Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) (4 page)

When he finally dropped her back, he felt like going up to her room, but controlled himself. Cirisha was honest. Honest to herself. It was not the fear of rejection as much as the feeling of impropriety which held him back. He didn’t want to get carried away and do something which would lead to all the memories of the day being wiped out. He bade her goodbye and walked back to his car. His mobile phone beeped. It was a message. ‘Thanks for the best day of my life. I have never laughed so much.’

A year later Cirisha and Aditya were married in a simple ceremony in Coimbatore. Cirisha was against extravagance of any kind and didn’t want an elaborate wedding. It was a court marriage followed by dinner for a few close friends.

Early next morning, they left for Ooty for their honeymoon, a hundred kilometres from Coimbatore. They had planned a trip for a week. Hotel Savoy, the only five-star hotel in town, was running at full occupancy and hence they had to check in to Sterling Resorts, a timeshare holiday home.

Three days went by in a jiffy. They only stepped out of their room for lunch and dinner. After three days, on Cirisha’s recommendation, they decided to do some sightseeing. ‘If people ask us what we saw in Ooty, we at least need to give them some credible responses,’ she said coyly one morning. Aditya smiled and agreed. A hectic day of sightseeing later, Aditya suggested that they stop somewhere for a drink.

‘Have it in the room. Order it through room service.’

‘The resort’s selection of whisky is horrible. I can’t drink any of those.’

‘Drop me back and go and buy your drink. I am tired.’

Aditya dropped her at the hotel and went off to buy some alcohol. As luck would have it, it was a dry day. None of the wine stores was open. He went all around Ooty trying to find a shop that would give him a bottle of single malt. After half an hour of searching, he found a shop with its shutters half down. He walked up to the shutter, bent down and peered inside. An old man, sitting behind the counter reading a newspaper, looked up and smiled.

‘Laphroaig?’ Aditya asked.

‘Dry day,’ the old man replied. ‘No sale.’

‘Need one bottle.’

The old man waved his hands, indicating that he would not supply. ‘If I sell today, I go to jail.’

Aditya reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out three hundred-rupee notes. ‘Will this help?’ By then he had entered the store.

‘Make it five hundred. Then maybe it will. But I don’t have Laphroaig. Only Chivas.’ The wine shop owner was surprisingly candid.

Aditya smiled, pulled out five hundred-rupee notes and placed them on the counter. ‘Seventeen hundred more for one bottle,’ the shopkeeper demanded. Aditya paid the amount, picked up the bottle, hid it in his backpack and walked out of the shop.

Cirisha freaked when he told her about how he had managed to get a bottle of alcohol on a dry day by paying an additional five hundred rupees. ‘How could you even do that? You bribed a shopkeeper for a bottle of alcohol! How can you be so cheap?’ she ridiculed. ‘I can’t believe this.’

‘It’s OK. I am happy, he is happy. I got what I wanted, and he got more than what he wanted.’

‘Getting what you desire at any cost is all that you crave for, Adi. Right?’ Cirisha was livid. It was not about the five hundred rupees. It was about the fact that Aditya had broken a moral code of conduct that she had expected him to adhere to. He didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But seeing Cirisha go ballistic, and in the interest of peace, he apologized. The bottle of Chivas was consigned to a shelf in the room, with Aditya promising not to touch it on that trip.

It was for the first time that day that Cirisha was exposed to Aditya’s tendency to focus on the ends more than the means. Shortcuts didn’t matter to him as long as the objectives were achieved. This worried her. But in the euphoria of the honeymoon, the incident was forgotten. At least temporarily.

5

June 2004

Mumbai

Aditya and Nalin walked into the coffee shop of the Grand Hyatt. They were late for the meeting with Jigar Shah.

Hailing from Kolhapur, Jigar Shah had created Step Up Shoes, one of the most successful footwear brands in western India, from scratch. From a modest beginning twenty-six years ago, when he was hardly thirty, Jigar Shah had grown the company to clock a turnover of over four hundred crore rupees.

Somewhere along the line, handicapped by the lack of big-corporation finesse and hindered by his lack of pan-India selling and distribution skills, Jigar Shah had hired a CEO. A professional who came to him armed with an MBA from a premier business school with a decade’s worth of expertise in managing businesses. Shivinder had been with him for over six years and it was under him that the company had really flourished. Of late, Step Up Shoes had even diversified into other products like belts and handbags. Jigar Shah maintained a small corporate office in Bandra Kurla Complex, while his manufacturing facility was located outside Mumbai on the Goa highway.

Nalin was distinctly uncomfortable. It was always a red flag when a promoter wanted to exit a business. He had mentioned this to the branch banking head of GB2 who had set up this meeting.

‘I am told that he is a very finicky guy.’

‘I’ve never met him.’ Aditya said.

‘For the first time, we are meeting someone without knowing his complete background.’ They had heard about him. Everyone had. But no one from the investment banking community had ever met Jigar Shah. It was because Jigar Shah was not seen as someone who would ever sell his company. For Jigar Shah, Step Up Shoes was not just another business; it was a means to provide livelihood to the thousand people who worked for him.

Jigar Shah was in the coffee shop waiting for them. ‘My apologies, Mr Shah. The traffic was horrible today.’

‘I can understand, Mr Sud. My office is close by. So it wasn’t a problem for me.’ Jigar Shah turned out to be surprisingly warm and welcoming.

The pleasantries continued for a few more minutes. Nalin took the lead. ‘Pardon my ignorance, sir, but I am not completely conversant with your business in terms of financials, scale and dynamics.’

‘Oh yes. My CEO will take you through the details.’ And he raised his hand, pointing in the direction from which Nalin and Aditya had entered. Both of them turned to see whom Jigar Shah was pointing towards.

‘Shivinder?’ Aditya exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’ The CEO had just walked into the meeting.

‘So you know each other?’ Jigar Shah was confused.

‘Of course. We went to the same business school,’ Shivinder Singh quickly responded. ‘Good to see you here, Adi.’ And he walked past Aditya’s extended hand and hugged him. ‘Didn’t know you were with GB2. The last I met with you was when you were a photocopier salesman. Modi Xerox it was. Right?’

‘Yes. Years ago.’ Aditya nodded. ‘You joined Step Up Shoes?’

‘Shivinder is our CEO. He has been with us for six years. He is like family now,’ Jigar Shah stepped in.

Nalin, who was just a spectator to this reunion of B-school alumni, was getting impatient. ‘Let’s begin.’

All of them settled into their respective chairs around the coffee table and Shivinder began. ‘You must have read the profiling document that I had sent out.’ Aditya and Nalin nodded. ‘The company was started by Jigar Shahji over twenty-five years ago. A first-generation entrepreneur, he built this company to its current level. Last year we clocked a turnover of roughly four hundred crore rupees, out of which we made a profit of around eight crore rupees. Our growth trajectory has been fairly impressive.’

Nalin was listening intently. He held back his questions.

‘Over 40 per cent of our turnover comes from the overseas market. We are suppliers to Puma and even Nike. We adhere to the latest CPSIA and ISO norms.’ Nalin raised his eyebrows.

‘CPSIA—Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act. It was implemented by the US government particularly with respect to children’s products.’ Nalin simply nodded. He had no clue what Shivinder was referring to.

‘The remaining 60 per cent comes from the local market. Our margins here are quite reasonable. Better than exports. A shoe which costs only a hundred and twenty-five rupees to produce, retails for around six hundred rupees. We make roughly two hundred and fifty rupees a pair.’

‘Interesting,’ Aditya butted in.

‘Yes, it’s a good business to be in. I have built every bit of it with my own hands,’ Jigar Shah finally spoke.

‘Then why are you selling it?’ It defied logic that a promoter would want to exit such a lucrative business. Nalin had obviously not been briefed about what prompted Jigar Shah’s decision.

‘I am physically not in a state to run it, Mr Sud. It has not been an easy decision. This business is my life. Last month, I had an open-heart surgery. I don’t have any children who would take care of this business. Or, most importantly, the people who work with me. I want to make sure that after me, there is someone to take care of them.’

‘OK. Fair enough.’ There was no sign of emotion from Nalin. Aditya looked at him. ‘Never mix business and emotions. Else you will be in trouble,’ Nalin had told him once.

For the next thirty minutes, Shivinder spoke uninterruptedly about the business, the challenges, their customers and their business model.

‘What’s the expectation?’ Nalin asked Jigar Shah when Shivinder was finally done.

‘Price?’ Jigar Shah confirmed the question. Nalin nodded.

‘Not sure. But I am not stuck up on the price. I only want to secure the future of my employees and their families. The buyer will have to be someone who commits to take care of these employees.’

‘Emotional fool,’ Nalin thought to himself. ‘I presume you would value the company at roughly fifteen to twenty times its projected future earnings. Right?’ Shivinder butted in, ‘That’s what we would expect.’

Nalin didn’t respond.

The discussion ended in the next fifteen minutes. As they were walking towards the exit, Shivinder caught up with Aditya. Nalin and Jigar Shah were walking ahead. Nalin glanced back and, seeing Shivinder quite a distance away, whispered to Jigar Shah, ‘Mr Shah, have you considered allowing Mr Shivinder Singh to take over the company? Obviously with funding from friendly private equity players. He has been around for some time and knows everything inside out.’

‘I wouldn’t want that to happen.’ The response surprised Nalin. ‘Shivinder is a fantastic salesman, but he is emotionally very cold with my employees. That’s the reason why I have had to stay involved despite his presence. After me, if he is the only person running the company, I fear that the employees will have a tough time. I definitely don’t want that to happen. If contractually he is bound to keep these employees intact, then I will be fine. Please do …’ He stopped abruptly when he saw that Shivinder and Aditya had almost caught up with them.

‘Understood,’ Nalin acknowledged as he walked to the exit.

Aditya saw Nalin off at the porch and turned towards Shivinder. ‘Where do you stay, dude?’ Over six feet tall, he wore his slightly excess weight around the midriff well. Very articulate and clear in his thoughts, he sounded like a true-blue CEO.

‘Santa Cruz. And you?’

‘Bandra. Pali Hill. Are you heading home now?’

‘Yes. Unless you’re telling me there is some other plan.’ Aditya smiled. Shivinder had always been a smart-ass. Never one to give direct answers.

‘We can grab a drink if you are up to it.’

Shivinder looked at his watch, thought for a second and said, ‘OK. Let’s go.’

The two of them headed back into the hotel, to the bar, reminiscing about the old days and updating each other on what their batchmates were up to. They had a lot to catch up on. In any case, Cirisha was in Boston that day. Aditya didn’t have much to do back home.

6

November 2004

Mumbai

Aditya was in his car, waiting for Shivinder in the porch of a suburban hotel, when his phone rang. Not wanting to pick it up, he let it ring for some time. He was in a foul mood. They had met a number of prospective buyers for Step Up Shoes and nothing had worked out. He had just got out of the seventh presentation and that too had not gone well. Four of the seven prospects found Step Up Shoes to be too small for them to evince any interest and three had found it to be too big. However, there was one thing in common: everyone had said that the profitability did not stack up to the valuations that GB2 was pitching it at.