Bartender Trainees

Bartender Trainees with a battery company

By Prakash Subbarao (Prakash@3xus.com)

As you may have gathered by now, I was a management trainee at Chloride India Limited in 1976. Chloride was a British Multinational that made the incredible profit of Rs 4 crores on a turnover of Rs 24 crores in those days. That made it the bluest of blue chip companies, possibly ahead of most other MNCs of that day.

The Managing Director of Chloride in those days was Johar Sengupta, widely rated as a financial wizard. He was a legendary figure in Calcutta. And the Calcutta of the 1970’s ruled the Indian management roost, being the cynosure of all corporate eyes. Brooke Bond, ITC, ICI, Union Carbide, Metal Box……………we at Chloride rubbed shoulders with all of them.

Johar Sengupta (or JS, as he was known in Chloride circles) was a legend.

Picture a tall (maybe around 5 foot 10 ins.) slender man of wheatish complexion, wearing glasses. He’s clean shaven and looks remarkably relaxed at all times. He is invariably formally dressed in a suit and tie, except on Saturdays when he comes to the office in designer jeans. He speaks with a trace of a British accent mixed with a Bengali one.

Rumour has it that he has never missed a Wimbledon.

People whisper that he dislikes Sati Kuckreja, the head of marketing. By extension, that puts all of us marketing guys in the enemy camp, so to speak. We are clearly aware of the finance-marketing divide and that the marketing clout is pretty poor in Chloride. Maybe it’s our karma, we tell ourselves.

We management trainees went about secure in the knowledge that the great man didn’t know we existed. That gave us confidence. If it came to war we wouldn’t get shot at; we were ghosts; invisible for the time being. If, in the distant future, we were thrust up the corporate ladder our ugly mugs would be duly memorized by the enemy but for the time being all was well. We were invisible.

Or so we thought.

Imagine my great shock when one day I am busy doing my own thing in the marketing services department when I get a call from his secretary. “JS wants to see you” she blandly informs me. “Why?” I ask. “I don’t know” she says. “When?” I ask. “Right now” she says. Panic sets in.

My palms instantly start sweating. I do a quick check list on any goof ups that I have left exposed. As far as I can recall, I have covered my tracks quite well and dusted all mishaps and misadventures under the rug. And yet here is the great JS bypassing protocol………….bypassing my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss and asking to see me in the flesh. I wonder what he wants, I think to myself. I get up and head for the big man’s office on the second floor of Chloride House.

When I get there I see an equally flustered Ashoke Dutt waiting in the ante room. Ashoke, as you know by now, is also a fellow management trainee.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“JS wants to see me” he tersely replies. “F*&k! I wonder what I did wrong!”

I feel exactly the same way.

I tell him that I am in the same boat as he is. It is comforting to know that one won’t be stood against a wall and shot alone; that one will have company.

Ten minutes later, with our pulses racing and our hearts in our mouth we are ushered into the great man’s office. It’s the first time that I have been there. It’s enormous!

He is sitting a good thirty feet away and I am acutely conscious of his gaze on us as we walk towards him. Huge plate glass windows give one a terrific view of Chowringhee and the Calcutta Club opposite but we are in no mood to enjoy the view.

He is on the phone. Talking in Bengali! My perception of a MD, especially the MD of an organization as blue chip as Chloride, is one who would be snooty as hell and talk in clipped British accents and be a hypocrite to boot. And yet here is JS sitting back and comfortably conversing in Bengali!

He waves us to a seat and we nervously perch ourselves on the edge wishing he’d get off that damn phone and shoot us between the eyes post haste. The wait is worse than death!

Finally after what seems to be eternity he puts the phone down. He looks at us and smiles. “So how are you boys doing?” he asks. “OK” we mumble. It’s best to keep all conversation to monosyllables, we reason.

He tries to draw us into conversation but we know that we are part of the enemy camp, the marketing department. If nothing else, we will keep our mouths shut and not betray our bosses. That’s our position.

After a few minutes he gives up and we are relieved. He’s getting to the point.

“My secretary has an assignment for you guys” he says. “Ask her on your way out”.

“Yes sir!” we say and rush out of his office. It’s along walk to the door but we half walk, half run. “Phew!” Ashoke and I say simultaneously after we are out.

His secretary is looking at us and smiling. “So how did your meeting with JS go?” she asks. “Fine” we both mumble.

“JS is throwing a party this evening at his place in Alipur: she tells us. He will be serving very expensive liquor. He doesn’t want the caterers, Trinca’s, marowing the stuff. You understand?”

We nod.

“So he wants the two of you to stand behind the bar and keep an eye on things – especially the expensive liquor. Can you do that?” she asks.

Ashoke and I look at each other. “Yes ma’am! We can do it” we tell her.

Suddenly we feel lighter. We have had a fresh lease of life. We aren’t to be exterminated, after all!

That evening at 7 p.m. sharp we are at the MD’s residence. We look at his place in awe. It’s like a palace! There is a massive gate, which is open. There’s no moat, but obviously this isn’t a castle.

Lovely lights adorn the gates. Two latest model Chevrolet cars stand in the drive way. There is a huge lawn, beautifully landscaped. The grapevine has told us that the MD is divorced but lives with his girlfriend. That’s why there are two Chevy’s. One for him, one for her, they say. We agree to look out discretely for the “other lady”. But never set eyes on her.

We ring the bell.

An old fashioned butler opens the door. It’s all very British.

“I will tell Sahib that you are here” he tells us and floats away. We look around. We are in a hall full of antiques and artifacts. We are amazed; we are at a loss for words.

The great man comes to see in after about ten minutes. “Hi boys!” he breezily greets us.

“Good evening, sir!” we say, with fresh enthusiasm. JS is by now an old friend. I suddenly realize with a start that I have stopped thinking of him as an enemy.

“Keep an eye on the liquor consumption” he warns us. I am serving Napoleon VVSOP, Royal Salute and stuff like that and I don’t want the caterers knocking it off.”

“Yes sir!” we tell him. We almost salute.

Soon the party gets under way. It’s on the lawns. The caterers have set up camp at one end and created a makeshift bar there. Ashoke and I position ourselves ten feet behind the bar where our steely gaze will miss nothing.

The “Who’s Who” of Calcutta is there. From Sir Bhaskar Mitter to Mudaliar of ICI to Desmond Doig of The Statesman. There’s no one of a ranking less than a managing director or a chairman here, we marvel.

As the party lightens up, Ashoke and I venture to have a drink. I have always wanted to enjoy a good brandy, so I opt for a Napoleon VVSOP. Ashoke prefers a whisky so he plonks for a Royal Salute. All the while we are partaking of the snacks that are continuously being served – chicken tikka kabab, cheese and pineapple sticks and so on.

After our second drink I suggest to Ashoke that we try the cigars. There are Cuban cigars lying around. I have, so far, been smoking the India Kings cigarettes that the waiters have been offering. “Good idea!” says Ashoke, and we retreat a strategic ten feet into the shadows to avoid scrutiny, all the while puffing on our Romeo y Julietta Cuban cigars.

A little later a flushed JS comes to us. “Here boys! Keep these keys safe for me!” he commands us and hands over a heavy key chain. “Give it to me after the party!” We are thrilled. It’s the first sign of intimacy with the great man! Clearly we are zooming up the corporate ladder this evening, albeit as bartenders!

A little later JS comes up to us. He is weaving an unsteady step. “Hey boys! What are you doing behind the bar? Come and join the party!” and saying that he literally drags Ashoke and me to the party. I find it extremely embarrassing to tell people, who politely ask me what I am doing, that I am a management trainee.” Of Ashoke, there is no sign. He’s freaking out somewhere.

The party ends at 3 a.m.

The guests have left.

We hand JS his key bunch.

“Take tomorrow off, guys!” he tells us.

That’s the best news we have heard in a long time!

Apparently we handled ourselves well because JS always insisted that we be behind the bar at his parties. We attended several such events. I loved each and every one of them. JS showed himself to be a warm-hearted guy and there was no hierarchy in place.

It all came to an end when I was transferred to Madras.

Shortly thereafter I left Chloride.

I never saw JS again.

But the warmth that he showed us management trainees warmed the cockles of my heart.

Thank you Johar, wherever you are!

Prakash's note: Ashoke Dutt left Chloride shortly thereafter and went to the US to study. He returned to India to Citibank and grew to become Country Manager of Citibank India. I never met him again after I was transferred to Madras..