Management Perspectives

Having spent the first five years—after getting my engineering degree from Delhi University—with professional enterprises like the American oil company ESSO Standard and, arguably’ India’s finest engineering group, L&T, I landed a job with a lala group. At that time, it was a highly ranked entity in terms of turnover and also boasted the celebrated ‘senior management trainees (SMTs)’ scheme. Their salaries were at par with multinationals like Hindustan Lever, ITC, ICI, Metal Box, etc.

It was a wonderful learning experience, until one found out that every single decision was taken by one person at the top—the Lala ji—without whose signature, not a thing would move in the gargantuan enterprise.

Every appointment, increment, perquisite, transfer, and termination had to come with an ‘office order’ signed by him. Along with the frustration of having virtually no delegation of authority, one also admired enormous hold of the top man who seemed to know every little thing that happened in the group even if it was a couple of thousand miles away from where he was based.

The guy had an amazing ‘unit control system’ where bright young SMTs worked and churned out for him detailed progress report of each unit—factory or marketing—in real time. He also had an incredible memory and unbelievable capacity to run through every word of voluminous reports. And, of course, eight to 10 people were called home early in the morning to discuss the papers marked to them at night. One of the PAs would sort these out and phone up the poor sods to ‘swing by the kothi before heading to their offices’. It is a moot point that the discussion was more of a rebuke for the juvenile report or agenda sent by the guy and was often thrown at his face with orders to redo the same and submit before nightfall.

Today, many of these outfits have changed their ways significantly. With highly-educated scions taking over from the older generation, many of these companies have started inducting professionals in senior positions, giving them a free hand. Many owners are sending their children to renowned universities like Harvard, Stanford, etc., and their interaction with learned faculty and networking with students from advanced countries have changed their thinking and business philosophy. Raising funds from VCs puts additional pressures on them to improve governance. This professionalism has resulted in phenomenal growth of many family-owned businesses. And yet, I believe, most crucial decisions in such companies are still taken by the top guy. In any case, I am talking about what happened 30 to 40 years ago.

There was great training from Lala ji, who had himself learned the ropes the hard way from his elders. ‘There are no short cuts to hard work’; ‘Honest practices will never be compromised’; ‘You will meet deadlines, no matter what the personal discomfort’; ‘You will persevere till the job is accomplished’; etc., was the pep talk given right at the induction stage. Then there was demonstration by personal example. Let me narrate this one particular case which has many lessons.

On one of his frequent visits to our plant, Lala ji asked the GM, at the airport itself, whether the laminations line had resumed operations? Now, this line, a critical part of any electric motor, had stopped working almost 10 days ago. Our own engineers and even the local agent’s representatives had tried hard, but failed. We were waiting for an engineer from Japan. When Lala ji was informed about the situation, he decided to drive straight to that particular shop as he wanted to have a look at it. Upon arrival, he took off his jacket and got inside the line, and a couple of managers followed him. Once inside, he asked about every single switch, indicator light, relay, and hundreds of other connectors and attachments and their role in the running of the complex line. He would ask for something to be switched off or on, some screw to be tightened or a small part to be replaced. The heat inside was stifling; everyone was perspiring. First his tie came off, then the sleeves were rolled up, even the shirt was taken off, but Lala ji did not give up. Finally, after some three and a half hours, Lala ji emerged and the line was functioning perfectly. Everyone was sheepish but the great man had a big smile on his face.

He said, “I am sure, if you had persisted, the machine would’ve been running several days ago. After all, you guys have set it right today also, I was only asking questions and boring you.”

One of his annoying traits was that Lala ji wanted agendas for all meetings to be done to perfection. Just a spelling error or a skewed line or some such minor mistake and he would fly with rage and chastise all those who were involved in preparing the same. The meeting will be postponed even if it meant 20 officers flying back to their base and returning after a couple of days with the corrected document. I remember asking him once as to why he wasted so much time and money on these small details? His answer floored me completely, “Do you think I do this for fun? My only reason is that all those involved should have total clarity on the subject.” Indeed, when we made a perfect agenda, we had to make sure that we knew all the facts!

By no stretch of imagination am I making a case that family-owned companies are not as good as professionally managed ones. If it were so, then the likes of GE, Nokia, Blackberry, Exxon Mobil, and Kodak would still be alive and kicking. In fact, the CEOs of these giants enjoyed absolute power—just as the owners do! These powerful, big guys, lording over monolithic organisations, did not have any promoters to question them. Perhaps power went to their heads and spelt disaster for their companies. Of course, many family-owned companies have also perished, but, perhaps, more of the so called ‘professional’ ones have met this fate.

Anyway, let me get back to my story. There were frequent rebukes, unpleasant pulling up sessions, even cuss words. There was zero-tolerance for dissent. We would feel miserable and often want to quit. Many did so.

But, there were rewards too—again, totally unstructured and whimsical, often illogical and unreasonable, seemingly unfair to other colleagues, and yet, very pleasant ones. Let me tell you about one such case.

Circa 1969 or 70; it was about 7 pm when I finished discussing the papers marked to me. As I was saying good night, the big boss asked if I was planning to attend the wedding of a colleague that evening. “Yes, of course, I am,” I told him. “Good, in that case, if you don’t mind waiting for a while, we will go together. I want to just show my face at the ghurchari (a custom in Indian weddings wherein the groom sits on a white mare and proceeds to a temple). You can carry on after that.” After a while, Lala ji came out and asked me to get into the car with him and to tell my driver to follow. “I don’t have a driver,” I told him and added that I will follow his car. “No, in that case, I will ride with you and my car will follow,” said the boss.

The function was somewhere close to Minto Bridge. As we were driving through Connaught Place, Lala ji asked me to stop for a while, and suggested we take a stroll. That evening he seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

Going past the famous Empire Store, he suggested we go in for a Coca-Cola and some popcorn. We stood there, by the glass windows, sipping our Cokes, facing outside and watching people go by in the covered corridor of the inner circle. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed the owner moving in our direction. “Let’s get out before this guy catches up, otherwise, he won’t let us leave for at least half an hour,” I was told. So the bottles were left on the floor and we made a quick exit.

As soon as we neared the wedding venue, the groom— already on horseback—saw the eagerly awaited big Pontiac, and he wasted no time in telling the ghoriwala (a person who owns and tends to the mare) that he wanted to get down for a minute.

Everyone was aghast; he was told that it is an apshakun (bad omen) and once he had mounted ceremoniously, he could only get down at the bride’s place. But our man knew which side his bread was buttered. He dismissed all arguments and was on his feet in a jiffy, rushed to the limousine as Lala ji was stepping out, touched his feet, thanked him for his presence, got the blessings, and went back to his high perch. Meantime, Lala ji congratulated the family, handed over the mandatory shagun (monetary gift), and sought their leave, adding for good measure that, “Kalra will attend the ceremony.” As he was getting into the car, he told me, “Kalra, iski tankhwah wagera dekh lena, shaadi hui hai to kharcha to barhe ga.” (Look into revising his salary; now that he is married, his expenses will increase).

Next morning, I was at the kothi with an increment slip (I had proposed a 10% special increment) for the lucky guy. When my turn came, I presented the paper, with the amount entered in pencil, for his signatures. One look at it, and he laughed, saying, “Tum kab se ‘bania’ ho gai ho?” Bechara 800 leta hai, 1000 to kar hi do.” (Since when have you become so stingy? The poor chap gets only 800 rupees; make it at least 1000).

As I was driving to my office, I felt very happy for the young accountant and was planning to actually send the good news slip to his house through a peon. As I entered and was heading to my cabin, I noticed all staff members grinning, and one or two even congratulated me. I was quite surprised. How did they know about Gupta’s big increment? I wondered. Perhaps the PA at the kothi had called one of them. But why were they congratulating me? Everything became clear as I entered my room. Right on top of the desk was an ‘office order’ signed obviously by the big boss, which had just one sentence “With immediate effect, Kalra is sanctioned company car and driver.”