by Sonu Bhasin
Even with all the encouragement, Jessima’s energy was depleting. ‘Eventually, I could not swim at all. I started flailing my arms and kept going under the water. I was almost drowning,’ she said.
Kuldip must have panicked but also knew that this was not the time to be scared. He was also tired as they had swum quite far from the shore but he also knew that he had to draw on his reserves.
‘Papa finally pulled me up and swam with me on his back,’ said Jessima with pride in her voice. ‘We both got to the shore and it was only after that he collapsed. He lay on the beach totally spent,’ she continued.
These stories of Kuldip saving Jessima are part of the Dhingra folklore. They are pulled out at every family gathering. Everyone laughs and adds their own embellishment into the story. Sunaina, Gurbachan’s daughter, agreed. ‘My memories of holidays are mostly of Bade Papa (Gurbachan’s children call Kuldip bade papa) saving Jessima.’
Twenty-six
‘Kuldip, Tu Bilkul Bewakoof Hai. Dafa Ho Jaa Yahan Se’
‘YOU ARE AN IDIOT, KULDIP. GET OUT OF HERE’
After each holiday with his family, Kuldip was rejuvenated and came back to work with renewed enthusiasm.
‘Business was good. The margins on our own products were good. However, the white labelling production was even better. We got our money almost immediately,’ said Kuldip. The brothers occasionally talked about their father and the fact that Niranjan wanted to get into exports. ‘But there was no time to think of anything as our hands were full. Our children were growing, our business was growing. Where was the time to think of Japan or Russia or anything else?’ asked Kuldip. But fate had other plans.
‘I was sitting in my office one day when I got a telephone call from one Mr Galgotia,’ recalled Kuldip. Those were the days of only landlines and no Truecaller, so Kuldip had no idea who was on the other side of the phone. Mr Galgotia introduced himself as a partner in Jyoti Impex, an export company based in Connaught Place, Delhi. Jyoti Impex exported to the Soviet Union and they had an inquiry for white paint. The Russians wanted some samples and Jyoti Impex had called up a few paint companies to find out if they would be interested in the business. ‘I asked them a few questions and found out that the Olympics were to be held in Moscow in 1980 and the Soviet Union was preparing for it. They needed the white paint to spruce up the city and the stadiums,’ said Kuldip.
‘Moscow! Russia! Exports! These thoughts went through my head immediately,’ said Kuldip excitedly, speaking fast. He remembered all the conversations he had with his brother about their father. He remembered how Niranjan wanted to get into exports. He remembered that Niranjan’s ticket to Moscow was bought before he went in for that ill-fated surgery in 1957. Twenty years later, almost to the day, a random call from a company he did not know brought all these thoughts rushing out of their hibernation.
‘I asked Mr Galgotia what they wanted and he explained that Jyoti Impex got orders from the Soviet Union and they, in turn, farmed out the orders to suppliers,’ said Kuldip. Galgotia asked Kuldip if UK Paints could supply some samples to be sent to the Russians. If the samples were approved, Galgotia added, UK Paints would be given the order for exports.
Kuldip did not wait to consult his elder brother on this matter. He immediately confirmed that UK Paints was, indeed, interested in the export order. He asked for the specifications and the quantity that was required as samples. ‘I also told them that I wanted to be paid for the samples,’ said Kuldip. ‘Who knew if they had called up many people like me and were taking samples from each of them and using the paints for their own homes? Aise hi free mein maal lene ki scheme ho [Who knows, it could have been a scheme to get free paint for their own requirement].’
Jyoti Impex agreed to pay for the samples and sent the specifications across. Sohan Singh in Delhi and Gurbachan in Amritsar talked about the specifications and decided that it was workable. The samples, twelve cans of 1 litre each, were prepared at the Sultanpur factory and sent across to Jyoti Impex from where they were sent to the Russians. The samples were approved by Moscow and UK Paints got its first order of 50 tonnes of white paint from the Soviet Union through an intermediary—Jyoti Impex.
‘Oh my God, this is fantastic,’ Kuldip thought to himself once the first export order went through. There was no excise duty, no sales tax, no visits from the various inspectors and no income tax as per policy at that time to boost exports from India. ‘And the payment was almost immediate,’ he added. ‘There was no hassles and no credit. And the Government of India actually gave additional incentives for exports,’ said Kuldip as he looked back at 1977. The brothers now understood the reason their father had been keen to explore the exports market.
The orders from the Soviet Union through Jyoti Impex started coming sporadically. However, it was the domestic business that was on a roll. Rajdoot Paints was doing well. The Sultanpur factory had started growing in terms of production and capacity. The Amritsar factory too continued to chug along. Gurbachan was managing it almost single-handedly as Sohan Singh could not find much time to go there. Sohan Singh had the bigger factory in Delhi to focus on. By 1978 he saw no merit in continuing with the Amritsar factory. The Sultanpur factory was capable of producing much more. All it needed was more attention. Gurbachan in Delhi would be able to provide that supervision. Thus, in 1978 it was decided to shut down the Amritsar factory. Gurbachan and Vinu returned to Delhi.
The Golf Links house was a full house once again. In the 1950s, before Niranjan’s death, the Golf Links house had the entire Dhingra family living in it. In 1978 the family was back again. But the family had grown as all brothers were now married with families of their own. Even with two floors, space was running short as the family now comprised seven adults and almost as many children.
Once again it was Kuldip who offered to move out of the house. ‘Gurbachan is the youngest and we always looked upon him as a child. We always were protective of him. So I thought it was best he stayed at Golf Links,’ explained Kuldip. His family along with his mother moved to a rented house in New Friends Colony in 1978.
The Sultanpur factory blossomed under the dual care of Sohan Singh and Gurbachan Singh. With Kuldip at the helm of all sales and marketing, the factory was kept on its toes with higher production targets. The export orders through Jyoti Impex kept coming sporadically. ‘But as I worked with Jyoti Impex, the owner, Mr Jain, got very fond of me,’ said Kuldip. ‘He liked me a lot and treated me almost as a member of his family,’ he added. Mr Jain interacted with the visiting Russian trade delegations and over time he started taking Kuldip with him for the meetings. ‘No one did that. Everyone was very possessive about their buyers. But Mr Jain trusted me, you see,’ said Kuldip.
‘I remember once when some Russian buyers, as part of the trade delegation, were coming to Delhi,’ said Kuldip. Their visit overlapped with the marriage dates of Mr Jain’s daughter. The buyers were important but Mr Jain could not be away from his home for his own daughter’s pre-wedding ceremonies. ‘He asked me to play the host for the Russians for that evening,’ said Kuldip. The party for the trade delegates was to be at Claridge’s Hotel in Delhi. ‘Mr Jain told me that he had paid for everything and had arranged for all food and drinks. I just had to make sure that the Russians were OK,’ said Kuldip. Ever the party person, Kuldip agreed.
At the dinner, a couple of Russian buyers sidled up to Kuldip and told him that they were willing to give orders directly to UK Paints. ‘I was very embarrassed,’ said Kuldip. ‘Mr Jain was my buyer, so how could I go behind his back and deal with the Russians directly?’ he asked me, fixing me with his gaze. He told the Russians that he would only deal through Mr Jain.
The Russians found it surprising that a shrewd businessman was saying no to a chance to make more money. ‘Taking the orders directly from the Russians would have definitely meant much more money but my values did not allow me to do this,’ said Kuldip in a simple but matter-of-fact manner.
‘Then one day in early 1982
I got a call from the Trade Office of the Soviet embassy,’ said Kuldip. The Russian officers told Kuldip that they wanted to meet him the next day. The Russians also told Kuldip that Mr Jain would not be part of the meeting. ‘Now I was in a real dilemma about whether to go or not. But then I told myself that it was the Soviet government officials who wanted to meet me, not the buyers,’ rationalized Kuldip. ‘Also Mr Jain had not signed an exclusivity contract with me, so technically I could meet anyone,’ he further rationalized. He spoke with Sohan Singh and decided to go for the meeting. He did not tell Mr Jain about it. ‘I wanted to find out what they wanted before alerting Mr Jain,’ said Kuldip.
The next day at the Trade Office, Kuldip met the Soviet trade officers. ‘Have you noticed that your business with Jyoti Impex has come down?’ one of the Russians asked Kuldip.
‘I thought back and realized that the orders had stopped coming,’ said Kuldip. ‘I immediately told them that I thought it was because Soviet Union did not have the requirement!’ laughed Kuldip. The trade officers did not find this funny. They leaned back in their leather-bound chairs and looked at Kuldip fixedly. It was a cultivated stare they used to unnerve people sitting across them. It is not easy to disconcert Kuldip; he looked back steadily at the Russians. The Russians were the first to blink.
‘We have stopped dealing with Jyoti Impex. We have some problems with them. So, we will not be giving any orders to them in the future till all matters are resolved,’ said one Russian. Kuldip’s heart sank. ‘What? That means no more export orders? It was such a good business. I must have a word with Mr Jain to find out what the matter is. I really do want these export orders.’ These were some thoughts that ran in Kuldip’s mind.
While the various thoughts were running riot in Kuldip’s mind, he failed to notice a faint smile on the faces of the Russians. ‘They seem to have been aware of my thoughts,’ said Kuldip. ‘Then they told me that they want to deal with me directly,’ exclaimed Kuldip. The Russians said that they were happy with the stuff coming from UK Paints and wanted the company to become a direct supplier to their country.
‘Now I was totally confused. One part of my mind told me that this was a good offer. The other part of the mind cautioned me that I was still bound, morally, to Mr Jain,’ said Kuldip. He did not want to say no to the Russians and wanted to work out a solution that would be mutually beneficial. ‘So, I asked them if I could think about it and get back to them,’ said Kuldip. The Russians agreed immediately.
‘Of course, Mr Dhingra. You can think and come back to us. You have twenty-four hours. Till tomorrow 11 a.m.’ said the Russians in their trademark style!
With the deadline meter already ticking, Kuldip ran out of the trade office and went directly to the factory to meet his brother. Sohan Singh heard him out and said, ‘Shabaash, bilkul theek kariya hai tu [Well done, you did the right thing]. We can’t go behind Mr Jain’s back.’
The brothers sat down to thrash out the matter at hand. Both brothers agreed that since they had no exclusivity clause in their dealings with Jyoti Impex, they could take orders directly from the Russians. They also agreed that Mr Jain had to be kept informed. ‘And then my brother told me that if we were going to take orders directly from the Russians in the future we needed to compensate Mr Jain for future loss of business,’ said Kuldip.
Sohan Singh opened his safe and took out wads of notes. Kuldip had a large satchel and he filled it with the money his brother had given him. Mr Jain had already been called by the UK Paints office and an appointment had been fixed for Kuldip. ‘I went to his office and sat down with the money bag at my feet,’ recounted Kuldip. Mr Jain wanted to know what the urgency of the meeting was. Kuldip was finding it difficult to thread together the right words. Hesitatingly, he told Mr Jain of his meeting with the Russian trade officers and of their demand to deal with UK Paints directly.
Mr Jain got up from his chair and shouted, ‘Tu bilkul bewakoof hai [You are an absolute idiot].’ It was as if Kuldip’s worst fears had come true. He thought that Mr Jain was angry with him for meeting the Russians and he looked for a way to beat a hasty retreat.
Mr Jain was indeed angry but he was angry at Kuldip for still staying with Jyoti Impex. ‘Do you know every other supplier has left me? You are the only one left. Tu kyon chipka hua hai [why are you still stuck to me]?’ asked Mr Jain passionately.
‘I have some money reconciliation problems with them. The Russians owe me large sums of money. So, I am not doing any more business with them,’ Mr Jain continued. He said that everyone was aware of this and had started dealing with the Russians directly. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Go and sign that agreement with them,’ advised Mr Jain.
‘I was relieved,’ said Kuldip with a long sigh and a slight shake of his head. The fact that there might not have been any more export orders had weighed heavily on his mind and he was relieved that he was free to take the export orders.
‘I thanked Mr Jain and then told him that my brother had sent some compensation for future loss of business,’ said Kuldip. ‘Ohhhhooo!! This time Mr Jain got very angry. He started abusing me in chaste Hindi,’ said Kuldip and added that he could not repeat the Hindi gaalis that came out of Mr Jain’s mouth!
‘Dafa ho jaa yahan se tu [Get out of here]. You want to give me money?’ shouted Mr Jain. ‘I think he got upset that we thought that our relationship was only about money. It was not. We only wanted to compensate him for the loss of future business,’ explained Kuldip. With Mr Jain still upset and angry, Kuldip managed to slide the satchel full of money under a sofa before beating a hasty retreat.
There were still eighteen hours remaining before the deadline imposed by the Russians ran out. The Dhingras spent eight of these hours in restful sleep as the matter with Mr Jain had been sorted out. Kuldip was all prepared to meet the Russians the next day.
The meeting took place, once again, at the Russian Trade Centre in Delhi. The Russians were back in the leather-bound chairs. They once again fixed Kuldip with their steady gaze and raised their eyebrows, as if asking, ‘What have you decided?’
Kuldip was prepared this time. He leaned back in his chair, looked at them confidently, raised an eyebrow and asked, ‘Where do I sign?’
The Dhingra family was excited about the impending business. They knew that the paperwork would take some time but once the agreement was signed, the indications were that the export business was going to be very lucrative. Sohan Singh had also looked at land in Sikandrabad in Uttar Pradesh to build his next factory. As a civil engineer from IIT, Sohan Singh was in his element when it came to construction of new facilities. Gurbachan, coming into his own, was his able assistant in all production matters.
Twenty-seven
‘I Knew Panic Would Not Lead Me Anywhere’
Lady luck has had a chequered relationship with the Dhingra family. She played her hand in 1957 when an innocuous surgery took the life of Niranjan Singh Dhingra. Almost twenty-five years later, in 1982, it struck again.
In early May 1982, Sohan Singh suffered an aneurysm in the brain—in common parlance, a stroke. In medical terms, however, an aneurysm is a bulge in a blood vessel caused by a weakness in the blood vessel wall. As blood passes through the blood vessel there is danger of the vessel bursting. When it happens in the brain it is serious, as the bleeding caused by the ruptured blood vessel can lead to brain damage. In the summer of 1982, such a blood vessel ruptured in Sohan Singh’s brain.
‘I was in school and the car was sent for us,’ said Simran Chandok, Sohan Singh’s and Amrit Kaur’s youngest daughter. Her eldest sister was already married and her middle sister was in school with her. ‘My mother was not even in the country. She was in Pakistan on a religious tour,’ said Simran, who was fourteen years old at the time.
The two sisters were told that their father was not well and they were taken to AIIMS. ‘When we reached there we saw about fifty or sixty of our relatives standing in the corridor and the room.
‘Oh my God! What’s hap
pened? I thought. That’s when I realized that something was not quite right,’ Simran remembered.
‘My whole world collapsed when I heard about my brother,’ said Kuldip. When he heard the news about Sohan Singh, his mind went back twenty-five years to when his father had lost his life in a surgery gone wrong. He was a little boy, ten years old then. ‘But now, in 1982, I was older, and I was determined to take care of everything,’ added Kuldip.
He rushed his brother to All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) as it was the premier government hospital in Delhi. ‘I did not know whom to call but I remembered Arun Nehru. I called him up and he told me to go to AIIMS. He must have made a few telephone calls. Because when we reached my brother was taken care of immediately almost like a VIP,’ said Kuldip.
The doctors did take care of Sohan Singh but they were able to clip the burst blood vessel only when the bleeding had stopped, even if temporarily. There had been some time gap between the blood vessel in the brain bursting and the actual surgery. As a result, there had been bleeding and it was feared that there may be some damage to the brain. But the surgery seemed to have gone well and the extent of the damage if any would be known only later.
Simran, along with everyone else, was waiting anxiously for her father to regain consciousness. The doctors and nurses too were waiting. It was only when Sohan Singh woke up from his anesthetized slumber that the doctors were able to gauge the extent of damage to the brain.
‘My father woke up and looked at me,’ remembered Simran. ‘He looked a little surprised. Then he asked me, “What are you doing here? Why are you not in school?”’ she continued. As Sohan Singh spoke, there was a collective sigh of relief from the doctors and nurses. The fact that Sohan Singh had realized that his daughter should be in school during the day was an indication that his brain was not all damaged.