerized by the city.

  ‘Guess what? Every evening Amitabh steps on to his balcony to wave at his fans gathered outside,’ he said, waving his hands Amitabh-style. That got me even more excited. When would the evening come when Amitabh would appear at his balcony so that I could wave at him in such a way that he would notice me? We spent around four evenings in front of his house but he never did come out to his balcony.

  Shyam Sunder was embarrassed. ‘He must be away on a shoot,’ he said, putting on a brave face.

  We visited the Gateway of India.

  Travel writers label the entire city as the Gateway of India. The historical monument is a twenty-six-metre-high basalt arch, erected in 1924 to commemorate the visit of the British monarch George V back in 1911.

  Another important historical landmark stands nearby—the Taj hotel. The first monument symbolizes British colonial rule while the second epitomizes the defiance of it. Legend has it that towards the end of the nineteenth century, Mumbai industrialist Jamsetji Nusserwanji Tata was barred from entering a local hotel where only Europeans were allowed. Remembering that insult, Tata vowed to build a hotel in the city that would not only allow unhindered access to Indians, but would also stand among the best hotels in the world.

  His dream became a reality in 1903. There were only seventeen visitors when the Taj hotel was inaugurated that year. Today, it is considered among India’s proudest monuments. Its international clientele has included celebrities ranging from prominent political leaders to rock stars—Louis Armstrong, Mick Jagger, Madonna, Brad Pitt, Bill Clinton, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Margaret Thatcher, George Bernard Shaw, Prince Charles, and many more. The wealthy are happy to call it their temporary home. The middle class aspire to stay there one day. As for the poor, it represents just a wonderful dream.

  Even today, one can see at any time people simply standing outside the hotel, watching the movement of vehicles in and out. I was part of that crowd during that first visit.

  I came to know about the significance of the Taj hotel much later in life. On my first visit to Bombay, I was dazzled by the royal caravan of vehicles that entered the hotel premises while I hung around the Gateway of India. I even sat down on the pavement in front of the hotel to keenly monitor the activities inside the hotel. A tall and sturdy Maratha gatekeeper would open the door of each car that drew up to the hotel and salute the guests. The guests would then proudly walk into the hotel. Some of them were friendly and offered a tip to the gatekeeper, probably Rs 50 or maybe even Rs 100. This would lead to the gatekeeper saluting them again.

  I could hardly restrain my excitement on seeing all this.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ I asked Shyam.

  Shyam was waiting for an opportunity to air his general knowledge. He launched into a lecture: ‘This is the greatest hotel in India. They call it the Taj hotel. The biggest of the film stars, industrialists, leaders and foreigners, all of them stay here, eat here.’

  ‘Let’s go inside and see for ourselves,’ I suggested.

  He stared at me.

  ‘Do you see that guard over there?’ he said, pointing to the Maratha gatekeeper. ‘He would grab you by your neck and drag you out of the hotel.’

  I felt intimidated. As we left, I kept turning back to look at the hotel.

  To me, the guests who had entered the hotel amid salutes from the gatekeeper appeared the most wonderful people in the world. Who could they be? And what kind of facilities must that hotel be providing? Could I ever in my life enter the hotel, receive a salute and enjoy all the facilities it offered?

  I lay awake for most of that night on Babulal’s cushion.

  Today, as part of Taj Asia, we are in partnership with that same Taj hotel. We own and operate luxury hotels and resorts in many cities in Sri Lanka, the Maldives and Malaysia, and are planning to expand further. I visit Mumbai frequently in connection with these ventures. And whenever I visit, there is only one place I stay—the grand old Taj hotel.

  Most of the suites in the hotel cost between Rs 50,000 and Rs 1 lakh per night. All of them face the Gateway of India. Every time I stay there, I make it a point to look out of the window and drift back to the past. The Gateway of India, the Taj hotel, the road leading to the hotel, the pavement . . . all remain the same; even the gatekeeper resembles the Maratha gatekeeper from my memories. The royal caravan of vehicles enters the hotel in the same way it did decades ago, and the gatekeeper salutes the proud guests just as his predecessor had in the past.

  Nothing seems to have changed.

  I too am the same person, even though my status has changed.

  Back in those days, I would squat on the pavement looking at the hotel with wide eyes. Today, I look out on the road from the costliest suite in the hotel, owing to my partnership with its owner.

  My eyes would sparkle with wonder back then and they still sparkle today. I am the same boy who once squatted on the pavement to behold the splendour of the hotel, the son of an ordinary businessman, who dreamt about the hotel and went on to live that dream. Yes, I am the same boy, now retracing his footsteps from that pavement to this suite.

  Somehow, I believe that destiny and not just my own hard work, has brought me to here. I often try to show these footsteps to my sons, Nirvana, Rahul and Varun. My life journey has taken me from that point to this point, I tell them; you guys are starting from here, and now I am going to see where your journey takes you.

  12

  Birth of an MNC

  The Government of India had organized an investment conference to which Nepal was an invitee. The government decided to include some of us entrepreneurs in th
e official delegation. A meeting was convened at the ministry of industry to discuss this.

  ‘Do you know why India is organizing this conference?’ I asked the government officials during the meeting. There was no answer.

  ‘The Indian government is organizing the conference to attract foreign investment,’ I said. ‘Why do you want to send us to the conference when you know very well that our law doesn’t allow a Nepali to invest abroad?’

  The government officials were speechless.

  ‘Are we supposed to go there as mute spectators? Are we supposed to back away, citing the law of the land if someone comes up with a good investment proposal?’

  They could not utter a word.

  ‘We will take part in the conference if you can give us a concrete guarantee that we will be allowed to invest in India if a good proposal comes up,’ I added. ‘Otherwise, we don’t want to go there to embarrass ourselves.’

  The central bank and the ministry of industry then discussed the matter at length.

  They concluded that they could not provide us a concrete guarantee on the matter, as the law prohibited investment in other countries. But they were quick to suggest that we could initiate reforms and that they would offer us moral support to any good investment proposal in India. The government, however, is yet to complete these reforms.

  As for me, I have already expanded my business around the world, paving my own path.

  This section is about that chapter of my professional life in which I took up the challenge to transform the Chaudhary Group into Nepal’s first multinational corporation. That challenge—or rather, fight, I would say—is still going on.

  When I lost the election for the post of the FNCCI president in 1996, I was so disturbed by the defeat that I left Kathmandu immediately afterwards and headed for a retreat in Bharatpur with Lily. I felt embittered by my defeat which had taken place despite all my efforts to raise Nepal’s private sector up to international standards. But this dejection later gave way to a sense of moral freedom. I now had the opportunity to explore the boundless possibilities that had been dormant in my mind for quite some time. I clearly saw two paths ahead of me: one leading to expansion of my own business to an international level, and the other taking me into the arena of active politics. After carefully weighing both options, I decided that the time had not yet come for my active involvement in politics.