It was 1981. I was a member of a sales team of two, selling Sony professional and semiprofessional video equipment. My boss was one Minoo Adajania, a dapper, gentle, super methodical Parsi gentleman.
One day, he told me that he had got a lead that TISS (Tata Institute of Social Sciences) was looking for video equipment. He asked me to organise a meeting with the concerned. I called a contact in TISS. He told me that 'one Mr Vijay Tendulkar' was their adviser and should meet him. He gave me the phone number too.
I called the number and talked to Mr. Tendulkar. I got an appointment to meet him at his home. He gave me the directions to his house and was about to end the call when I said, "May I ask you something more sir?"
I asked him, "Sir, are you THE Vijay Tendulkar?" Pause on the other side.
"What do you mean by the Vijay Tendulkar?" he asked me gently.
"Shantata Court Chaalu Aahe and all that?" I said.
He laughed and said it was indeed he. Somehow, the sound of that easy laughter of his has stayed with me ever since.
Minoo and I went to his house on the appointed day. I knocked and we were asked to enter. There were footwear at the door and I automatically took my shoes and socks off. Minoo was horrified. He looked as if he was having second thoughts about trying to sell anything at all. Reluctantly he too took his shoes off but kept the socks on. I could visualise him going home and consigning his socks to the waste bin straight away.
When we entered the carpeted, Khadi - if I am not mistaken, hall, Vijay Tendulkar was sitting down on the floor leaning on a sloping desk. It was the kind of desk used by the 'Munimji' in Hindi movies. He indicated the floor - for us to sit down. The only pieces of furniture in the room were book filled shelves and some bolsters. I sat down comfortably, cross legged.
Minoo was at a loss. He kept his brief case down and slowly, very slowly, lowered himself to the floor. He looked as if he expected the stitches of his trousers to give way or his kneecap to fly off. When he had settled down, we began the most unusual business meeting I have ever attended - sitting on the floor cross legged.
Minoo did all the talking. Whenever he wanted to show a leaflet or a picture to our prospective customer I would go on my knees and point at the relevant thing to him. After about half an hour, suddenly Vijay Tendulkar asked, "Are all these things in colour?". We were eager to confirm that it was so, proud of the great Sony technology.
He said, decisively, "Then it does not suit us. You see, what we are trying to portray is poverty, hardship, the dirt and grime of the slums and such things. Colour glamourises everything. We don't want to glamourise all these things." That is it. It sounded final.
Even though I saw a business opprtunity slipping away inexorably, I could not help admiring the man's clear thoughts expressed so succinctly.
Perhaps Minoo's knees and ankles were hurting or he too was impressed by the definiteness in his voice, after a few feeble attempts to make him still consider the colour equipment, we had to leave. We did.
Minoo had great difficulty wearing his shoes again as there was no chair in sight. We walked to the nearest taxi stand and returned to the office. I was disappointed that we could not sell anything but elated that I had met THE Vijay Tendulkar.
The inimitable Vijay Tendulkar has passed away this morning. This is my small tribute to him.
One day, he told me that he had got a lead that TISS (Tata Institute of Social Sciences) was looking for video equipment. He asked me to organise a meeting with the concerned. I called a contact in TISS. He told me that 'one Mr Vijay Tendulkar' was their adviser and should meet him. He gave me the phone number too.
I called the number and talked to Mr. Tendulkar. I got an appointment to meet him at his home. He gave me the directions to his house and was about to end the call when I said, "May I ask you something more sir?"
I asked him, "Sir, are you THE Vijay Tendulkar?" Pause on the other side.
"What do you mean by the Vijay Tendulkar?" he asked me gently.
"Shantata Court Chaalu Aahe and all that?" I said.
He laughed and said it was indeed he. Somehow, the sound of that easy laughter of his has stayed with me ever since.
Minoo and I went to his house on the appointed day. I knocked and we were asked to enter. There were footwear at the door and I automatically took my shoes and socks off. Minoo was horrified. He looked as if he was having second thoughts about trying to sell anything at all. Reluctantly he too took his shoes off but kept the socks on. I could visualise him going home and consigning his socks to the waste bin straight away.
When we entered the carpeted, Khadi - if I am not mistaken, hall, Vijay Tendulkar was sitting down on the floor leaning on a sloping desk. It was the kind of desk used by the 'Munimji' in Hindi movies. He indicated the floor - for us to sit down. The only pieces of furniture in the room were book filled shelves and some bolsters. I sat down comfortably, cross legged.
Minoo was at a loss. He kept his brief case down and slowly, very slowly, lowered himself to the floor. He looked as if he expected the stitches of his trousers to give way or his kneecap to fly off. When he had settled down, we began the most unusual business meeting I have ever attended - sitting on the floor cross legged.
Minoo did all the talking. Whenever he wanted to show a leaflet or a picture to our prospective customer I would go on my knees and point at the relevant thing to him. After about half an hour, suddenly Vijay Tendulkar asked, "Are all these things in colour?". We were eager to confirm that it was so, proud of the great Sony technology.
He said, decisively, "Then it does not suit us. You see, what we are trying to portray is poverty, hardship, the dirt and grime of the slums and such things. Colour glamourises everything. We don't want to glamourise all these things." That is it. It sounded final.
Even though I saw a business opprtunity slipping away inexorably, I could not help admiring the man's clear thoughts expressed so succinctly.
Perhaps Minoo's knees and ankles were hurting or he too was impressed by the definiteness in his voice, after a few feeble attempts to make him still consider the colour equipment, we had to leave. We did.
Minoo had great difficulty wearing his shoes again as there was no chair in sight. We walked to the nearest taxi stand and returned to the office. I was disappointed that we could not sell anything but elated that I had met THE Vijay Tendulkar.
The inimitable Vijay Tendulkar has passed away this morning. This is my small tribute to him.
1 comment:
Oh damn! I didn't know he passed away. Anil, your blogs are very informative. I always use Google to search more about the people you mention on your blog.
And the unusual business meet wasn't surprising. Instead, it's good to know that people haven't forgotten their traditions. Good one!
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