by Sonu Bhasin
‘What is paint?’ he asked.
I looked at him, somewhat baffled.
‘Paint is something you cover your walls with,’ I replied.
Kuldip realized there was a lot I didn’t know about paints and its business. So, he patiently started explaining: We see paint as decorative, but its main purpose is to protect the surface it covers. Walls, automobiles, bicycles even aeroplanes and space shuttles are coated to protect the surface underneath. The chemicals in paints make them protective and decorative. Paints have three main components—the pigment, the binder and the solvent. And then, depending on where it is going to be used, additives can be added to improve specific properties of the paint.
Pigment, the first component, gives paint its colour and opacity. The colour itself is a result of the reflection of some wavelengths of light and the absorption of the others by the pigment. Titanium dioxide is one of the pigments for white paint. We have seen iron turn orange and rusty when left out in the open. The orange colour is due to iron oxide. Iron oxide is used to give yellow, red or orange colour to paint. Different pigments can be mixed to create a variety of colours.
The binders, the second component, have a dual function. One is to bind the pigment particles to each other. The second is to bind the pigment to the surface on which it is to be spread. In the absence of the binders it would be difficult to apply the pigments, which are typically solids, on any surface. Without the binders they would not spread evenly or stick to the surface. A strong gust of wind or a light rain would wash the pigments off the surface. Most binders are made from natural oils including linseed oil, castor oil, palm oil and sunflower oil.
Then comes the solvents. These are the chemicals that get the pigments and the binders to dissolve into a thinner and less viscous liquid. The solvents also enable the paint to be spread evenly on any surface. In the absence of a solvent a mixture of pigment and a binder would be a thick, gooey mixture that would resist any form of spreading. The job of the solvent is done once the paint is spread over the surface. Solvents typically evaporate and the paint is left on the surface to dry out. This made sense to me; I remembered the number of times I had been told by the painter, ‘paint sookh raha hai [the paint is drying]’. This sookhna (drying) is nothing but the solvent evaporating. In water-based paints, it is the water that evaporates, while in oil-based paints, the solvent, like mineral turpentine oil, evaporates.
Now that I knew the components that go into a can of paint, I asked Kuldip again about the SKUs in the shop. ‘We manufactured the products that sold the most. Manufacturing these ourselves increased our margins dramatically,’ he said. As he spoke, I understood that the paint market now is very different from what it was in the late 1960s. For starters, paint in a can, as we know today, did not exist.
‘Then how did people paint their homes?’ I asked.
‘You know why painters were called kaarigars [artists] in those days?’ Kuldip counter-questioned.
I shook my head.
Kuldip sat up straight in the chair. He knew he had an eager student.
When people had to paint their house in the 1960s they would go to the shop and buy safeda (white, stiff paint), varnish, double boiled linseed oil and turpentine separately. The white paint was the base pigment, made usually of either zinc oxide or titanium dioxide. The varnish was the binder or the resin and the turpentine was the solvent. People would buy drums and cans of each and the kaarigars would mix them together to create paint. For colour, they would buy cans of paste pigment or paste colour and mix it into the white paint mixture. Voila! The paint was ready.
The UK Paints factory manufactured the safeda, varnish, double-boiled linseed oil, coloured pastes and turpentine and supplied it to the two shops. Safeda was the highest-selling item, with people demanding cans and cans of it. The factory was limited only by its cash flow and could produce only as much as the money available to buy the ingredients would allow. Kuldip sold more at his shop in Hall Bazaar than the working partners did at the older shop. ‘When I joined, the older shop did a business of Rs 1.5 lakh per year. The Hall Bazaar shop soon started doing much more business than that. The business at this shop doubled and everyone liked me,’ said Kuldip with an ear-to-ear grin.
While Sohan Singh was a great intellect, he was a simple man when it came to dealings with other people. Kuldip, on the other hand, endeared himself with the customers, who were happy to deal with the youngster. They all told him that he was a good salesman.
Besides paint components the shop also sold material for tongas (horse carriages) besides floor matting like jute, coir and linoleum. Rubber covering for the wheels, jute matting for the floors, decorative accessories for the tonga itself and multicoloured decorations for the horses were also sold at the shop. All this meant that the stock had to be updated very often. The two workers were responsible for running from one end of the shop to the other and to the warehouse to assist Kuldip every time a customer walked in.
Kuldip thrived in his new role and continued to create loyal customers and grow the business. ‘One of our customers was a very rich fellow, Mr Virmani,’ said Kuldip. ‘Mr Virmani would deal only with me. He would often tell me that he had never met a better salesman,’ remembered Kuldip. I found it curious that the twenty-fourth richest man in India, someone who is part of the Top 50 Asian Business Families, had an awe in his voice when he spoke of Mr Virmani as a ‘very rich fellow’.
Eighteen
‘Johny Was Such an Ugly Child . . . Ugh!’
While Kuldip loved his hands-on sales training in the shop, Sohan Singh ensured that he spent time at the factory as well.
Sohan Singh was happy that Kuldip was managing the shop well and knew that Kuldip was a natural salesperson, but he wanted him to have specific training on selling paints to outstation clients. Occasionally, Kuldip would accompany Ajit Singh, the working partner who did the rounds of the customers in the hinterland, on his sales rounds. ‘I learnt a lot travelling with Ajit. He was a brilliant salesman,’ said Kuldip.
One particular instance that Kuldip remembered brought a smile to his face. He was travelling upcountry with Ajit Singh. Rawat, a dealer in Himachal Pradesh, was a big customer for Kuldip. He had recently been blessed with a baby boy. Kuldip and Ajit went to Rawat’s home bearing a box of sweets. The proud father brought out his baby. ‘The baby was simply the ugliest child I had ever seen!’ said Kuldip, grimacing and emphasized ‘really ugly’.
To Kuldip’s surprise Ajit Singh looked at the baby and smiled with delight. He took the baby from Rawat and exclaimed, ‘Inna pyara bachcha hai ji. Inna sona to maine dekhiya nahin aaj tak [What a sweet baby! I haven’t ever seen a prettier baby].’
The proud father beamed with delight and said, ‘Sab kehte hain ji ke mere upar gaya hai Johny [Everyone says Johny looks like me].’
Ajit latched on to the name. ‘Johny rakha hai tussi edda naam? Bahut vadiya naam hai ji [Oh, his name is Johny? What a lovely name],’ gushed Ajit.
Kuldip watched in mute amazement as Ajit went on. He suggested that all material to Rawat from the next month could be supplied under the brand Johny! ‘Sare log jaan jayenge ji aapke bete noo [Everyone will know Johny, your son],’ said Ajit. He also told Rawat that since it would be his own premium quality brand, there would be no price comparisons. ‘Jinna marzi daam rakho ji safede da [You can charge whatever you want from the customers],’ said Ajit. ‘Sab log Johny, Johny mangan gey [Everyone will ask for Johny, Johny],’ he continued.
To Kuldip’s surprise the proud father immediately agreed. ‘From that day on, Rawat never complained about any price or any discount. We made a brand called Johny. We also had a photo of a good-looking baby as part of the brand!’ said Kuldip.
Rawat, delighted with the brand, took complete ownership of it and promoted it in the hinterland heavily. Johny, the brand, became so popular that the Dhingras had to register it.
While Johny was the largest brand for a customer, there were other brands a
s well. ‘One of our other bestselling brand was Camel,’ remembered Kuldip. Naturally, it had a picture of a camel on the tin!
The Dhingras were generous when it came to letting people choose their own brands. Ajit Singh soon came to Sohan Singh and suggested that the Dhingras have their own brand as well.
‘Rajdoot was a very popular motorbike in those days. So Ajit came to my brother and told him that it was a good name and that we should register it,’ said Kuldip. Sohan Singh agreed and Rajdoot the paint brand was born.
The shops were doing well but it was the factory that was consuming all the cash. Money continued to be tight. But the young Dhingras did not let that come in the way of living the good life. Amrit Kaur, Sohan Singh’s wife, had become the fulcrum around which most of Amritsar’s social life revolved.
‘I was fond of cooking and baking. Whenever we had guests, I would quickly rustle up a cake,’ said Amrit Kaur. Gurbachan remembered the cakes well. ‘Bhabhiji used to make pineapple cake. I remember I used to help her make it,’ he said fondly. As the only daughter-in-law of the Dhingras, Amrit Kaur had made her place in the Amritsar society. The fact that she was originally from Bombay and came from a well-to-do industrialist family helped as well. Her three daughters were growing up with friends and cousins.
The other girl who was growing up in the Dhingra household was Ashi. She was sixteen years old when Kuldip returned from his hitch-hiking trip and in her final year in school. ‘All my friends were girls who were good in studies and I was among the toppers too. They all were preparing to study medicine and I too wanted the same,’ said Ashi. In the Dhingra household Sohan Singh’s permission was required for this as well.
‘I remember that I went to Sohan bhapa and told him that I wanted to be a doctor,’ recounted Ashi.
‘But why do you want to study so much, Ashi? Do you know that it will take you at least seven years before you finish medicine? You will be very old by then. Who will wait for you till then?’ Sohan Singh asked. ‘My mother also wanted me to get a degree and get married. She too did not want me to study further. So, I completed my studies from Sacred Heart College, Dalhousie,’ said Ashi.
Nineteen
‘Girls Would Go to Hall Bazaar to Catch a Glimpse of Kuldip Bhapa’
Meanwhile, Jean Claude and his friends had reached India. After driving through Lahore they reached Amritsar. Kuldip had given them his address, and Jean Claude was trying to find the way to the Dhingra house.
‘I remember that the streets were narrow and there was a lot of traffic. And the noise! Ah! My God! And the embouteillage [traffic jam]! C’est incroyable [it’s unbelievable]!’ said Jean Claude, shuddering delicately. He covered his ears as if he were shutting out the loud noise of the streets of Amritsar.
As their minivan passed through the narrow lanes of the bazaar, other vehicles honked and swerved past them. ‘We were getting very irritated with all the honking. In particular there was this scooter that was really going on and on. Peeeeeeeeeeen-peeeeeeen,’ intoned Jean Claude. He turned around to see who that irritating person was and saw a sardar on a scooter. ‘Of course, we had to be surrounded by sardars since we were in Amritsar! But this sardar was getting more and more irritating,’ he continued. Jean Claude told his friend to stop the minivan so that he could get out and tell the sardar on the scooter to shut up.
Jean Claude got out of the minivan and walked towards the sardar, who still had his hand on the horn. To the Frenchman’s surprise the sardar kept honking even as he walked towards him. ‘As I came closer, the guy smiled wide. I realized c’est Kuldip, mon ami!’ exclaimed Jean Claude. It was indeed Kuldip who was going to the bank on his scooter and noticed the familiar minivan pass him.
Jean Claude and Kuldip hugged each other warmly. Kuldip told him to wait for a while as he went back to bring down the shutters of his shop. ‘He closed the shop for us!’ exclaimed Jean Claude. The minivan followed the scooter to the Dhingra house. Everyone at home had already heard about Jean Claude. The Punjabi hospitality and generosity came out in abundance and jhappis and pappis [hugs and kisses], food and, of course, alcohol kept the house full of laughter and bonhomie.
The Dhingra household was also a meeting place for other friends of Kuldip. And Kuldip had a lot of them. It helped that his bhabhi also had an outgoing nature. Even though they were ‘mere shopkeepers’, as Kuldip described himself, their social circle consisted of big businessmen, industrialists, academics and other well-known people of Amritsar.
‘We were from Delhi. My brother was from Modern School and IIT. We were from DPS. So we were looked up to in many ways,’ explained Kuldip. In fact, the decision to start a factory had also been due to a subtle peer pressure felt by Sohan Singh. ‘My brother interacted with big businessmen, who were his friends in Amritsar, due to his IIT background. Some of them had large factories. Sohan bhapa too felt that with his IIT degree he could not be a mere shopkeeper. His decision to start manufacturing got stronger due to his social circle,’ explained Gurbachan.
Kuldip was spending time between the shop, travelling along with Ajit Singh for his hands-on sales training and going to the factory sporadically. The job he liked the most, however, was sitting at his Hall Bazaar shop because he enjoyed dealing with customers. ‘I was also close to my products and I liked it,’ said Kuldip.
Meeta, his wife, also an Amritsar girl, told me that she had told her father that if she had to marry a turbaned Sikh he had to be like Kuldip. She had not known Kuldip then but she was among the several girls who had started spending more time in the shops of Hall Bazaar. Meeta’s mother was fond of knitting and crocheting and would go to Hall Bazaar for her threads and yarns. Meeta would willingly accompany her mother for her shopping expeditions. She knew it would take her to Hall Bazaar. ‘I used to get scared of the big turbaned Sikhs but when I saw Kuldip I thought this guy is not scary!’ Meeta said.
Sales at the shop had increased and Kuldip’s modus operandi to focus on sales and building relationships with customers in Amritsar was working. Ajit Singh increased his visits to the hinterland to book more orders. ‘The markets of Jammu and Kashmir and Himachal Pradesh were good. People also paid up; there were no defaults as such,’ said Kuldip. But the payment cycle was very long. It would take up to five or even six months before payments were received. This affected the cash flow of the business. The production in the factory was limited to the money that could be used to buy the raw materials. ‘And then there was the war with Pakistan in 1965,’ said Kuldip.
The war suddenly brought Amritsar’s vulnerability into focus. Residents of Amritsar were told by the army to be ready to move at short notice as the city is not far from the border. Many army officers and the local administration were friends of the Dhingras.
‘One day, soon after the war, my chachaji came from Delhi. The deputy commissioner of Amritsar was a friend of his and he offered to take us to the Pakistani territory captured by our army,’ remembered Gurbachan, who was fifteen years old and ready for adventure. ‘I said yes of course and jumped into the jeep,’ he said.
The vehicles drove all the way to Burki in Pakistan. ‘I saw burned tanks, destroyed homes, bunkers and other reinforcements but almost no people there,’ said Gurbachan in a hushed tone. The Indian forces had captured the local police station as well. The civilians had all run away and it was a ghost village. ‘I also remember seeing pieces of flesh still hanging from the overhead hanging wires,’ said Gurbachan with a shudder. But he was a kid after all. ‘I asked the officers if I could pick up the fired shells!’ he said. He was allowed to pick up one big brass shell cover and an empty box of bullets.
India won the war but all trade and business with Pakistan stopped completely. ‘Payments came late from the hills and we could not expand in the West,’ said Kuldip. His brother then thought of exploring the Delhi market. It was the capital of the country and the uncles who had shops in Delhi seemed to be doing very well.
The Dhingra family in Amritsar was also g
rowing. After three daughters, Sohan Singh and Amrit Kaur were blessed with a baby boy in 1970. Though the family had moved to a bigger house, it still seemed to be overflowing with people. There was the matriarch, Surjit Kaur, Sohan Singh with his family, Kuldip, Gurbachan and Ashi—a total of ten people of which six were adults. Kuldip alluded to some talk that the house could do with fewer people in it.
Hot-headed and full of pride, Kuldip decided to move to Delhi. He had been travelling to Delhi to book orders already. Besides, his uncles and cousins and the family house were also in Delhi. ‘Delhi was a bigger market than Amritsar. I thought, let me go and expand the business there,’ said Kuldip.
The Romanian embassy was requested to give back one floor of the Golf Links house and Kuldip moved to Delhi in 1970. ‘My mother also moved with me as she knew that I was hot-headed. She always told me that I needed protection because my temper sometimes made me lose control,’ admitted Kuldip.
Kuldip’s uncles and cousins discouraged this move. ‘You are getting a good rental income from the Golf Links house. Why do you want to live there?’ asked one of the cousins. ‘Why don’t you take up a rented barsati [a small rooftop room] in Defence Colony or something? The rent will be less than the rent you are getting from the embassy,’ asked another cousin. ‘Why do you want to come to Delhi? Aren’t you doing well in Amritsar? After all, you had wanted to buy that second shop there. And now you want to come to Delhi? Mind you, it is a tough market. You are making a mistake,’ said one uncle.
It could have been that they were genuinely concerned about the move and did not want Kuldip to have a rough time. Or they were probably worried that they might be asked to bail Kuldip and the family out in case things went wrong. Whatever was the case, Kuldip did not get much help from his extended family.