Ronju (Pradeep) Dutt - an uncelebrated legend

Pradeep (PK) Dutt - Guru of Marketing Gurus passed away in Calcutta

Article first published in The Economic Times (click here for link)

An IIT Kharagpur Civil Engineer - he landed at the Backbay Reclamation Office of Hindustan Lever for an opening of Marketing Manager - after changing some 7 jobs (as per his own count) including trying his hand in Transport Business (when he couldn't see his own face on the mirror at night - because of the malpractices in the trade). The great raconteur that he was - Pradeep Dutt (PKD to his colleagues and Ronju to friends) would regale young Management Trainees with the story (perhaps made up) of how the topic of group discussion at the HLL interview was "The Rising Trend of Mini-skirts" - when he stunned the panel by asking whether it meant "Mini-skirts were getting shorter, or more and more women were taking to wearing mini-skirts". This piece of witticism he claimed clinched the job for him among many MBAs in the group.  It is this touch of humour and large-heartedness that set him apart from many of his peers and protégées - some of whom went on to do much better than him professionally.

His rise at Hindustan Lever was almost meteoric. As they say success has many fathers - so while a lot of people claim credit for the launch of Liril Soap and Fair & Lovely - PKD had a major role in both. Though the latter ('FAL' as it was called in Unilever parlance) - is a "politically incorrect" product to talk of now  - PKD (in early 80s) proudly displayed in his room a letter of thanks from someone living in a remote Tamil Nadu village, who thought had it not been for Fair & Lovely his daughter would not have found a good match. From there, Pradeep Dutt went on to become the youngest ever Managing Director of Lipton India - sitting in their old Weston Street Office in Central Calcutta and was the lead player of the company's turn-around story.

It is at Lipton, PKD touched the lives and shaped careers of many. Always a bon-vivant - he was arguably the most magnanimous of the Lever's Marketing doyens - perhaps, with the sole exception of the legendary Shunu Sen. But, ironically, it was also at Lipton's PKD met his professional "waterloo" in the launch of Tree-top - a tetra-pack range of drinks - and '21' an Ice Tea clone - which were perhaps much ahead of their time. But, PKD had the old world leadership values of backing his lieutenants to the hilt - and then taking the blame upon himself if things went wrong - a quality that has gone missing in today's corporate world.

Around the same time - PKD lost his wife Padma to cancer - who was really the anchor of his life. It his from here that his personal and professional world began to fall apart. If one call it hamartia - it was the blind faith he had on colleagues and subordinates. This, many friends and admirers believe, was also the cause of his next professional setback in a multinational company - which he had to leave in a somewhat forgettable circumstances.

His later years were spent between Calcutta and Santiniketan (where he took pride in saying his regular rickshawallah also double up as a boot-legger) - until he sold of his house there. At Calcutta - he was a regular at the Clubs. Always surrounded by friends - he was never spared himself on food, drinks and cigarettes. But, that neither dimmed his wit or took the edge off his sharp marketing mind. Many former colleagues would turn to him for advice on Brands - which he would dispense freely. Anyone else in his place - would have made a fortune out of it. But, PKD was too proud to do that. The outpourings on Facebook - at the breaking of the news this morning is a testimony to the popularity of the man as was the large gathering of friends and associates at the crematorium.  One elderly gentleman who came for the last rites - was carrying a bottle of mineral water. A friend quipped - you haven't come to Ronju's funeral with just plain water but mixed some gin into it - else he wouldn't forgive you. That in a way sums up the man that was PKD.

Cutlets in the alley

End of a hectic and eventful fortnight !!

(right Jaya's School Girls' Hostel)

First came Jaya's ICSE results at the dot of 3 pm on May 17th - which, of course, had all of us overjoyed. But, even before we could think of any celebrations - we rushed back to Mumbai to pack her bags for the new school ( The Valley - KFI) in Bangalore. In a way - it was for us like also saying a 'virtual' farewell to Mumbai - though we are yet to wind up our establishment at Phoenix Towers. All of us were a bit sad at that and before leaving Jaya asked - can't you get a transfer back to Mumbai? More than anything else - she'd miss the Phoenix Mall next door (High Street Phoenix)- which we had come to call "pasher bari" (the house next door - in Bengali).

We dropped her at school on Monday - the 23rd but went back there again the next day for a parents' orientation, when we got to spend some more time with her. And, after a lovely Khow-Suey and Single Malt evening at the C's - got back to Calcutta on Wednesday morning - to plunge head-long into work.

When the markets are down - you spend more time writing explanations than doing your job - which is, presumably, chasing sales numbers. But, it is a fine balance most professionals learn to strike over time.

But, what still amuses yours truly are the most ingenous stories people come up for low demand. After nearly 3 decades of working life - one has heard how poor grape crops in Hyderabad were affecting cattle-feed sales in other parts of the country or cold currents in the Atlantic were raising the price of fish in Bengal. Nowadays, of course, one has the 'one size fits all' theory of global warming that can be used any-which-way to suit an argument.

However, there may be a germ of truth in one of the factors being attributed to the slow-down of construction activities across the country. It is the scarcity of construction labour. Many believe that - poverty alleviation schemes like NREGA and cheap (Rs 2) rice are acting as dis-incentives for workers to leave their villages in search of work in the cities. It seems, many working in the cities have also got themsleves registered under MNREGA back home in their villages and have to keep returning there frequently to their names alive in the roster. The few who would still prefer to venture out - head for Mumbai and Delhi - where the earning and savings potential are higher. Not sure if this is merely anecdotal - but if it is borne out by some emperical studies - then we could be seeing a major sociological and demographic shift in the years to come.

One thing I do enjoy in my current job is, it takes me to places that I have never been before even within the city I grew up in. For example, today - I visited one of the largest cement whole-sale market in the country situated at the heart of Calcutta's most famous red-light district (Sonagachi). Savoured some divine "kacha-golla" sandesh - but was too full to have the Prawn Cutlet from Allen which caters especially to the elite clientele of the area.

And, something I hate on such trips - is the lack of toilet facilities at most of the establishments ( a basic necessity for a chronic patient of IBS - irritable bowel syndrome for the uninitiated). It makes me empathise so deeply with ladies who have to work in the markets. Even places in Bihar and Jharkahnd have better sanitation facilities. That, brings me to my favourite crib about the Bengali's poor sense of hygiene. But, will keep that for another day's post.

What's been given a convenient miss - with all the travel and long work schedule - over the last few months - is exercise. In an attempt at gentle pursuasion - the wife took me for a swim the other day to The Calcutta Club. ( click here for my bog on the clubs of India: Raj Redux) But, even before I had taken a dip, she came out in a huff from the Ladies Changing Room - saying it was stinking as someone had crapped in the shower.

I asked a friend's brother - a doc - who was there in the pool with us, whether it was a good idea to take a typhoid shot. He said - it's not going to be of much use. Micturition is a common problem in all swimming pools for which a Hepatitis Vaccine may work better. For the rest - just try not to swallow the water and hope that the chlorine would have done its job. But, the wife was firm in her ruling - no more swimming at the Cal Club from now on. Holy shit !!

Raj Redux

Part I - From British Raj to Cadre Raj


Which is the best Club in India? You’d instinctively think that it must be one of those venerable institutions of Calcutta – once, allegedly, regarded as the second city of the Empire. And, being a Bengali (a ‘pseudo Bong’ - nevertheless) you’d expect me to say that too, if nothing - simply out of regional chauvinism. But, my vote would go elsewhere.

True the Bengal Club – once the residence of Lord Macaulay (click here to read the heritage of the Club) - still retains an imperial air. Though age and decline in fortunes are clearly discernable there is something very sublime and charming about it . The corridors are often adorned with Trade Union posters blending the past and the present beautifully – a testimony to the changing times, the transition from British Raj to Marxist Cadre Raj. And, on a good day - especially if you are with Ram Ray ( an acknowledged gourmand turned gourmet and the Chairman of the club's F & B Committee)– no club can beat their food (just as Ram’s friend Shobu Banerjee would say of the service at Calcutta Club on the ‘blue-moon’ night of their Foundation Day dinner). The ‘Abdars’ pamper you with their gentle fawning. The recent addition of facilities such as the health club and a pub has injected some new vibrancy and, I hope, would contribute to its long-term financial stability too (In the 70s, the Club had to sell off part of its prime property at the Chowringhee end, where a monstrous commercial high-rise came up, to avert a financial crisis) -though, I for one would have preferred to see more of “restoration” rather than “renovation” of such a grand heritage property. But, at times, one does wonder if it's in danger of becoming a “Calcutta Club – Mark II” , to appropriate another Aveek Sarkar quip.

the last Bastion of Bhadraloks

Well no one can question the aristocratic (“bonedi”) antecedents of The Calcutta Club ( click here ) – so what if it strikes you as a societal rendition of Ray’s Jalsaghar (click here for synposis and critique)– an extension of the “baithak khana” of a North Calcutta zamindar residence (read “Rajbaris), which had obviously seen better days. The bearers running after you to the car – to collect their tips – kind of completes the picture. Swapan Dasgupta wrote a wonderful piece in a Mumbai paper (click here to read full article) couple of years back – on what is probably the last surviving bastion of the “bhadralok” Bengalis (though, I think it is grossly unfair to compare its membership profile with that of the Mohun Bagan Club {click here} - another much loved institution of the North Calcutta 'ghotis').

(Flag hoisting ceremony at The Calcutta Club on Independence day)

This Club too has seen a wave of “renovation” ( euphemistically called - 'face-lift') over the last couple of years as it celebrated its centenary. But, it was more like fixing a “pace-maker” on a septuagenarian (that’s the modal age of members – almost half of whom are, incidentally, doctors and surgeons with lawyers forming another large chunk) not an open-heart surgery. But, if Bengal Club is a club with a soul, then Calcutta Club is definitely a club with a heart - as is evident in the frenetic electioneering every July. Sometimes, I think the Club exists only for the Annual Elections – as it provides vicarious gratification to the seeds of political aspirations lying dormant at a sub-conscious level in every true Bengali. That’s why it’s often said that; there hasn’t been a Bengali President of the country (Pranab Mukherjee and Somnath Chatterjee came precariously close to busting this theory) – because the Bengalis ambition ends with becoming the President of Calcutta Club. But, all is forgiven and nothing else matters when on a wintry evening - sitting on the verandah – you dig into a diced chicken cutlet while savoruing a pot of fine Darjeeling, brewed just right.

a bar with a cricket field

The CCFC ( The Calcutta Cricket & Fotball Club, click here for history) , my personal favourite, was great fun as long as long as it stayed true to its original charter of being “a Bar with a Cricket Field attached”. But, it was on the verge of losing its 200 year old mandate when the reins passed from the “chai-wallahs” to the new “corporate” honchos and business barons – who converted the banquet hall on the first floor (witness to many a ball and brawl over the years) to a restaurant and enclosed the front terrace to make a post-colonial glass paneled bar overlooking the grounds. But, the old bar downstairs is still the best in town and my friend Ansar – the head bar tender – proudly claims, his Bloody Mary and Fresh Lime Soda are “international famous”(sic). And certainly it is the most youthful, sporty and happy club in the city.

The Tolly’s ( to read about the Tollygunge Club click here) pride is, of course, the Golf Course with its pack of tame jackals. But the food remains indifferent and at night the club takes a near deserted look, except on evenings when there is a reception at the ‘Far Pavilion’ regularly let out for weddings and other social functions. It’s the current favourite of the new Corporate set and rightfully so – with the best sports facilities in the city. No wonder it is the most professionally managed club in the city – with a CEO who is actually allowed to function by the elected committee members (the President decided by consensus). But, still it would not get my top vote.

Part II - A Journey Down South

The degeneration of the clubs of Calcutta can be naturally linked to its altered economic and commercial status of the city , after the demise of the Merchant Houses and the exodus of large multi-national companies through the 70s and 80s. But, economic affluence alone can’t make a club great – as one would easily realize entering the haloed precincts of the Delhi Gymkhana, once a quintessential Raj establishment. The unseemly fracas over the Presidential elections last year, which was covered in the main-stream dailies (click here for full story) with a repeat of sorts again this time around (click here ) proves the point.

Sarkar(i) Raj

A stronghold of bureaucrats and service officers – I remember the time when the club’s Bars were sealed after an Excise raid engineered by a CBEC Member who had lost the elections. (It was a fact that, they hadn’t renewed the Bar License for over 10 years – perhaps, not feeling the need to do so with all of Delhi’s bureaucratic top brass being members). On another occasion – in a Ghulam Ali concert the audience continued to chomp kebabs and guzzle their drink – with the maestro singing away like a hired performer in a shaadi. Those of us, who waited till the end of the programme , found that there was no food left and had to head out for Pandara Road to grab some dinner.

(But, I am sure it’s any day better than the Orai Club - in the boondocks of Uttar Pradesh. A colleague, who was posted there as Manager of a new HLL unit, was asked on applying for Membership - if he possessed a gun-license. Apparently, it was unsafe to enter the club in the evenings without a gun).

The Delhi Golf Club remains the capital’s only saving grace.

Capitalists at their best

(Bombay Gym - Photo Archive)

Bombay’s obsession with pace is inimical to the development of a true club culture, which has to be, by definition, slow and unhurried. The Bombay, Gym (click here for history), the Cricket Club of India (CCI) the Willingdon are all great clubs with fantastic properties at prime locations – but are too busy and crowded for my liking. At the CCI especially – the restaurants (the quality of food and service will match any first-rate eatery or 5 Star in town) are so packed and loud they don’t feel like a club at all. But, none can match them in overall upkeep and the range of facilities, all smacking of Mumbai’s hallmark efficiency.

(the majestic facade of the Royal Bombay Yacht Club)

The only club with a leisurely - and yet not totally laid-back - culture, that retains much of its pristine ambience – is the Yacht Club ( click here for history) and I try to get there as often as I can.

Bangalore has become too cosmopolitan to have a homogenous club culture of its own. At the Bangalore Club, therefore, there is no clear dominant set. Apart from the city’s classy old Kannadiga gentry, there are the planters from Coorg and Chikmagalur, the moneyed (but highly refined) Magaloreans and, of course, the ubiquitous Malyalis and the affluent Syrian Christian community. Then there are the new Czars and Czarinas of IT / Bio-tech; and the late migrants from all over the country – who have built their post-retirement nest in this ‘Garden City’. All told – the Club, despite its very good facilities (but passable food) has a somewhat mixed character.


Up in the Hills


The clubs in the Hill-Stations – conceived primarily as holiday destinations or watering holes for the local planters – fall in a different category altogether, quite distinct from their city-bred cousins. Of them, the 127 year old, The Club at Mahabaleshwar (click here for more) has best preserved its heritage and an aura of history – while making the necessary concessions for modern-day comforts and amenities. It is everything a good club ought to be (except that – for some odd reason - it no longer has a bar). The Kasauli Club – is a quaint little gem tucked away in the Himalayan foot-hills on the way to Shimla. Being a Cantonment and an Air-force station, both Kasauli and the club has remained largely untouched by marauding crowds from Delhi, Chandigarh and the plains of Punjab.

In the Nilgiris, The High-Range Club in Munnar, once an almost exclusive domain of Tata Tea executives, ranks high. My personal favourite is the Wellington Club in upper Coonoor. Sitting outside the cottage, feet up with a book and a glass of gin on the side – occasionally staring across the lush green golf course is the stuff my ideal holidays are made of. But, it’s perhaps only appropriate that the real Queen of the Hill-Clubs
should be located in ‘Queen of Hill Stations’. The Ootacamund Club in Ooty defies comparison in its grandeur and elegance.

familiar but not obtrusive & baked crabs

That brings me to my last stop – the Madras Club in Chennai. It has kept up with the times without losing its class or character. The staff are efficient and courteous without being, in the least, obsequious.

To me a club is not just a place to meet friends, drink swim and, now also gym, – but it’s meant to transport you to a mental ‘space’ somewhere between home and work. It’s a state of mind, which makes that fine difference between being in one’s living room, a bar or a restaurant. It’s a place where you feel at home – without being home. So it’s the attitude of the members – familiar but not obtrusive – which defines the culture of a club. The members of the Madras Club have an understated and quiet dignity, which I find most impressive.

They make a mean and cheesy baked-crab - the best I have had, which would give even the Bengal Club stiff competition. Try it when you are in Chennai next time – even at the risk of your cholesterol shooting up by several points. You wont regret it - I guarantee.