SONU BHASIN

UNSTOPPABLE
Kuldip Singh Dhingra and The Rise of Berger Paints

PENGUIN BOOKS
 Contents

Introduction: How Unstoppable Came About

1984

1. ‘I Will Kill Anyone Who Tries to Harm Me’

1957–61

2. ‘Your Father Is Dead’

3. ‘Kismat Bhi Kya Cheez Hai!’
‘DESTINY IS INEXPLICABLE’
4. Taking Charge at Age Ten
5. Back to Our Roots

Up to 1957

6. ‘We Had More Than One Hundred Properties in Amritsar’

7. ‘London Badi Manhoos Jageh Hai’
‘LONDON IS A CURSED PLACE’

1961–64

8. ‘Our Life Changed in Amritsar’

9. ‘High School Is Good Enough for a Shopkeeper’

1964–67

10. ‘I Was the King of the College’

11. ‘He Would Not Lose Even an Argument’
12. ‘Our Factory Was More of a Shed’

Six Months in 1967

13. ‘Poori Umar Te Dukaan Par Hi Baithna Hai, Thodha Time Hor De Do’
‘I HAVE TO SIT AT THE SHOP FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. GIVE ME SOME TIME’
14. ‘Those Girls Fought Over Me’
15. ‘There Is a Maharaja in Our House’
16. ‘We Asked the Policeman in Paris How to Go to India’

1967–70

17. ‘I Was a Shopkeeper in Amritsar’

18. ‘Johny Was Such an Ugly Child . . . Ugh!’
19. ‘Girls Would Go to Hall Bazaar to Catch a Glimpse of Kuldip Bhapa’

1970–78

20. ‘I Was Running a Small-Scale Factory Unit in Golf Links’

21. ‘We Got Married and the War Broke Out!’
22. ‘We Were Angry. How Dare They Demand Our Heritage?’
23. ‘Maal Nahin, Kuldip Ki Personality Bikti Hai’
‘KULDIP SELLS HIS PERSONALITY, NOT HIS MATERIAL’
24. ‘Vinu Ne Haan Kar Ditti Hai’
‘VINU HAS SAID YES’

1978–84

25. ‘Papa Has Saved My Life At Least Three Times’

26. ‘Kuldip, Tu Bilkul Bewakoof Hai. Dafa Ho Jaa Yahan Se’
‘YOU ARE AN IDIOT, KULDIP. GET OUT OF HERE’
27. ‘I Knew Panic Would Not Lead Me Anywhere’
28. ‘I Came Back without a Single Order from Moscow’
29. ‘Our Guns Were Loaded and We Were Prepared for Any Eventuality’

1984–90

30. ‘No One Ever Asked Me for a Bribe in Russia’

31. ‘I Gave the Russians the 2 Per Cent Bonus Scheme!’
32. ‘Russia Became the Favourite Child; Rajdoot Paints Became the Neglected One’
33. ‘Yeh UK Paints Kithon Aa Gaya Hai Exports Karne?’
‘WHERE HAS THIS UK PAINTS COME FROM?’
34. ‘We Were Given a Diplomatic Status in Moscow’
35. ‘Russian Export Business? It Is Only So-So’
36. ‘The Dalai Lama Told Papa Not to Deal in Arms’

1990

37. ‘Berger Paints Is Being Sold and I Want to Buy It’

38. ‘Tussi Tan Dukaandar Ho, Company Kaise Sambhaaloge?’
 ‘YOU GUYS ARE SHOPKEEPERS. HOW WILL YOU MANAGE A COMPANY?’

1990–92

39. ‘The BMW Came in the Dowry’

40. ‘Mr Dhingra Is a Super Salesman. He Sold Me the Job’
41. ‘The Root of All Acrimony in a Large Family Is Money’

The 1990s

42. ‘I Did Not Know How to Deal with Listed Companies and Boards’
43. ‘I Wanted to Study More, Not Get Married!’
44. ‘Sapno Ke Rang, Bane Sang Sang’
‘YOU CAN MAKE THE COLOURS OF YOUR DREAMS YOURSELF’

2000 Onwards

45. ‘Kuldip Is the Most Relentless Person I Have Met in My Life’

46. ‘Berger Has Been Turned Around with Almost the Same Team Kuldip Inherited’
47. ‘You Can Take Mr Dhingra Out of Amritsar but You Can’t Take Amritsar Out of Mr
Dhingra’
48. ‘Even Though I Was Working for Him, Kuldipji Gave Me So Much Respect’

Looking Back and Looking Ahead

49. Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi

LIFE IS LIKE AN EXPRESS TRAIN

Footnote
3. ‘Kismat Bhi Kya Cheez Hai!’
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
 Advance Praise for the Book

‘The narrative of this biography is gripping, akin to a thriller. From start to

finish, it is a story that captures all the hues of the truly “colourful” journey
of Kuldip Dhingra. The transformational impact that this entrepreneurial
businessman had on Berger Paints, with his instinctive style, is a story to
cherish for all time’—Harsh Goenka, chairman, RPG Enterprises

‘A refreshingly honest tale of what it takes to build a billion-dollar business

—making mistakes and taking big risks. This is the story of one of India’s
most successful entrepreneurs and leaders, candidly told and well captured.
An inspiring read for those who set out to build and reshape the companies
of the future’—Naina Lal Kidwai, chairman, Advent Private Equity, India
Advisory Board

‘A subtle nuanced story of what it takes to build a large business in India,

but more importantly, how to ensure to stay at the top . . . full of riveting
human stories of the founder who has not shared this with anyone before’—
Amit Burman, vice chairman, Dabur
 Praise for The Inheritors

‘Bhasin has deftly used her past expertise to create an editorial platform
dedicated to family-owned businesses. Her writing style isn’t facile or
superficial but true to complexities of family politics across successive
generations’—Hindustan Times

‘This is a must-read book for every aspiring entrepreneur and there is a lot
to learn from these pages. It is like a lesson in business management told
through interviews and anecdotes. A well-compiled book!’—New Asian
Writing

‘The author has brought alive the stories with her powerful writing style. It
is descriptive and interesting. The whole narrative runs smoothly in front of
our eyes as they roll on the flowing words. The coherence keeps the reader
engaged’—Bookish Fame

‘The book [The Inheritors] is an easy read and the narrative is interesting
for the most part, and would engage the layperson as well. The interviews
are detailed, insightful and reveal many unknown aspects of the family, the
business, successes, failures and strategies. It is easy to feel that the
protagonists are sharing their fears and their deepest, heartfelt emotions
with the readers’—Business Standard
To the two men in my life—Juggi and Karan. You guys are my anchors in
the choppy waters of life
 Introduction
How Unstoppable Came About

I was a bit flustered and anxious. I had a meeting with Kuldip Singh
Dhingra, chairman of Berger Paints, the next day. But I had found nothing
during my research on the Internet that would have helped me prepare for
the meeting. All I had found were a few articles from business magazines
that had profiled the company and had included the owners as part of it;
some quotes from the Dhingras in articles about their factories and
business. I could find no photographs of the family and nothing about
Kuldip Dhingra personally. I was anxious that I would go into the meeting
almost blind.
This scheduled meeting was for my earlier book—The Inheritors—also
published by Penguin Random House. I wanted to include in my book the
story of Kuldip Dhingra and his brother, Gurbachan, as the inheritors of
their paint business and had thus sought a meeting.
My first meeting with Kuldip Dhingra, scheduled for an hour, stretched
to well over double that time. I found him an extremely open person who
was willing to share details about his business and his personal life without
any qualms. He spoke in a crisp voice, his conversation liberally peppered
with Punjabi, about himself and his family. I expressed my surprise at the
openness of the conversation and asked, ‘Why have you not spoken about
your history and your story to anyone till now?’
‘No one has asked me these questions till now,’ came the pat reply.
Simple as that!
Kuldip and Gurbachan Dhingra both opened their hearts for the readers
of their story in The Inheritors. My editor, Lohit Jagwani, at Penguin found
the story as fascinating as I did. Both of us knew that, even at 16,000 words,
the story was constrained by being just one chapter in a collection of
stories.
‘Penguin would like to do a full biography of Kuldip Dhingra. Can you
check with him about his availability?’ Lohit called up one day. I did check
and Kuldip Dhingra did agree and thus Unstoppable was born.
‘Having been almost a recluse and keeping away from the public
limelight, other than work, why are you opening yourself up now?’ I asked
Kuldip during one of my conversations. He had spent the larger part of the
hour talking about a period of his life which was full of contradictions and
challenges. ‘Why are you now opening yourself completely for everyone to
read?’ I asked again.
‘It is because of the future generations,’ said Kuldip seriously. He is a
believer of legacy and had realised that no one outside his family knew of
their story. Kuldip wanted to tell his story, the story of his father, his
grandfather, his family and the business, so that the inheritors of any legacy,
not only his, would learn from it. ‘I want the future generations, not only
mine but all others too, to know how much of hard work is really required
to become successful and then stay successful,’ said Kuldip seriously.
One quality of Kuldip is that he may take some time to decide on a
course of action but once he does, there is no stopping him. Having decided
that he will go down memory lane and walk and talk through the various
phases of his life, he was indeed unstoppable.
Kuldip made time on Sundays, on other holidays, in the mornings and in
the evenings to tell his story to me. Not one scheduled meeting was
cancelled and not once was he late even by five minutes for our meetings.
He was open in his conversations and encouraged others to be open as well.
The following pages will tell you the story of Kuldip Singh Dhingra—the
person. I have kept my role as a narrator and have refrained from
commenting on the events, people or actions. Further, I have focused on the
‘human story’ and have kept away from the financials. Berger Paints is a
listed company and the details of its growth, its products and its financial
statements are available to anyone who may want to know more. I did not
see merit in repeating financial figures that are in the public domain. I have
chosen to focus on the person instead.
My work on Unstoppable included meeting and talking to a cross section
of people who know Kuldip. These include the immediate family, the
extended family, other relatives, friends, business associates and employees.
Each of the people I spoke with, as part of my research for Unstoppable,
was keen to share his/her perspective of Kuldip Dhingra and had his/her
own insights into what makes the man. They all had their memories,
sometimes vivid at other times dimming a bit, about Kuldip and the years
gone by. However, the common thread in all their conversations with me
was the fact that they all had strong views about Kuldip. It was evident that,
though happy at the success of Kuldip Dhingra, some of them were still
incredulous at the level of success achieved by him! The memories, tucked
away in their memory banks, came out tumbling fast as they were
withdrawn with much speed and enthusiasm. I got used to my meetings
shooting way past the scheduled time with each interviewee!
My meetings with Kuldip too overran their scheduled time. He had no
constraints when he spoke about himself or others. In the many, many hours
that I spent with him I found him totally honest in his conversations. He did
not mince his words when it came to himself. He spoke openly about his
own shortcomings and was quite unapologetic about them. He may have
been a bit more circumspect when he spoke of others though. ‘Unno bura
lag jayega. Ki fayeda? [They will feel bad. What’s the point?]’ was his
explanation each time.
I was also struck, each time I met him, by the almost childlike quality of
curiosity and naivety that he was not afraid to display as he talked of his
family, his friends, his garden and his life.
However, there was no naivety nor any childlike emotions when it came
to his business. As he spoke about business through the ages—when he was
a shopkeeper or an exporter or as the chairman of Berger Paints—there was
a steeliness in his voice and deep intent in his eyes. Business is his life, he
lives for his business and will not let anyone or anything come in the way.
An outgoing and gregarious person at most times, and a generous host at all
times, he is paradoxically a person who likes to spend his free time away
from people. ‘I only spend time with people who are of use to me. I don’t
have time to waste on frivolous matters,’ he admitted candidly.
Unstoppable is the story of Kuldip Dhingra, an entrepreneur who is
fiercely competitive and intensely passionate—about life, about family and
the paints industry. Unstoppable is also about the spirit of entrepreneurship
and the never-say-die attitude that is the hallmark of any successful
businessman, especially a family business owner.
As India moves purposefully to become the fifth largest economy of the
world, it is the family businesses that will be key drivers of the incremental
growth. Regrettably, the relentless hard work of the family business owners
often gets eclipsed by the expansive lifestyles led by them. Unstoppable is
an attempt to go behind this larger-than-life world of successful family
business owners to focus on the sheer determination and grit that defines
them. Unstoppable, through the story of Kuldip Dhingra and his family,
also brings to attention the place of family values and relationships in
families, especially in a family business.
However, at the end, Unstoppable is the story of a man who, even today,
lives the old saying: ‘It takes decades of sweat and toil to become an
overnight success.’
1984
‘Kuldip has a sharp mind and is ruthless when it comes to business’—Bishan Singh Bedi, ex-
captain, Indian Cricket Team, and a friend of Kuldip Dhingra.
 One
‘I Will Kill Anyone Who Tries to Harm Me’

‘The mob was at the door but I refused to run away,’ said Kuldip
Dhingra.
It was 1 November 1984 and Delhi was under siege. Indira Gandhi had
been assassinated the day before by her bodyguards. As news of her death
spread, the shock of her killing was burdened by another one. Mobs were
looting and vandalizing business establishments owned by Sikhs in Delhi.
By morning, it was clear that Sikhs were not safe in Delhi. Plunder had
given way to killing by organized mobs. Sikhs were targeted in their own
homes, pulled out and attacked by frenzied hordes of people. Some
neighbours sheltered Sikhs and protected them from the mob; others
proactively pointed to and guided mob leaders towards Sikhs in their
neighbourhoods. Delhi was engulfed in thick, black smoke billowing up to
the sky as if it too wanted to escape the massacre and the fury of the mob
below.
‘We had our home in New Friends Colony at that time,’ continued
Kuldip. His younger brother, Gurbachan, and his family were in a house a
couple of streets away in the same colony. Jaspal Sawhney, a close friend,
also stayed in the neighbourhood.
New Friends Colony was an upmarket neighbourhood then and remains
one today. Large industrialists and business families, including that of
Charanjit Singh, a member of Parliament and owner of Campa Cola and the
Guptas of S. Chand & Co. had their family homes there.
‘We got the news that morning that mobs were coming to our colony,’
said Kuldip. After the incredulity of the news wore down, Gurbachan and
he agreed to send their families to safety. ‘But I refused to run away. How
could I? This was my home and how dare anyone come and harm it?’ said
Kuldip.
Kuldip has piercing eyes. His eyes got even more intent as he spoke to
me. He looked at me intensely, but I knew that he could not see me. His
eyes bore deep, but he was watching a film reel of 1984. That day was
streaming in his mind and it was that afternoon that his eyes were seeing. I
did not break eye contact with him as I did not want him to stop seeing the
film in his mind as he spoke. Kuldip’s neighbour from across the street
came to him and offered refuge in his own house. Rajkumar, one of the first
employees of Rajdoot Paints, Kuldip’s company, had reached the Dhingra
home by then. He had also asked his boss to leave and go to the neighbours’
house.
Kuldip had refused point-blank. He did not want to endanger the family
of his neighbour as the news they were getting was even more chilling. The
mobs were also targeting neighbours and people who were hiding Sikhs.
Kuldip did not want to put anyone else’s life or property in danger.
‘But the main thing was that it was my house, my home, my family and
my property. How could anyone come and harm even one little part of it? It
was my duty to protect it,’ Kuldip said with eyes shining with fury.
Those were the days of landline phones. Cellphones had still not arrived.
Kuldip, Gurbachan and Jaspal updated each other periodically as news
reached them. With Kuldip refusing to leave his home, Gurbachan and
Jaspal got ready to face the mob. ‘I know it was foolhardy but passions
were running very deep in me at that time,’ said Kuldip. All three had
licensed guns and revolvers which had been used for target practice at the
firing range. They pulled out their arms and got ready to protect themselves.
‘We kept getting the news: “the mobs are at the gate”; “the mobs are
moving in this lane”; “the mobs are moving towards the next lane,”’ Kuldip
remembered, his eyes boring into mine but seeing a body of people,
amoeba-like, moving with canisters of petrol and knives and iron rods. ‘We
had told our neighbours and others that we were prepared to die but not
before we had killed some of the attackers as well,’ said Kuldip softly but in
a chilling voice.
Rajkumar, a non-Sikh, told his boss to stay indoors. Kuldip would not
listen. He wanted to be at the gate with his gun ready. ‘Aan de unaanoo.
Samajhte kya hain? Main dardaa hoon kya? Aan do b**** ko, main bhi
maar sakna [Let them come. Who do they think they are? Am I afraid? Let
those b**** come. I can also kill],’ said Kuldip, shaking with emotion.
Rajkumar, a soft-spoken man, managed to cut through the emotional mist
and reach the rational core of his boss. He calmed Kuldip down, and his
boss agreed to stay indoors. He had the safety in the knowledge that he had
his revolver and bullets. One of the Dhingras’ cooks and Rajkumar went
outside.
By now they could hear the noise of the mob. The black smoke, which so
far had been on the horizon, was now a few metres away.
The mobs were burning houses of Sikhs in New Friends Colony. One of
the houses burnt was that of Kuldip’s cousin’s. Rajkumar and the cook went
outside the bungalow, closed the gate and stood nonchalantly, leaning
against the wall. ‘We acted as if we were just watching the mob and the
goings on but we were really standing in front of the name plate,’ said
Rajkumar. Kuldip Singh Dhingra’s name on the gate was like a red flag.
Rajkumar and the cook pretended to be deep in conversation. The mob
came up to the Dhingra home and saw the two men leaning against the wall.
One of the two men broke his conversation and turned to look at the mob.
He gesticulated as if telling the mob that he had seen some other members
of the mob go ahead. The mob hovered for a while and then moved on.
‘We had been very tense till then. As the mob moved ahead, we heaved a
sigh but waited for the entire street to be clear of the mob,’ said Rajkumar.
Only when they were certain that no one would come back did the two go
inside.
‘I don’t know if they knew that I was armed and was prepared to shoot
anyone who would even step inside the gate,’ wondered Kuldip, ‘but
Rajkumar at the gate certainly helped.’ The two Dhingra houses and the
house of Jaspal Sawhney were among the handful in Friends Colony that
escaped the wrath of the mob.
Kuldip continued to look at me piercingly. He was back in the present
and was seeing me. The reel had played out.
‘Were you not scared at all,’ I asked gently, afraid to break the solemnity
of the moment. The eyes were still intense but there was fatigue in his voice
as if he had physically relived those hours.
‘It was my duty to protect my family and my home. How could I be
scared?’ he said. ‘How could I show my back to the mob and run away like
a scared animal? I would never, ever do that. Come what may, I will fight
back. Always.’
1957–61
 ‘My father loved his family and would take us all on holidays. Here you can see (from left to right)
me, my elder brother, Sohan Singh, my father, mother and, in front, my younger brother, Gurbachan,
who is hiding his face, and my sister, Ashi’—Kuldip Dhingra.
 Two
‘Your Father Is Dead’

The sense of duty came early to Kuldip.

‘It was October 1957, and I was called back home from school. When I
got home I saw a crowd of people outside the gate. Most of them were my
relatives. My cousin was also there. She looked at me and said point-blank,
“Your father is dead. Go inside and you will know,”’ said Kuldip. ‘I was
shocked,’ he added.
Kuldip was dressed in a crisp white shirt and beige chinos. His phone
was on the table; next to it was a remote bell. He pressed the bell and a
bearer responded. Kuldip nodded to the bearer to wait and turned to me.
‘What will you have?’ Kuldip asked, reeling off the options—fresh tea,
coffee, mosambi juice, keenu juice, tender coconut water, orange juice,
nimbu paani or lassi.
I was spoiled for choice. I settled for fresh keenu juice and he for hot
coffee. ‘Yeh keenu apne farm se aaye hain. [The keenus are from our own
farm.] You will like the juice,’ he said proudly.
The bearer retreated silently to bring the refreshments. While we waited
for our beverages, we went back into time once more.
Kuldip had studied at King George’s Royal Indian Military College in
Ajmer. ‘My father was very clear that one of his sons had to join the army,’
said Kuldip. That October morning Kuldip was called by the headmaster
and told that he had to go back home. He was excited at this unexpected
break, oblivious of why he had been called. He ran back to his room and
hurriedly packed his bags. A school attendant accompanied him to Delhi.
The journey from Ajmer to Delhi was filled with Kuldip’s excited chatter;
he was surprised at the attendant’s stoic silence.
The Dhingras lived in Golf Links in Delhi at the time. ‘I reached home
and was surprised to see a lot of people outside the house,’ said Kuldip.
‘They were all standing with serious faces and talking to each other in
hushed tones,’ he added. When they saw Kuldip get out of the car, they
quickly looked away and started talking to each other again while sneaking
furtive looks at him. Unconcerned, and still excited about coming back
home, he broke away from the attendant who was holding him by the hand
and rushed inside.
Kuldip’s cousin was standing at the gate. As he ran inside, she put out her
hand, caught him and said, ‘Your father is dead.’
‘Just like that she said,’ Kuldip recalled. Young Kuldip stopped in his
tracks and asked, ‘What do you mean?’
The cousin repeated that his father was dead.
‘I was shocked,’ Kuldip said.
‘And how old were you then?’ I asked softly as his eyes welled up with
tears.
He took a moment to control his choked voice and said, ‘Ten years and
one month.’
Ten-year-old Kuldip’s world came crashing down. He looked for his
mother and siblings. ‘My mother was in a complete daze and my younger
brother and sister were huddled around her,’ he remembered. Kuldip’s elder
brother, Sohan Singh, was studying in IIT Kharagpur and a telegram had
been sent to him. His younger siblings, brother Gurbachan and sister Ashi,
had been at their mami’s (mother’s brother’s wife) house in Delhi and they
were called back home.
‘We had been sent to our mami’s house as our father was in the hospital
for a minor surgery,’ remembered Gurbachan. ‘My mami was combing my
hair and she started crying,’ he said. Just seven years old, Gurbachan
became a bit worried and asked her what was wrong. She stopped combing
his hair, hugged him and cried some more. The young Gurbachan squirmed
in the tight embrace, trying to break free. ‘But my mami held on and kept
sobbing,’ he said.
Finally she told him that Ashi and he had to go home as their father was
not well. ‘I thought my mami was crying because she did not want us to
go!’ Gurbachan said, laughing wryly.
Relatives had brought the two young children back home and it was then
that they realized that their father was dead. ‘I was only five years old,’ said
Ashi, ‘and don’t remember much. All I knew then was that my father had
gone in for an appendicitis surgery.’
‘It was a simple surgery gone wrong,’ said Kuldip agitatedly. ‘The doctor
killed my father on the operating table. What Dr Santosh Mehta did was
completely shocking’.
 Three
‘Kismat Bhi Kya Cheez Hai!’
‘DESTINY IS INEXPLICABLE’

Niranjan Singh Dhingra was Kuldip’s father. His sudden death in 1957
was a shock not only to Kuldip but to the entire Dhingra clan and those who
knew any member of the family. He was only thirty-seven years old when
he died. He left behind a young widow, Surjit Kaur, and four children, the
youngest of whom was only five years old.
The family had, till then, been on a roll. Niranjan Singh had a thriving
paints’ distribution business. He had first travelled to Japan in 1939 and was
now planning to go to Russia to expand the business. ‘In fact, the ticket to
go to Russia had already been bought before he went for his surgery,’ said
Kuldip agitatedly.
Niranjan Singh and all his five brothers had been in the paints business
for decades. Niranjan Singh himself was the exclusive distributor for Jenson
and Nicholson in Amritsar and Delhi. He also had his own brand of paints.
His brothers too were large paint distributors in Bombay, Amritsar and
Delhi. It was Niranjan Singh, however, who was known for his ambition
and business skills in the Dhingra family.
Niranjan Singh had inherited his father’s vision and foresight. He along
with his father, Kesar Singh, got into manufacturing in a move to diversify
from pure trading and distribution. Their big factory, Dhingra Paints &
Colour Varnish Private Limited, had come up at Najafgarh, Delhi, and was
manufacturing paints. Niranjan Singh also had a shop in Amritsar, which
was one of the biggest dealerships for the multinational paint companies.
With these businesses doing well, Niranjan Singh had started looking at
markets outside India.
In the mid-1950s, India was still reeling from the Partition of 1947.
While there were opportunities within the newly independent country, there
were indications that the country would favour socialism over capitalism.
Niranjan Singh, in his early thirties, wanted to explore opportunities
outside India. His brothers were already in competition as all of them were
in the same business—trading and distribution of paints. Niranjan Singh
had identified an opportunity in the export markets. Japan and Russia were
countries of his focus.
‘I don’t know why but my father really wanted to build a business with
these two countries,’ said Kuldip. Niranjan Singh had already travelled to
Japan. His first visit there was at the age of nineteen. He was excited about
going back again soon. ‘But Russia was very close to my father’s heart. He
was convinced that we could do business with it,’ said Kuldip.
There was no apparent reason for Niranjan Singh’s fascination with the
Soviet Union. It could have been that India as a country was moving closer
to the Soviet Union as Nehru progressed along the path of socialism. Or it
could be simply that the Soviet Union was a big country and Niranjan Singh
assumed that any business with them would also be large. Niranjan Singh
would have left for Moscow after his trip to Tokyo.
In 1957, Niranjan Singh’s family included his wife, three sons and a
daughter. The eldest, Sohan Singh, was a brilliant all-rounder and had got a
place in IIT Kharagpur. The next son, Kuldip Singh, was at King George’s
Royal Indian Military College. Niranjan Singh wanted him to join the army
and he wanted Gurbachan to become a businessman. Gurbachan, the
youngest son, was indulged both by his parents as well as the elder brothers.
The most indulgence, however, was reserved for Niranjan Singh and
Surjit’s only daughter, Meena.
‘I was called Ashi by all,’ Meena said. Niranjan Singh, after his three
sons, had been very keen to have a daughter. ‘When I was born he was so
happy! He said, “Meri asha poori ho gayi [My wishes have come true],”’
she laughed. ‘You know that we Punjabis add an “ee” to all our names. So I
became Ashi and that’s what everyone calls me.’
Life was good for Niranjan Singh Dhingra and his family. In the 1950s
they had luxuries like a big house in Golf Links and were among the first
ones in their family and friends to buy a fridge. They were a well-off
business family. Niranjan Singh had also bought a big car and they even
had an air conditioner at home. ‘It is another matter that we had only one
AC in our Golf Links house,’ laughed Gurbachan. ‘Many times all the
children slept in the room with the AC!’
The children were indulged by the father and every wish of theirs was
fulfilled. ‘I wanted toys from Japan and I remember he bought me a rubber
duck from there,’ said Ashi. Gurbachan had other demands. He wanted an
airgun from Calcutta and, of course, that wish was also fulfilled.
‘I used to go around the Golf Course forest shooting at birds,’
remembered Gurbachan. Having honed his shooting skills on the hapless
birds, he wanted to show off to his sister. One afternoon he called Ashi and
took her to the park outside their house. ‘I told her to hold a balloon, stand
still and I would shoot the balloon,’ said Gurbachan. Ashi, all of four years
of age, stood wide-eyed with her arm stretched out, holding out the balloon.
Gurbachan, six years old, took aim, told her to stop fidgeting and pulled
the trigger. ‘Obviously, I missed completely!’ he laughed as he told the
story. Thankfully, his shot was off by only a few inches and Ashi’s face did
not show any injury.
But her finger was injured and bleeding. Ashi went running to her father
as soon as Niranjan Singh came home that evening, her hand outstretched,
showing her hurt finger. ‘I knew aaj tan paini hai [I knew that I will get
whacked today],’ said Gurbachan, ‘so I ran to the servants quarters and
locked myself in there.’ He refused to come out of the staff washroom till
late night. It was only when the servant started banging on the door, as if to
break the latch, that he finally came out. Sure enough his father was
waiting. ‘I got one tight dhaap [whack]!’ he said.
Niranjan Singh was happy that his eldest son got admission into IIT
Kharagpur and was on his way to becoming a civil engineer. ‘My brother
was a brilliant scholar and had got a merit position in IIT,’ said Kuldip with
pride. This meant that Sohan Singh had got a scholarship and wouldn’t have
to pay the fees. ‘But my father said that we can afford to pay the fees so let
the scholarship go to someone who needs it more,’ said Kuldip. ‘These are
the values that I learnt from my childhood. I learnt by seeing my father,’ he
added.
All was well in Niranjan Singh’s world. He could not have been happier.
His wife, Surjit, managed the home well. Even though she was not the
oldest daughter-in-law of the Dhingra family, she was well respected by all.
‘My mother was a very strong lady. She was the eldest in her own family,
which was well known in Amritsar, and therefore had that natural aura of
toughness,’ said Gurbachan.
Only one thing bothered Niranjan Singh sporadically. He sometimes had
a mild pain in his abdomen. His neighbour, Santosh Mehta,* was a surgeon
who had moved from Bombay to Delhi. Dr Mehta and Niranjan Singh had
become good friends and would go for a morning walk in the
neighbourhood park together. During one such walk Niranjan Singh told Dr
Mehta about the pain he experienced. The doctor said that the pain could be
due to appendicitis. ‘He told my dad that the appendix is basically a useless
organ. He said that if he went to Russia and developed pain there, he would
be in trouble as the doctors there were not good,’ said Kuldip incredulously.
Niranjan Singh took his friend’s advice and decided to undergo the
surgery without any tests or a second opinion. ‘There was really no need for
him to have that operation,’ said Kuldip, visibly upset.
The surgery went wrong. A blood vessel ruptured during the procedure
and Niranjan Singh died on the operating table.
‘My mother did not know what had happened. There was blood all over,’
Kuldip said, his voice choked with emotion. His eyes welled up as he said,
‘The doctor killed my father on the table.’ His pain, hurt and bewilderment
were evident as Kuldip wondered how someone the family considered a
friend could do this to their father. Taking control of his emotions, he
cleared his throat, took a sip of his coffee and said, ‘But it was fate.’
 Fate had indeed played a cruel trick on the Dhingra family. Niranjan
Singh was not the first Dhingra brother that Dr Mehta had operated on.

***

I was sitting with Pritpal Chhabra, an elder cousin of Kuldip. Pritpal was
close to Niranjan Singh and enjoyed a good relationship with his mamaji
(maternal uncle).
‘You know one of my other mamajis, Niranjan Singh’s brother, was in
Bombay,’ said Pritpal as we sat in his living room in Delhi. The room had a
feel of old Kashmir, with walnut-coloured carved furniture and gorgeous
carpets. Not surprising, as Pritpal belonged to a business family that had
large saffron fields in Kashmir. He, however, had chosen to diversify and
had become one of India’s biggest exporter of handmade carpets before he
retired.
The extended Dhingra family was close-knit, and Pritpal was fond of his
uncles. He talked of his other mamaji, Kartar Singh, Niranjan Singh’s elder
brother. Kartar Singh lived in Bombay and had set up his business there. In
the early 1950s, he had needed a surgery. Medical science then was not as
well developed as it is today and surgery was a serious matter. Since there
was no other older male member of the family in Bombay, Kartar Singh had
requested Niranjan Singh to come to Bombay as a support to the family.
Niranjan Singh agreed without a second thought and went to Bombay to be
with his bhabhi (brother’s wife) and nephews.
‘Dr Santosh Mehta had just started work in this hospital,’ said Pritpal.
Kartar Singh was wheeled into the OT while his wife and Niranjan Singh
waited outside. ‘Suddenly they saw Dr Mehta walking out nervously and
not looking happy at all,’ Pritpal said in a hushed voice as if we were in the
hospital watching the scene. Niranjan Singh and his bhabhi sprang up to
their feet and asked the doctor if all was okay. Dr Mehta shook his head and
was incoherent. Niranjan Singh and his bhabhi looked at each other, their
hearts full of dread, fearing the worst. They asked Dr Mehta again what the
matter was.
 ‘It was among the first big operations for Dr Santosh Mehta and he had
become terribly nervous,’ said Pritpal. The doctor, unable to concentrate on
the task on hand, had walked out with the aim of informing the family to
get another surgeon. ‘You can imagine what a situation it must have been,’
Pritpal continued.
It was a peculiar situation indeed. Kartar Singh’s wife was looking
helpless and was close to tears. Niranjan Singh thought quickly and took his
bhabhi aside and said, ‘Aap iss doctor ke paaon pakad lo aur bolo ki woh
operation poora kar le. Main usko oopar se aur tassalli doonga [You
should touch the doctor’s feet and tell him to complete the operation. I too
will give him confidence].’ His bhabhi went towards Dr Santosh Mehta,
quickly bent down and held on to his feet. She started crying and kept
telling the doctor that he was her only hope and that he had to finish the
operation. As Dr Mehta tried to disengage the woman at his feet, Niranjan
Singh folded his hands and told him that his brother’s life was in the hands
of the doctor.
‘It worked!’ Pritpal said to me with a big smile on his face. The doctor
returned to the OT. Niranjan Singh and his bhabhi waited outside with their
hearts in their mouths. Every moment seemed like an hour. Soon they saw
Dr Santosh Mehta walking towards them again. This time he was walking
confidently and had a smile on his face. ‘Operation is successful,’ he
announced, and Niranjan Singh and his bhabhi hugged each other in sheer
relief. Niranjan Singh then turned to the doctor, shook his hand and thanked
him.
‘Dekho kismat kaisi hoti hai [see how fate plays out],’ said Pritpal. I was
surprised at the sudden sombre tone of his voice. ‘The same doctor moved
to Delhi and stayed in Golf Links,’ he continued. It was the same Dr
Santosh Mehta who operated on Kartar Singh’s brother—Niranjan Singh—
for appendicitis.
The room suddenly felt colder. A chill ran down my spine. I looked at
Pritpal, speechless.
Pritpal broke the silence, lifted his head as if looking at his God above,
and said, ‘Kismat bhee kya cheez hai. Ek bhai ki jaan leni thee us doctor ne.
Kartar Singh to bach gaya magar Niranjan Singh ki jaan le gaya [Look at
fate. The doctor had to take one brother’s life. Kartar Singh was saved, but
Niranjan Singh lost his life to the doctor].’
 Four
Taking Charge at Age Ten

With Niranjan Singh’s passing away, his young widow had to take stock
of her life. There was the factory in Najafgarh, the shops in Delhi and
Amritsar and the four children.
‘My mother was in a state of complete shock and business was the last
thing on her mind,’ said Kuldip.
The responsibility of the four children was her priority. Among the first
things she did was to call back both her sons from Kharagpur and Ajmer
respectively. She needed her entire family around her in this time of crisis.
Sohan and Kuldip came back without a murmur. The Dhingra family ethos
prevailed; Kuldip’s uncles helped their sister-in-law dedicatedly in both
personal and business matters.
While the family was deciding the future of the business, Surjit Kaur
decided to send her eldest son back to IIT. ‘Mummy realized that her eldest
son needed to complete his education at IIT and so he was sent back,’ said
Kuldip. He, on the other hand, was not sent back to Ajmer but to Delhi
Public School in Delhi which, in 1957, was functioning out of tents.
After Sohan Singh went back to IIT, his mother dismantled the Delhi
business. ‘She had no idea about how to run the business,’ Kuldip said. His
uncles helped sell their factory at Najafgarh to National Chemicals and
wound up the Delhi shop. The fledging export business was also wound up.
The proceeds from the sale of the business were invested in other people’s
companies for regular interest income. Prem Nath Motors, a well-known
motor dealership, had a good reputation, and in the late 1950s, took fixed
deposits from the general public. Private companies typically gave higher
rates of interest on deposits than banks. Since Kuldip’s uncles knew the
owners of Prem Nath Motors, they believed that the capital would be safe.
A large sum was invested there and it enabled Surjit Kaur to get a regular
interest as income for the family.
Kuldip’s uncles rallied around the young widow and helped her to
manage the financials, legalities and other matters. They helped her rent out
one floor of their house to the Romanian embassy. The rent added to the
family income. The family was not wanting financially, but the business
that Niranjan Singh had assiduously built came to an end.
While Kuldip’s mother sold off the Delhi business, the Amritsar shop
continued to be close to the family’s heart. They could not, and did not want
to, sell that shop as it was a piece of family inheritance. This was the shop
from where Niranjan Singh’s father had started his business in 1898. ‘My
grandfather and great-grandfather had set up their business in 1898 through
this shop. It was the original legacy of our family,’ Kuldip explained.
The shop was managed by two managers. All the Dhingras followed a
policy set up by their father of letting professionals manage the businesses.
The professionals were usually partners and were called ‘working partners’.
Niranjan Singh had, however, tweaked the policy before his death and had
employed professionals as managers in Amritsar. ‘These employees were
not working partners with profit-sharing but just managers,’ Kuldip said.
The question before the family was how Surjit Kaur would manage the
business in Amritsar and manage her young children in Delhi. An added
concern was that she had no experience of running either the shop or the
business. To solve this problem, the family fell back on their culture and
values.
‘My mother went to Amritsar and took the managers with her to the
Golden Temple. There, in front of Babaji, she made them swear that they
would work honestly and will not cheat,’ said Kuldip. The two managers
bowed before the Granth Sahib and took an oath that they would work hard
with honesty and will not cheat the family. The two managers were made
profit-sharing partners after they swore to work in the interest of the family.
‘Each of them was formally given a 25 per cent share in the profit,’ Kuldip
shared. As the shop was owned by the Dhingra family, the business paid a
rent to Surjit Kaur. After netting off all expenses, the profits were shared
between the two working partners and Surjit Kaur.
‘The two managers worked honestly through the years,’ said Kuldip.
Once a year, the two working partners would come to Delhi to meet his
mother. They would present the books of account to her and hand over the
cheques for 50 per cent of the profit.
This could only happen in a family business. It would be unthinkable for
a professional CEO to take a couple of his senior people to the temple and
make them take an oath of honesty. But it worked for the Dhingra family
and the new working partners kept the business going and growing.
While Surjit Kaur was focusing on cleaning up the financial and other
aspects of their life, Kuldip took it upon himself to manage his siblings.
Since his elder brother was in IIT Kharagpur, completing his engineering
studies, Kuldip saw himself as the man of the house. He was only ten years
old but he did not let his young age come between him and his duty.
‘I was the eldest at home as my elder brother was not there. There was no
question in my mind. I had to look after my younger brother and sister—
they were just kids,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘They were told to listen to
me, and my word was law. And whatever my elder brother told me was law
for me,’ he said.
‘We used to be terrified of Kuldip bhapa [elder brother]. He was the one
who took it upon himself to discipline us,’ laughed Ashi.
Looking at the confident woman, who later handled Kuldip’s Russia
business from Moscow, it was difficult for me to imagine her being afraid
of anyone or anything. But she was!
‘He had come back from his Army School, and Babbi [Gurbachan’s pet
name] and I used to look at each other and say, “Ab army se aa gayen hain
nah, to ab disciplining shuru hogi [Now that he has come back from the
army, our disciplining will start].” It was almost as if he was practising on
us what he had learnt at the Army School,’ chuckled Ashi talking of Kuldip.
‘He always used to be bossy and strict and say to us, “Enough of play,
park tho vapas aao te padhai karo [come back from the park now and
study],”’ remembered Gurbachan. ‘He used to keep telling us to study as
we had to make our lives,’ he added. Even today, the easy relationship
between the two brothers does not cross the line into total camaraderie.
Gurbachan’s daughter, Sunaina, agreed. ‘I have rarely seen my father
joke with Bade Papa [loosely translated as father’s elder brother]. There is
always a level of seriousness between them,’ she said.
Kuldip continues to regard Gurbachan as chotta phra, younger brother,
with a mixture of protectiveness and fondness.
Back then, Kuldip was also the timekeeper for his siblings. At times there
would be guests at home and all the children, along with the elders, would
be in the drawing room. ‘And when it was time, he would look at us and
with his eyes do an ishara [gesture] and tell us to go to study,’ said Ashi.
What rankled the younger siblings was that the rules were only for them.
‘Khud to woh khelte rehte the magar humko bolte the ki padho! [He would
tell us to study but would keep playing himself]. But he set a good example
by being a good student himself,’ shared Ashi a bit plaintively.
Kuldip, however, was a benevolent dictator. ‘He used to read to us very
often at night before we went to sleep. He wanted to inculcate in us the
habit of reading,’ said Ashi. Through Enid Blyton’s books, Kuldip would
take his brother and sister to faraway lands of wishing trees, enchanted
forests and the adventures of Noddy and his friends. The siblings would
look forward to the stories.
But all the stories Kuldip read out did not prevent Ashi and Gurbachan
from complaining to their eldest brother when he came home from
Kharagpur!
‘As soon as Sohan bhapa would reach home both of us would run to him
—each of us would hold one arm of his and start complaining. “Kuldip
bhapa did this and he told us that and he does not let us play when we want
to . . .!”’ said Gurbachan. The litany of complaints went on and on. Sohan
was the genial, affable big brother. He was tall and handsome and had blue
eyes. He would laugh and crack jokes with his younger siblings, whom he
dearly loved. And when he heard the complaints about Kuldip, he would
call him and tell him to stand facing the wall, with his both hands
outstretched on the sides as punishment. Ashi and Gurbachan loved it! ‘But
jadon Sohan bhapa wapas IIT chale jaande si teh pher shuru ho jandi si
same kahani [But when Sohan bhapa would go back to IIT, the same story
would start again],’ rued Gurbachan albeit fondly.
Kuldip and his siblings remembered the years at Golf Links after their
father passed away with fondness. They had many friends and cousins in
the neighbourhood and their days were spent in each other’s homes, playing
together and even having meals together. ‘One of my maternal cousins, who
lived in Old Delhi, could not speak English. But we could,’ remembered
Gurbachan. ‘So when I would go to their house, he would show off in front
of his own friends. He would tell them, “Eh mera phra hai. Innu vadiya
English bolni aandi hai [He is my brother. He knows how to speak English
well],”’ laughed Gurbachan. The cousin would turn to Gurbachan and
request him to speak in English in front of his friends. Gurbachan would
say, ‘Hello, how are you? I am fine and hope you are too.’ Simple things
like this. But it made the cousin proud.
Kuldip and his siblings knew that their cousins and uncles had more
money than they had, but it did not bother them. ‘We had to sell our car
after our father died but our uncles took care of us. Any time Ashi and I had
to go to the club for swimming, we would accompany our cousins in
Chachaji’s (father’s younger brother) car,’ said Gurbachan. ‘We also went
on holidays with Chachaji’s family a couple of times,’ he added.
As a child, Kuldip was bright and the natural leader in his group of his
friends. ‘He was hot-headed even then but everyone looked up to him as he
took command of any situation,’ his cousin, Pritpal, shared. Kuldip had a
large group of friends and some of the girls had a massive crush on him.
‘He had a good personality even then,’ Ashi declared.
Ashi was the one in demand in Golf Links as the girls saw her as their
route to her handsome brother! She was pampered by Kuldip’s friends. ‘I
remember that there was a fancy dress competition for the kids in the
colony,’ said Ashi. The organizer, a girl Kuldip’s age, came to Ashi and told
her to come dressed as Lord Krishna. ‘I wore some normal clothes and took
a flute and went to the competition. Of course, I got the first prize!’ she
laughed, ‘and it was all because of Kuldip bhapa.’
Ashi did not remember a time when Kuldip did not command respect.
‘From a very early age he was the wise one. Everyone respected him,’ she
said. While Gurbachan and she joked and laughed with their eldest brother,
they could not take any liberties with Kuldip. ‘He was serious. Mazaak-
mazook kam kar sakte the un ke saath! [We could not laugh and joke with
him],’ said Ashi of Kuldip.
Kuldip managed his siblings and an active social life with aplomb. He
did not let any of his extracurricular activities affect his studies. ‘I was a
topper in school and like my brother liked to play games,’ he said.
‘He is the carbon copy of his father,’ said Pritpal, another cousin, ‘fond
of the outdoors, passionate about swimming and horse riding.’
‘I could have joined the IAS if I had wanted to,’ Kuldip shared with me.
‘Maybe if my father had been alive, I could have studied on. Who knows?’
he added.
 Five
Back to Our Roots

When Sohan Singh was getting ready to graduate from IIT, his classmates
were sure that he would be among the first to get a job. Sohan himself
wanted to work as he wanted to supplement the family income. He had the
comfort of knowing that the Amritsar shop was being managed by the
working partners.
Pritpal, their cousin, and Sohan were a year apart in age and were good
friends. ‘Sohan bhapa and I used to talk about a lot of things,’ said Pritpal.
Sohan also talked to Pritpal about the options he had on campus. ‘There
was this big foreign company that had called him for an interview,’
remembered Pritpal. Sohan went for the interview at the multinational. The
interview went well and he was offered a job. The starting salary was about
Rs 600 per month. That was a good amount in 1960.
Sohan accepted the job offer, thanked his interviewer and got up to leave.
The interviewer, a senior officer of the company, leaned back in his chair
and asked Sohan to sit down again. A bit nonplussed, Sohan sat down and
waited to hear what the senior person had to say.
‘During the interview Sohan had told the interviewer his personal
background. So, the officer knew about Niranjan Singh, the sold factory, the
closed shops, the running shop and everything,’ said Pritpal.
The officer looked at Sohan and said, ‘Son, I am old enough to be your
father. Will you for a moment forget that I am the officer? Think of me as a
friend of your father and take my advice.’
Sohan had no choice but to listen to the officer! But he was also curious.
He nodded.
 ‘Don’t take this job,’ the officer said.
The stunned Sohan could only stare at the officer.
‘You are applying for this job only because you lost your father,’ said the
officer. ‘You come from a business family, and if your father had been alive
you would have helped him grow the business, wouldn’t you?’
Sohan nodded.
‘Then my advice is to go back to your business and make it bigger. In
fact you should also, at some stage, look at restarting manufacturing? That
is where the future is,’ said the officer.
The advice resonated with Sohan Singh. The more he thought about it,
the more sense it made to him. The thought of getting his father’s business
back on track actually excited him. He realized that he had let the present
circumstances colour his long-term thinking.
He leaned across the table and shook the officer’s hand. ‘Thank you for
your advice,’ said Sohan Singh and gave back the offer letter.
Surjit Kaur was not happy. ‘What will we do? If you had to do business
why did you go back to IIT?’ she said.
Sohan managed to convince her that this was for the better. ‘He told
Mummy, “I can get a job but I have to think of my brothers too. What if I
am in a job and they are unable to get one? I want to get the business
running for them,”’ said Kuldip as he spoke about his brother.
Sohan Singh came back to Delhi in early 1961. While he was looking for
options and taking stock of the small business in Amritsar, his uncles,
Niranjan Singh’s younger brothers, invited him to come and work with
them. The younger brothers, Chattar Singh and Dalip Singh, had a shop in
Delhi and they distributed paints. Their business was doing very well and
they were planning to expand it.
The uncles saw in Sohan a young, intelligent engineer who could be an
asset for their own business. They also saw a fatherless boy who had no
family business to fall back on. ‘The Delhi business had been shut down,
the factory sold, and the Amritsar shop was self-sustaining,’ said Kuldip.
Thus, if Sohan Singh wanted to get into business, he would have had to
start something afresh. But his uncles offered him the option of joining
hands with them. They wanted him to start a new line of business. Sohan
would handle orders for painting large buildings.
Fate now intervened again. Niranjan Singh’s father had had two shops in
Amritsar, one of which was inherited by Niranjan Singh. The other had
gone to his elder brothers, Harbhajan Singh and Kartar Singh, who had
shops in Delhi and Bombay as well. ‘In 1961, Harbhajan Tayaji was the
richest in the family as his business was doing very well. I think he did not
want the headache of the shop in Amritsar, especially since he lived in
Delhi,’ said Kuldip. Harbhajan Singh and Kartar Singh wanted to sell the
Amritsar shop. The younger uncles in Delhi, Sohan Singh’s employers,
wanted to get hold of that shop. They were powerful dealers and
distributors of popular brands of paints, including Jenson and Nicholson,
Nerolac, Snowcem and others. They did not have a distribution outlet in
Amritsar and saw it as a god-sent opportunity to expand their geographical
reach. However, the two working partners in Amritsar, who worked for
Surjit Kaur, Kuldip’s mother, saw the situation differently.
‘They came to my mother and told her that if Chattar Singh and Dalip
Singh acquired that shop in Amritsar, it would affect the business of their
own shop very badly,’ said Kuldip. The working partners were sure that, as
among the largest distributors, Chattar Singh and Dalip Singh would use
their influence over the paint companies and would edge the other shop’s
business out. The solution, according to the working partners, was simple.
They wanted Niranjan Singh Dhingra’s family to buy the shop and thus
have two shops in Amritsar.
‘The idea was good but it was difficult as we did not have enough
money,’ remembered Kuldip. But the idea also resonated with Sohan Singh
since he was not happy working with his uncles. An intelligent man, Sohan
Singh had wanted to break out on his own and restart the business his father
had left. The family decided to speak to the eldest uncle and ask him if
there was a way they could buy the shop.
Chattar Singh and Dalip Singh were not happy and immediately offered a
cash-upfront deal to their older brother. ‘But Tayaji really wanted to help us.
He was very fond of all of us and also appreciated that we had no father and
that we were young boys,’ said Kuldip.
The uncles finally agreed to sell the shop to them. There must have been
some emotional blackmailing as well by Surjit Kaur and Sohan Singh but
all is fair in business! ‘We paid, up front, whatever money we could and
paid the rest over the next seven or eight years,’ said Kuldip and added,
‘with full interest.’ While Chattar Singh and Dalip Singh were not happy
with this, the family culture prevailed. Since Harbhajan Singh was the
eldest, everyone had to obey him and there was no question of
disagreement. ‘Even today, all of us are close as a family. All the uncles,
cousins, everyone,’ said Kuldip proudly. ‘The family culture of Kesar
Singh’s time continues even today.’
Sohan Singh decided to quit working for his uncles. The second shop
gave him the reason to do so. He spoke with his mother and suggested that
it would be better to move the family to Amritsar. It would be easier to
manage the two shops there locally and the cost of living would be lower
than in Delhi.
In the latter half of 1961, the family moved back to Amritsar. The
Romanian embassy was happy to rent the entire house in Golf Links instead
of just the one floor.
Up to 1957
 ‘This is where it all started—our house in Amritsar. My grandfather, Bhai Kesar Singh (sitting,
second from left), and my grandmother, Bibi Rup Kaur (fourth from left), with their sons, daughters-
in-law, daughters, sons-in-law and grandchildren. My father and mother are in the back row (seventh
and eighth from left). My elder brother is sitting in the middle in the front row’—Kuldip Dhingra.
 Six
‘We Had More Than One Hundred Properties in
Amritsar’

‘Our business started in Amritsar in 1898,’ said Kuldip. ‘So when we

moved from Delhi in 1961 and went to Amritsar, it was really going back to
our roots.’
The Dhingra family roots, however, go even further back. The early
generations of the family were from Multan, and in course of time some
had migrated to Amritsar to participate in the building of Amritsar from a
trading station to a bustling town with the Golden Temple at its centre. In
the mid-nineteenth century, Bhai Uttam Singh, Kuldip’s great-grandfather,
was a well-respected landlord in Amritsar with acres of landholdings. He
oversaw the multiple orchards his family owned, and things were going
well.
Bibi Atma Kaur was a young girl in the local palace as her father was a
courtier to the king. The queen had taken a liking to her and had asked her
to be part of her staff. Young Atma Kaur soon earned the trust of her queen
and became the queen’s jewellery keeper. The palace, like all palaces, had a
toshakhana (a kind of cellar for valuables). When the queen wanted a
specific piece of jewellery to wear, Bibi Atma Kaur would be dispatched to
get it from the toshakhana. And only Atma Kaur was trusted to go back, use
the big iron key to open the vault and put away the precious pieces in the
toshakhana.
Bibi Atma Kaur’s father saw an ideal match for his daughter in Uttam
Singh. Through common acquaintances he sent in a rishta (literally,
relationship; in this context proposal for marriage) for his daughter. The
families liked each other and Uttam Singh and Atma Kaur were married. It
was unusual in the mid-nineteenth century for a couple to have only one
child. However this couple, Uttam Singh and Atma Kaur, had only one
child, a son they named Kesar Singh.
Kesar Singh grew up amid prosperity but did not let that come in the way
of his ambition. He told his father that he needed to do something more than
just manage the orchards. He said that he wanted to do some business. Bhai
Uttam Singh may have dithered and asked Kesar what was the need to put
in so much work in setting up a new business when they were living a
comfortable life. But Kesar Singh was determined and persisted.
In fact, Kesar Singh had wanted not only to set up a new business but to
spread his wings beyond Amritsar.
Bhai Uttam Singh and family had a large three-storey house in Darshini
Deori (named so because one could walk down the street and get a view of
the Golden Temple)—a bustling residential and commercial area. In 1898,
heeding the ambitions of his only child, Bhai Uttam Singh bought a big
shop opposite his residence.
Kesar Singh was already married to Bibi Rup Kaur, who belonged to the
Babbar clan. The Babbars, Jat clans from Punjab, Rajasthan and
Afghanistan, were traditionally administrators or members of the military.
Surjit Singh Dhingra, the oldest cousin in Kuldip’s generation, narrated
the Dhingra family history. ‘I am the storyteller of the extended Dhingra
family,’ said Surjit in his crisp, booming voice. He sounded as if in the
prime of middle age, but he was in his mid-seventies. The stories his
grandfather had told him were still vivid in his memory.
‘My grandmother was what they call a lucky lady,’ said Surjit. The
business prospered and so did the family after she became a part of it. The
shop in the main commercial area sold paints and material for horse-drawn
coaches. ‘You must remember that in the early 1900s ghoda-gaadis [horse-
driven coaches] were the main form of transport,’ said Surjit. The shop sold
a variety of material for ghoda-gaadis, including matting for the coach, and
blinders, colourful decorations and bells for the horses. B. Uttam Singh
Kesar Singh, as the shop in Amritsar was called, became the place to go to
for household paint and horse transport supplies.
The city house proved to be small for Kesar Singh’s expanding family.
He bought a sprawling bungalow in Amritsar’s upmarket Race Course
Road. By now he had six sons and four daughters. Kesar Singh wanted his
daughters to be as well educated as his sons. Thus, all ten children were
sent to school—the girls went to Alexandra High School in Amritsar and
the boys went to Sant Singh Sukha Singh School.
‘Daarji was a man with a vision beyond his time,’ said Kuldip as he
remembered his grandfather. ‘In his dealings with the family as well as in
the business, he thought far ahead.’
For Kesar Singh to send his daughters to a missionary school—a
phirangi (English) school—in the early 1900s took conviction. Reverend
Robert Clark had founded Alexandra High School in 1898. He was part of
the Church Missionary Society of London. The aim of the school in
Amritsar was to enable the girls of Punjab to receive the highest and best
education of those times. The name of the school was in honour of the
Princess of Wales, Alexandra (1844–1925).
The boys in the family were sent to a desi (Indian) school. Sant Singh
Sukha Singh School was established in 1893 by Sardar Sant Singh Rais, a
philanthropist. It is the oldest Sikh school in Amritsar. Sant Singh
bequeathed his wealth to the school to enable it to provide free education to
the less privileged children. He had started the school in the memory of his
son who died in 1893. Singh also envisioned it to be a school which would
not make a distinction between students based on caste, creed or religion.
Kesar Singh ran his shop while his children got the best education that
Amritsar could offer. The boys would come to sit at the shop after school to
get hands-on experience of the trading business. ‘But my grandfather
always had professionals working in the business,’ said Kuldip. The
working partners managed the shops and business, enabling Kesar Singh to
maintain a work–life balance.
Kesar Singh’s business was doing well and he wanted his sons to expand
beyond Amritsar. However, he did not want all his sons to work in the same
business. ‘He was clear that if the family had to stay together, his sons’
businesses had to be separate,’ said Surjit. ‘He told his sons to go out
individually and expand the business in different cities.’
‘Where did the money to go out and expand come from?’ I asked Surjit.
‘By this time my grandfather had over a hundred properties in and
around Amritsar,’ said Surjit quite matter-of-factly.
Kuldip corroborated this, saying, ‘My grandfather would buy property
every time there was some money. All our shops were bought, the
warehouses were bought and the houses were bought.’
To execute his plan for the sons of the family, Kesar Singh had a simple
rule: As each of his sons attained adulthood, they would receive their share
from the one hundred properties along with some money. Each son was told
to go out and expand the business and to use the money judiciously.
In the late 1800s all paint used in India was imported. Around this time,
the shop, B. Uttam Singh Kesar Singh, in Amritsar had started focusing on
the distribution of paints. As the demand for paint continued to increase,
this made sense. ‘I don’t mean the rustic kind of paint, the choona
[limestone] variety, but the factory-manufactured kind,’ clarified Kuldip.
The Dhingra family soon became known as the rangwala family (the
family dealing with paints). The rang business flourished, and Kesar Singh
bought his second shop in 1928. He called it B. Kesar Singh & Sons. It was
in Hall Bazar, which was then an upmarket commercial hub in Amritsar.
Shalimar Paints set up their factory in Calcutta only in 1902. This was
the first paint factory in the country.
 Seven
‘London Badi Manhoos Jageh Hai’
‘LONDON IS A CURSED PLACE’

While the business was doing well, there was cause for concern for the
family. The elder three sons of Kesar Singh had grown up, married into
good families, but had no children. The eldest, Harbhajan Singh, had two
daughters but they passed away at an early age, one of them due to typhoid.
The next two sons, Harcharan Singh and Kartar Singh, did not have any
children.
Unable to expand their own families, the three eldest sons focused on
expanding the geographical reach of their businesses. The bulk of their
supplies came from London and Holland. The three brothers decided to go
to the source and establish a distribution relationship directly with the
manufacturers in those countries. They sought their father’s permission to
travel to distant lands and, happily, it was granted.
The idea of going to London was indeed good but there was a small
problem. Not one of the brothers spoke English. Today when people travel
to foreign countries, it is possible to use Google Translate and make
themselves understood. Conversation happens through the mobile app. But
in 1934, leave alone mobile phones, even landlines were practically non-
existent.
Kesar Singh and his sons demonstrated that entrepreneurship is a state of
mind. The Dhingra brothers were completely unfazed by their not knowing
English. They simply took their English schoolmaster with them to the UK
as a translator! The London business trip was a success and the brothers
came back with distribution agreements with some of the most well-known
British paint companies.
The London-returnees were now faced with another problem. Amritsar
seemed small compared to the Western cities. Having seen a bit of the
world, the brothers wanted to expand beyond their hometown. Kesar Singh
wanted each of his sons to run his business independently but the eldest
three went to him to seek his permission to join hands.
‘This was the family value. The word of the elders was sacrosanct. Even
to do business together my uncles went to my grandfather to seek his
permission,’ said Kuldip with pride.
The three brothers argued that none of them had any children and,
therefore, could travel and focus on business together. Kesar Singh saw
merit in the logic and gave permission to the three brothers to work
together.
The landing ports of undivided India were Karachi and Bombay. The
brothers set up shops in these port cities. Using these as bases, they
expanded in the hinterland as well. Kesar Singh had by then expanded
outside Amritsar—in 1932 he had bought a shop in Chandni Chowk in
Delhi and also set up a shop in Lahore.
‘The Delhi shop is still there in Chandni Chowk,’ said Kuldip, ‘in the
original location. But it belongs to my uncles.’
Business was booming in several cities of undivided India. ‘We had
become the sole distributors for some of the British and Dutch paint
companies,’ said Surjit Singh. Shiploads of supplies would come to India
from UK and Holland. ‘Sometimes there would be two ships full of
material for us at both Bombay and Karachi,’ said Surjit.
Then World War II hit the business. Supplies and the shipping routes
were affected almost immediately. But in India, the demand for paint kept
rising. It was a strange business situation for the Dhingras. They had the
demand but no supplies. Once again a brief consultation was held between
the three brothers and it was decided that Harcharan Singh and Kartar Singh
(by now they were quite proficient in the English language) be sent to
London to set up liaison and trading office and they would do a six monthly
stint each. The office was called Harkat Brothers. They would establish
direct contact with paint manufacturers, give them the orders, work with
freight companies, make sure that the ships were loaded and the supplies
were sent back to India regularly. The Dhingras were not short of funds and
were ready to make upfront payment to the manufacturers. Thus, once the
supplies were ensured, Harcharan Singh demanded a better price.
‘Everything can be negotiated you know,’ said Kuldip, his eyes twinkling as
he laughed, probably remembering some of his own negotiations.
Harkat Brothers was able to manage the negotiations and freight charges
well. In spite of the war, the Dhingras had managed to get their supply for
the paints business in India.
Harcharan Singh and his wife by now had a son, Surjit. All three
continued to stay in London even after the war. As the family celebrated
India getting her independence in 1947, tragedy stuck. Harcharan Singh
suddenly became ill and he passed away in London.
Kesar Singh was distraught. ‘Baddi manhoos jageh hai yeh. Mere jawan
puttar nu khaa gayi. Wapas aa jaao bachchon. Jaldi [London is a cursed
place and has devoured my son. Come back to India soon, my children],’ he
commanded Harcharan Singh’s wife and child.
Harcharan Singh had been a partner in the business with his two brothers,
Harbhajan Singh and Kartar Singh, who had set up shop in Bombay. In
1948, the young widow and the two-year-old child packed their bags and
moved to Bombay. Soon after, Harbhajan Singh, the eldest brother, moved
to Delhi, leaving Kartar Singh to manage the Bombay business.
‘My chachaji, Kartar Singh, at that time did not have a child and he and
his wife welcomed my mother and me into their family,’ said Surjit. With
Harcharan Singh dead and Surjit still a boy, the partnership remained
between Harbhajan Singh and Kartar Singh. The young widow and the son
were looked after by Kartar Singh and his wife. ‘In fact I think of my
chachaji as my father and my guru as he brought me up,’ said Surjit.
After Partition, the establishments in Karachi and Lahore were left
behind in Pakistan. Kesar Singh’s two elder sons had their shops and
establishments in Bombay, Delhi, Ahmedabad and other cities, while the
younger three sons had their shops in Amritsar and Delhi. Kesar Singh’s
fourth son was Niranjan Singh, Kuldip’s father. There was a four-year age
gap between him and his older brother, Harcharan Singh. The other two
elder sons were already business partners, so Kesar Singh bunched Niranjan
Singh with his younger sons. Thus, it seemed that Kesar Singh had two sets
of inheritors—the elder lot and the younger lot of three.
Since Niranjan Singh was the eldest among the three youngest sons, he
was inducted into the business earlier. He ran the Amritsar shops as well as
the Delhi one. ‘Before Partition my grandfather had sent him to Lahore as
well to manage that business,’ said Kuldip. ‘Niranjan Singh was industrious
and wanted to do more than just shopkeeping. He saw an opportunity in
manufacturing and prevailed upon his father to set up a factory in Delhi.
The factory was set up in 1951. It was a big factory in Najafgarh that
manufactured varnish and such stuff,’ Kuldip said.
Any large family that has common business interests and where the
patriarch owns numerous properties goes through its share of interpersonal
issues. It was Kesar Singh’s foresight that kept the Dhingra family from
experiencing the typical break-up that joint families often undergo. The
patriarch had planned astutely as he wanted his sons and their families to
remain cordial with each other. He had also realized that it was money,
business and property that caused the breakdown of relations between
siblings.
When each son became an adult, Kesar Singh had given him a portion of
his property and some money. By the time all six sons were in business,
albeit in two groups, the bulk of the properties and business had all been
divided. Relations remained cordial between all siblings and their families.
‘I have learnt this lesson from my grandfather and have tried to implement
it in my own life,’ said Kuldip.
After Harcharan Singh’s death, the five sons continued to run their own
businesses well. They knew that their father had wanted each of them to be
independent. They were the ones who had decided to work together.
As their families started expanding, the next generation came into the
dynamics. Each son of Kesar Singh wanted the best for his own sons.
Thoughts of going completely independent started being articulated within
the family.
As was the family culture, this important matter was discussed with
Kesar Singh. The patriarch had wanted each of his son to be running an
independent business right from the start, and he gave his sons permission
to go ahead and separate their businesses. He was, however, clear that
interpersonal relations between the sons, their wives and children were to
remain cordial. The sons and their families agreed.
The first ones to disengage their business interests was the elder lot of
brothers. When Harcharan Singh was in London and sending supplies to
India, business had grown. To manage the expanded business, the eldest son
Harbhajan had moved his family to Delhi and managed the shop that his
father had bought. After Harcharan Singh’s death, when Surjit and his
mother moved to Bombay, the two brothers decided to divide territories
amicably. Harbhajan wanted to stay on in Delhi and manage the business in
the north and it worked well for Kartar Singh as he was free to expand in
Bombay and around.
The next division took place between the youngest three sons of Kesar
Singh. Niranjan Singh was the oldest of the three, so he got the 1898 shop
in Amritsar and the factory in Najafgarh. The Chandni Chowk shop went to
the youngest two sons.
‘Since the businesses were all divided during the lifetime of my
grandfather, there was no rancour among the families,’ said Kuldip.
‘Anyway, the word of the eldest was law so even if anyone had an issue,
they didn’t voice it.’ He shrugged and then said, ‘Who knows? Maybe there
was some dissent. But we are all very cordial even today.’
Kesar Singh used his authority to lay down some business guidelines as
well. His sons had worked hard to grow their businesses in their respective
cities. Each son had trusted professionals by his side to help him with the
business. This arrangement worked well for them as it allowed them to
achieve a work–life balance.
The business model set by Kesar Singh was followed by each of his sons.
The shareholding of each working partner was as high as 20–50 per cent in
his respective business. This was possibly one of the earliest models of
profit sharing, set up in the early 1900s, for professional managers.
The story of how the brothers found the working partners is interesting.
Kesar Singh and his large family lived in a bungalow on Race Course Road
in Amritsar. Kesar Singh’s wife was a woman of means, of good social
standing, and was now the matriarch of a family that was known for their
business and philanthropy. At the time, powerful and rich families were
visited by women from the city, seeking favours. The bungalow had a large
lawn which Bibi Rup Kaur used as her ‘durbar’! ‘My grandmother would
wear a loose jabba [flowy garment] that had seven or eight pockets,’ said
Surjit Singh. Each pocket would have dry fruit. Sitting on a charpoy, with
women squatting in front of her, she would take some dry fruit out of her
pocket and hand it to the women speaking. In the winters the women would
sit in the sun, and in the hot months the durbar was held under the shade of
the trees. Most women would ask for help for the men in their families. ‘My
son has just finished his studies and he needs a job’; ‘My nephew is
unhappy with his seth and wants another job’; ‘Please find my husband a
job outside Amritsar. I want to get away from my mother-in-law’. Some of
these men who were referred by their womenfolk ended up working for the
Dhingra men at their various shops and outlets. A smaller subset became
working partners after they earned the trust of their employers.
While the professionals were called the working partners, Kesar Singh
and his sons were known as the owner partners. All investment into the
business by way of purchase of shops, warehouses and other assets was
done by the owner partners. The Dhingras were paid rent by the business
for the properties used in the business. The working capital required for
day-to-day operations, including stock and inventory, was also provided by
the owner partners and interest was paid to them by the business for the
funds loaned. The profits, after netting off all the costs, were shared
between the working and the owner partners and were proportional to their
predetermined share. The arrangement worked well and suited both parties.
The better the business did, the higher was the profit that came to the
working partners. The working partners understood this model well and
worked hard to grow the business.
‘The working partners were the backbone of the family business,’ said
Kuldip, ‘and the owner partners depended on their working partners both
for the growth of the business as well as for their own work–life balance.
Kesar Singh’s sons would come into their shops each day and work till the
afternoon. After lunch, around late afternoon, they would go to the club and
play tennis, squash or cards,’ said Kuldip with a delighted laugh. ‘The day-
to-day business was run largely by the professionals and it prospered
largely due to them,’ he said.
Niranjan Singh continued to run his share of the inheritance. He was
happy that he had been given the first shop in Amritsar—the 1898 shop as it
is called by the family—as part of his share. This shop, set up by his father
and grandfather, was close to his heart. ‘Our family is the true inheritor of
the family business,’ said Kuldip proudly. ‘The first shop was where the
whole business started. My father was given that shop and this means that
he was the one who was taking the business forward from that shop.’
The 1898 shop continued to provide for his family after Niranjan Singh’s
untimely death and enabled Sohan Singh to buy the second shop that his
grandfather had set up in Amritsar. The two shops were the foundation of
the Dhingra family business as it exists today. These shops held Niranjan
Singh’s family up when they returned to Amritsar. It was as if the spirits of
the forefathers beckoned Kuldip and his family to Amritsar, much like how
the city had beckoned his ancestors from Multan.
1961–64
‘Kuldip loves the outdoors and adventures. We have had many holidays in the mountains’—Jaspal
Singh Sawhney, chairman, Eagle Group, and a friend of Kuldip Dhingra.
 Eight
‘Our Life Changed in Amritsar’

In 1961, four years after Niranjan Singh’s death, his family decided to
move from Delhi to Amritsar.
‘We used to cry when we moved to Amritsar from Delhi,’ said
Gurbachan Singh Dhingra. ‘Our Amritsar house was a rented one, it was
small, there was no air conditioner, no park for us to play in. We had no
friends.’
‘You were living a good life in Delhi,’ I said, sipping the delicious nimbu
pani made from fresh lemons from the Dhingra farm. It was a hot day but I
was enjoying the view of the sunlit lawns from the air-conditioned comfort
of Kuldip Singh Dhingra’s lounge. ‘What made you leave Delhi?’ I
continued.
Kuldip took a sip of his coffee and shrugged, saying, ‘No one asked us.
My brother was the eldest and the word of the eldest was law in our house.
Sohan bhapa believed it would be best for the family, so we moved.’
Kuldip was in class 10 at Delhi Public School in 1961. ‘While we didn’t
have to appear for the dreaded class 10 board exams—they became part of
the system only after 1977—classes 10 and 11 were important even then as
admission to college depended on the marks we got in class 11.’ he said.
The need for Kuldip to get into a school was more urgent than for
Gurbachan and Ashi who were still in junior and middle school. Surjit
Kaur, Kuldip’s mother, belonged to Amritsar and her relatives—brother and
his family—still lived there. She reached out for their help to get her
children admissions into good schools.
 ‘I got into St Francis School, one of the oldest Jesuit educational
institutions in Punjab set up in 1953. Since I was in class 10 I had to join
immediately. I moved to Amritsar and stayed with my mamaji (mother’s
brother) until the rest of the family moved to Amritsar,’ Kuldip said. His
cousin was in the same class as he was in school.
As Kuldip spoke, there was not even a trace of resentment or frustration
in his voice. The fact that he had to leave his family as a fourteen-year-old
and live with others didn’t bother him. ‘I don’t bother with small things like
these,’ he dismissed my question with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘I
only focus on what is important and I get on with it,’ he said assertively.
The focus for the young teenager, who still looked upon himself as the man
of the house even after his elder brother had returned, was studies and
making sure that the siblings also studied. ‘I knew that education was
important and without it none of us would be able to move ahead,’ he said.
Kuldip’s other focus was to look out for his elder brother. ‘My brother
was a gentle person, almost like a saint,’ he said. ‘I was the street-smart one
and my brother depended on me for many things.’ The brother had
depended on Kuldip to make the transition from Delhi to Amritsar as
smooth as possible for the family.
The family home on Race Course Road in Amritsar had been sold off and
Sohan Singh had to look for a house to rent for the family. He found a
double-storey house, which came at a steep rent of Rs 300 per month.
‘There was no lawn, it was small,’ said Gurbachan. ‘Although it was a new
construction, it was a badly made house,’ he continued.
Gurbachan, who was eleven years old, and Ashi, who was nine, had to go
through various tests and interviews to get their seats in the school. They
were also finding it difficult to adjust to the new life. ‘We were used to air
conditioners and there was only a fan in Amritsar. Bahut garmi lagti thi [We
felt very hot] but what to do? We had to get used to it,’ Gurbachan said.
‘Even the toilet was Indian style and did not have the WC that we were
used to,’ he complained.
Ashi also had her own set of problems. Living with brothers in
cosmopolitan Golf Links, she would usually wear T-shirts and shorts. ‘I did
the same in Amritsar in all my innocence—I would wear my shorts and T-
shirt and go to the Mall Road with my cousins. To my horror everyone
would stare at me. People in Amritsar were not used to seeing a girl
wearing boys’ clothes! I was called mahi-munda, which means a girl
pretending to be a boy,’ she laughed.
Gurbachan and Ashi are able to laugh today as they remember their days
in Amritsar; but back then they were not happy. They used to cry a lot
initially. ‘But we had a full family from my mother’s side there. So we
quickly made friends and had loads of cousins and maasis and mamas,’ said
Ashi.
Kuldip, on the other hand, saw things differently. He does not remember
complaining about the move. ‘I was aware that my brother had made the
decision and I believed that it must be for everyone’s good,’ he said. He
also remembers the house they moved into differently from his younger
siblings. ‘It was a brand new house and we were the first occupants,’ he
said happily. ‘The rent was a bit high but we managed it as we had rented
both floors of the Golf Links house in Delhi,’ he explained. Each floor of
their Golf Links house was rented for Rs 400 per month. ‘Of the Rs 800 per
month, we spent Rs 300 on rent in Amritsar and that still left us Rs 500 to
manage for the month,’ Kuldip said with pride.
Kuldip’s net worth today is over Rs 30,000 crore. As of 2018, the
Dhingra brothers—Kuldip and Gurbachan—were among the twenty-four
richest families in Asia.
The family had spent all their savings in paying for the second shop in
Amritsar. They had paid some money up front to the uncles—Harbhajan
Singh and Kartar Singh—and now had to pay the balance in instalments;
the equivalent of EMIs had to be paid every month. ‘We had to be very
careful with the money,’ remembered Gurbachan. ‘Mummy looked after us
very well but the rule was kharcha karna hee nahin hai [no spending
money],’ he continued. ‘That habit stays even today. I cannot spend money
phizool mein [unnecessarily],’ Gurbachan shared.
Arvind, one of his golfer friends concurred. ‘Gurbachan does not want to
pay the caddie more than one hundred rupees,’ he laughed. ‘We all tease
him about it. But he says it is phizool kharch [unnecessary expense] and he
will not do it.’
Not just Gurbachan, Kuldip is also still careful about spending money.
This approach of ‘conserve the capital’ is evident in the way he guides
Berger Paints today.
Kuldip, his siblings and their mother slowly got used to the Amritsar life.
The two shops did good business once Sohan Singh was there to supervise
the working partners. One shop, the older 1898 one, was left for the
working partners to manage. They had been running it since 1957 after
Niranjan Singh had died suddenly. Sohan Singh continued that arrangement
but would drop into the shop every few days to remind the working partners
that the owners were back in Amritsar.
Sohan Singh focused his own attention on the other shop, the one bought
from his uncle, which was in Hall Bazaar. Not happy being just a
shopkeeper he wanted to set up a factory to manufacture paints. But he
needed money for this and Surjit Kaur kept everyone on a financial tight
leash.
‘But you said that the business was doing well. Why was money short?’ I
asked Kuldip.
‘Although we now had two shops, we also had working partners who had
a share in the profit,’ explained Kuldip.
The two working partners were given new terms for profit sharing as
there were now two shops instead of just one. ‘They were told that their
share in the profit from both the shops would be 15 per cent each instead of
the 25 per cent each from the single shop,’ said Kuldip. To be fair to the
honest working partners, there was a minimum guarantee given as well.
‘They were told that whatever profit they were earning at that time would
be protected, should the 15 per cent be lower,’ Kuldip said. It was either the
base amount of their then-current earnings or 15 per cent of the profit of the
two shops, whichever was higher. ‘The 15 per cent was much higher than
the 25 per cent of the one shop,’ said Kuldip, adding that the working
partners had got a ‘damn good deal’!
 Nine
‘High School Is Good Enough for a Shopkeeper’

The desire to start manufacturing was burning bright in Sohan Singh. He

was the only child among the siblings old enough to understand the loss of
the factory after the death of his father. He also remembered the advice the
officer who had first offered him a job had given him while advising him to
reject the offer! It was reiterated by his wife, Amrit Kaur.
The Dhingra family had welcomed Amrit Kaur, a girl from a textile
business family of Bombay, into their family as the eldest bahu. ‘In fact, it
was my father who had suggested the rishta for Sohan bhapa,’ grinned
Surjit Singh. Kartar Singh and Amrit Kaur’s father were neighbours and
friends in Bombay. Over a game of cards one evening, when Kartar Singh
heard that his friend was looking for a groom for his daughter, he thought of
his nephew, Sohan. It helped that Amrit’s sister was already married into an
Amritsar family that was known to Kuldip’s family.
‘My brother did not meet my bhabhi till the engagement,’ said Kuldip.
‘Sohan bhapa asked us, “How can I say no to a girl after meeting her?’’
Photo-phootoo dekh kar hi haan kar diti [He said yes after seeing her
photo].’
Sohan, ever the gentleman, agreed to marry Amrit Kaur on the premise
that his uncle would choose wisely for him.
He met his future wife for the first time at the Ashoka Hotel in Delhi
when she came for the engagement ceremony. Amrit Kaur’s entire family
had travelled to the capital by train.
‘As the train neared Delhi, my aunt kept telling me to change my
chappals. She kept telling me to wear heels,’ chuckled Amrit Kaur.
 We were sitting in her room at the Golf Links house, where the family of
the eldest son of Niranjan Singh still lives. Amrit, all of five feet three
inches, had not known that her fiancé was over six feet tall! ‘When I saw
him at the station I was stunned,’ she laughed and added, ‘I looked up . . .
and further up . . . and still further up . . . he was so tall! That’s when I
understood why my aunt kept telling me to wear heels.’
After the wedding, Amrit Kaur moved to Amritsar. Although she found
things in Amritsar different from Bombay, she soon took charge of the
house. It helped that she had an outgoing personality. Sohan Singh was
from Modern School in Delhi and then IIT, Kharagpur. The other business
families looked up to him. Amrit Kaur belonged to a wealthy and well-
known business family of Bombay. The Amritsar business society accepted
the young couple. As their social circle expanded, Sohan and Amrit started
hosting parties. The house was small but it became the hub for many
friends.
Kuldip remembered his Amritsar days with fondness. Unlike his younger
siblings, Kuldip did not take much time to settle down in his new life. A
born leader, he quickly made a place for himself at school. ‘I was good in
studies as well, so everyone looked up to me,’ said Kuldip with a boyish
grin. And there were sports—table tennis, badminton and swimming.
Kuldip made many new friends through these games.
The house the Dhingras had rented in Amritsar was opposite Hindu
College. A sports club of the college stood across the road. It gave Kuldip
access to the sports facilities and he made full use of it.
‘There was a nala (drain) separating the club and our house,’
remembered Kuldip. He discovered the sports club by accident. He would
see boys coming to the building across the nala every evening. Naturally
curious, the teenager ambled across the nala one day and went into the
building. He saw some older boys playing table tennis and asked if he could
play as well. The older boys stopped playing, looked at each other and then
at Kuldip. One of the boys, perhaps wanting to indulge the young boy, told
him to play with them. Some of the other older boys smirked and waited for
Kuldip to make a fool of himself.
 ‘I took the racquet and started playing with one or two of the older boys,’
said Kuldip. The others watched, impressed. ‘Bas uske baad [after that], it
was they who would call me every day to play,’ he laughed.
Some of Kuldip’s earliest friendships are rooted in Amritsar. Bishan
Singh Bedi is one such friend he made through the sports club. Bishan was
a slow-arm orthodox bowler and part of the famous Indian spin quartet in
the late 1960s and 1970s. He went on to lead the Indian cricket team for
many years. Back then he was just one of the boys in Amritsar.
‘I remember Bishan was one of the very few who had a scooter in those
days,’ said Kuldip. ‘It was one of those Fantabulous Scooters—one that had
a pushbutton start.’
There was awe in Kuldip’s voice as he spoke of Bishan Singh’s scooter.
It was evident that anyone who could buy a scooter had more money than
the Dhingras. Bishan would park his scooter in front of the Dhingras’ house
and then walk to the club. The parking of the scooter led to a friendship
which still endures.
Bishan himself remembered those days in Amritsar fondly. He belonged
to, what he said was, a humble family. Even though his father was the
president of the District Congress Committee, they lived a middle-class life.
‘When my father died, I looked into his bank account for the first time. The
account had Rs 37.50, and I was not surprised,’ said Bishan.
The would-be cricketer was marginally older than Kuldip but at that age
a few years’ age difference could mean a lot. Bishan said their relationship
deepened when Kuldip was in college in Delhi.
‘But even back in Amritsar I could tell that Kuldip would go far in life.
He had a good understanding of business. He also had a ruthless streak
when it came to business,’ said Bishan in his trademark crisp voice. We
were sitting in Bishan’s friend’s office in Delhi.
‘Ruthless? How do you mean?’ I asked him. ‘Ruthless for business is
good,’ said Bishan. ‘To succeed you have to be a bit ruthless, don’t you
think so?’ he asked me.
This is a quality that most people who know Kuldip identify as one of his
key traits. He is ruthless about winning. However, winning at all costs does
not mean using unfair means. ‘Galat cheez nahin karni hai. Kabhi kari bhee
nahin hai [One shouldn’t use unfair means. I have never done so],’ said
Kuldip. ‘But I don’t play to lose. I only play to win,’ he added seriously.
The boys with whom he used to play table tennis at the sports club found
this out very early in their relationship. The sports club loved his winning
habit. ‘I was grabbed by all groups because, first, I was from Delhi and
from DPS and, second, I was a good player,’ said Kuldip. He grinned
boyishly as he remembered the days in Amritsar.
As Kuldip also had many cousins in Amritsar—Surjit Kaur’s extended
family and Amrit Kaur’s sister lived in the city as well—the children ended
up spending time with each other. Close bonds developed between cousins
and these bonds have lasted over the decades. The cousins from Delhi and
Bombay also visited during the summer.
Harbans, one of Kuldip’s cousins, now lives in Florida. He spoke to me
from his house late one night, and once he started speaking, he could not
stop. My questions seemed to have opened some recesses in his mind. The
memories poured out, and he struggled to find the words to match the speed
of the memories.
Harbans was almost ten years older than Kuldip. He remembered Kuldip
as a boy who did not like to lose. Kuldip also wanted to be the leader in all
the games they played. The cousins understood early that if they wanted to
irritate Kuldip, all they had to do was to ignore him. ‘Kuldip would sulk
and go and sit in a corner and say petulantly, “Maine nahin khelna tuhadde
naal [I don’t want to play with you guys],”’ laughed Harbans.
Kuldip also had a low threshold for getting teased. ‘I had a dog called
Tony,’ Harbans chuckled. ‘When the cousins got together, they took
perverse pleasure in calling out to the dog, “Tony, Tony, aithe aaaa [come
here]” or “Oye Tony kithe gaya hai tu [where have you gone?]” or they
would make a phewwch sound, rubbing two fingers together and gesturing
for the dog to follow them. This would really anger Kuldip.’
‘My pet name at home was Tony and everyone would call out to the dog
while looking at me,’ Kuldip said. As Kuldip’s irritation rose, so did the
cousins’ cacophony. They’d call out even louder to Tony-the-Dog! ‘Only
when I would start running after them and beating them up would they
stop,’ said Kuldip seriously, adding, ‘Only physical violence got their
teasing to stop.’
The cousins learnt their lesson and Kuldip learnt his. ‘If anyone puts me
down or makes fun of me, I get angry and I will get my own back,’ Kuldip
said.
‘How do you deal with your competitors? Some of them may also want
to put you down in the market,’ I asked.
‘Oh, competitors? I think of them as my enemies,’ he replied with
complete seriousness. Many of Kuldip’s competition can vouch for this.
Between studies, games, cousins, friends and family, the two years in
Amritsar passed in a flash for Kuldip. The two shops in Amritsar were
doing good business. Sohan Singh would sit at the Hall Bazaar shop and
Kuldip would often go there after school.
‘I learnt my first lessons in selling, sitting at the shop as a schoolkid. Of
course, I learnt much more when I came back after graduation,’ said
Kuldip.
Even at a young age, Kuldip knew how to build loyal clients. While
Sohan Singh was naturally more reserved, young Kuldip had no qualms
about striking up friendships. People loved the enthusiastic, friendly young
boy at the shop and would come back again and again not only to buy more
but also to talk to Kuldip.
‘In December 1963, the day my ISC exams got over, my brother said to
me, “Aajaa hun baith dukan tey [Come and sit at the shop now],”’ laughed
Kuldip. ‘My brother was just waiting for me to finish my school.’
Sohan had wanted Kuldip to join him since the business was doing well,
and he wanted to start manufacturing paints. In order to do so, he needed
Kuldip to handle the sales end of the business. But Kuldip wanted to study
more. ‘At least graduation to karni thi nah [I had to do my graduation],’
said Kuldip.
But Sohan Singh had other ideas. He told Kuldip, ‘Dekh, maine IIT se
civil engineering kari hai. Phir bhi baitha to dukaan te hi hoon nah. Tu ne
bhi dukaan te hi baithna hai. Ki lodh hai padhai-shadhai karne ki, hain?
[See, I am an engineer from IIT, but I am sitting at the shop. You will also
have to sit at this shop. What is the need for all this education?]’ As Sohan
Singh’s word was law in the house, how could Kuldip not listen to him?
Kuldip was in a dilemma.
‘If Kuldip decides to do something, he makes sure that it happens,’ is a
comment I’ve often heard. Sixteen-year-old Kuldip had decided that he
wanted to study further before coming to sit at the shop. ‘I thought chemical
engineering karoonga, paints da business hai—kaam aa jaayegi [I thought I
would study chemical engineering, we have a paints business—it will be
useful],’ he said.
Kuldip began a process of negotiation with his brother. ‘I could not
outright refuse to listen to him,’ he said. ‘How could I? He was my elder
brother—it is not our family culture.’
With his mother and bhabhi as his supporters, Kuldip persuaded Sohan
Singh to allow him to go to college for a bachelor’s degree. Relenting,
Sohan Singh said, ‘I need you very badly, but go and study. Magar jaldi
jaldi aa jaana [come back quickly].’
Kuldip did return to Amritsar but not jaldi!
1964–67
‘Kuldip is single-minded when it comes to pursuing his objective. There is no obstacle that can
stop him’—Kewal Khosla, a college friend.
 Ten
‘I Was the King of the College’

Kuldip graduated from school in December 1963 with honours in both

studies and sports. He was sure that admission into a college and course of
his choice would be no problem. And he was right.
He went to Chandigarh in the summer of 1964 armed with his mark
sheets and sports certificates. He had trophies and certificates for athletics,
high jump, shot put and table tennis. Government College Chandigarh
immediately gave him admission to his preferred course, BSc honours in
chemistry.
Once he got admitted into the course of his choice, Kuldip wanted to
move to Chandigarh immediately. He realized, however, that there was a
gap of a few months before the academic session began. He decided to go
to Delhi rather than stay in Amritsar for that period. His cousins were in
Golf Links and he went to spend time with them.
‘When I reached Delhi, my cousins said, “Oye Kuldip, tu chandigarh
kyun jaa raha hai? Othe tu kinnu jaanda hai? Dilli, asi saare aithe hagein
aan [Oye Kuldip, why are you going to Chandigarh? Whom do you know
there? Come to Delhi, we are all here],”’ said Kuldip. ‘I thought what they
were saying was correct,’ he added. It was true that he did not know anyone
in Chandigarh but in Delhi he had not only his cousins but also his school
friends. Also, he had lived in Delhi and liked the city.
Everyone liked the idea of Kuldip studying in a Delhi college but there
was a problem—the admission process for Delhi University was over! But
Kuldip had made up his mind to study in Delhi. All he had to do was to find
the way!
 He spoke to various people and realized that his sports certificates and
trophies could come in handy to apply under the sports quota. He asked his
cousins which was the best college in Delhi, and the unanimous answer was
St Stephen’s College. Kuldip went to St Stephen’s and met the officials. The
college offered him a BSc general course immediately. But Kuldip wanted
BSc honours in chemistry. The college told him that they could not offer
him a seat in that course.
‘I asked them, “Phir main kya karoon? Mujhe to chemistry hi karna tha
[Then what should I do? I wanted to study chemistry],”’ said Kuldip. He
was told to go across the road!
Kuldip went to Hindu College and met the admission officers there. The
college told him that they would admit him immediately in BSc general
under the sports quota. However, as and when a vacancy came up in the
chemistry course, he would be given the option to move there. ‘There was
one sports master, Mr Sondhi, who was very keen that the young sportsman
join his college. He said, “Join kar le, chap, phir dekhi jayegi [Join the
college, chap, and we will see later]!”’ laughed Kuldip.
‘I thought that at Stephen’s there was no chance of getting chemistry but
in Hindu there was a slight chance,’ said Kuldip.
As he was thinking about the probability of a vacancy opening up soon,
Kuldip was distracted by a loud shout. ‘Oye Kuldip, what are you doing
here? Are you joining Hindu College? Oh good, we are all here.’
Kuldip turned around and saw his schoolmates from Delhi Public School
walking towards him. ‘They had all got admission into Hindu College and
some of them were even in the hostel,’ Kuldip said. Ever the people person,
Kuldip decided that it was going to be Hindu College for him. He signed up
for BSc general and went to the hostel office to get a room.
It did not take much time for Kuldip to settle down in his new
surroundings. He made new friends as he played table tennis and hockey at
college.
Subhash Saigal and Kewal Khosla were among the first friends he made
at Hindu College. ‘This was my group!’ said Kuldip, still sounding like a
college boy fifty years later. ‘Pradeep Bhagat was also part of the group,’ he
continued. Since the boys had formed an instant bond, they decided to have
hostel rooms allocated in the same wing. In the 1960s, the boys at Hindu
College had the luxury of single rooms in the hostel. Kuldip used his
persuasive skills and managed to get rooms 4, 5 and 6 allocated to his gang,
so they were in rooms next to each other.
‘We had adjacent hostel rooms at the Hindu College hostel,’ said
Subhash Saigal. We were at the Lado Sarai Golf Course. It was a hot
evening and the misty fans were trying their best to bring down the ambient
temperature in the small open-to-air cafeteria. But the fans, with their
drizzle of almost invisible but cool mist, could not compete with the hard
sun beating down the verdant greens. Subhash, Kewal and I decided to
scamper off into the welcoming cool of the air-conditioning inside to carry
on our conversation.
All colleges had elections within a couple of months of the new session.
‘Some boys came to me and said, “Kuldip you should stand for sports
secretary,”’ said Kuldip. ‘Now, I played sports but did not know what a
sports secretary was. So I asked them, “Woh kya hota hai [What is that?],”’
continued Kuldip. He was told that the table tennis room and the hostel
common room would be part of his responsibilities. ‘There was also a
budget for the facilities,’ Kuldip said. He decided to stand for elections.
Once he had decided that he would contest the election he decided he had
to win it. ‘There was no other way for me! I was elected unanimously,’
Kuldip said with a grin.
‘Hostel life was superb. The food in the hostel was fantastic!’ said Kuldip
enthusiastically. ‘For just Rs 80 a month we got meat at lunch and dinner
and eggs in the morning. And very tasty food!’ he said. ‘Chicken was
served once a week, at most twice. But we had meat every day,’ he said.
For those who grew up after the 1960s, it would be surprising to know
that chicken was the expensive luxury then. ‘Roti bhi, chawal bhi, sabzi bhi
and we even had dahi [There was roti, chawal, vegetables, even curd]. One
rupee extra for a guest. Aur jinna marzi khao, koi rok nahin thi [And we
could eat as much as we wanted. No one to stop us],’ he said.
 Life was good. The core group of four friends settled down into their
daily routines. Classes were incidental and had to be attended for the
mandatory attendance. Activities outside of the class took up their time.
There were games to be played, movies to be seen and discussions to be
had.
‘Because of my interest in sports I got to know many boys besides my
close friends,’ said Kuldip. One of the boys was Sudipto Sen (name
changed to protect identity). ‘His father was a senior air force officer. But
Sudipto used to hang out with the goonda elements. In fact, in those days,
Hindu College was known for its goondas,’ he continued. ‘It was also one
of the reasons my brother wanted me to go to Hindu College instead of St
Stephens. He told me “Hindu goondyon da college hai. Tu othe hi jaa.
Stephen’s jaayega to mere jaisa sirf padhakoo ban kar rah jayega [Hindu
College is for thugs. Don’t go to Stephen’s as you will become an
academician like me],”’ remembered Kuldip with a laugh.
The goondas that Sudipto hung out with were not students of Hindu
College. Some of the students at the college had relatives who were the
goondas. Like Kuldip, there were others who had got admission under the
sports quota. These were the well-built wrestlers, boxers and shot-put
throwers who were now fellow students of Kuldip. Some of their families
lived in the surrounding areas and their siblings or cousins were part of the
notorious gangs. ‘Some wrestlers were my friends as I was a popular boy in
college. Their brothers were goondas but they never said anything to me,’
Kuldip was quick to point out.
Sudipto Sen was two years senior to Kuldip and prone to pick up fights
with people. ‘Ek toh [for one] he was in third year and dooja [two], he had
the backing of the goondas of Kamla Nagar,’ said Kuldip. After he joined
college Kuldip had had people come up to him to tell him to be careful of
Sudipto as he was known to have a mercurial temper. ‘And once he became
angry Sudipto could be very violent,’ said Kuldip.
The main rival for Hindu College was St Stephen’s and while most of the
students indulged in healthy rivalry, Sudipto took it a notch higher. Students
were wary around Sudipto due to the ‘Stephen’s incident’. ‘Hua ainj tha ki
[what happened was like this], Sudipto had picked up a fight with a boy in
Stephen’s,’ Kuldip started the story. ‘It all began as a verbal fight. But
Sudipto took offence to something the Stephanian had said and launched a
physical attack on the boy. I was told that it was a very serious fight. Brick
utha kar odhe sar pe maari sigi [He picked up a brick and hit the boy on the
head],’ Kuldip said, flinging an imaginary brick. I ducked instinctively. The
other boy was badly hurt, had blood oozing out of his head and his clothes
were torn. It was only because of quick medical help and the Hindu College
boys pulling Sudipto away that the boy was saved.
The St Stephen’s principal had complained to his counterpart at Hindu.
Sudipto was told to leave the hostel and the college. ‘It was only because
his father and some senior government officers intervened that he was
allowed to stay. But no one took pangaas with him after that,’ said Kuldip.
However, Kuldip’s friend Satish picked up a fight with Sudipto one night
at the hostel mess. The mess had two long tables running down its length.
One table served vegetarian food and the other served non-vegetarian. A
natural aisle was created between the two.
Satish is, even today, of average height and small built. However, he did
not let this come in the way of talking in an assertive and provocative
manner. One evening he heard that Sudipto had said something about the
food. Satish walked up to Sudipto and ticked him off.
‘Sudipto was a tall, well-built guy,’ said Kuldip. He was visibly unhappy
at being spoken to roughly in front of the entire mess. He stopped eating,
and slowly stood up, flexing his muscular arms. He was over six feet tall
and built like a boxer. Sudipto looked down at Satish and told him to shut
up. But Satish was made of sterner stuff. He did not cow down and said
something back to Sudipto. ‘Sudipto bent and picked Satish up by the scruff
of his neck,’ said Kuldip.
The entire mess watched, transfixed, as Sudipto dangled Satish a few feet
off the ground. Everyone stopped eating and there was pin-drop silence in
the mess.
Kuldip, seeing his friend in distress, rushed to Satish, who was still face-
to-face with Sudipto. Satish’s feet were dangling in the air. Kuldip, a tall,
well-built guy himself, looked at Sudipto in the eye and physically
separated the two. Satish scurried away as soon as his feet found firm
ground. Now it was Sudipto and Kuldip who were standing in the middle of
the room, facing each other.
‘I should have kept quiet after Satish was put down,’ said Kuldip ‘but I
have a hot head and in that rush I told Sudipto, “If you want to fight why
are you picking a fight with someone smaller? Fight someone your own
size,”’ Kuldip pointed to himself as he said this.
Sudipto did not say anything at that time. Maybe he realized that picking
up a fight at that time would be counterproductive. Or he was plain hungry
and wanted to go back to eating his food. Whatever it was, Sudipto sat
down without a word, put his head down and started eating his food again.
‘I did not know that Sudipto would keep that incident in his mind. I
forgot about it and went about my life as usual,’ said Kuldip.
The incident came back to haunt him a few weeks later. After his
morning classes one day, Kuldip walked into the table tennis room, where
some boys were playing. Sudipto was sitting in a corner and watching the
match. Kuldip saw that one of the boys had a new racquet. He walked up to
the boy and asked if he could take a look at it.
‘Don’t give the racquet to that bastard Kuldip,’ thundered Sudipto from
across the room.
‘I heard the word “bastard” and saw red,’ said Kuldip. ‘Tu ne mainoo
bastard bola? Tu ne meri maa noo gaali di hai? [You called me a bastard?
You have insulted my mother?],’ he thundered as he launched himself on to
Sudipto.
The other boys scurried away, not wanting to come between two six-
footers who were at each other’s throats. ‘I hit him, punched him, kicked
him and pounded away at him,’ said Kuldip calmly. Sudipto started to bleed
and Kuldip tore away at his clothes. ‘I even remember the taste of his hair
in my mouth as I was biting him,’ said Kuldip.
The other boys now realized that both Kuldip and Sudipto had to be
separated. With great difficulty they pulled the two apart and each boy was
restrained by a few boys. Both Kuldip and Sudipto were huffing and were
short of breath. Taking large gasps of air, Kuldip allowed himself to be
guided to a chair and sat down. Sudipto went out of the room.
‘I thought ki fight hui hai, khatam ho gayi hai [we fought but now it is
over] and that the matter had ended,’ said Kuldip. He dusted himself, tidied
his clothes and started playing table tennis again. The spirit of bonhomie
slowly returned to the small room.
But the matter had clearly not ended. ‘Suddenly there was a commotion
outside the table-tennis room. We looked and saw a large group of goondas
coming towards our room,’ said Kuldip. Sudipto had gone straight from the
table-tennis room to his goonda friends and had showed them his
dishevelled state. The torn clothes and blood oozing from the punches taken
by Sudipto had angered his friends. They gathered their knuckle dusters,
knives and bricks, and a mob of twenty well-built guys accompanied
Sudipto back to the college.
It was a Monday afternoon in November 1964 and regular classes were
going on in the college. The mob was unconcerned and, led by Sudipto,
moved silently and menacingly to the table-tennis room. The silence made
the group even more sinister. Kuldip realized that they were coming for
him. While the other boys went into a mini-frenzy deciding what to do, how
to call the seniors, maybe even the teachers, Kuldip decided to go out and
meet them. ‘I know I have a temper and sometimes I act irrationally,’
muttered Kuldip as if to himself, as he looked into the distance,
remembering the scene that had played out forty-five years ago.
As Kuldip walked out of the table-tennis room towards the mob, the body
of goondas stopped. Kuldip walked up confidently to the group and asked
them what the matter was. No one replied. He asked again. Instead of
answering, the group shifted slowly as if trying to encircle Kuldip. Then
one of them raised his hand to hit him.
‘I knew then that I was in real danger,’ said Kuldip. His face was screwed
up and tense as he told me this. Sensing danger, he ran away from the mob.
He was an athlete and this came in handy. He sprinted away, with the mob
chasing him. The other boys from the table-tennis room also started running
behind Kuldip and the mob.
 ‘You can imagine the scene—I was in front and everybody was running
after me,’ said Kuldip. As he was running, his turban came loose. Not
stopping even for a moment, he gathered the cloth and wrapped it around
himself. As Kuldip and his chasers passed the classrooms, teachers stopped
teaching and the students rushed to the windows to see what was
happening.
‘Though I was really scared, I had the presence of mind to run towards
the hostel,’ said Kuldip a little breathlessly as if speaking after a long run.
His luck ran out after sometime and one of the goondas caught up with him
and took hold of him. Within moments the rest of the mob gathered around
Kuldip and his captor. The other boys of the college also gathered around
but maintained their distance from the group.
Kuldip’s captor handed over his prisoner to the leader of the mob. The
well-built Jat dragged Kuldip to the nearest tree and pushed him against the
tree trunk. The leader beckoned a couple of his supporters and each one
held an arm of Kuldip and stretched it out. ‘I was pinned to a tree, my arms
outstretched. Each arm was held by a goonda. I felt like Jesus Christ on the
crucifix. The goondas had surrounded me. Sudipto was standing in front of
me with a brick in his hand, ready to hit me. I stared at him. I could not
move. I was really scared. I could have been hurt very badly, maybe even
killed,’ said Kuldip.
The leader picked up a brick and called Sudipto Sen up front. ‘We are
holding him. He is yours,’ the leader said and handed the brick to Sudipto.
Though Kuldip was scared he was also angry. But he was held captive and
was helpless. The only part of the body he could move was his head but he
kept that still, looking intently at Sudipto. He did not want to give Sudipto
the pleasure of knowing how terrified he was.
‘Because of my hot head I behave rashly at times and have often got into
trouble but God has always sent an angel to save me,’ said Kuldip
sombrely.
The angel that day was the six-foot-three-inch Gyan Singh, a teacher at
Khalsa College. As he did not have teacher’s accommodation at Khalsa, he
stayed in the Hindu Hostel. ‘Gyan Singh was a handsome fellow in a rustic
way. He was also a national swimmer,’ said Kuldip with respect in his
voice. Gyan Singh had heard the commotion from his room and had stepped
into the balcony of his first-floor room. He had seen Kuldip running, being
chased by the mob and captured and then being pinned to the tree. He had
also seen inaction by the other boys. Gyan Singh was angry.
‘Suddenly there was a streak, almost like a whoosh, like an arrow being
shot,’ said Kuldip. The whoosh was Gyan Singh, who came charging down
and cut through the mob and snatched the brick from Sudipto. The big built
sardar looked ferocious and thundered, ‘Haramzaadon, yeh kya kar rahe
ho? Kede haraamzaade di himmat hai jo isko haath vi lagaye. Sharam
nahin aandi kutte de puttron? [You bastards, what are you doing? Which of
you bastards dares to hit him? Aren’t you ashamed, you sons of dogs?]’
Gyan Singh swatted Sudipto and some of the others away as if they were
pesky mosquitos.
A whisper went around, ‘Yeh teacher hai. Teacher hai [He is a
professor].’ The boys holding Kuldip captive dropped his hands and the
mob melted away. The boys who had been spectators so far gathered around
Kuldip and Sudipto.
By now the principal had heard the noise and summoned Kuldip and
Sudipto to his office. As they were walking, Kuldip took hold of his undone
turban and tied it back. ‘I used to be very good at tying my turban. I did not
even need a mirror to tie it well on my head,’ said Kuldip proudly. The two
boys were escorted into the office of B.M. Bhatia, the principal. ‘We all
used to call him Bum Bhatia,’ giggled Kuldip.
‘I told Bhatia that I had started the fight in the table-tennis room. Sudipto
had called me a bastard—meri maa noo gaali di hai [he insulted my
mother],’ said Kuldip. ‘It was a fight between us but Sudipto brought in
outsiders, known goonda elements. Why did he have to do that?’
Bhatia agreed that there was no need to bring in notorious outside
elements into the college. ‘He was livid and lashed out at Sudipto. “You are
always bringing a bad name to our college,” he roared. He reminded
Sudipto about the warning after the St Stephen’s incident. “I had told you
that if you do anything like this again you would be out. Out!” he said. And
then he added, “Tum Bungaali log to ladh nahin sakte ho. Ek Punjabi se
ladhai kari hai . . . Dekha kya haal kara hai tera [You Bengali people
cannot fight. You have picked up a fight with a Punjabi . . . See what he has
done to you],”’ said Kuldip hunching his shoulders a bit and biting his
tongue with his teeth. He realized that if such a statement was made in
current times Bhatia would have got into much trouble himself for being
politically incorrect!
Sudipto was told to pack his bags and move out of the hostel. He was
also suspended from the college.
By now sanity and rationality had returned to the boys and emotions had
calmed. Sudipto and Kuldip walked out of Bhatia’s office and went near the
tennis courts—to the chabutra (dais) under a tree that was the hang-out for
students. Several boys had gathered there already and each was telling the
other, his version of the story. Kuldip and Sudipto walked towards them,
both quiet, and Sudipto definitely downcast. His bravado and swagger were
gone.
Friends of Kuldip guided both boys to the chabutra and made them sit
down. Someone came with a glass of water for both. As they drank the
water, Sudipto and Kuldip looked at each other and gave weak smiles. The
small smiles dissipated the tension completely. Sudipto was upset about
being suspended from college. ‘It is my last year and my father will be very
angry,’ he complained to all.
Kuldip has a temper but he also has compassion. ‘People tell me that I
am like a volcano. After the lava gushes out, there is calm,’ he said.
The calm returned to him and he told Sudipto that there was a way out of
this mess. ‘Let’s go together to the principal and tell him that you’ve
apologized to me and promised that you will behave yourself,’ Kuldip told
Sudipto. ‘I am the victim and if I say that it is okay, hopefully Bhatia will
take back his decision,’ Kuldip continued.
It was worth a try. Kuldip and Sudipto walked back to the principal’s
office. Kuldip told Bhatia that Sudipto had apologized to him, again and
again, in front of all the boys. ‘I told him, “Sir, I forgive Sudipto and my
humble request to you is also to excuse him. He has promised that he will
not do this again,”’ said Kuldip. ‘And it worked! Bhatia excused Sudipto,’
laughed Kuldip clapping.
The incident made Kuldip the undisputed leader of the college! ‘This
incident happened in the first half of my first year and I became the king of
the college! The rest of my years were fantastic. I was known as the person
who was daadon-ka-dada [boss of bosses],’ Kuldip said pulling his
shoulders back.
Not only was he known in his own college, his reputation as the dada-
slayer spread to other colleges as well. ‘I used to go to Stephen’s to play
table tennis. After this incident, when I went there all the boys stopped
playing. They came and thumped me on the back, shook my hands and
thanked me,’ said Kuldip. The Stephanians were delighted that Kuldip had
beaten Sudipto! ‘They came and thanked me for taking care of Sudipto and
taking revenge on their behalf,’ he said.
 Eleven
‘He Would Not Lose Even an Argument’

Kuldip’s friendship with Subhash and Kewal grew. But Kewal and Kuldip
argued about everything. ‘Over a period of time I realized that Kuldip
would ask me something and instinctively I would oppose it. It became a
kind of habit—that I would oppose anything Kuldip said. We would argue
and then Kuldip would turn out to be right,’ remembered Kewal. Kuldip,
ever competitive, wanted a reward for being right. ‘So we started taking
bets,’ added Kewal. Every time an argument ended, the one who was
proved wrong had to treat the others to an ice cream.
‘I found myself paying for the ice creams every day,’ said Kewal, his
forehead bunched up as he remembered taking out money from his wallet.
‘Mujhe laga ki [I felt that] something is not quite right,’ he laughed. ‘And
then I found out that Kuldip came prepared for all the discussions,’ he said.
Kuldip would decide earlier in the day that he would discuss a specific
topic with his friends in the evening. He would spend an hour or so
researching the topic in the library. Once he had mastered the topic he
would bring it up innocently in the evening.
‘The man was manipulating me! He would deliberately say something,
knowing that I would oppose him. He would then pull out the facts from his
memory and prove me wrong. He would not do anything without being
prepared. That was a trait of his. And he does this even today,’ Kewal said.
Subhash added his own story. ‘Some of Kuldip’s business associates
were coming from overseas and wanted a game of table tennis with him. He
did not want to tell his business associates that he would not play with
them,’ he said. However, he had not played for a long time and did not like
to lose! So Kuldip requested a friend from college to play table tennis with
him for two weeks. ‘Can you imagine, Kuldip played every evening with
that college friend till he got his game back! And of course, the business
associates were defeated convincingly!’ There was another friend, who
remembered an incident which cemented his respect for Kuldip. Kuldip and
his friend, Pradeep Bhagat, one day went to the college library where
Kuldip found a magazine with Guru Nanak on the cover. He wanted to
borrow the magazine but the librarian told him that only books could be
issued to take out of the library. The magazines were only for in-library
reading. Kuldip wanted to have his way. He tried his persuasive skills on
the librarian but the gentle woman wasn’t won over. Pradeep wanted to do
something for his friend. Furtively, he picked up the magazine and hid it
under his T-shirt and walked out of the library gingerly. Kuldip did not
know what Pradeep had done, so he walked back to the hostel with him.
The two friends went into Pradeep’s room, where he lifted his T-shirt,
pulled out the magazine and gave it to Kuldip.
‘I was so touched by this,’ said Kuldip. Since there were other friends
waiting for them to play table tennis, he went to his room and kept the
magazine on his table, under some books, and went away with Pradeep. ‘I
thought I would read it when I had time at night,’ said Kuldip.
What the two didn’t know was that a peon in the library had seen Pradeep
walking out with the magazine. The peon followed the boys, saw which
room was Pradeep’s, went back to the librarian, and complained about
Pradeep. He told the librarian that the boy had stolen the magazine. The
librarian complained to the principal and Bhatia called the two boys. He
asked the boys if Pradeep had stolen the magazine. Pradeep confessed and
Bhatia told him that he was going to be suspended.
‘I was amazed,’ said Kuldip. ‘Inni chhoti si cheez aur inni vaddi
punishment [such a small thing and such a big punishment].’ He thought
that the principal was being unfair.
Kuldip pulled Pradeep to one side and faced the principal. ‘I told him that
I was equally to blame for the theft. After all it was because I wanted to
read the magazine that my friend had taken it away from the library,’ he
said. Kuldip also argued that if Pradeep’s room had been searched they
would not have found the magazine. ‘The stolen item is in my room, so
how can you blame only him? If you are suspending Pradeep, you have to
suspend me too,’ he said.
‘I cannot tolerate unfairness,’ Kudip said. ‘I take risks but mostly they
are calculated risks. He smiled. His mind had worked out that the principal
would not suspend two boys for one magazine!
The logic had worked and Bhatia had to take back his decision. The two
boys were let off with a warning.
 Twelve
‘Our Factory Was More of a Shed’

While Kuldip was in Delhi, the business in Amritsar continued to grow.

By 1964, Sohan Singh had finally achieved his dream. He had started his
factory.
‘We say it was a factory but really it was a shed,’ said Kuldip without any
trace of hesitation. ‘We had no money to buy land so my brother had rented
the small shed,’ added Gurbachan matter-of-factly. Unlike his grandfather,
who had started with a big shop in the prime area of Amritsar, Sohan Singh
rented a shed on the outskirts of Amritsar and set up a paint manufacturing
unit. At that time no one could have dreamt that within thirty years this
small 15 x 30-foot shed would grow into one of the largest paint companies
of the world.
Sohan Singh called their unit UK Paints. ‘Did UK Paints have a British
connection like British Paints?’ I asked Kuldip.
‘No, no, no, UK has nothing to do with Britain. It is Uttam Singh Kesar
Singh!’ Kuldip said. The unit in Amritsar was named after Kuldip’s great-
grandfather and grandfather.
Sohan Singh produced paint in his shed-factory and also sat at the shop to
sell the paint. ‘We produced safeda, or white stiff paint, in the factory,’
remembered Gurbachan. The factory was on Batala Road and Diwan Singh,
a machine maker, was called to make the machines for the factory. ‘There
was a mixer and a roller. It used to be a granite triple and the machine had
three rollers, each of which would go at a different speed,’
It is evident that Gurbachan’s love for machinery and manufacturing
started early. He remembered each machine in the factory even after almost
fifty years. ‘The different speeds enabled the grinding to be coarse and then
fine and then even finer,’ he said.
The factory also produced varnish. ‘It used to be rosin varnish and would
be made in open drums,’ continued Gurbachan. The material was packed in
smaller packs and would be sold along with paste, which gave the paint the
colour. ‘We produced paint for only wooden and metal surfaces. It was only
much later that we started producing dry distemper that was used for walls,’
added Gurbachan.
All the material produced by the factory was sold through the two shops
of the Dhingras. The shops also sold paints of other companies since the
Dhingras were distributors of large companies like Jenson and Nicholson,
Nerolac and Snowcem. Business ramped up nicely. One of the working
partners was a good travelling salesman. He was given the responsibility of
getting orders for their own paints from Jammu and Kashmir, Himachal
Pradesh, Punjab and other parts of north India.
Gurbachan was in high school when Kuldip was at Hindu College. Sohan
Singh needed an extra hand at the factory. The shops were being managed
by the working partners. ‘Kuldip bhapa was in Delhi and Sohan bhapa
needed help. So I used to go to the factory after school,’ said Gurbachan.
He remembers cycling to the factory after school and spending time there.
‘My interest in the factory and R&D started at that age. Sohan bhapa taught
me about the buildings, about load-bearing factors and about keeping the
factory clean. He was a civil engineer after all,’ added Gurbachan.
Money remained tight as all funds went into the factory, for buying
machinery and ingredients and packaging material. ‘I remember that there
were times when there was no money to pay for my school fees. Sohan
bhapa would say, “Wait for tomorrow and I will give you the fees from the
sale money at the shop,”’ he continued. ‘And our clothes were hand-me-
downs from the elders. Bade ke kapde chhota pehenega [the older lot gave
their clothes to the younger ones],’ Gurbachan added.
Gurbachan had grown to like Amritsar in the five years he had spent in
the city. ‘It used to be a vibrant city, with many artists there; the society was
good,’ he said. Amritsar had a thriving business community. Many Punjabis
who lived in Bombay got their daughters married into the Amritsari
business families. ‘So even though we were a small city, the people were
from Delhi and Bombay,’ said Gurbachan. ‘Those were good days. Once
we stopped crying, we started enjoying our life there,’ said Gurbachan.
Kuldip also enjoyed coming back to Amritsar. During one of the visits
from Delhi he asked Gurbachan if he had tasted beer. The teenager said he
had not.
‘Would you like to taste it?’ asked Kuldip.
‘Of course, it looks very nice,’ said young Gurbachan.
Kuldip took out a warm flat beer, poured it into the glass and gave it to
Gurbachan. ‘Le taste kar [taste it],’ said Kuldip as he put out the glass for
his brother.
The younger brother eagerly took the glass and took a long sip, imitating
those he had seen drink beer. The beer was flat and it was warm. ‘Chhi . . .
yeh to kaudi hai! Thoooo . . . [Yuck, it is so bitter],’ said Gurbachan with a
tight grimace. ‘I don’t want to drink it. Take it back,’ he complained.
Kuldip took the glass back and said seriously, ‘Aisi hi hoti hai [Beer
tastes like this only]. Don’t drink it again.’
Gurbachan nodded, promising himself never to touch the vile liquid
again. ‘That was my brother’s way of keeping me away from alcohol,’
laughed Gurbachan.
Kuldip also sat at the shop whenever he came home from college. It was
a shopping hub and he knew that many women with their daughters came to
the Hall Bazaar area to shop. He would sit so that he was seen by the
shoppers. He knew that the girls passing by would steal glances at him and
this tickled him to no end. He pretended to be oblivious to the girls walking
past once too often. Sohan Singh was happy to let Kuldip sit at the shop as
he knew his brother was a brilliant salesman who liked dealing with people
and selling to them.
Sohan Singh waited impatiently for Kuldip to finish his graduation and
come back to Amritsar. The demand for paints was growing and the shops
were doing good business. The factory that was producing material for the
shops could do more. Gurbachan was still a teenager and needed to spend
time at school. Sohan Singh ended up dividing his time between the factory
and the shops. He could focus on the factory and production only if Kuldip
was there to manage the Hall Bazaar shop.
Sohan Singh had seen that Gurbachan was inclined towards
manufacturing and R&D. He, therefore, preferred that Gurbachan spent
whatever free time he had at the factory. Sohan Singh also knew that Kuldip
was the better salesman. Thus, he wanted Kuldip to manage the front end of
the business. Sohan again asked his brother to finish his study and come
back soon.
But Kuldip had other plans. He knew even in 1966–67 that Amritsar was
not his destination. The world beckoned and he wanted to heed the call.
Amritsar could wait a few months more.
Six Months in 1967
‘I hitch-hiked through Europe in 1967. I slept in tents and met some wonderful people in those six
months’—Kuldip Dhingra.
 Thirteen
‘Poori Umar Te Dukaan Par Hi Baithna Hai,
Thodha Time Hor De Do’
‘I HAVE TO SIT AT THE SHOP FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. GIVE
ME SOME TIME’

While finishing his final year exams at Hindu College, Kuldip had started
pondering over his future. He knew that Sohan Singh had been waiting for
him to come back to Amritsar to help him.
‘My brother did not want me to study even after school,’ said Kuldip.
‘He always told me, “Ki padhai-shadhai karni hai? Koi lodh hi nahin hai
[There is no need to study so much]. High school-pass is enough for a
shopkeeper.’’’
Only after Kuldip put to use all his persuasive skills had he got
permission to go to college. Even at college, Sohan Singh would tell him,
‘Zyada padhai likhai na kar—kaun sa IAS join karna hai? [What is the
need for all these studies? It’s not as if you’re joining the IAS].’
Kuldip knew that he would have to start work as soon as he finished his
college exams. But he was not even twenty years old and wanted to see the
world before settling into the life of a shopkeeper. ‘I knew what my life as a
shopkeeper would be like. Open the shop at 9 a.m. and then sit there the
whole day; take stock, keep stock, take money, handover to customer, close
the galla at the end of the day, close the shop at night. And this would be
my life for six days of the week. For the rest of my life,’ said Kuldip with a
small shudder. Shopkeeping, according to him, was a one-man job and not
one that filled him with much enthusiasm. But he also knew that he had a
duty to the family.
 The mid-1960s were the years of the flower generation. Hitch-hiking was
the norm in the West though not in India. ‘Not many Indians had cars then,
so hitch-hiking kithe hogi, [How could Indians hitch-hike when there were
such few cars in India],’ Kuldip said.
But in Delhi University, many young students were enamoured by the
concept. Some planned to backpack and hitch-hike through Europe after
graduation. Kuldip and a friend from Hindu College also made such plans.
‘But there were two problems,’ said Kuldip with a smile.
The first was Sohan Singh Dhingra. There was a reason that Kuldip’s
elder brother had been waiting keenly for the younger to come back and
shoulder some of the work. Sohan Singh’s family had grown; he had two
daughters by 1966—Anuradha and Preeti. With the expanding family came
the need for more money and therefore the need to work harder. The
expanding family also meant that Sohan Singh had to divide time between
the business and the wife and daughters. Sohan needed another adult to
share the responsibility. Gurbachan was still in school and unable to take
full responsibility of either the factory or the shops although he had started
going to the factory after school.
Kuldip was in a dilemma. ‘I knew that my brother would not be happy if
I told him that I wanted to travel the world. But I also knew that if I really
wanted to do it, he would not say no. I also felt that if I didn’t do this now I
would never be able to do it,’ Kuldip said.
Even back then Kuldip was a man who looked at the facts and took a
decision fast. He processed all his thoughts, and came to the conclusion that
three months in the life of the business would not mean much and that
seeing the world would only widen his perspective.
The decision was taken. He now had to find a way to get permission from
Sohan Singh. Kuldip went back to Amritsar and persuaded his brother to
give him a few more months. ‘I told him, “Poori umar te dukaan par hi
baithna hai, thodha time hor de do [I have to sit at the shop for the rest of
my life. Give me some more time],”’ said Kuldip, his face taking on the
pitiable expression it might have almost fifty years ago. Sohan Singh
looked at his face and relented.
 With the first problem solved it was time to attack the second one. ‘India
in those days did not allow people to travel freely,’ said Kuldip. India, after
Independence, was struggling to find her feet and did not have enough
foreign exchange reserves. As a result, those who wanted to travel had to
get a specific permission from the government. As with any government
approval, it was a tedious process and required copious amounts of
paperwork. Further, the government would allow travellers to carry only US
$7 with them. Not more. However, there was a loophole in the system. The
travel-form request was waived off if the travel was a pilgrimage!
‘Sarabhjit was a friend from Hindu College and both of us decided that
we would go together under the pilgrimage category,’ said Kuldip.
Sarabhjit’s father had a printing press in Khan Market and had a thriving
business. ‘His father managed to get us US $200 at a total of Rs 1,500,’
Kuldip added. The two boys located a cargo ship which also carried
pilgrims.
Both problems sorted out, the two friends were ready to go. ‘But what
about the visas?’ I asked Kuldip. ‘Those were different times and most
countries gave you visas on arrival,’ explained Kuldip.
As they were preparing for the trip, the two friends realized that
backpacking required sleeping bags and tents. These cost money, and
Kuldip did not have the heart to ask his brother. Sarabhjit’s father came to
the rescue and presented each boy with a sleeping bag. Kuldip, with his far-
sightedness, realized that baubles and trinkets that were inexpensive in
India may fetch a better price overseas. He put together the little money he
had and went to Janpath in New Delhi. People go there even today to get
bargains in jewellery, Indian clothes and mirror-work bags. Kuldip did the
same.
Janpath has a line of small shops that sell colourful handicrafts and other
‘Indian’ items. ‘I bought lots of jewellery items, some silk ties and other
semi-precious-looking stones. These came in handy when I was in Europe,’
said Kuldip with a grin.
 Fourteen
‘Those Girls Fought Over Me’

Armed with sleeping bags and small backpacks of essentials, the boys
boarded the cargo ship. They were happy to find some other Indians
travelling to the West on the same ship. They had been allotted bunkers in
the deep recess of the massive ship.
‘But it was very hot down there,’ said Kuldip. No one spent any time in
the bunkers or down below. All the travellers would spread their sleeping
bags on the deck of the ship and spend time there.
‘We were young and had a good time. We talked and sang songs on the
deck,’ he continued. Such was the fun quotient that a young captain in the
army, travelling with his foreign girlfriend in first class ended up spending
more time on the deck. ‘He and his girlfriend would spend all their time
with us. She was very pretty and we loved having her around,’ said Kuldip.
The cargo ship went to Karachi and then on to Khorramshahr in Iran.
Kuldip and his friend disembarked at Khorramshahr to start their road
journey. ‘Iran was a very different place in 1967,’ said Kuldip, with a
faraway look in his eyes. Liberal and prosperous, it was unlike the India
Kuldip had left behind. One of his friends had some relatives in Iran.
Kuldip contacted them, and the two friends went over to meet the family.
They helped the young boys plan their travel to Istanbul.
The two friends got into a bus filled with locals for Istanbul. ‘On
reaching Istanbul, my friend told me that he needed to go to Paris to write
an exam. He wanted to take the Orient Express,’ said Kuldip. This was not
part of the plan. ‘I realized then that he just needed a travel partner till
Istanbul and that he had never planned to go hitch-hiking,’ said Kuldip.
 While he was not happy at being left alone, Kuldip did not want to
change his own plans. ‘I told him I did not have money to buy a ticket on
the luxurious Orient Express,’ laughed Kuldip. He thought that he had
conjured up the perfect excuse. ‘Don’t worry, I will pay for your ticket,’
was the immediate response.
‘I was not even tempted to go on the train. I don’t like any obligation
from anyone,’ Kuldip said.
The two friends parted ways amicably. Now that Kuldip was on his own,
he spoke to some local people to find the perfect way to hitch-hike to the
UK, his final destination. To his surprise, he found that there was an entire
mini industry for backpackers and hitch-hikers. There were camping sites
all through Europe where the travellers could pitch tents and stay for a few
days.
Kuldip had a sleeping bag but needed a tent. His silk ties and trinkets
came in handy. ‘The Turkish people knew about India and loved Indian
things,’ said Kuldip. He was easily able to barter a few of the trinkets for a
good roll-up tent. With the backpack on his back, the tent on his shoulder,
he hit the highway to start the hitch-hiking leg of the tour.
‘I realized that there was a protocol to hitch-hiking,’ said Kuldip. Hitch-
hikers would stand on the verge of the road almost as if in a queue. As soon
as they would see a vehicle approach, they would stretch out an arm, fingers
closed into a fist and only the thumb pointing in the direction they wanted
to take. This remains the universal indication for asking for a ride even
today. Willing drivers would stop, usually at the head of the queue and roll
down their window. The hitch-hiker would bend down to ask the driver
where he was headed. If it worked for him he would smile, wave at his
fellow waiting hitch-hikers and jump into the car. If, however, the driver
was not headed in the direction the hitchhiker wanted to take, he would
wave a small thank you to the driver and would step aside. He would then
gesture for the next in the queue to come up and speak with the driver.
Kuldip did not remember his first hitch-hiking ride. ‘It must have been
just one of the many drivers who stopped,’ he dismissed my question with a
wave of his hand. But he remembered several interesting incidents during
the trip. ‘I often used to be the only Indian on the hitch-hiking road,’ said
Kuldip, adding, ‘and that too a sardar!’ Most of the hitch-hikers were
Europeans or Americans. ‘Black vi nahin honde si, zyaada gore log hi
honde si [It was usually the whites hitch-hiking, I did not see any blacks
either],’ said Kuldip. A well-built Sikh with a turban stood out prominently.
‘Well-built and also handsome,’ added Kuldip emphatically with a naughty
smile and looked at me questioningly with an impish twinkle in his eyes as
if daring me to disagree.
Many drivers would stop next to Kuldip and ask him where he wanted to
go. Kuldip, never one to let any opportunity to get ahead go waste, would in
turn ask the driver where he was going. On every occasion Kuldip would
hop into the car or any other vehicle and go the distance. Most of the
drivers were fascinated by his turban. The fact that he could speak good
English also helped.
Then there were drivers who would stop for a girl with her thumb out.
‘Yeh poora racket honda si [this was a complete racket],’ laughed Kuldip.
Scenes we have seen in the movies would play out in real life on the
highways in Europe. ‘If a boy and a girl were travelling together, woh
munda chhip jaanda si jhaaridon wich [the boy would hide in the bushes],’
said Kuldip. The girl would wait on the road for the next vehicle. Invariably
the driver, seeing a girl alone, would stop. The girl would ask the driver for
his destination and if it matched hers would tell him that she was going to
pick up her backpack which she had left strategically on the side. ‘As she
would pick up her bag the boy would come out pulling together his trouser
zipper as if he had gone to relieve himself just then,’ said Kuldip. He
clapped his hands with glee and said, ‘Vechaare driver ka chehra dekhne
waala honda tha! [The poor driver’s face used to be worth seeing!]’
Kuldip remembers hitching rides on cars, vans, two-wheelers, trucks,
buses and even a train. Somewhere in Europe he was waiting by the side of
a road where a railway line ran parallel. He was surprised to see a slow train
that was chugging along slow down even more as the driver of the train
leaned out of this engine and pointed to Kuldip. The train driver hooted the
engine and indicated for him to jump in. Kuldip looked around to confirm
that the train driver was indeed gesturing to him. ‘I thought “why not?” and
jumped into the engine bogey. We went some distance together. We talked
and he even offered me a cold beer in the hot locomotive,’ remembered
Kuldip with a smile.
As Kuldip spoke, he evoked an era of the hippie generation, of
camaraderie between strangers, and a world scarred by the Cold War.
Strangers standing on a road became friends as did young people offering
rides. Communist-leaning youngsters met socialists and capitalists and so
on. But there would be no fights, no war of words and certainly no taking a
hard stand against the other. Youngsters focused on demonstrating against
the Vietnam War, on civil rights and voting rights; Martin Luther King and
the Beatles were the prominent heroes at the time. The 1960 was also a
decade of the power of peaceful demonstrations. Young people were the
driving voice of empowerment.
This environment of empowerment met the Iron Curtain. The Cold War
between the US and Soviet Russia was at its peak in the 1960s. The
countries behind the Iron Curtain—Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia,
Romania, Bulgaria, Albania and, of course, the Soviet Union—shunned
anything that had a Western influence. Even disco music and loud parties
were taboos as they signified a Western culture.
‘I had communist leanings in my college days. But the hitch-hiking trip
made me see the other side of communism,’ Kuldip said. Travelling
through Bulgaria and Yugoslavia gave him a glimpse of the life of the
common people under communism. ‘It was not only that people did not
have money. It was just that they somehow did not look like happy people.
As soon I crossed the border of Austria, I felt the difference. It was in the
air,’ he said.
The Iron Curtain, however, could not contain the exuberance of the
youth. Young people were young people around the world. And when
young men and women met and travelled together, good times followed.
Young girls in Europe were fascinated with this turbaned man who could
charm them in an instant. ‘My turban was not an object of inquisitiveness in
the Middle East or even in Turkey. I guess those people were used to
turbaned fellows. But the moment I crossed into Europe their fascination
was evident,’ said Kuldip.
‘My brother could charm girls right from our Golf Links days,’ said Ashi
proudly. From Golf Links to Sofia, the charm offensive continued to work.
Kuldip, though reluctant to hold forth at length, could not help himself and
related a couple of stories. ‘In Sofia I was in a youth hostel. There were
other youngsters there as well and a bunch of us got friendly,’ he said.
Youth hostels were inexpensive places to stay in Europe where the
travellers could stay by paying as little as a dollar or less. In exchange the
residents were expected to work in the hostel. ‘People had to wash plates,
help in the kitchen and such stuff. Of course, plataan-plootan maine nahin
dhoyi [But I did not wash any plates],’ he said with a flourish.
There were two young girls in the hostel who were also travelling
through Europe. One was a Greek and the other was from Bulgaria. They
and a couple of their friends started hanging out with Kuldip. ‘One evening
we had all gone out to a disco or something like that. When I came out I
saw that these two girls were fighting with each other,’ said Kuldip. ‘The
girls were pulling each other’s hair and tearing at each other’s clothes. They
fell on to the wet ground and wrestled with each other, almost like mud-
wrestling! You know, I found out later that they were fighting over me!’
exclaimed Kuldip, not without a bit of pride in his voice. ‘The Greek girl
was friendlier with me and the other one got jealous. Mere piche qichhad
wich ladhai [they wrestled in the mud over me] . . .’ he trailed off.
‘What happened to those girls?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. I moved on,’ Kuldip replied with a nonchalant shrug.
There was a girl from Zagreb whom he did remember, however. ‘We
were together for a few days. Not with her only, we were a group of
youngsters,’ Kuldip was quick to point out. When it was time to move on,
the girl gave Kuldip a ring with an inscription of JFK on it. He thanked her
and kept it as a memento of their time together. ‘When I reached Austria I
needed some money. I went to a pawn shop to see if I could get a few
shillings for it,’ said Kuldip. ‘I realized then that the ring was of pure gold. I
got a lot of money for it and I still remember that girl,’ Kuldip said softly.
 Fifteen
‘There Is a Maharaja in Our House’

Kuldip worked his way through to Paris and then on to Calais. From there
he crossed over to Dover and ran straight into the British wall of border
control. ‘They asked me why I was travelling and where I was going, and
then asked for my visa,’ said Kuldip.
‘What visas? We don’t need any visas. We are part of the
Commonwealth,’ he bristled indignantly.
But the border control officer would not let him enter without a proper
visa. ‘I did not have a visa because I did not apply for one,’ said Kuldip. He
argued with the officer but to no avail. ‘I was put into detention,’ said
Kuldip. ‘Detention area before deporting,’ he continued.
At the detention centre, he met another Indian—Darshan Shah. The
Shahs owned a cinema in Delhi, and Darshan was on a budget holiday to
Europe. He did not have a visa either. Kuldip struck up a friendship with
him and both friends decided to head to Paris.
The two boys may have been deported but they had not lost their spirit.
Paris was their destination!
After living the good life in the romantic city for a while, they realized
that they were running out of money. It was grape-picking time at the
vineyards and there were plenty of jobs on offer. Grape-picking sounded
attractive for a variety of reasons. ‘There would be other young people like
us there. Accommodation and food would be provided by the vineyard
owners,’ said Kuldip, adding with a smile ‘and I was sure wine would also
be available.’
 While they were pouring over the maps checking the various locations of
the vineyards, Kuldip saw an advertisement that got him excited.
The ‘salespeople wanted’ ad was by an American company that
published niche magazines for specific professions and hobbies. The
company was looking for salespeople in Holland to sell subscriptions for
the magazines. Tickets to travel to Holland as well as hotel rooms would be
provided by the company. ‘The best thing was that the money was much
better than what the grape-picking job was offering,’ said Kuldip.
He weighted the pros and cons of both and figured that there was also a
sales-linked bonus in the magazine-selling job. The money decided it. ‘I
had to earn the money as the time to go back home was coming near. So I
chose the magazine-sales job even though I knew that we would have had
more fun in the grape-picking job,’ said Kuldip. He convinced Darshan to
do the same and both of them applied for the job.
‘Was it a scam or something?’ I asked a bit sceptically as selling
magazine subscriptions seemed a bit dicey.
‘Not at all,’ said Kuldip. The publishers were genuine and so were the
magazines. There were magazines for people who were interested in
specific activities. ‘Jewellery, gardening, accounting, legal, horticulture,
pottery—you name it and there was a magazine for it,’ said Kuldip.
The friends applied and got the job. They were handed their train tickets
and the hotel vouchers for Holland.
It did not take long for Kuldip to find his sales rhythm. ‘The deal was
that we had to sell subscriptions during the day. We would start early,
immediately after breakfast, and would be dropped off in the territory by
the supervisor. We had to go from door to door and introduce ourselves,’
explained Kuldip. It was a total cold-calling sales job. By any parameters
cold calls generate very little sales. The market practice is that cold colds
result in a mere 1 per cent sales conversion. But Kuldip was unfazed and
delved right into the sales routine.
The magazine company, realizing that cold calls were difficult, had
worked out a sales training for their salespeople. To make the introduction
easier the salespeople were coached to say that they were students and
doing a sales training. They were asked to say that there was a competition
between all students to see who would sell more. They would speak in
English but if the residents only understood Dutch, they were told to mug
up the introduction in Dutch. ‘Ig bin mit ein student cruppen. We hebben
een competitie tussen ons [I am a student and we sell magazines. We have a
competition between us],’ Kuldip reeled off, with complete ease even after
many years.
The salespeople had an incentive plan that was fairly lucrative. ‘If we
sold three subscriptions before lunch, we got an extra cash incentive. And
then if we sold a total of five subscriptions in a day we got a double bonus,’
said Kuldip.
Kuldip had never sold magazines before and did not know Dutch either.
While the rest of the team needed to make six or seven calls before getting
one sale, Kuldip, with his salesmanship, was able to get a sale much faster.
Five sales in a day became the norm for him. He started earning a double
bonus from the first day at his job. However, the double bonus was split
between him and Darshan.
Darshan had not been very keen on the Holland job. He had preferred the
grape-picking one. He came from a well-off family and was not working for
the money. Kuldip, on the other hand, needed all the money he could earn.
To make things easier for Darshan, Kuldip had told the supervisors that
Darshan and he would work as a team. That meant that while the salaries
would be paid separately, the incentives would be shared between the two
friends. Darshan and the supervisor had agreed to this arrangement.
The Kuldip–Darshan team was working well, earning a double bonus
every day. Even though Kuldip was doing most of the selling, both men
were happy after splitting the earnings since the bonuses were good. ‘We
anyway had hotel accommodation and breakfast was taken care of,’ said
Kuldip.
Their supervisor soon started complaining and split the team. The logic
used by him was that Darshan could not piggyback on Kuldip’s success and
had to start generating his own revenue. Kuldip’s friend tried to sell
subscriptions but found that he could not. He decided to quit and go back to
grape-picking. ‘It would be back-breaking no doubt but at least he did not
have to convince the grapes to be picked,’ laughed Kuldip.
Darshan told Kuldip to also quit and go grape-picking with him. ‘But I
was enjoying myself and earning good money. And with Darshan gone, all
the money would be mine. No splitting!’ beamed Kuldip.
The two friends hugged and promised to meet again soon and each went
his own way.
Now that Kuldip was on his own, he was in his element. Selling came
naturally to him. It also helped that he was a turbaned Sikh. ‘Sometimes the
woman at home would call her husband at work and tell him, “There is a
maharaja in our house.” Other times the people at home would invite me in
and give me a cup of tea. Then they would ask if they could take a photo
with me,’ said Kuldip.
He loved the mini-celebrity status. The more door bells he rang to sell,
the better the salesman he became. Today people say that Kuldip can sell
them anything. Little do they know that he cut his teeth doing door-to-door
sales in Holland—selling magazine subscriptions in a foreign land to people
who may not have spoken English.
Seeing a turbaned brown man in an all-white neighbourhood didn’t,
however, delight everyone. One concerned woman called the police to
complain that there was a ‘strange-looking man’ in the neighbourhood. The
police arrived and politely asked him to accompany them to the police
station.
As Kuldip told me the story I got the sense that he was less upset about
going to the police station than about being called ‘strange-looking’!
The police asked Kuldip about his briefcase and the reason he was
moving around in the neighbourhood. Kuldip whipped out the business card
of his supervisor and told the police to call him for details. When the police
asked about the magazines, Kuldip opened the briefcase and showed them
the array of titles. ‘I think I sold one of the police guys a subscription as
well,’ he said proudly.
Kuldip was living the good life in Holland. He was earning good money
as well. ‘I was able to buy better shoes, some new clothes and even a warm
coat,’ said Kuldip.
Life here was good but there was another life waiting for him in
Amritsar. ‘Duty called,’ he said seriously. He had taken permission from
Sohan Singh to be away for a couple of months and it had been almost six
months. One part of his mind wondered if he could stay on longer but the
other part quickly dismissed the notion.
His supervisor was very unhappy when Kuldip told him that he was
leaving. ‘But you are my star performer!’ he exclaimed and continued, ‘We
were going to promote you shortly.’
‘But duty is duty and I knew that my brother was waiting for me,’ said
Kuldip as he politely turned down the offer to stay back. He headed for
Paris to get some paperwork done for his travel back. The plan was to hitch-
hike all the way back to Istanbul and then Kabul. Pakistan did not allow
Indians to travel through the country, so he would have to take a flight from
Kabul to India.
 Sixteen
‘We Asked the Policeman in Paris How to Go to
India’

Once in France, Kuldip started planning his trip back home. Meanwhile,
unknown to Kuldip, three young Frenchmen were planning to drive to
India. Jean Claude, who was to become Kuldip’s business associate twenty
years later, was one of them.
A friend of Jean Claude’s, an animal aficionado, worked in the local zoo
and had decided that he wanted to go to Kaziranga to see the animals there.
The animal lover’s friend owned a Volkswagen minivan and was agreeable
to be part of the India trip. Jean Claude became the third person of the
group.
In those days not many people travelled to India and that too by road. As
part of the preparation they had to get maps and route plans. Google Maps
did not exist in 1967!
‘So we had a lot of paper maps!’ Jean Claude exclaimed, indicating with
his hands the thickness of the sheaves of paper maps. The minivan was
readied for the three friends and a small paper that read ‘Paris to Calcutta’
was stuck on the back windscreen.
The three friends started from their city, and drove to Paris for the long
drive to India. However, they promptly lost their way within the city.
‘We were not from Paris and did not know how to get out of Paris,’ said
Jean Claude. Paris has many ring roads and the minivan took one road after
another but could not find the right exit.
They saw a policeman at a junction. They stopped and asked the
policeman if he could help them.
 ‘Where do you want to go?’ asked the policeman. ‘To India,’ said the
boys.
‘What? Are you making fun of me?’ the policeman asked angrily.
‘We told him to look at the back of the van where we had our paper
poster that said “Paris to Calcutta,”’ laughed Jean Claude.
The policeman was still not convinced and wanted to check their papers.
Once he was convinced that the men were indeed going to India, he guided
the van to the right exit out of Paris. ‘This is the first time someone has
asked me directions to India,’ the policeman muttered to himself.
The van finally hit the highway. Soon they spotted a turbaned man on the
highway, waiting to hitch a ride.
‘I remember it was raining. It was October. I saw this man with a blue
turban,’ said Jean Claude. ‘I had not seen many people from India but I
thought he might be an Indian. Maybe he would know the way to India!’
Jean Claude was joking, of course, as it was fairly improbable that a stray
hitch-hiker would know the road route to India. ‘If not the way, he could
perhaps give us information about India itself,’ clarified Jean Claude. The
minivan stopped for the blue-turbaned hitch-hiker.
Kuldip, with this backpack, was waiting on the highway to start hitch-
hiking to Istanbul. He was delighted that the minivan had stopped for him.
A young Frenchman with a curly mop of hair and a thick French accent
leaned out of the van.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Jean Claude.
Kuldip looked Jean Claude in the eye and said, ‘I am going to India.’
‘Ah, so are we. Hop in,’ said Jean Claude, with a straight face, even
though he was surprised.
He chuckled as he told me the story. As if in tune with the story being
told, the drizzle outside picked up and turned into a full-fledged pre-
monsoon shower. The pitter-patter of the heavy rain provided the drumbeat
to the story being related.
Back on the highway, it was still raining. Kuldip had difficulty believing
that Jean Claude was really going to India. He stared at Jean Claude
speechlessly.
 ‘Really! India? Who drives all the way to India?’ Kuldip asked. ‘They
must be pulling my leg,’ he thought.
He nevertheless hopped into the minivan, settled down and waited for it
to get off the main highway.
‘One hour passed, two hours and then three,’ said Jean Claude as he took
a sip of hot coffee and continued, ‘and we were still on the highway,
showing no signs of slowing down.’
With each passing hour Kuldip continued to ask, ‘But really, where are
you going?’
‘He could not believe that we were really going to India,’ laughed Jean
Claude. ‘Finally, we told him to look at the little poster on the back
windshield,’ he said.
Kuldip swivelled and looked at it for a full minute. Then he looked at the
three Frenchmen and laughed out loud, clapping his hands.
‘We became good friends—he and I,’ said Jean Claude.
The three Frenchmen found Kuldip’s presence very useful. He became
their navigator as he had hitch-hiked the entire way a few months ago. ‘The
best part was that I got a ride from Paris all the way to Istanbul and I did not
have to wait to hitch-hike rides. It was like a private car but I did not have
to pay a penny,’ said Kuldip.
In a week the minivan reached Istanbul. It was here that Kuldip bid
goodbye to the three Frenchmen. Kuldip had some paperwork to complete
in Istanbul and did not want to hold up the other travellers. ‘But he had
given us his address in Amritsar and had told us that all of us had to come
and stay with him and his family,’ said Jean Claude. ‘I had to organize some
money in Istanbul as I had to take a flight from Kabul to India. My passport
said that it was valid for all countries except South Africa and Pakistan.
South Africa was under apartheid and Pakistan . . . you know the reason!’
Kuldip explained.
The minivan continued on its road journey to Kabul. On reaching, they
went to the local camping site. It had been an arduous journey through the
mountains and the arid landscape. The Frenchmen had been on the road for
over ten days and had decided to spend a couple of days there before
carrying on to Pakistan and then India.
‘One late evening when I returned to the campsite I saw a turbaned man
hovering around our minivan,’ said Jean Claude. It was dusk, and the moon
was not up yet. In the dim light, Jean Claude saw the man moving
suspiciously, peering into the windows and testing the handle of the van to
check if it was open. ‘Afghanistan was full of tall, well-built turbaned men,
and I thought he might be a robber. I did not want trouble, but I wanted to
draw the man’s attention. So I thought the best thing to do was to call out a
name and act as if I thought the suspicious man was a friend,’ said Jean
Claude. ‘I yelled, “Kuldip!”’
‘And guess what—It was Kuldip!’ said Jean Claude and burst out
laughing.
Kuldip had hitch-hiked to Kabul after collecting his money, and had
wanted to check if his friends were around before taking a flight to India. It
was logical to go to the campsite.
The two friends hugged and slapped each other’s backs and spent some
time together. Kuldip invited the three men once again to Amritsar and went
to the airport.
‘I took a flight to India and went to Amritsar. Fun and games were over
and I went back to work,’ he said in a tone of finality, drawing the curtain
on the six months in which he became a man of the world.
1967–70
‘Our holidays are always about adventure and the outdoors. Horse riding, mo-bike riding, boating,
mountain climbing—we do it all. Kuldip does not like being indoors’—Meeta Dhingra, Kuldip’s
wife.
 Seventeen
‘I Was a Shopkeeper in Amritsar’

Kuldip returned to Amritsar full of stories and gifts for the family.
‘My chacha came back from his Europe trip wearing a blue suit and
carrying blue clothes for me,’ said Simran Dhingra Chandhok. ‘He thought
I was a boy!’ she laughed.
Simran, Sohan Singh and Amrit Kaur’s third daughter, was born in
Amritsar while Kuldip was in Iran, on his way back to India. Kuldip
received the message that his elder brother was blessed with his third child.
‘He, for some reason, assumed I was a boy and came back bearing blue
gifts,’ continued Simran. Gender confusion notwithstanding, of all Kuldip’s
nieces and nephews, she is the closest to him. ‘We have a special bond—
Kuldip chacha and I. I can talk to him about anything,’ she added.
Sohan Singh was very happy that he now had an extra pair of hands to
help. Gurbachan had joined college after finishing his school and continued
to go to the factory after studies. ‘I had grown to like the factory work. Plus,
I had literally seen the factory come up right before me and had an
emotional connect with it,’ said Gurbachan. Kuldip would manage the shop
and the front end of the business while Sohan and Gurbachan focused on
the factory. This informal division of duties suited all the three brothers as
both Kuldip and Gurbachan used their strengths. Sohan Singh was then free
to plan better for the expansion of the business.
Kuldip took charge of the shop at Hall Bazaar. The older shop, called the
1898 shop by the Dhingras, was still managed by the working partners. The
Hall Bazaar shop had only a junior manager who managed it with two
experienced workers while Sohan Singh was at the factory. Now, with
Kuldip back, the shop had a full-time owner-manager.
‘What was shopkeeping like?’ I asked out of curiosity. Shops and stores
today are managed by people using computers to check stock, do the billing
and even add the cash. I wondered how shopkeepers kept track of their
business as there were no computers in 1967.
‘Oh it was completely different. Everything had to be done manually,’
Kuldip said. The stock register was kept next to the till and every time a
sale was made Kuldip would open the register, take a pen and update the
stock position. The same was done for the cash. Each sale transaction was
entered manually. ‘We had a bahi—a register—in which all cash
transactions of the day were made,’ he explained. The accountant would
come once a week and check all the cash entries made in the bahi. Once he
tallied the bahi with the stock register, the accounts would be updated in the
khaata—the book of accounts. ‘It was a tedious process but it was
effective,’ said Kuldip. In fact, there are large businesses that use the same
concept of the bahi–khaata even today.
The shop by now had a multitude of products to sell. Before Kuldip told
me about the various SKUs (stock-keeping units) in the shop, he gave me a
tutorial about how paints were sold in the late 1960s.
‘What is paint?’ he asked.
I looked at him, somewhat baffled.
‘Paint is something you cover your walls with,’ I replied.
Kuldip realized there was a lot I didn’t know about paints and its
business. So, he patiently started explaining: We see paint as decorative, but
its main purpose is to protect the surface it covers. Walls, automobiles,
bicycles even aeroplanes and space shuttles are coated to protect the surface
underneath. The chemicals in paints make them protective and decorative.
Paints have three main components—the pigment, the binder and the
solvent. And then, depending on where it is going to be used, additives can
be added to improve specific properties of the paint.
Pigment, the first component, gives paint its colour and opacity. The
colour itself is a result of the reflection of some wavelengths of light and
the absorption of the others by the pigment. Titanium dioxide is one of the
pigments for white paint. We have seen iron turn orange and rusty when left
out in the open. The orange colour is due to iron oxide. Iron oxide is used to
give yellow, red or orange colour to paint. Different pigments can be mixed
to create a variety of colours.
The binders, the second component, have a dual function. One is to bind
the pigment particles to each other. The second is to bind the pigment to the
surface on which it is to be spread. In the absence of the binders it would be
difficult to apply the pigments, which are typically solids, on any surface.
Without the binders they would not spread evenly or stick to the surface. A
strong gust of wind or a light rain would wash the pigments off the surface.
Most binders are made from natural oils including linseed oil, castor oil,
palm oil and sunflower oil.
Then comes the solvents. These are the chemicals that get the pigments
and the binders to dissolve into a thinner and less viscous liquid. The
solvents also enable the paint to be spread evenly on any surface. In the
absence of a solvent a mixture of pigment and a binder would be a thick,
gooey mixture that would resist any form of spreading. The job of the
solvent is done once the paint is spread over the surface. Solvents typically
evaporate and the paint is left on the surface to dry out. This made sense to
me; I remembered the number of times I had been told by the painter, ‘paint
sookh raha hai [the paint is drying]’. This sookhna (drying) is nothing but
the solvent evaporating. In water-based paints, it is the water that
evaporates, while in oil-based paints, the solvent, like mineral turpentine
oil, evaporates.
Now that I knew the components that go into a can of paint, I asked
Kuldip again about the SKUs in the shop. ‘We manufactured the products
that sold the most. Manufacturing these ourselves increased our margins
dramatically,’ he said. As he spoke, I understood that the paint market now
is very different from what it was in the late 1960s. For starters, paint in a
can, as we know today, did not exist.
‘Then how did people paint their homes?’ I asked.
 ‘You know why painters were called kaarigars [artists] in those days?’
Kuldip counter-questioned.
I shook my head.
Kuldip sat up straight in the chair. He knew he had an eager student.
When people had to paint their house in the 1960s they would go to the
shop and buy safeda (white, stiff paint), varnish, double boiled linseed oil
and turpentine separately. The white paint was the base pigment, made
usually of either zinc oxide or titanium dioxide. The varnish was the binder
or the resin and the turpentine was the solvent. People would buy drums
and cans of each and the kaarigars would mix them together to create paint.
For colour, they would buy cans of paste pigment or paste colour and mix it
into the white paint mixture. Voila! The paint was ready.
The UK Paints factory manufactured the safeda, varnish, double-boiled
linseed oil, coloured pastes and turpentine and supplied it to the two shops.
Safeda was the highest-selling item, with people demanding cans and cans
of it. The factory was limited only by its cash flow and could produce only
as much as the money available to buy the ingredients would allow. Kuldip
sold more at his shop in Hall Bazaar than the working partners did at the
older shop. ‘When I joined, the older shop did a business of Rs 1.5 lakh per
year. The Hall Bazaar shop soon started doing much more business than
that. The business at this shop doubled and everyone liked me,’ said Kuldip
with an ear-to-ear grin.
While Sohan Singh was a great intellect, he was a simple man when it
came to dealings with other people. Kuldip, on the other hand, endeared
himself with the customers, who were happy to deal with the youngster.
They all told him that he was a good salesman.
Besides paint components the shop also sold material for tongas (horse
carriages) besides floor matting like jute, coir and linoleum. Rubber
covering for the wheels, jute matting for the floors, decorative accessories
for the tonga itself and multicoloured decorations for the horses were also
sold at the shop. All this meant that the stock had to be updated very often.
The two workers were responsible for running from one end of the shop to
the other and to the warehouse to assist Kuldip every time a customer
walked in.
Kuldip thrived in his new role and continued to create loyal customers
and grow the business. ‘One of our customers was a very rich fellow, Mr
Virmani,’ said Kuldip. ‘Mr Virmani would deal only with me. He would
often tell me that he had never met a better salesman,’ remembered Kuldip.
I found it curious that the twenty-fourth richest man in India, someone who
is part of the Top 50 Asian Business Families, had an awe in his voice when
he spoke of Mr Virmani as a ‘very rich fellow’.
 Eighteen
‘Johny Was Such an Ugly Child . . . Ugh!’

While Kuldip loved his hands-on sales training in the shop, Sohan Singh
ensured that he spent time at the factory as well.
Sohan Singh was happy that Kuldip was managing the shop well and
knew that Kuldip was a natural salesperson, but he wanted him to have
specific training on selling paints to outstation clients. Occasionally, Kuldip
would accompany Ajit Singh, the working partner who did the rounds of
the customers in the hinterland, on his sales rounds. ‘I learnt a lot travelling
with Ajit. He was a brilliant salesman,’ said Kuldip.
One particular instance that Kuldip remembered brought a smile to his
face. He was travelling upcountry with Ajit Singh. Rawat, a dealer in
Himachal Pradesh, was a big customer for Kuldip. He had recently been
blessed with a baby boy. Kuldip and Ajit went to Rawat’s home bearing a
box of sweets. The proud father brought out his baby. ‘The baby was simply
the ugliest child I had ever seen!’ said Kuldip, grimacing and emphasized
‘really ugly’.
To Kuldip’s surprise Ajit Singh looked at the baby and smiled with
delight. He took the baby from Rawat and exclaimed, ‘Inna pyara bachcha
hai ji. Inna sona to maine dekhiya nahin aaj tak [What a sweet baby! I
haven’t ever seen a prettier baby].’
The proud father beamed with delight and said, ‘Sab kehte hain ji ke
mere upar gaya hai Johny [Everyone says Johny looks like me].’
Ajit latched on to the name. ‘Johny rakha hai tussi edda naam? Bahut
vadiya naam hai ji [Oh, his name is Johny? What a lovely name],’ gushed
Ajit.
 Kuldip watched in mute amazement as Ajit went on. He suggested that
all material to Rawat from the next month could be supplied under the
brand Johny! ‘Sare log jaan jayenge ji aapke bete noo [Everyone will know
Johny, your son],’ said Ajit. He also told Rawat that since it would be his
own premium quality brand, there would be no price comparisons. ‘Jinna
marzi daam rakho ji safede da [You can charge whatever you want from the
customers],’ said Ajit. ‘Sab log Johny, Johny mangan gey [Everyone will
ask for Johny, Johny],’ he continued.
To Kuldip’s surprise the proud father immediately agreed. ‘From that day
on, Rawat never complained about any price or any discount. We made a
brand called Johny. We also had a photo of a good-looking baby as part of
the brand!’ said Kuldip.
Rawat, delighted with the brand, took complete ownership of it and
promoted it in the hinterland heavily. Johny, the brand, became so popular
that the Dhingras had to register it.
While Johny was the largest brand for a customer, there were other
brands as well. ‘One of our other bestselling brand was Camel,’
remembered Kuldip. Naturally, it had a picture of a camel on the tin!
The Dhingras were generous when it came to letting people choose their
own brands. Ajit Singh soon came to Sohan Singh and suggested that the
Dhingras have their own brand as well.
‘Rajdoot was a very popular motorbike in those days. So Ajit came to my
brother and told him that it was a good name and that we should register it,’
said Kuldip. Sohan Singh agreed and Rajdoot the paint brand was born.
The shops were doing well but it was the factory that was consuming all
the cash. Money continued to be tight. But the young Dhingras did not let
that come in the way of living the good life. Amrit Kaur, Sohan Singh’s
wife, had become the fulcrum around which most of Amritsar’s social life
revolved.
‘I was fond of cooking and baking. Whenever we had guests, I would
quickly rustle up a cake,’ said Amrit Kaur. Gurbachan remembered the
cakes well. ‘Bhabhiji used to make pineapple cake. I remember I used to
help her make it,’ he said fondly. As the only daughter-in-law of the
Dhingras, Amrit Kaur had made her place in the Amritsar society. The fact
that she was originally from Bombay and came from a well-to-do
industrialist family helped as well. Her three daughters were growing up
with friends and cousins.
The other girl who was growing up in the Dhingra household was Ashi.
She was sixteen years old when Kuldip returned from his hitch-hiking trip
and in her final year in school. ‘All my friends were girls who were good in
studies and I was among the toppers too. They all were preparing to study
medicine and I too wanted the same,’ said Ashi. In the Dhingra household
Sohan Singh’s permission was required for this as well.
‘I remember that I went to Sohan bhapa and told him that I wanted to be
a doctor,’ recounted Ashi.
‘But why do you want to study so much, Ashi? Do you know that it will
take you at least seven years before you finish medicine? You will be very
old by then. Who will wait for you till then?’ Sohan Singh asked. ‘My
mother also wanted me to get a degree and get married. She too did not
want me to study further. So, I completed my studies from Sacred Heart
College, Dalhousie,’ said Ashi.
 Nineteen
‘Girls Would Go to Hall Bazaar to Catch a Glimpse
of Kuldip Bhapa’

Meanwhile, Jean Claude and his friends had reached India. After driving
through Lahore they reached Amritsar. Kuldip had given them his address,
and Jean Claude was trying to find the way to the Dhingra house.
‘I remember that the streets were narrow and there was a lot of traffic.
And the noise! Ah! My God! And the embouteillage [traffic jam]! C’est
incroyable [it’s unbelievable]!’ said Jean Claude, shuddering delicately. He
covered his ears as if he were shutting out the loud noise of the streets of
Amritsar.
As their minivan passed through the narrow lanes of the bazaar, other
vehicles honked and swerved past them. ‘We were getting very irritated
with all the honking. In particular there was this scooter that was really
going on and on. Peeeeeeeeeeen-peeeeeeen,’ intoned Jean Claude. He
turned around to see who that irritating person was and saw a sardar on a
scooter. ‘Of course, we had to be surrounded by sardars since we were in
Amritsar! But this sardar was getting more and more irritating,’ he
continued. Jean Claude told his friend to stop the minivan so that he could
get out and tell the sardar on the scooter to shut up.
Jean Claude got out of the minivan and walked towards the sardar, who
still had his hand on the horn. To the Frenchman’s surprise the sardar kept
honking even as he walked towards him. ‘As I came closer, the guy smiled
wide. I realized c’est Kuldip, mon ami!’ exclaimed Jean Claude. It was
indeed Kuldip who was going to the bank on his scooter and noticed the
familiar minivan pass him.
 Jean Claude and Kuldip hugged each other warmly. Kuldip told him to
wait for a while as he went back to bring down the shutters of his shop. ‘He
closed the shop for us!’ exclaimed Jean Claude. The minivan followed the
scooter to the Dhingra house. Everyone at home had already heard about
Jean Claude. The Punjabi hospitality and generosity came out in abundance
and jhappis and pappis [hugs and kisses], food and, of course, alcohol kept
the house full of laughter and bonhomie.
The Dhingra household was also a meeting place for other friends of
Kuldip. And Kuldip had a lot of them. It helped that his bhabhi also had an
outgoing nature. Even though they were ‘mere shopkeepers’, as Kuldip
described himself, their social circle consisted of big businessmen,
industrialists, academics and other well-known people of Amritsar.
‘We were from Delhi. My brother was from Modern School and IIT. We
were from DPS. So we were looked up to in many ways,’ explained Kuldip.
In fact, the decision to start a factory had also been due to a subtle peer
pressure felt by Sohan Singh. ‘My brother interacted with big businessmen,
who were his friends in Amritsar, due to his IIT background. Some of them
had large factories. Sohan bhapa too felt that with his IIT degree he could
not be a mere shopkeeper. His decision to start manufacturing got stronger
due to his social circle,’ explained Gurbachan.
Kuldip was spending time between the shop, travelling along with Ajit
Singh for his hands-on sales training and going to the factory sporadically.
The job he liked the most, however, was sitting at his Hall Bazaar shop
because he enjoyed dealing with customers. ‘I was also close to my
products and I liked it,’ said Kuldip.
Meeta, his wife, also an Amritsar girl, told me that she had told her father
that if she had to marry a turbaned Sikh he had to be like Kuldip. She had
not known Kuldip then but she was among the several girls who had started
spending more time in the shops of Hall Bazaar. Meeta’s mother was fond
of knitting and crocheting and would go to Hall Bazaar for her threads and
yarns. Meeta would willingly accompany her mother for her shopping
expeditions. She knew it would take her to Hall Bazaar. ‘I used to get
scared of the big turbaned Sikhs but when I saw Kuldip I thought this guy is
not scary!’ Meeta said.
Sales at the shop had increased and Kuldip’s modus operandi to focus on
sales and building relationships with customers in Amritsar was working.
Ajit Singh increased his visits to the hinterland to book more orders. ‘The
markets of Jammu and Kashmir and Himachal Pradesh were good. People
also paid up; there were no defaults as such,’ said Kuldip. But the payment
cycle was very long. It would take up to five or even six months before
payments were received. This affected the cash flow of the business. The
production in the factory was limited to the money that could be used to
buy the raw materials. ‘And then there was the war with Pakistan in 1965,’
said Kuldip.
The war suddenly brought Amritsar’s vulnerability into focus. Residents
of Amritsar were told by the army to be ready to move at short notice as the
city is not far from the border. Many army officers and the local
administration were friends of the Dhingras.
‘One day, soon after the war, my chachaji came from Delhi. The deputy
commissioner of Amritsar was a friend of his and he offered to take us to
the Pakistani territory captured by our army,’ remembered Gurbachan, who
was fifteen years old and ready for adventure. ‘I said yes of course and
jumped into the jeep,’ he said.
The vehicles drove all the way to Burki in Pakistan. ‘I saw burned tanks,
destroyed homes, bunkers and other reinforcements but almost no people
there,’ said Gurbachan in a hushed tone. The Indian forces had captured the
local police station as well. The civilians had all run away and it was a
ghost village. ‘I also remember seeing pieces of flesh still hanging from the
overhead hanging wires,’ said Gurbachan with a shudder. But he was a kid
after all. ‘I asked the officers if I could pick up the fired shells!’ he said. He
was allowed to pick up one big brass shell cover and an empty box of
bullets.
India won the war but all trade and business with Pakistan stopped
completely. ‘Payments came late from the hills and we could not expand in
the West,’ said Kuldip. His brother then thought of exploring the Delhi
market. It was the capital of the country and the uncles who had shops in
Delhi seemed to be doing very well.
The Dhingra family in Amritsar was also growing. After three daughters,
Sohan Singh and Amrit Kaur were blessed with a baby boy in 1970.
Though the family had moved to a bigger house, it still seemed to be
overflowing with people. There was the matriarch, Surjit Kaur, Sohan
Singh with his family, Kuldip, Gurbachan and Ashi—a total of ten people
of which six were adults. Kuldip alluded to some talk that the house could
do with fewer people in it.
Hot-headed and full of pride, Kuldip decided to move to Delhi. He had
been travelling to Delhi to book orders already. Besides, his uncles and
cousins and the family house were also in Delhi. ‘Delhi was a bigger
market than Amritsar. I thought, let me go and expand the business there,’
said Kuldip.
The Romanian embassy was requested to give back one floor of the Golf
Links house and Kuldip moved to Delhi in 1970. ‘My mother also moved
with me as she knew that I was hot-headed. She always told me that I
needed protection because my temper sometimes made me lose control,’
admitted Kuldip.
Kuldip’s uncles and cousins discouraged this move. ‘You are getting a
good rental income from the Golf Links house. Why do you want to live
there?’ asked one of the cousins. ‘Why don’t you take up a rented barsati [a
small rooftop room] in Defence Colony or something? The rent will be less
than the rent you are getting from the embassy,’ asked another cousin.
‘Why do you want to come to Delhi? Aren’t you doing well in Amritsar?
After all, you had wanted to buy that second shop there. And now you want
to come to Delhi? Mind you, it is a tough market. You are making a
mistake,’ said one uncle.
It could have been that they were genuinely concerned about the move
and did not want Kuldip to have a rough time. Or they were probably
worried that they might be asked to bail Kuldip and the family out in case
things went wrong. Whatever was the case, Kuldip did not get much help
from his extended family.
 One distinctive characteristic of Kuldip is that he has to get the better of
adversity. The move to Delhi was a mild adversity. The unhelpfulness of the
extended family added to it.
‘We were still the poorest of the extended family. All other uncles and
their families were managing established businesses. So, I guess no one
took us seriously,’ said Kuldip.
When Kuldip came to Delhi all he had in mind was to expand the market
for the products being manufactured at Amritsar at the UK Paints factory.
He had to start from scratch as he did not even have an office in Delhi. ‘No
one expected the business to take off the way it did,’ said Kuldip.
But against all odds and expectations it did!
1970–78
‘Meeta has always been by Kuldip’s side in whatever he has done. His success would not have
been possible without her’—Ajit Singh Syali, ex-head of RAW and a family friend.
 Twenty
‘I Was Running a Small-Scale Factory Unit in Golf
Links’

‘I was running a small-scale factory from one of the most premium

addresses in Delhi—Golf Links,’ said Kuldip as he looked back to 1970.
Trucks with sacks of dry distemper paint material would come at night to
the Dhingra house in Golf Links. They would bring the material from the
Amritsar factory for Kuldip. ‘I am surprised that no one complained,’
exclaimed Kuldip. ‘Maybe all of our neighbours took pity on me. They
must have thought bechara kaam kar raha hai, karne do [poor boy is
working, let him work],’ he added.
The Romanian embassy had vacated the first floor of the Golf Links
house. Kuldip and his mother came back to the capital from Amritsar and
moved back into their house. The age of SOHO—small office/home office
—was still a long way off, but Kuldip started his work from home. ‘I had a
car—a Standard Herald—that I had bought third-hand and I had the terrace
of my house. Bas aur ki chaidiya si? Kaam shuru kar ditta [What else did I
need? I started the work],’ he said.
Kuldip’s uncles had shops in old Delhi which were called B. Uttam Singh
and B. Kesar Singh. The trade knew the Dhingras of Uttam Singh Kesar
Singh. Kuldip took advantage of this and started introducing himself as the
Dhingra from Amritsar. ‘I told the traders that I was representing Uttam
Singh Kesar Singh of Amritsar,’ said Kuldip. The orders had started coming
to Kuldip even when he was in Amritsar and it was one of the reasons he
decided to move to Delhi instead of merely moving out of the house in
Amritsar.
 The Amritsar factory by now was also manufacturing dry distemper. Dry
distemper is a water-based wall paint and consists of a mixture including
chalk lime and glue to which water has to be added before use. The white
stiff paint, however, continued to be the mainstay. The Dhingras were using
the Rajdoot brand and they sold their products through the traders and
contractors. Kuldip’s uncles were also in the same business and were
among the largest distributors of the premium paint brands—Jenson and
Nicholson and Shalimar.
‘They must have had good relationships with the trade and the
contractors. Did you ask them for help?’ I asked Kuldip.
‘Our stuff was not high-end like those brands. It was the cheaper variety.
My uncles did not want to be associated with the cheaper stuff as they felt
that their reputation would get affected,’ explained Kuldip without any
rancour.
‘However, my eldest uncle who was the wealthiest among the family was
very fond of all of us. He helped me,’ said Kuldip.
For at least a few months Kuldip worked alone. His was a one-man
business. From ordering stock out of Amritsar to delivering to the trade in
Delhi, he did everything. ‘Dry distemper was getting popular in early 1970s
and the Amritsar factory was producing it. They would send it to me in
boris [sacks],’ said Kuldip.
One of the most popular brands of dry distemper was Moresca by
Blundell Eomite. Eomite was the original paint company—Elephant Oil
Mills—which was later bought by Blundell. Paint, till then, was sold in the
retail market in tin cans or small sacks. Blundell Eomite brought in the
plastic boxes for the first time in India. ‘They sold to the retail in plastic
boxes of 1.5 kg packing. People were happy with these boxes as they could
wash the boxes and recycle them for various uses in their homes,’ explained
Kuldip. Plastic boxes gave Blundell Eomite a premium look.
Kuldip, the shrewd marketer, ordered plastic boxes for Rajdoot Paints.
He ordered them locally from Delhi and the empty boxes were delivered to
the Golf Links house. Thus, he had the boxes from Delhi and the paint
material from Amritsar. The trucks would reach Golf Links after dark and
unload the sacks at his house.
Kuldip needed some workers to pack the material that came from
Amritsar into the plastic boxes that could then be delivered to the trade. But
the problem was finding the workers to pack the boxes. Golf Links was an
upmarket residential area and workers trooping in would have caused a
problem. Further, he was out in the market the entire day. Who would
supervise the workers even if he found them?
Kuldip, as always, found a way. At ten every night, the area around the
Dhingra home would see a flurry of activity. Various servants and drivers,
who worked in other houses of Golf Links, would make their way to the
Dhingra house. They would troop in one by one, as and when their sahibs
and memsahibs retired for the night. Kuldip would leave the front gate open
and the servants and drivers would go straight up to the terrace. Kuldip
would be waiting there, surrounded by the sacks that had come from
Amritsar. There would also be weighing scales, packing boxes, sealing
machine, stencils, black paint and other packaging material.
Each worker would be given a task. One had to weigh out the exact
quantity of paint and put it in the box. Another had to close the box and
hand it over to the next worker, who would use the sealing machine to seal
the box. The packed and sealed box would be stencilled with the brand,
Rajdoot Paints. The last part of this assembly line was to stack the filled
boxes according to their size.
The workers would work for four to five hours after which they would go
off to their respective homes. They would get only a few hours of sleep
before they went to their jobs the next day.
‘The servants all seemed to be happy as I would give them cash for their
work. This was their part-time job! Word spread among the servants and I
was never short of workers,’ said Kuldip. The workers displayed in full
force the power of word-of-mouth advertising.
Once the boxes were ready they would be stored in the makeshift store
room, the garage of the house. Each morning Kuldip would take his car,
which would be parked outside the house, and start making deliveries to
various traders in the morning. The system worked efficiently. The factory
in Amritsar produced, packed material in sacks, and sent it off to Delhi,
where it was packed in smaller boxes and stored in the garage. The small-
scale industrial unit set up at the Dhingra house in Golf Links was running
to full capacity.
Kuldip soon ran short of space in the garage. He needed the backyard of
the house as well. He requested the Romanian embassy to move floors.
Kuldip needed the ground floor of the house so that he could use the
backyard as the working area as well as the storage area. The Romanian
embassy obliged and the small-scale unit moved to the ground floor.
Kuldip now hired his first employee in Delhi. He met Narendra Malik
and asked him to join immediately. ‘I really needed a helping hand as the
work had started to get very hectic,’ said Kuldip. Narendra joined work at
Golf Links as it was the only workplace of Rajdoot Paints. Narendra, a
young man himself, shared the responsibility of going to the trade and
contractors to sell Rajdoot Paints.
‘I remember that we used to go from shop to shop telling the traders
about our paints. We did all work together. We even ate our lunches
together. He was a beginner like me in those days. But see where he is
today,’ said Narendra. He worked with Kuldip for many years before
leaving and joining competition.
‘How did you get the traders and contractors to buy Rajdoot?’ I asked
Narendra. We were in the Berger Paints’s Zamrudpur office, a surprisingly
low-key building for India’s second-largest paint company. A couple of
private security guards sat outside, mostly shooting the breeze, and a small
board bore the Berger Paints logo.
Kuldip Singh Dhingra controlled his business from this office. Narendra
left Kuldip Singh before this office was set up. My meeting with Narendra
had to be rescheduled by half an hour as Kuldip Dhingra had waylaid
Narendra as he was on his way to meet me in one of the meeting rooms.
Spending time with Kuldip brought back old memories for Narendra.
‘We went and spoke about Rajdoot Paints to the trade, and we built the
brand largely by word-of-mouth. All the traders had customers who did not
want the absolute premium stuff. We would pitch Rajdoot Paints for these
people,’ said Narendra in his measured voice.
The traders did not know of Rajdoot in the beginning, but they started to
recognize the two young men who would regularly visit them. Kuldip
continued to use his Standard Herald car to make deliveries to the traders.
Kuldip soon realized that the painters were the main influencers in the
paint-buying decision. While dry distemper and oil-based paints were
slowly gaining a wider acceptance, safeda continued to be top horse for
painters.
Kuldip and Narendra started targeting the painter community to talk
about Rajdoot Paints. The painters were, and continue to be, part of the
unorganized market. It is common to see clusters of them sitting by the
roadside with paint brushes in neat stacks. Contractors and others who want
to use their services simply walked down the road and hired them. Kuldip
and Narendra too would visit the morning painter-mandis and invite the
painters to come to their ‘painters meet’ after working hours. Chai, samosa
and other snacks were used as baits.
‘We would hire a local community centre and have all the painters come
there,’ said Narendra. Once the painters were in the room, Kuldip would
launch into a sales spiel and tell them all about the history of the Dhingras
and the advantages of Rajdoot Paints. The painters would be taken through
the product range of Rajdoot Paints. Over time Kuldip also launched some
small ‘schemes’ for the trade.
‘We would tell them that if you sell so much you can go to Mussoorie or
if you sell more you can go to Goa,’ remembered Narendra. To overcome
the resistance from the trade, Kuldip would give a ‘buy-back guarantee’ to
all the traders. ‘We had confidence in our product so we would tell the trade
that if there was the slightest problem from the contractors or the painters
we will buy back the entire stock from them,’ said Narendra. Over a period
of time the trade started promoting Rajdoot products.
 Twenty-one
‘We Got Married and the War Broke Out!’

Kuldip, now twenty-three years old, was a bachelor much in demand.

Although he now lived in Delhi, he would visit Amritsar often to meet
family and discuss business.
Every time he came back to Amritsar the shaadi (marriage) conversation
would be broached. ‘But Mummy would always say, “He has so many
girlfriends. How will he get married?”’ laughed Amrit Kaur, Kuldip’s
bhabhi.
Kuldip, like his brother, did not believe in ‘seeing’ a girl for marriage.
‘How can I say no to a girl after meeting her? Bahut bura lagega usko [she
will feel very bad],’ said Kuldip.
Meeta Jolly was a contemporary of Kuldip’s sister Ashi. ‘Meeta and I
knew each other a bit and went to college together for a year,’ said Ashi. A
relative in the extended family of the Dhingras knew Meeta and her family
well.
When Meeta’s father started looking for a boy he asked her what kind of
a boy she wanted. Meeta told him that she wanted a boy like Kuldip. She
had seen Kuldip when he used to sit at Hall Bazaar. She did not say that she
wanted Kuldip but a boy like Kuldip. But her father understood.
The relative of the extended Dhingra family was approached to take the
rishta to the Dhingras. ‘I had seen Meeta and had liked her very much. She
was a very creative person,’ said Amrit, adding, ‘and she still is!’
‘It was to be a December wedding in Amritsar and we literally had
fireworks in the sky on the day of the wedding,’ Meeta said. The war with
Pakistan broke out on 3 December. Meeta and Kuldip got married on 2
December. A big reception had been planned on the night of 3 December.
‘We went ahead with the reception but there were fighter planes roaring
across the skies,’ remembered Meeta.
The marriage got off to a thunderous start for the young couple. ‘I was
only twenty years old and did not know anything about contraception,’ said
Meeta. She told Kuldip that she did not want kids very early.
‘Absolutely right,’ Kuldip said, shaking his head vigorously.
Meeta asked him shyly how to handle contraception.
‘Don’t worry, I will take care of everything,’ Kuldip said. ‘See I am
having this pill—this is a contraceptive,’ he said.
‘Really? I have never heard of a male pill,’ said Meeta.
‘Tch . . . ! You are very young. What do you know? I know nah,’ said
Kuldip. He took out a tablet, poured himself a glass of water and gulped the
pill down. The pill down his gullet, he looked at Meeta and said briskly, ‘I
have taken care of everything. Don’t worry.’
‘I was a fool. I had no idea at all about anything,’ laughed Meeta. The
pill, of course, did not work! ‘Rishma made her appearance exactly nine
months later!’ said Meeta as she spoke about her firstborn. ‘And when I
would get angry at him because I used to be sick in my pregnancy, he
would just smile, pat me on the back and say, “Sab kehende ne ki husband-
wife wich pyar badhda hai bachche se [People say that the love between a
husband and wife grows with childen],”’ said Meeta with fond
exasperation.
The couple came back to Delhi in the middle of the war. The Golf Links
house was their first home. The paint business was settling down but cash
was always short. The factory continued to gobble up all the cash for
machinery and raw materials.
‘I remember that I had to adjust to the new life as I was used to more
luxuries in my parents’ home,’ said Meeta. She came from a well-to-do
business household but did not allow the new circumstances to faze her. ‘I
wanted him to be absolutely free to focus on the business, which I could see
was starting to do well,’ said Meeta.
 The business was indeed doing well. Kuldip’s hard work and enthusiasm
paid rich dividends and the business in Delhi boomed. ‘I made sales of Rs
10 lakh in the first year itself and that too for only the Delhi territory,’ said
Kuldip with deep pride. He was also proud of the fact that these sales were
with payment terms that ensured fast payment and were highly profitable.
The two shops in Amritsar, after many years of operation, had an annual
turnover of just over Rs 6 lakh, and this included the factory production as
well.
 Twenty-two
‘We Were Angry. How Dare They Demand Our
Heritage?’

While the Rajdoot business was growing, the working partners’ children
in Amritsar were also becoming older. The second generation of the
working partners had their own ideas about the business and there were
rumblings of discontent.
‘Working with them had become cumbersome, but my brother did not
want to take any action as he was still unsure about my ability to handle the
business,’ said Kuldip.
Sohan Singh had waited before precipitating matters with the working
partners. He had started to get uncomfortable with the working partners
taking their share of profit out of the business.
‘Oh, they had the absolute right to take their share, but we saw them as
true partners,’ explained Kuldip. ‘The business needed all the cash that it
could get. The profits from the business were the only source of funding for
capital spending as well as working capital. There was machinery to be
bought for the factory and the output depended entirely on the amount of
raw materials available,’ he said.
In those days, smaller businesses did not have access to loans from
banks. Rajdoot Paints was an SME (small and medium-sized enterprise). In
fact it would have been termed as an MSME (micro SME). The margins
were good on the material being sold but working capital was a constraint.
Working capital was required to keep the factory going. It was also
needed to buy stock from branded paint companies. Selling paints of other
brands was a big part of the revenue stream for the Dhingras. ‘We were
distributing Jenson and Nicholson paints and Snowcem paints from our
shops in Amritsar. We were fairly big distributors and would have many
senior people from these companies visiting us,’ remembered Kuldip. The
sales teams and their leaders met their large distributors and the Dhingras in
Amritsar were among the must-visits for all management.
‘Arun Nehru used to visit us as he was in sales back then, in Jenson &
Nicholson,’ said Kuldip. ‘He would come home and have dinner with us. It
was like family relations with him,’ he added fondly.
The stock the Dhingras bought from these large brands needed to be paid
for, even if it took longer to sell. Thus, working capital was required not
only to grow the business but to keep it running.
The working partners wanted to build their own houses. They wanted to
use their share of the profit from the business to buy the plots and then build
on it. ‘We were living in a rented house but they had built houses for
themselves,’ seethed Kuldip. The partners had a 15 per cent share each in
all Sohan and Kuldip Singh’s businesses, making them collectively 30 per
cent shareholders of the business. The Dhingra brothers tried to cajole the
working partners to leave part of their profit in the business so that it could
be used as working capital but their plea went unheeded.
‘Then we learnt that they had bought a plot to build a paints factory,’ said
Kuldip quietly. This was like a betrayal for Sohan Singh and Kuldip.
Setting up their own factory with the money from the Rajdoot Paints
business meant that they were going to build competition for the very
business they were partners of.
‘The partners admitted to building a paints factory when my brother
confronted them. They said, “Our children are growing older and they need
their own business,”’ said Kuldip.
The Delhi business was doing very well by 1972. With Meeta taking care
of the house and his life, Kuldip was focused on building a wider range of
customers. The business and its growth trajectory gave Sohan Singh the
necessary confidence to split from the working partners.
The parting was not dirty, but it was not easy either. Since the partners
owned a stake in the business, they also owned a stake in the factory. The
working partners demanded their pound of flesh from the brothers. They
asked for the 1898 shop along with its inventory, customers and workers.
‘It was very painful,’ remembered Kuldip and added, ‘We were also very
angry. How dare they demand our heritage?’ Kuldip was ready to take a
lathi and stand at the heritage shop, daring the working partners to come
near it. ‘I was very angry and ready for a fight,’ said Kuldip.
Sohan Singh, the elder brother, calmed the heated emotions and agreed to
give the partners the original shop with the permission to use the name for a
period of five years. In return he ensured that the partners relinquished their
claims on the rest of the business.
Sohan Singh had good reason for calming his hot-headed brother. He had
seen the business grow in Delhi. The account books for the financial year
1971–72 were still to be closed as 31 March was still a month or two away.
‘Sohan bhapa knew my sales figures and knew at the time that I would
easily cross Rs 10 lakh of highly profitable sales just from Delhi. But the
working partners did not know that!’ Kuldip said, grinning wickedly. ‘If
they had known then they would have increased their demand as they were
30 per cent partners of all business. That’s why my brother told me to cool
down and agree to the split before the end of the financial year.’
 Twenty-three
‘Maal Nahin, Kuldip Ki Personality Bikti Hai’
‘KULDIP SELLS HIS PERSONALITY, NOT HIS MATERIAL’

Now that it was a Dhingra family business once again, the brothers
worked out the division of work between themselves. Sohan Singh
concentrated on producing the paints in Amritsar and Kuldip Singh focused
on selling. Gurbachan, by then an economics graduate from Punjab
University, managed the Amritsar shop and the formulations at the factory.
With Sohan Singh as his guru, it did not take young Gurbachan long to
learn the intricacies of chemical engineering. Though he was still treated as
the baby of the house, Sohan Singh was slowly giving him more
responsibility at the factory. With Kuldip as the salesman, the factory could
not produce enough to keep up with the demand. Competitors in the market
could not understand how a novice like Kuldip could ramp up the business
so fast.
‘It was not easy but it was not difficult either,’ said Kuldip. He used his
understanding of people’s behaviour, something that he had picked up on
his long hitch-hiking trip, in business. He realized that selling goods on
credit to the dealers was part of the business. If he wanted to sell more he
would need to extend credit, but then he would need working capital to
continue business till the money was paid. The credit period could vary
between three and six months in the traditional Amritsar business. Working
capital remained a problem for smaller businesses. Kuldip was a man in a
hurry and kept telling his brother to increase production but funds remained
the constraint. So, Sohan Singh told Kuldip, ‘Yeh aise hi tuk-tuk karke
chalega [Business will grow slowly].’
 Not willing to have the business grow slowly, Kuldip devised an
innovative method to get money in advance. He launched a deposit scheme
for his dealers. Dealers could give money to the company as a deposit and
earn FD rate plus 2 per cent on it. The same deposit was also deemed as a
security and an equivalent amount of credit extended to the dealer to enable
him to buy more paint from Rajdoot Paints. Further, at the end of the year
Kuldip would give the dealer 1 per cent extra material on the net purchases
of the dealer.
‘The scheme was a big hit,’ Kuldip said, laughing with delight. The
dealers saw the opportunity to use the surplus family money in their
business while at the same time keeping the family happy. ‘It was a win-
win for everyone, and money started pouring in as deposits.’
The scheme enabled Sohan Singh to invest in more plant, machinery and
raw materials on the one hand, and on the other, the dealers started ordering
more as the amount of deposit was the credit extended. So, if a dealer kept
Rs 1 lakh as deposit, he found that he could order more on credit. And then,
at the end of the year he got material worth Rs 2000 as bonus. ‘And then at
the end of the year he got material worth 1% more on his purchases in
addition to FD rate + 2 per cent rate of interest on his deposit. It was an
excellent “secured” return for the dealer. I told my brother to just keep
signing cheques for new machines and I would take care of the funds,’ said
Kuldip.
Funds in the shape of deposits continued to pour in. Dealers even started
taking out their bank fixed deposits to give the funds to Kuldip as the net
return was significantly higher. Soon there came a time when Kuldip did
not need more deposits from the dealers. The business was set and banks
were open to looking at extending credit.
‘But the dealers refused to take the deposit back,’ laughed Kuldip. ‘They
wanted the money to continue to earn above-market interest and they
wanted the extra bonus as well at the end of the year.’
The deposit scheme was not the only reason for the growth of the
business. Kuldip worked the market tirelessly. He met with the traders and
the contractors and made sure that he visited his valuable customers
regularly. He also realized that the small-scale unit running out of the Golf
Links house could not sustain the growth of the business. It was time to
invest in a proper office.
Ajmeri Gate was an area that had many wholesale shops and the brothers
looked for space there. An entire first floor was identified and money had to
be paid for the pugree. In the 1970s, landlords did not charge market rent
because of rent control. Instead, they took a large security deposit, typically
close to the value of the property, from the tenant. This deposit was called
the pugree. Kuldip needed to pay the pugree amount in order to take the
space on rent. He asked his uncles for a loan.
‘We were still the poorest in the family back then,’ said Kuldip. The
uncles refused. Kuldip was hurt but he took the situation in his stride.
Sohan Singh and Kuldip Singh were determined to succeed. ‘My brother
told me, “So what if we have nothing? We will work hard and grow our
own business,”’ said Kuldip. The spirit of their father was truly alive in the
sons.
They scraped together the money, had to borrow from professional
financiers as well, and took the space on rent. The place alternated between
an office and a store. Kuldip had a table in one corner and the rest of the
space was filled with the stock. ‘It was on the first floor with a narrow
stairway, with the typical old Delhi construction. The spiral stairs were
steep. If you were to see it today you would wonder how we took all that
stock up to the office,’ said Kuldip. Not only had the stock to be taken up
the stairs, but it also had to be brought down when the sales orders had to be
delivered. ‘But we were young and full of enthusiasm and it did not bother
us then,’ said Kuldip.
Kuldip’s enthusiasm was infectious. The market loved him. ‘People used
to say “maal kahan bikta hai? Yeh to personality bikti hai ji [Kuldip sells
his personality, not his material],”’ laughed Kuldip. His forceful and
friendly personality created almost instant bonds with the trade.
‘But our product was also good,’ Narendra, the first employee of Rajdoot
Paints in Delhi, cut in. ‘If the product is not good, if people return the
product, no matter how good the personality, maal nahin bikega [material
will not sell],’ he said. ‘Rajdoot Paints was a quality product. It was not the
top end of the market but in its segment it was among the best.’
‘The other thing is that from day one, KS [Kuldip] told me that we had to
do things according to the system and order. No hera-pheri,’ said Narendra.
‘Also, he worked very hard. He was the malik [owner] but it made no
difference in his behaviour. If there was a delivery to be made he would
make it himself. You could see the difference even back then. His cousins
were just about maintaining their business and he was growing fast,’ said
Narendra. ‘The cousins would go to a club and play there. But KS would
not even look in the direction of the club. Obviously, Rajdoot had to do
well,’ continued Narendra.
‘The 1970s were not the years of the media . . . media as we know it
today,’ he continued. ‘That media came only in the 1980s.’
Kuldip, the one with the ideas, came up with various initiatives that
would get him publicity. ‘I would put boards for Rajdoot Paints on the
buses,’ Kuldip said. He would coax traders to get their name boards painted
again and incorporate Rajdoot Paints on it. He also put up large umbrellas,
branded with Rajdoot Paints, outside the shops. ‘Whatever I could do, I did
to get more and more visibility for my product,’ he said.
Spin bowler Bishan Singh Bedi, Kuldip’s friend from Amritsar days, had
made a name for himself in the Indian team and was an integral part of the
cricket lexicon. Kuldip used his connection with his friend to organize
dealer cricket matches at Feroze Shah Kotla stadium. He even got Salma
Sultan, Doordarshan’s popular newsreader, to be the master of ceremonies
for the day. ‘The dealers were delighted as they would get to rub shoulders
and interact with Bishan Singh Bedi during lunch. The dealers felt
important and they were impressed,’ Kuldip said.
Kuldip was aware that if the trade felt good about being associated with
Rajdoot, they would sell more. The Oberoi Hotel in Delhi had opened for
the public in 1965. By the early 1970s it was the only premium private hotel
in Delhi. Its competitor today, the Taj Mansingh, opened its doors for the
public only thirteen years later, in 1978.
 It was considered grand to be seen even in the lobby of the Oberoi!
Kuldip organized dealer meets in this hotel, something not even established
companies were doing. Rajdoot, a small company by any standards,
projected a larger-than-life image by inviting its dealers to the Oberoi.
‘The dealers would all wear their best suits and ties and polished shoes
and come to the Oberoi,’ Kuldip grinned. They would be impressed by the
sheer cachet of the setting. ‘We were a small company but we behaved like
a big one,’ said Kuldip.
Rajdoot Paints benefited greatly by the association with premium-ness.
This reflected directly in the sales on the ground.
The association and building engagement with the dealers also continued
at Golf Links. The Romanians were still there on the first floor. By then
Meeta and Kuldip had become good friends with the tenants, and they did
not object when Kuldip wanted to set up an office on the barsati floor of the
Golf Links house.
Kuldip converted the barsati, a small room on the terrace, into an
informal office. The garage continued to be used as a store and the backyard
was used as a mixing ground for material that came from Amritsar.
‘I know that what I was doing was not quite legal,’ said Kuldip, ‘but Golf
Links proved to be a very good address to be running my office from.’
The small-scale unit from Golf Links was about to diversify its business.
‘One day I had got a call from Arun Nehru, who was the branch manager
of Jenson and Nicholson and used to sit at Asaf Ali Road,’ said Kuldip.
Arun Nehru wanted Kuldip to come over to his office for a discussion. ‘It
was close, so I walked down,’ said Kuldip.
Jenson and Nicholson had their factory in Calcutta. The finished goods
would take a while to come to Delhi from there. A large contractor had
wanted material at short notice. The Calcutta factory of Jenson and
Nicholson would not have been able to send out the material on time. Arun
Nehru knew Kuldip and was familiar with his work. He asked if UK Paints
would make the synthetic enamel for that order for Jenson and Nicholson.
‘I jumped at the offer!’ said Kuldip with a broad grin. ‘If Jenson was
asking us to supply material to them it meant that we were good.’
 The boxes were supplied by Jenson. The stencils for the name approved
by the Delhi sales office were supplied by Jenson & Nicholson. The
experienced workers of Golf Links now started producing paints for Jenson
and Nicholson as well!
‘Later I realized that this business was very good. Payment was almost
immediate. But most importantly it gave us great confidence,’ said Kuldip.
Meanwhile, Meeta had grown to become a confident wife of an
ambitious businessman. She took care of the house and her daughter. She
also started going to the office to manage the account books.
‘Kuldip had told me categorically, “I don’t want you to be like those
women who play cards every day,” but I was never that kind of a woman
anyway,’ she said a bit peevishly! She was a creative person; her creativity
found a manifestation in decoupage, the art of decorating an object by
gluing coloured paper cut-outs on to it and combining it with special paints
effects, gold work, and other decorative elements.
Her interest—later to become a business as well—in decoupage started
on an American holiday. Kuldip and she were staying at a friend’s house in
New York. Opposite their apartment was a notice for decoupage classes.
While Kuldip was in meetings, Meeta would go to the classes and learn
various techniques. She later experimented with decoupage and made some
table lamps for the Golf Links home.
‘One day some friends were over for dinner. They were the owners of
Kapoor Lamp Shades,’ said Meeta. Kapoor Lamp Shades is a Delhi-based
company set up in the 1940s. By the 1970s it had created a name for itself
in luxury lighting and lamps.
Deepak Kapoor was at Golf Links for dinner and a lamp caught his
attention. ‘Meeta, where did you get this lamp from?’ he asked. ‘Get it?
What get it? I made it,’ bristled Meeta.
‘What? You must be joking,’ said Deepak, who dealt with lamps every
day as they were his business.
Meeta took Deepak to her work room and with a flourish pointed to the
lamps in the room, some of which were unfinished.
 ‘Deepak just looked at me and then went to one lamp and asked, “What
do you call this lamp?’’’ Meeta said. ‘I said, “I don’t call it anything. It is
just a lamp.”’
Deepak went from lamp to lamp and said, ‘OK, this one, 400 pieces, that
one 200 pieces, and this particular one 500 pieces.’
Meeta was flummoxed. ‘I told him that I made one piece at a time. How
could I give him that many pieces?’ she said.
Deepak replied, ‘Then maybe it is time you started doing it as a
business!’
He agreed to take the lamps one piece at a time as and when Meeta
finished making it.
The idea seeded by Deepak took root in Meeta’s mind. She soon had a
thriving business of interiors, furniture and, of course, lamps.
‘My mother-in-law helped as she was living with us,’ said Meeta. The
indulgent grandmother looked after Rishma, so Meeta could follow her own
creative passion and to be the hostess to many business associates of
Kuldip.
‘I would hold my meetings at Golf Links and would also invite clients at
home. I provided them with good hospitality,’ said Kuldip. Calling the
clients to Golf Links also sent out a subtle message that while Rajdoot may
be a small brand, the family behind the brand was a khaandaani
(aristocratic) one. ‘Yes, it was a marketing and image-building exercise.
You can call it a gimmick if you want to. But it worked,’ said Kuldip.
All the various initiatives of Kuldip saw the business curve on an uptick
in Delhi. The Amritsar factory could not keep up with the demand.
‘Most of the market I was developing was here in Delhi. So,
transportation from Amritsar added to the cost and reduced our margins,’
said Kuldip.
Sohan Singh and Kuldip talked about the possibility of a factory in Delhi.
Land was available in Sultanpur, an area on the outskirts of Delhi. The
brothers liked the location and started the process of buying the land. The
house in Golf Links was mortgaged for funds to buy land to set up a huge
factory.
 While there was talk of a new factory on the business front, there were
murmurs in the extended Dhingra family about only one brother living in
the big family home at Golf Links.
‘People talk without knowing, but the talk spreads,’ is how Kuldip
explained the gossip. The uncles, aunts and cousins saw Kuldip and Meeta
living at Golf Links; they also saw Kuldip using the house as his office and
business unit. The rumours quickly reached Amritsar.
‘Maybe people thought that I would take over the entire house,’ said
Kuldip.
Amrit Kaur told her husband that it was time they moved to Delhi. ‘The
factory was going to be set up and the children needed to go to good
schools. The house was there and we could ask the tenants to leave,’ said
Amrit Kaur.
The pull of the Golf Links house was strong. Sohan Singh and
Gurbachan were building houses in Amritsar for themselves. These houses
under construction were left behind.
Sohan Singh with his family moved back to Golf Links in 1974, the year
the land was bought in Sultanpur for the factory. Gurbachan, twenty-four
years old, was left alone in Amritsar to manage the business there. The
Romanians left the Golf Links house fourteen years after they had started
renting it. Kuldip and Meeta were living on the ground floor.
‘But when my brother and his family came back I decided to move to the
first floor as they needed a bigger space for their family,’ said Kuldip.
 Twenty-four
‘Vinu Ne Haan Kar Ditti Hai’
‘VINU HAS SAID YES’

Sohan Singh and family moving back to Delhi meant that the small-scale
unit could not be run out of the home any more. The house was now filled
with people—there were six children of various ages. Meeta and Kuldip
were blessed with another daughter, Jessima.
The family believed that with five small girls in the family it was better
not to have trucks and workers come in at odd hours at night. An office
space was needed and this time it was decided to buy the office rather than
rent one.
The Ajmeri Gate office and warehouse became the main office. Sohan
Singh continued to focus on the factory; he made sure that the building was
built according to his specifications and the machinery put in the right
place. Kuldip was responsible for the office and all the sales activities. The
Ajmeri Gate office had a couple of workers to load and unload the material
and to manage the stock. A part-time accountant came once a week to
check and maintain the account books. Narendra continued to be the
salesman going out to the market every day.
But the fast-growing business needed more people. ‘I realized that I was
stuck in the office and not able to go to the market,’ said Kuldip. Narendra
was making the rounds and doing a good job, but Kuldip was itching to
spend more time with their customers. He spread the word among people in
the Ajmeri Gate area that he wanted to hire a person for the office.
Rajkumar was a young man whose elder brother was a business associate
of Kuldip. The brother spoke to Kuldip and Rajkumar was told to present
himself for an interview with the owner of the business.
‘I went to the office and met Mr Dhingra there. He took only five
minutes to talk to me and then asked me if I could start work tomorrow,’
said Rajkumar.
‘I went to work the first day all excited and in a full suit and tie,’ laughed
Rajkumar as he looked back to his first day at work in 1975. Kuldip told
him that as part of his hands-on training Rajkumar was required to
supervise the unloading of the material from the truck that was coming
from Amritsar.
‘Oh God, there was so much of dust! There were also some cement paint
boris! You can imagine what happened to my suit and tie!’ said Rajkumar.
He decided that he would quit that very day. But better sense prevailed
and he stayed on. ‘Aur phir in se tuning itni achchi ho gayi that I could not
leave [We developed such a good rapport that I could not leave],’ he added.
Rajkumar continues to work with Kuldip Singh in the capacity of an
adviser for Berger Paints even today, over forty years later.
It took Kuldip a short while to trust Rajkumar completely.
‘This is one of his qualities. He takes time to analyse people and once he
trusts them he does so blindly,’ said Rajkumar. Narendra was the
salesperson who would cover the entire market. Rajkumar took on the
responsibility of managing the office completely and also covering the
markets in the vicinity.
‘Ajmeri Gate market was nearby and I would go there and sell the
product,’ said Rajkumar, who also handled sales at the office in Kuldip’s
absence. ‘Kuldip could not leave the office if I was not there. But once I
was there, he would go off and leave me totally in charge,’ he continued.
The factory at Sultanpur started production. It was one of the first
industrial set-ups in the area and Sultanpur village grew big and prosperous
because of the factory. ‘The workers all started to live around the factory
and a kind of mini township grew,’ said Kuldip. Sohan Singh continued to
manage the production, leaving Kuldip to manage the front end.
‘Kuldip was passionate about the quality of his stuff,’ said Rajkumar.
‘One day when we were both at the Ajmeri Gate office, a trader walked in
with a worker in tow carrying a big paint drum. The trader had bought
green paint from us and complained that the paint he had been given was
part yellow. He also complained about the quality and said that Rajdoot was
not good,’ said Rajkumar.
‘Kuldip listened to him for a while and then asked, “You said that we had
given you green paint but you find it is not green?” The trader nodded.
Kuldip’s face turned red. The other people could see that he was angry.
Kuldip got up from his chair and rolled up his sleeves. The trader took a
couple of steps back, thinking Kuldip was rolling up his sleeves for a fight!
But Kuldip wanted to prove that his paint was indeed green. He stomped
up, opened the drum and shoved his full arm inside. Using his arm as a
mixer he had stirred the paint around. All this happened in a flash!’ said
Rajkumar.
‘As Kuldip stirred the paint the pigments that had settled at the bottom
rose and the mixture became parrot green. “Yehi colour chahiye tha nah?
[This is the colour you wanted, no?]” Kuldip asked heatedly, bent over the
drum with his arm half inside and half outside it and dripping with paint.
‘He was really angry that someone had accused him of selling substandard
stuff,’ said Rajkumar.
The trader could only look on and agree that the paint was indeed green.
Kuldip did not remember this particular incident but said, ‘This must have
happened. I would get very angry if someone told me that our quality was
not right. How can I give anything which is substandard? That would be
galat [wrong].’
Kuldip was prone to taking such actions on his impulse. Gurbachan, his
younger brother, got married because of this trait.
Vinu is Meeta’s sister and she was doing a dress-designing course in
Delhi in the mid-1970s. She stayed with her mother’s sister, her maasi, in
old Delhi. Every other weekend Vinu and her cousin would visit Kuldip and
Meeta in Golf Links.
‘I used to enjoy going to Meeta’s house,’ said Vinu. She would gossip
with her sister and have a beer with her brother-in-law. ‘I used to talk to
Aunty, Meeta’s mother-in-law—she and I had a good relationship,’ Vinu
added.
One Sunday winter morning, Vinu had stayed over, as she did some
weekends. ‘I heard Kuldip call out to me,’ remembered Vinu. She went
running to their room. She found Meeta in bed, holding a book in her hand,
her eyes lowered as if she was engrossed in the book.
Vinu looked at Kuldip questioningly. ‘He looked at me and said, “I am
worried about you Vinu,”’ Vinu said. She wondered why her brother-in-law
was worried about her.
‘I am worried about you and I am worried about Gurbachan. I think both
of you should get married. It will save me a lot of worry,’ Kuldip said.
Vinu was dumbstruck. ‘I did not know how to react,’ she said. She
looked at Meeta for a reaction but her sister continued to sit with her eyes
downcast, looking engrossed in her book. Vinu looked back at Kuldip who
was tapping his foot impatiently waiting for Vinu to say something.
‘All sort of thoughts were running through my head. Of course, I had met
GB (as she calls Gurbachan now) but I had met him as Kuldip’s brother. I
did not know him enough to say either a yes or a no. So I took the next best
course. I said, “Can I think about it for a day and will let you know
tomorrow?”’ she said.
‘I was thinking that I would never come back to Golf Links,’ she said.
But Kuldip was, and is, nobody’s fool. ‘I think he knew from my face
what I was thinking,’ Vinu said. ‘He looked at me calmly and said, “No,
you will not get a day. You will not get even an hour. You have to tell me
yes or no now.”’
Vinu was stuck. ‘I was looking at Meeta desperately, hoping she would
come to my rescue. But she refused to look up,’ she said.
Kuldip was waiting, tapping his foot. ‘Yes and no are two simple words.
Why is it taking you so long to say either one,’ he demanded.
‘I said the first thing that came to my mind. I had short hair at that time,
so I said, “I will not grow my hair,”’ Vinu said.
‘“Inni chhotti gall [such a small thing], of course not. I will tell Mummy
that you will keep your hair short,” Kuldip said, smiling confidently. So I
said yes in a very small voice,’ said Vinu.
As soon as she said yes, Meeta looked up and smiled widely. Kuldip
called out to his mother, ‘Mummy, Mummy aithe aao [come here].’
Surjit Kaur came running into the room as if she had been waiting for
Kuldip to call her.
‘Ki hua kaka [What happened, child]?’ she asked Kuldip.
‘Vinu ne haan kar ditti hai [Vinu has said yes],’ he said.
‘Oh God, they had talked about it already, I thought to myself,’ said
Vinu. ‘It had all been planned!’
Surjit Kaur looked at her daughter-in-law to be and said, ‘Apne vaal
vadhaane painge! [You will have to grow your hair!]’
Vinu looked at Kuldip, waiting for him to say, ‘Nahin Mummy meri gal
ho gayi hai, Vinu vaal inne hi rakhegi [No, Mummy, I have told Vinu that
she can keep her hair short].’ ‘But he just slunk out of the room,’ said Vinu.
She put down her cup of green tea on the table as, by now, she was
laughing so hard that her cup was shaking in her hand. ‘So of course I had
to grow my hair!’ she said.
The story did not end there. Meeta got out of bed and hugged her sister.
Kuldip, already in the living room, called out to the sisters. Meeta and Vinu
went down to Kuldip. He dialled Amritsar and had Gurbachan on the line.
‘Gurbachan, I have news for you. You are engaged to Vinu,’ he said in
his trademark booming voice, and then holding out the phone to Vinu
continued, ‘Ai le, baat kar [Here, talk to him].’
Vinu tried to wriggle out of holding the receiver.
‘I was so embarrassed. I did not know what to say,’ she said. Kuldip was
standing with his arm stretched out holding the receiver. There was
complete silence on the other end of the line as Gurbachan was digesting
what he had heard.
Vinu took the receiver and with Meeta, Kuldip and Surjit Kaur watching
her, she said in a squeaky voice ‘Hello, how are you?’ She doesn’t
remember what Gurbachan said but, looking back, she does not regret that
day at all.
 Gurbachan and Vinu were married soon after and settled in Amritsar. The
rest of the family was in Delhi. The Amritsar factory was managed
completely by Gurbachan. Sohan Singh’s training came in useful as
Gurbachan, looked upon by his elder brothers as the ‘chhotta phra’, came
out of the shadow of his brothers and took complete charge of the Amritsar
operations.
Rajdoot as a brand was doing well in north India and the family believed
that they had turned the corner. This was to be their new life—two factories
and the Delhi business.
But fate had other plans.
1978–84
‘I was fortunate to work with total professionals in the Soviet Union. Here you see me with senior
officials of Sojuzchimexport, Moscow: (left to right) Mr Maslov, Madame Gorbenko, and Mr
Metelev’—Kuldip Dhingra.
 Twenty-five
‘Papa Has Saved My Life At Least Three Times’

The Sultanpur factory had started working well. They had a small staff
and Sohan Singh was more at the factory and, though he wanted to, he was
hardly ever at the sales office. He now even had a secretary at the factory.
Neelam was a young girl, twenty years old, who had just finished her
college. She joined work in 1976 after a brief interview with Sohan Singh.
‘On the first day itself Mr SS (Sohan Singh) gave me a separate table and
his imported typewriter. He gave me letters to type out immediately,’ said
Neelam. She remained with UK Paints even after four decades. At the time
of writing, she was Kuldip’s personal secretary at the Berger Paints office in
Delhi.
‘My mother used to say that I had a hot temper and no one would stay
with me,’ said Kuldip. ‘But look, Neelam is there, Rajkumar is there and
there are many others who are still with me,’ he added.
UK Paints had started producing a large range of paints by now. Sohan
Singh prepared the formulations and was helped by his youngest brother,
Gurbachan. Rajdoot Paints continued to make a name for itself in the
northern markets of India. Kuldip’s friend, Arun Nehru, had by now
become the youngest president of Jenson and Nicholson.
‘Mr Sinha had made him the president and he had shifted to Calcutta,’
said Kuldip. UK Paints was already producing for Jenson and Nicholson for
the Delhi and its hinterland markets. Arun Nehru was happy with the
quality and the timely deliveries of the paints from the UK Paints factory.
As he was the head of the business nationally, Arun Nehru wanted Kuldip
to supply in larger quantities to other parts of the country. ‘He called me to
Calcutta and told me to start producing more. To be sent to the entire
country,’ said Kuldip proudly. ‘It gave us a lot of confidence that big
companies were getting their supplies manufactured through us,’ added
Gurbachan. He was the one running the factories and he saw it as an
endorsement of his abilities. Soon UK Paints was supplying ready material
not only to Jenson and Nicholson but also to Shalimar Paints and Garware
Paints.
Kuldip had his hands full with the business but he realized that he was
not spending enough time with the family. Meeta and he had three
daughters by then—Rishma, Jessima and Dipti. ‘He is essentially a family
man at heart,’ said Harish Ahuja, a business associate and a friend. Harish
is the head of Shahi Exports, India’s largest garment export company. ‘He
would ensure that he spent time with them. Kuldip doesn’t like to go out for
parties-sharties. He would rather spend time with his family,’ he continued.
This is true now and it was true even in the 1980s. Once Kuldip realized
that he was unable to spend time during the week with the family, he
compensated by ensuring that he and the family went on holidays regularly.
He had always been fond of sports and the outdoors. He now started
inculcating the same love in his daughters.
‘Papa made sure that all of us learnt to swim at an early age,’ said
Jessima, the middle daughter. She is married and based in Calcutta and she
is focused on her family. ‘He would take us to the club and make sure that
we swam,’ she continued. ‘My love for the outdoors is because of my
father.’
‘I learnt to love horses and riding from him,’ said Rishma, the eldest. She
is now an executive director with Berger and spends time between work and
her children. ‘My children, especially my son, is fond of outdoor sports and
is already a shooter,’ she said with pride.
Dipti, the youngest, is based in Sydney, Australia. ‘Dipti is most like
Kuldip,’ said Meeta. ‘She is the one who has started her own business. She
told Kuldip, “Papa, you virtually started your business from scratch and I
want to start my own,”’ added Meeta with pride in her voice.
 The girls remembered the family holidays with great fondness. But when
Kuldip was around could adventure be far behind?
‘My father saved my life at least three times and all these times we were
on a holiday,’ said Jessima. ‘We would go to Corbett very often.’ she added.
Jim Corbett National Park is a forested wildlife sanctuary in Uttarakhand.
The reserve is on the banks of the Ramganga Reservoir and is rich in flora
and fauna. Corbett is known for its tigers, leopards, elephants and many
species of birds. Ramganga river flows through the park. For an outdoor-
loving family, it was the ideal holiday place.
One weekend, Kuldip, Meeta and their daughters decided to take time off
and go to Corbett. A few other friends of Kuldip’s came along as well. One
of the friends had an inflatable rubber dingy and he got himself and a few
kids on the boat. ‘I remember that the river was swift and we were rowing
upstream where the water was calmer,’ said Jessima. The others, including
Kuldip, were picnicking on the banks of the river watching the kids on the
boat.
‘I don’t know what happened but I think it was a strong current and it
swept away one of the oars from our hands,’ said Jessima. ‘The only adult
on the boat took the other oar and tried to steer the boat towards the bank.
But the river was very frothy because of the sharp rocks. The currents were
also very strong,’ recalled Jessima. ‘The boat could not be controlled and it
started going downstream, pulled by the strong currents.’
The Ramganga flows fast through Corbett and many sharp rocks create
whirlpools. It is ideal for white-water rafting but not for a leisurely boat ride
on an inflatable boat with children. As the boat swept downstream, the
occupants of the boat passed the picnicking group. By now panic had set in
as the single oar was utterly useless in controlling the boat and the boat was
moving fast on its own. The children were screaming.
‘Papa saw us all going downstream. By now the second oar was also
gone, swept away,’ said Jessima. The boat was completely at the mercy of
the current, which was taking it towards sharp rocks that would have ripped
it apart.
 ‘Amidst all the panic I saw Papa running. He was running so fast that he
got ahead of the boat,’ said Jessima. Kuldip had taken off his shoes and
jacket while running. His turban had come undone but he threw it aside.
Once ahead of the boat, he jumped into the gushing river. He is a strong
swimmer and in a few strokes he was in the middle of the river.
‘I saw Papa standing in the middle of the river, white water rushing all
around him. His eyes were fixed on the boat,’ said Jessima with a shudder
as she relived that moment in her mind.
‘He was standing there like a dam,’ said Rishma as she too remembered
that day. As the boat came closer, Kuldip reached out and held on to it. The
strong currents fought a battle with Kuldip but it was the man who won.
Slowly but surely, with the only adult in the boat using his hands to steer,
they made their way to the bank.
By then the others, who had been running after Kuldip, had also reached
the boat. They helped the boat to come to the riverbank. The children
scrambled to safely. ‘Papa saved not only my life but all our lives,’ said
Jessima.
‘What about the other times?’ I asked. ‘Oh, the other time at Corbett was
not so exciting. I was in the river and some crocodiles started coming my
way. Papa just jumped in, swam and pulled me to safety,’ Jessima said
calmly!
There was a third time too when Jessima remembers her father saving
her. ‘We were in Bali. All five of us. On holiday,’ said Jessima. The
Dhingra family was vacationing at a beach resort. Kuldip was an early riser
and on that day Jessima too woke up early.
‘Let’s go for a swim,’ said Kuldip and Jessima agreed, happy to be
spending time with her father. The two swam out into the sea.
‘There were these markers out in the sea which indicated the safe zone.
There were rip tides in the area and the danger of being caught in them if
we ventured out too far,’ continued Jessima. Rip tides are strong sea
currents that push away from the shore and can be dangerous for swimmers.
The father challenged the daughter to beat him in a swimming race and
the two started swimming fast in healthy competition. ‘Before we realized
it, we were out of the safe zone. We had actually moved very far from the
shore,’ said Jessima. She was about eight or nine years old at that time. ‘I
remember Papa told me not to panic. He just said, “Chal wapas chalte hain
[let’s go back].” He did not want to frighten me. He later told me that he
had been quite scared to see the distance we had to swim back,’ said
Jessima in her measured, calm voice.
They started swimming back but got caught in the rip tides. Jessima
started faltering. She was a young child and the currents were strong.
Kuldip encouraged her to keep swimming, saying, ‘We are getting closer,
don’t worry’. Jessima swam as much as she could but she was getting tired.
‘I was scared and started cramping. But Papa kept encouraging me,’ she
said.
Even with all the encouragement, Jessima’s energy was depleting.
‘Eventually, I could not swim at all. I started flailing my arms and kept
going under the water. I was almost drowning,’ she said.
Kuldip must have panicked but also knew that this was not the time to be
scared. He was also tired as they had swum quite far from the shore but he
also knew that he had to draw on his reserves.
‘Papa finally pulled me up and swam with me on his back,’ said Jessima
with pride in her voice. ‘We both got to the shore and it was only after that
he collapsed. He lay on the beach totally spent,’ she continued.
These stories of Kuldip saving Jessima are part of the Dhingra folklore.
They are pulled out at every family gathering. Everyone laughs and adds
their own embellishment into the story. Sunaina, Gurbachan’s daughter,
agreed. ‘My memories of holidays are mostly of Bade Papa (Gurbachan’s
children call Kuldip bade papa) saving Jessima.’
 Twenty-six
‘Kuldip, Tu Bilkul Bewakoof Hai. Dafa Ho Jaa
Yahan Se’
‘YOU ARE AN IDIOT, KULDIP. GET OUT OF HERE’

After each holiday with his family, Kuldip was rejuvenated and came
back to work with renewed enthusiasm.
‘Business was good. The margins on our own products were good.
However, the white labelling production was even better. We got our money
almost immediately,’ said Kuldip. The brothers occasionally talked about
their father and the fact that Niranjan wanted to get into exports. ‘But there
was no time to think of anything as our hands were full. Our children were
growing, our business was growing. Where was the time to think of Japan
or Russia or anything else?’ asked Kuldip. But fate had other plans.
‘I was sitting in my office one day when I got a telephone call from one
Mr Galgotia,’ recalled Kuldip. Those were the days of only landlines and
no Truecaller, so Kuldip had no idea who was on the other side of the
phone. Mr Galgotia introduced himself as a partner in Jyoti Impex, an
export company based in Connaught Place, Delhi. Jyoti Impex exported to
the Soviet Union and they had an inquiry for white paint. The Russians
wanted some samples and Jyoti Impex had called up a few paint companies
to find out if they would be interested in the business. ‘I asked them a few
questions and found out that the Olympics were to be held in Moscow in
1980 and the Soviet Union was preparing for it. They needed the white
paint to spruce up the city and the stadiums,’ said Kuldip.
‘Moscow! Russia! Exports! These thoughts went through my head
immediately,’ said Kuldip excitedly, speaking fast. He remembered all the
conversations he had with his brother about their father. He remembered
how Niranjan wanted to get into exports. He remembered that Niranjan’s
ticket to Moscow was bought before he went in for that ill-fated surgery in
1957. Twenty years later, almost to the day, a random call from a company
he did not know brought all these thoughts rushing out of their hibernation.
‘I asked Mr Galgotia what they wanted and he explained that Jyoti Impex
got orders from the Soviet Union and they, in turn, farmed out the orders to
suppliers,’ said Kuldip. Galgotia asked Kuldip if UK Paints could supply
some samples to be sent to the Russians. If the samples were approved,
Galgotia added, UK Paints would be given the order for exports.
Kuldip did not wait to consult his elder brother on this matter. He
immediately confirmed that UK Paints was, indeed, interested in the export
order. He asked for the specifications and the quantity that was required as
samples. ‘I also told them that I wanted to be paid for the samples,’ said
Kuldip. ‘Who knew if they had called up many people like me and were
taking samples from each of them and using the paints for their own
homes? Aise hi free mein maal lene ki scheme ho [Who knows, it could
have been a scheme to get free paint for their own requirement].’
Jyoti Impex agreed to pay for the samples and sent the specifications
across. Sohan Singh in Delhi and Gurbachan in Amritsar talked about the
specifications and decided that it was workable. The samples, twelve cans
of 1 litre each, were prepared at the Sultanpur factory and sent across to
Jyoti Impex from where they were sent to the Russians. The samples were
approved by Moscow and UK Paints got its first order of 50 tonnes of white
paint from the Soviet Union through an intermediary—Jyoti Impex.
‘Oh my God, this is fantastic,’ Kuldip thought to himself once the first
export order went through. There was no excise duty, no sales tax, no visits
from the various inspectors and no income tax as per policy at that time to
boost exports from India. ‘And the payment was almost immediate,’ he
added. ‘There was no hassles and no credit. And the Government of India
actually gave additional incentives for exports,’ said Kuldip as he looked
back at 1977. The brothers now understood the reason their father had been
keen to explore the exports market.
 The orders from the Soviet Union through Jyoti Impex started coming
sporadically. However, it was the domestic business that was on a roll.
Rajdoot Paints was doing well. The Sultanpur factory had started growing
in terms of production and capacity. The Amritsar factory too continued to
chug along. Gurbachan was managing it almost single-handedly as Sohan
Singh could not find much time to go there. Sohan Singh had the bigger
factory in Delhi to focus on. By 1978 he saw no merit in continuing with
the Amritsar factory. The Sultanpur factory was capable of producing much
more. All it needed was more attention. Gurbachan in Delhi would be able
to provide that supervision. Thus, in 1978 it was decided to shut down the
Amritsar factory. Gurbachan and Vinu returned to Delhi.
The Golf Links house was a full house once again. In the 1950s, before
Niranjan’s death, the Golf Links house had the entire Dhingra family living
in it. In 1978 the family was back again. But the family had grown as all
brothers were now married with families of their own. Even with two
floors, space was running short as the family now comprised seven adults
and almost as many children.
Once again it was Kuldip who offered to move out of the house.
‘Gurbachan is the youngest and we always looked upon him as a child. We
always were protective of him. So I thought it was best he stayed at Golf
Links,’ explained Kuldip. His family along with his mother moved to a
rented house in New Friends Colony in 1978.
The Sultanpur factory blossomed under the dual care of Sohan Singh and
Gurbachan Singh. With Kuldip at the helm of all sales and marketing, the
factory was kept on its toes with higher production targets. The export
orders through Jyoti Impex kept coming sporadically. ‘But as I worked with
Jyoti Impex, the owner, Mr Jain, got very fond of me,’ said Kuldip. ‘He
liked me a lot and treated me almost as a member of his family,’ he added.
Mr Jain interacted with the visiting Russian trade delegations and over time
he started taking Kuldip with him for the meetings. ‘No one did that.
Everyone was very possessive about their buyers. But Mr Jain trusted me,
you see,’ said Kuldip.
 ‘I remember once when some Russian buyers, as part of the trade
delegation, were coming to Delhi,’ said Kuldip. Their visit overlapped with
the marriage dates of Mr Jain’s daughter. The buyers were important but Mr
Jain could not be away from his home for his own daughter’s pre-wedding
ceremonies. ‘He asked me to play the host for the Russians for that
evening,’ said Kuldip. The party for the trade delegates was to be at
Claridge’s Hotel in Delhi. ‘Mr Jain told me that he had paid for everything
and had arranged for all food and drinks. I just had to make sure that the
Russians were OK,’ said Kuldip. Ever the party person, Kuldip agreed.
At the dinner, a couple of Russian buyers sidled up to Kuldip and told
him that they were willing to give orders directly to UK Paints. ‘I was very
embarrassed,’ said Kuldip. ‘Mr Jain was my buyer, so how could I go
behind his back and deal with the Russians directly?’ he asked me, fixing
me with his gaze. He told the Russians that he would only deal through Mr
Jain.
The Russians found it surprising that a shrewd businessman was saying
no to a chance to make more money. ‘Taking the orders directly from the
Russians would have definitely meant much more money but my values did
not allow me to do this,’ said Kuldip in a simple but matter-of-fact manner.
‘Then one day in early 1982 I got a call from the Trade Office of the
Soviet embassy,’ said Kuldip. The Russian officers told Kuldip that they
wanted to meet him the next day. The Russians also told Kuldip that Mr
Jain would not be part of the meeting. ‘Now I was in a real dilemma about
whether to go or not. But then I told myself that it was the Soviet
government officials who wanted to meet me, not the buyers,’ rationalized
Kuldip. ‘Also Mr Jain had not signed an exclusivity contract with me, so
technically I could meet anyone,’ he further rationalized. He spoke with
Sohan Singh and decided to go for the meeting. He did not tell Mr Jain
about it. ‘I wanted to find out what they wanted before alerting Mr Jain,’
said Kuldip.
The next day at the Trade Office, Kuldip met the Soviet trade officers.
‘Have you noticed that your business with Jyoti Impex has come down?’
one of the Russians asked Kuldip.
 ‘I thought back and realized that the orders had stopped coming,’ said
Kuldip. ‘I immediately told them that I thought it was because Soviet Union
did not have the requirement!’ laughed Kuldip. The trade officers did not
find this funny. They leaned back in their leather-bound chairs and looked
at Kuldip fixedly. It was a cultivated stare they used to unnerve people
sitting across them. It is not easy to disconcert Kuldip; he looked back
steadily at the Russians. The Russians were the first to blink.
‘We have stopped dealing with Jyoti Impex. We have some problems
with them. So, we will not be giving any orders to them in the future till all
matters are resolved,’ said one Russian. Kuldip’s heart sank. ‘What? That
means no more export orders? It was such a good business. I must have a
word with Mr Jain to find out what the matter is. I really do want these
export orders.’ These were some thoughts that ran in Kuldip’s mind.
While the various thoughts were running riot in Kuldip’s mind, he failed
to notice a faint smile on the faces of the Russians. ‘They seem to have
been aware of my thoughts,’ said Kuldip. ‘Then they told me that they want
to deal with me directly,’ exclaimed Kuldip. The Russians said that they
were happy with the stuff coming from UK Paints and wanted the company
to become a direct supplier to their country.
‘Now I was totally confused. One part of my mind told me that this was a
good offer. The other part of the mind cautioned me that I was still bound,
morally, to Mr Jain,’ said Kuldip. He did not want to say no to the Russians
and wanted to work out a solution that would be mutually beneficial. ‘So, I
asked them if I could think about it and get back to them,’ said Kuldip. The
Russians agreed immediately.
‘Of course, Mr Dhingra. You can think and come back to us. You have
twenty-four hours. Till tomorrow 11 a.m.’ said the Russians in their
trademark style!
With the deadline meter already ticking, Kuldip ran out of the trade office
and went directly to the factory to meet his brother. Sohan Singh heard him
out and said, ‘Shabaash, bilkul theek kariya hai tu [Well done, you did the
right thing]. We can’t go behind Mr Jain’s back.’
 The brothers sat down to thrash out the matter at hand. Both brothers
agreed that since they had no exclusivity clause in their dealings with Jyoti
Impex, they could take orders directly from the Russians. They also agreed
that Mr Jain had to be kept informed. ‘And then my brother told me that if
we were going to take orders directly from the Russians in the future we
needed to compensate Mr Jain for future loss of business,’ said Kuldip.
Sohan Singh opened his safe and took out wads of notes. Kuldip had a
large satchel and he filled it with the money his brother had given him. Mr
Jain had already been called by the UK Paints office and an appointment
had been fixed for Kuldip. ‘I went to his office and sat down with the
money bag at my feet,’ recounted Kuldip. Mr Jain wanted to know what the
urgency of the meeting was. Kuldip was finding it difficult to thread
together the right words. Hesitatingly, he told Mr Jain of his meeting with
the Russian trade officers and of their demand to deal with UK Paints
directly.
Mr Jain got up from his chair and shouted, ‘Tu bilkul bewakoof hai [You
are an absolute idiot].’ It was as if Kuldip’s worst fears had come true. He
thought that Mr Jain was angry with him for meeting the Russians and he
looked for a way to beat a hasty retreat.
Mr Jain was indeed angry but he was angry at Kuldip for still staying
with Jyoti Impex. ‘Do you know every other supplier has left me? You are
the only one left. Tu kyon chipka hua hai [why are you still stuck to me]?’
asked Mr Jain passionately.
‘I have some money reconciliation problems with them. The Russians
owe me large sums of money. So, I am not doing any more business with
them,’ Mr Jain continued. He said that everyone was aware of this and had
started dealing with the Russians directly. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Go and sign
that agreement with them,’ advised Mr Jain.
‘I was relieved,’ said Kuldip with a long sigh and a slight shake of his
head. The fact that there might not have been any more export orders had
weighed heavily on his mind and he was relieved that he was free to take
the export orders.
 ‘I thanked Mr Jain and then told him that my brother had sent some
compensation for future loss of business,’ said Kuldip. ‘Ohhhhooo!! This
time Mr Jain got very angry. He started abusing me in chaste Hindi,’ said
Kuldip and added that he could not repeat the Hindi gaalis that came out of
Mr Jain’s mouth!
‘Dafa ho jaa yahan se tu [Get out of here]. You want to give me money?’
shouted Mr Jain. ‘I think he got upset that we thought that our relationship
was only about money. It was not. We only wanted to compensate him for
the loss of future business,’ explained Kuldip. With Mr Jain still upset and
angry, Kuldip managed to slide the satchel full of money under a sofa
before beating a hasty retreat.
There were still eighteen hours remaining before the deadline imposed by
the Russians ran out. The Dhingras spent eight of these hours in restful
sleep as the matter with Mr Jain had been sorted out. Kuldip was all
prepared to meet the Russians the next day.
The meeting took place, once again, at the Russian Trade Centre in
Delhi. The Russians were back in the leather-bound chairs. They once again
fixed Kuldip with their steady gaze and raised their eyebrows, as if asking,
‘What have you decided?’
Kuldip was prepared this time. He leaned back in his chair, looked at
them confidently, raised an eyebrow and asked, ‘Where do I sign?’
The Dhingra family was excited about the impending business. They
knew that the paperwork would take some time but once the agreement was
signed, the indications were that the export business was going to be very
lucrative. Sohan Singh had also looked at land in Sikandrabad in Uttar
Pradesh to build his next factory. As a civil engineer from IIT, Sohan Singh
was in his element when it came to construction of new facilities.
Gurbachan, coming into his own, was his able assistant in all production
matters.
 Twenty-seven
‘I Knew Panic Would Not Lead Me Anywhere’

Lady luck has had a chequered relationship with the Dhingra family. She
played her hand in 1957 when an innocuous surgery took the life of
Niranjan Singh Dhingra. Almost twenty-five years later, in 1982, it struck
again.
In early May 1982, Sohan Singh suffered an aneurysm in the brain—in
common parlance, a stroke. In medical terms, however, an aneurysm is a
bulge in a blood vessel caused by a weakness in the blood vessel wall. As
blood passes through the blood vessel there is danger of the vessel bursting.
When it happens in the brain it is serious, as the bleeding caused by the
ruptured blood vessel can lead to brain damage. In the summer of 1982,
such a blood vessel ruptured in Sohan Singh’s brain.
‘I was in school and the car was sent for us,’ said Simran Chandok,
Sohan Singh’s and Amrit Kaur’s youngest daughter. Her eldest sister was
already married and her middle sister was in school with her. ‘My mother
was not even in the country. She was in Pakistan on a religious tour,’ said
Simran, who was fourteen years old at the time.
The two sisters were told that their father was not well and they were
taken to AIIMS. ‘When we reached there we saw about fifty or sixty of our
relatives standing in the corridor and the room.
‘Oh my God! What’s happened? I thought. That’s when I realized that
something was not quite right,’ Simran remembered.
‘My whole world collapsed when I heard about my brother,’ said Kuldip.
When he heard the news about Sohan Singh, his mind went back twenty-
five years to when his father had lost his life in a surgery gone wrong. He
was a little boy, ten years old then. ‘But now, in 1982, I was older, and I
was determined to take care of everything,’ added Kuldip.
He rushed his brother to All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS)
as it was the premier government hospital in Delhi. ‘I did not know whom
to call but I remembered Arun Nehru. I called him up and he told me to go
to AIIMS. He must have made a few telephone calls. Because when we
reached my brother was taken care of immediately almost like a VIP,’ said
Kuldip.
The doctors did take care of Sohan Singh but they were able to clip the
burst blood vessel only when the bleeding had stopped, even if temporarily.
There had been some time gap between the blood vessel in the brain
bursting and the actual surgery. As a result, there had been bleeding and it
was feared that there may be some damage to the brain. But the surgery
seemed to have gone well and the extent of the damage if any would be
known only later.
Simran, along with everyone else, was waiting anxiously for her father to
regain consciousness. The doctors and nurses too were waiting. It was only
when Sohan Singh woke up from his anesthetized slumber that the doctors
were able to gauge the extent of damage to the brain.
‘My father woke up and looked at me,’ remembered Simran. ‘He looked
a little surprised. Then he asked me, “What are you doing here? Why are
you not in school?”’ she continued. As Sohan Singh spoke, there was a
collective sigh of relief from the doctors and nurses. The fact that Sohan
Singh had realized that his daughter should be in school during the day was
an indication that his brain was not all damaged.
Amrit Kaur was back from Pakistan within a day and she depended
completely on Kuldip in Delhi. As soon as Sohan Singh was stable Kuldip
asked the doctors to do a test to see if there was any other damage. Their
worst fears came true. The tests showed that there was a bulging blood
vessel on the other side of Sohan Singh’s brain as well. ‘It could burst any
time and my brother needed a surgery urgently,’ said Kuldip. This time he
spoke with doctors and other specialists to find out the best options for
surgery.
 ‘We were told that the hospital in Newcastle upon Tyne in the UK was
our best option,’ said Kuldip. He decided, along with his bhabhi, that they
would take Sohan Singh there as soon as possible.
‘We decided to go, but then Kuldip did not know how much money the
family collectively had from the business. Sohanji used to manage all the
money himself,’ said Amrit Kaur. She, however, did know and in the
presence of Kuldip she opened the safe where the cash was kept. ‘There
was just enough money for the surgery and the flight tickets. I wanted my
brother and bhabhi to travel comfortably. So, I booked seats in the first class
for them. I travelled by economy,’ said Kuldip.
The three of them went to UK. ‘I remember that I got up during the flight
to stretch my legs,’ said Amrit Kaur. She took a walk down the aisle. She
walked to the back of the first class and peeped in the economy section. ‘I
saw Kuldip sitting in the first row. He was fast asleep but you know what?
He had the whole bag of the medical files clutched in his arms. He was
holding them close to his heart even when sleeping. That’s how much he
loved his brother,’ said Amrit Kaur.
I told Kuldip of this conversation. He was visibly surprised. ‘She saw
me? She saw me sleeping? Bhabhi saw me in economy. I did not know
that,’ he said again and again, emotionally. His eyes swelled up and he had
to clear his throat a couple of times before he could regain his composure.
Sohan Singh underwent his second surgery and came back home. ‘But he
was never the same man again. He was absolutely all right in every other
aspect. But his drive for business and the keenness for work went away,’
said Kuldip morosely.
‘I remember Mr SS coming to the factory but he would just walk around
and then go away,’ said Neelam. Her life had changed too. She was now
working with Kuldip at the Zamrudpur office. ‘I was scared initially since
KS is very different from SS. We had all seen him lose his temper very
often. But once I started working with him I realized that he is a very good
man. He gets angry no doubt but it’s OK,’ she continued with a fond laugh.
Kuldip had taken charge of the entire business after trying very hard to get
his elder brother involved.
 The main operations of UK Paints had moved to Zamrudpur. The
building had initially started as the office and showroom for Meeta’s
business on the first floor. Her interior designing and furniture business had
gained momentum and she also had a factory churning out her products.
However, as the paint business also grew, especially the export business
which Meeta was actively assisting, she had no time to manage her own
furniture business. She decided to wind down the production and cut back
the staff. Her office in Zamrudpur was also handed over to UK Paints and
the entire building was taken over by the paints business. ‘Today the entire
building is his office. Kuldip’s own office is where my office and
showroom used to be,’ said Meeta.
‘When it was clear my brother was not going to be able to run the
business I was almost in a state of panic,’ said Kuldip. ‘One, I was very
young and two, my brother had been like a father figure all my life. I had
never imagined that I would have to run the business without him,’ he
continued. Kuldip had been taking care of the sales, marketing and all
business-related activities. Sohan Singh was the one who managed the
factories, the production and the overall money. ‘But I also knew that panic
is not going to lead me anywhere,’ said Kuldip with conviction.
Kuldip took charge of the business in his customary style. ‘When he
wants to do something, he goes out and makes a success of it,’ said Surjit
Singh. Kuldip also realized that as the eldest son in the business he had a
responsibility towards the rest of the family. ‘We tried to get my brother
into the business but clearly he was not interested,’ said Kuldip.
With his elder brother not available for any business consultations,
Kuldip drew upon the expertise of his other brother. ‘Gurbachan was the
youngest, and my brother and I had always tried to protect him from
everything,’ said Kuldip. But now Gurbachan was the only support he had
and the two brothers became a team. ‘I grew up and understood the entire
responsibility in those four months,’ said Kuldip sombrely.
With Kuldip taking over the complete operations of UK Paints,
Gurbachan took charge of the factories. ‘We had started building the
Sikandrabad factory in UP. With my brother out of action, we wanted to sell
it. I did not have the confidence to manage so many things all at once,’
Kuldip confessed. An advance had been paid for machinery and Kuldip
wanted it back so that he could recover some of the money. But they could
neither find the right buyers nor could they recover the advance money. The
interested people, sensing a distress sale, wanted a huge discount to the
asking price. ‘I remembered that we had to sell off our Delhi factory after
my father died. I did not want to do the same this time when my brother
was unwell,’ said Kuldip.
He sat down with Gurbachan, now the person Kuldip needed to consult
for any production- and factory-related matters. Both brothers decided that
they would finish building the new factory. Gurbachan gave his elder
brother the confidence that he would do it.
By the second half of 1982, it was clear that Kuldip was now the
patriarch of the business. Gurbachan was his able partner. Fate had dealt a
cruel blow but had now started applying a balm to the wound.
The agreement signed by Kuldip with the Russian Trade Office bore
fruit. UK Paints got its first direct order. It was a big order worth Rs 1 crore.
‘There was so much paperwork to do and so many forms to fill out,’
remembered Neelam who handled all the paperwork from then.
The Russian orders started flowing slowly in the first two years. ‘I was so
busy getting the orders executed, managing the paperwork and also looking
at the domestic business that I did not have the time to go to Russia,’ said
Kuldip. Within a year of getting the direct orders he realized that the export
business was much more lucrative than the domestic business. ‘But we had
built the domestic business of Rajdoot Paints from scratch and we had a
good name in the market by 1984. So, I needed to find someone good to
manage that business,’ said Kuldip.
The Dhingras always preferred to hire professionals to run their business.
UK Paints too had experimented with a couple of CEOs. But the CEOs had
fallen short of Kuldip’s expectations. Kuldip especially remembered a
particular professional whom he had recruited through a headhunter.
Mr Mehra ran his headhunting firm from Nehru Place in Delhi and found
a CEO for UK Paints. ‘He was a Parsi gentleman, blue eyes, tall and very
handsome,’ said Kuldip.
This Parsi gentleman was brought in to be the CEO of Rajdoot Paints. He
had done his post-graduation in management from IIM Ahmedabad. ‘The
headhunter, Mr Mehra, had made a hard sell of him. But very soon I
realized that Mr Parsi, the CEO, could not manage my business,’ said
Kuldip.
Then one day Kuldip met someone at a business conference who had
graduated from IIM Ahmedabad the same year as his CEO. ‘Who? Mr So-
and-so? No I don’t remember anyone of that name in my class,’ said the
business associate when Kuldip asked him about the CEO.
‘I was very surprised. I learnt that Mr Parsi had only gone to IIM
Ahmedabad for a three-month course!’ said Kuldip. ‘I was hopping mad!’
He was also angry with the headhunter. ‘Aren’t those guys supposed to do
all the checking? They charged me quite a bit of money to find someone.
How can they not check?’ Kuldip said.
As luck would have it Kuldip was at Durbar Hall in the Taj Palace, Delhi,
for a wedding, when he ran into Mehra himself.
‘I was so mad at him that I shouted at him right there. I wanted to beat
him up. I was so angry,’ said Kuldip. He sounded completely serious as he
told me this.
Mehra, sensing trouble, took off like a rocket. ‘He just ran from me. He
ran to the parking lot. I ran after him, and my nephew ran after me. I kept
shouting, “Jaata kithe hai haraami [Where do you think you are going]?’’’
said Kuldip.
I am quite certain that if the headhunter had not sprinted out of the lobby,
Kuldip would have caught him by the scruff of his neck and whacked him a
couple of times! ‘Bach gaya woh [he was saved],’ said Kuldip, woefully,
adding, ‘That headhunter went around telling everyone, “Beware of Kuldip.
He is mad!”’
I realized that I detected a note of pride in Kuldip’s voice!

***
Amrit Kaur, Sohan Singh’s wife, tried her best to get her husband back into
the business. Her husband had controlled the entire business, and it must
have been difficult for her to see him out of it.
‘Kuldip looked after all of us very well. He spent money for the
weddings of my daughters and when Harman, my son, wanted to go abroad
to study, Kuldip agreed immediately,’ said Amrit Kaur.
When it was evident that Sohan Singh would not go back to being part of
the business, Amrit Kaur, taking charge of her husband’s life, worked on
creating a completely new social circle for themselves.
‘People who knew my father before his illness could see that he was very
different now. But for new people he was absolutely fine. He loved to crack
jokes, tell stories and generally be the life of a party,’ said Simran.
Amrit Kaur got Sohan Singh to join the Rotary Club and they both
became regulars at the meetings. ‘He became another person entirely,’ said
Simran.
Two years after the first direct order from Russia, Kuldip felt it was time
to visit Moscow.
 Twenty-eight
‘I Came Back without a Single Order from
Moscow’

Kuldip’s younger brother, Gurbachan, was slowly coming out of the

shadow of Sohan Singh. The factories were his complete charge now. He
was not a chemist by background, but years of working hands-on at the
factories, under the guidance of his eldest brother, had taught him a lot.
‘I would look at formulations and know immediately if they could be
executed,’ he said with pride. He had not studied chemistry but the subject
was the love of his life. He could spend hours poring over formulations and
studying chemistry. ‘While I could not study chemistry, I made sure that my
son went to the best chemical engineering institute in the world to learn
about the subject,’ Gurbachan said.
Gurbachan’s own learning came from other paint companies operating in
India at that time. ‘We were already manufacturing for Jenson and
Nicholson and Shalimar Paints in our factory by then. The Sultanpur
factory had a separate area which was earmarked for this white-labelling
material,’ he said. He himself had not had any formal education in
engineering or plant management. All he had learnt was from Sohan Singh
and then by working on the job himself. But he wanted to learn from the
best.
Gurbachan told Kuldip that he wanted to spend some time in the factories
of Jenson and Nicholson to start with. Kuldip worked his magic and the
companies agreed to have Gurbachan spend time on their shop floor.
Gurbachan made the most of the time he was given. ‘I saw the
production techniques, I saw the processes, the systems, the packaging line
and the way they would store their products,’ he said. He came back and
implemented his learnings into the UK Paints factory. ‘We were a small
company but we worked like a big multinational in our processes and
systems and way of doing work,’ said Gurbachan with great pride.
This was noticed in the market as well. ‘The Dhingras and Rajdoot Paints
were the organized ones in the unorganized sector,’ said a professional from
Asian Paints.
While the products of Rajdoot Paints continued to be made at the
factories, it was the exciting business of exports that became the new focus
for Kuldip and Gurbachan. ‘There were new formulations, new samples
that had to be produced and sent. This kept us on our toes,’ Kuldip said.
‘My brother would come to me with specifications sent by the Russians and
ask me, “Can we do this?” I would say, “Of course. I will find a way to get
it done. Tussi orders laate raho [You just keep on getting these orders],”’
said Gurbachan.
The orders from Russia were slow but were direct and therefore the
margins were better. Kuldip wanted to increase the level of business as he
realized that there was an untapped potential for business there. However,
this was already turning into a crowded space. ‘Everyone was after them!’
exclaimed Kuldip. The Russians would decide on the supplier and the
orders would be signed in India. Kuldip wanted to find a way to cut through
the crowd of the Indian suppliers.
In August 1984, India organized a trade exhibition in Moscow. Kuldip
decided to take part. He told his Russian associates that they would be able
to see the entire range of his products at his stall. ‘They used to buy only
white synthetic enamel paint from me. But I had a large range of products.
Paints for tanks, paints for homes, and paints for army trucks—I had them
all. I wanted to showcase all these in Moscow,’ said Kuldip. He had
brochures printed with his product range and also got publicity materials
like Point of Purchase (POP) danglers. Posters and pictures were prepared
that would be displayed at the UK Paints stall in Moscow.
The flight to Moscow was full of businessmen going to exhibit their
wares at the exhibition. Kuldip got talking with some of the fellow
travellers. His outgoing nature proved to be advantageous once again.
‘When we reached Moscow and were waiting for the checked-in baggage
to start rolling in I realized that I had no idea how I was going to transport
my entire material to the hotel!’ said Kuldip. The baggage belt beeped,
started moving slowly and people started pulling off their baggage as it
reached them. ‘I had these long panels, rolls of posters and cartons of
packages,’ said Kuldip. He removed them all and stood in the middle of the
arrival hall, all his packets around him in a heap, wondering what to do
next.
‘In life there have been many people who have come to my help,’ said
Kuldip. This was one such time again. ‘There was one Mr Nehru who was
the head of export of Sandoz in India,’ remembered Kuldip. ‘He saved me,’
he added. Nehru and Kuldip had spoken to each other in the flight. Sandoz
was also taking part in the exhibition and Nehru travelled with his team to
Moscow. After collecting his bags and the packages he was walking
towards the exit when he saw a heap of packs and rolls with Kuldip’s head
poking out. Nehru stopped in his tracks.
‘My God! How are you going to take these to the hotel?’ he asked
Kuldip.
‘I don’t know,’ said Kuldip, shrugging his shoulders.
‘Which hotel are you staying in?’ Nehru asked.
‘Cosmos,’ replied Kuldip.
Everyone taking part in the exhibition, it appeared, was booked at the
Cosmos as it was the hotel partner of the exhibition.
‘Arré, so are we,’ said Nehru. ‘Don’t worry, we have a mini-van coming
to pick us up. You can come with us,’ he added.
‘He really saved me,’ said Kuldip touching his forehead as he
remembered that day in August of 1984.
The next step was to put up the stall at the exhibition hall on the
following day. Kuldip reached the hall and sweet-talked his way to get a
good location for his stall. ‘It was a corner stall and quite big,’ he said. The
other, more organized, exhibitors had arrived with their staff and helpers.
Kuldip was all alone. ‘I saw everyone moving purposefully and putting up
their stalls. Here was I, standing at my wonderful location and wondering
how to first put up my stall and then how to display the stuff,’ said Kuldip.
He saw some Indian students walking past. He asked them if they wanted
to earn a quick buck. The students, obviously, agreed. Kuldip got them to
work and put together his stall. The POPs were up and the posters were
showcasing the product range. Attractive shade cards and brochures of
different paints were also placed in the stall. He even managed to exchange
some dollars for a better price through the students.
‘My stall looked good but it was quite bare,’ said Kuldip, ‘but what
decorations could I put up in a paints stall?’ He looked around and saw a
famous beautician who had a retail brand in India busy moving some potted
plants from the general exhibition area to her stall.
‘She saw me looking at her. Instead of getting embarrassed she called
me,’ laughed Kuldip. He went up to the lady who asked him to help her lift
some more potted plants into her stall. ‘She was very clever,’ laughed
Kuldip heartily. However, he copied her and moved some potted plants into
his own stall!
‘I had told all the Russian people I was dealing with that I was going to
be exhibiting. I had invited them all,’ said Kuldip. They came but there
wasn’t much business done. The exhibition had masses of people but they
were all common people. The Soviet Union was a closed economy and the
general public had no exposure to the outside world and their products. An
exhibition of Indian products was a big attraction. ‘There were lines and
lines of people outside my stall. They wanted brochures, shade cards and
other printed material,’ said Kuldip
Kuldip was quite disappointed with his first experience in Moscow. ‘Not
a single order got signed,’ he said ruefully. But he perked up. ‘That was
August 1984. But in less than four years, by 1988, I was a star in Russia,’
he said proudly.
 Twenty-nine
‘Our Guns Were Loaded and We Were Prepared for
Any Eventuality’

On 31 October, soon after Kuldip returned from Moscow, Mrs Gandhi

was assassinated by her bodyguards. The next two days saw carnage on the
streets of Delhi. Innocent Sikhs were butchered on the streets. Mobs were
moving from colony to colony, market to market, killing Sikhs and
vandalizing their homes and businesses.
Sohan Singh and his family were in Golf Links. That colony was largely
protected due to the profile of people living in it. Moreover, each house had
its own security and the entry points had iron gates. So Sohan Singh and his
family were not in danger.
Kuldip and Gurbachan, however, lived in New Friends Colony in
separate houses not far from each other. By 1981, Gurbachan and Vinu had
moved from Golf Links to New Friends Colony. ‘My elder brother had
bought a plot of land in New Friends Colony and wanted me to move into
my own house. But I thought that Gurbachan needed to have his own house,
so I told him to get the house constructed for himself,’ said Kuldip. ‘Both
my brothers were living in their own homes but I was in a rented house. But
I guess it was okay,’ he continued. His tone belied his assertion, but he
insisted that he did not mind staying in a rented accommodation and that he
did so at his own choice.
New Friends Colony was the target of an organized mob on 1 November.
Gurbachan moved his family to safety during the night of 31 October, when
it was evident that Sikhs were being targeted. Kuldip too moved his family
out of their house. The two brothers had decided that they would stay back
to protect their property. While many Sikh families had abandoned their
homes and opted for personal safety, some refused. Jaspal Sawhney was
one such man.
Jaspal was a contemporary of Kuldip’s at Delhi University. ‘I knew
Kuldip in college but we were not close friends. It was more of “hi, hello ji,
changaji” kind of thing,’ Jaspal said.
Jaspal also had built a house in New Friends Colony and was Kuldip’s
neighbour. It was here that their friendship grew. The two families had
become quite close and the children would spend time in each other’s
houses. The families had started holidaying together as well.
‘I had always known that Kuldip is a businessman. But I saw him change
as his business started doing well. He became even more serious about his
business. In fact, I saw the growth of Kuldip the businessman when we had
to go for a holiday together once,’ Jaspal continued.
Jaspal’s and Kuldip’s families were scheduled to go to Kashmir for a
mini-vacation. The night before they were to leave, Kuldip called up Jaspal
and told him that he was cancelling his vacation.
‘I was very surprised as all tickets had been booked and hotels had been
paid. I asked him what the matter was,’ said Jaspal.
Kuldip told him that he had discovered that Rs 3,000 were missing from
his office at Ajmeri Gate and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.
‘I told him that he could investigate after the holiday, but he was
adamant,’ said Jaspal.
Kuldip cancelled his holiday, stayed behind with Meeta while Jaspal and
his wife went to Kashmir. Kuldip carried out a full investigation into the
missing amount.
‘It showed me for the first time his mettle as a businessman. The amount
of theft did not matter. The fact that someone had stolen the money was
important and he needed to get to the bottom of it,’ said Jaspal with
admiration in his voice.
Their friendship continued to grow and it was Jaspal whom Kuldip
turned to when the Sikh riots started in Delhi. On 1 November Kuldip and
Jaspal met to work out their course of action. ‘Both of us were clear that we
would not desert our homes. We were also clear that we would not let
anyone touch even one brick of our houses,’ said Jaspal passionately.
Kuldip and Jaspal had licensed guns and they took them out. They did
not shy away from letting people know that the guns were loaded and
would be fired in case any mob tried to hurt them or their property. ‘We
were prepared for any eventuality,’ said Jaspal.
Kuldip too remembered Jaspal and said, ‘Jaspal was there with me most
of the time.’
Rajkumar, Kuldip’s trusted employee, reached New Friends Colony
before mid-morning. He persuaded Kuldip to stay indoors.
‘He had his gun and he wanted to test it by firing it in the garden,’ said
Rajkumar. He had to use all his persuasive skills to prevent Kuldip him
from test-firing it. ‘I told him, finally, that if you fire your gun the sound
will carry. The mob will come rushing here,’ said Rajkumar.
Better sense prevailed and Kuldip went indoors while Rajkumar and
Kuldip’s cook stood guard at the gate. A similar scene was being played out
at Jaspal’s house. Gurbachan was keeping guard at his house.
The mob came to New Friends Colony, came to Kuldip’s house but did
not harm either the property or the resident. Similarly, Jaspal and
Gurbachan were left unscathed. ‘Maybe the mob had got the news that we
all had guns and that we were not afraid to use them,’ Kuldip speculated
more than thirty years later. ‘The mob burnt quite a few houses in our
colony but no one touched our houses,’ he added.
Even as the mob went away, the danger was not over. There was the
danger of another mob coming to attack. Along with Jaspal, Kuldip worked
out a plan to patrol the streets of his colony. Jaspal had an open jeep. He
and Kuldip got a couple of Sikh youngsters together. Their small group
patrolled the roads of their colony through the day and night.
‘We were not afraid to pull out our guns every now and then to show
people that we meant business if someone attacked us,’ said Jaspal. Those
two days were grim. But we survived,’ said Jaspal with a deep sigh.
The two friends survived the first two days of November 1984 unscathed.
Their friendship deepened; they became like blood brothers who fought the
enemy together and survived. In the two days of November 1984, Jaspal
earned Kuldip’s trust.
This trust was to enable Kuldip to lean on Jaspal for a business
partnership in the late 1980s.
1984–90
‘I worked very hard but enjoyed my time in the Soviet Union’—Kuldip Dhingra.
 Thirty
‘No One Ever Asked Me for a Bribe in Russia’

The year 1984 changed the lives of many Sikhs in Delhi. The lives of
Kuldip and his family changed too. After the two horrific days of
November 1984 it was as if Lady Luck, once again, wanted to send out a
sign that she was standing firmly with Kuldip and his family.
The 1980s saw Kuldip transform professionally. To start with, he stepped
out of his elder brother’s shadow and became the business patriarch of the
Dhingra family. He then established a new relationship with his younger
brother.
‘Gurbachan became the backbone of the operations. He handled the
factories and production single-handedly,’ said Kuldip.
And then there was the business with the Soviet Union. Exports to the
USSR transformed the fortunes of Kuldip and his brother.
The export business started slowly. ‘I got no order in August 1984 when I
went to Moscow for the first time. But by the late 1980s I was the biggest
exporter from India to the Soviet Union. I started by exporting paint but in a
few years, I was exporting paint, detergents, soaps, shampoos, large and
diverse range of household chemicals, textiles dyes, pigments, baby
detergent powder, toothpaste, toothbrushes, shaving cream, compressors for
refrigerators, electric panel parts, sewing machines and what not! Products
not even remotely related to paint were being sourced by me. I am sure that
the authorities had a full file on me and my activities as they were most
professional,’ said Kuldip. ‘But that came later. In 1984, I got no orders
from the exhibition.’
 Orders from the Soviet Union Trade Office continued to be sporadic.
However, since the orders were direct and without any intermediary, the
margins were extremely high. Kuldip explained the way imports into the
Soviet Union worked.
‘It was an economy based on a system of state ownership of industry,
collective farming and centralized administrative planning. The state owned
and controlled everything,’ Kuldip said, painting a picture of the Soviet
Union in the 1980s. ‘All exports and imports of the country were controlled
by state firms. Each category of goods had its own state firm.
Sojuzchimexport was the company that was responsible for all export,
import and internal trading of the chemical industry. This chemical industry
included raw material for paints, for textiles and household chemicals,
which then included soaps, shampoos, detergents, toothpaste and scouring
powder for washing dishes. Basically, a huge range of products which came
under the category of chemicals,’ said Kuldip stretching his arms out wide
to indicate the large range of products.
Once Sojuzchimexport got the products into their godowns at the port,
trucks and trains transported the products to the various regions, factories
and industries across the Soviet Union. All of this was ordered by this giant
firm, which was headed by the director general.
‘The director general controlled so much business! He was ordering from
all over the world—America, Japan, Europe, India—the entire globe.
Billions and billions of dollars’ worth of business.’ said Kuldip. Everything
produced in the Soviet Union that could be classified as part of the chemical
industry was exported through Sojuzchimexport; everything that was
imported was through this firm and all internal trade in the chemical
industry was handled by Sojuzchimexport. ‘They had a stranglehold on all
business and it was a virtual monopoly,’ said Kuldip. ‘It was a monolith of
an organization that had an insatiable appetite for all chemicals and
chemical products.’
As his initial orders were processed Kuldip figured out the flow of
business. The trade office in Delhi would give the inquiries for materials to
exporters. Once they received quotations from the Indian exporters, a
Russian delegation would travel to India to sign the orders. ‘All the
exporters would lie in wait for the delegation to come. Once the delegation
reached here, there would be a virtual stampede among the exporters to get
to the Russians,’ said Kuldip.
Exporters would take the visiting delegates to Goa and other such places,
for factory visits where wine and food flowed ceaselessly along with
business discussions. The Russians would lap it all up.
Kuldip understood the game but wanted to break away from this crowd.
Through his personal and business life he had understood that business is
done on the basis of personal rapport and trust. He had discovered this in
Amritsar in his early days of sitting at the shop and he had it reconfirmed
during his days in Europe.
The Russians are generally large people with larger personalities. They
are also proud people, with an ancient heritage. The country had been
shunned by the Western world after the Cold War. In Kuldip they found a
large man with a large personality, who was also charming. He was well
travelled and a good host. When he dealt with them, the Russians found him
sincere, hard-working and with an endearing childlike enthusiasm.
‘Anyone who deals with Kuldip knows that he does not lie, he keeps his
word and is totally trustworthy,’ said Meeta. The Russians realized that they
could trust him and responded to Kuldip’s overtures as he started building a
rapport with the officers of Sojuzchimexport.
Kuldip found the Russians largely honest people. I pointed out that this is
counter to the image they have around the world. Kuldip protested
vehemently. ‘No, no, not at all. No one ever asked me for a bribe in all my
dealings with them. Yes, they liked to come to India as it was an
opportunity for them to live the good life, which they could not in their own
country. So, what is wrong in wining and dining with the clients?’ he asked
firmly.
Kuldip started his outreach to build a rapport with the Russians at the top.
The director general at Sojuzchimexport was someone called Ivanovich. He
had senior officers who were heads of departments reporting to him. Each
department was staffed according to the quantity of business it handled. As
Kuldip described the set-up it was evident that Sojuzchimexport was
structured like a giant company anywhere in the world. The only difference
was that it was a monopoly and operated in a controlled environment.
This controlled environment was relaxed when the officers visited India.
Kuldip invited the delegations to his home for dinner. Meeta and Kuldip are
both generous and gracious hosts and they used their hospitality skills to the
maximum to start building a personal relationship with the officers of the
company. Meeta was used to organizing business dinners even before
Kuldip had started the exports business.
By now Kuldip had moved to his own house—a sprawling farmhouse not
far from his factory. The farmhouse, designed by Meeta, was the ideal
venue for business dinners. The Russians would lap up the Dhingra
hospitality. It was evident that the dinners at home converted the business
relationship to a more personal one.
The Russians did not ask for cash bribes but they did not say no to the
various gifts that exporters showered on them. ‘Gifts were allowed,’ said
Kuldip. The gifts would be the usual tea, cashew nuts, Scotch whisky,
cognac, cigarettes and Indian artefacts. ‘This is not bribery, is it?’ asked
Kuldip and continued, ‘I have seen big multinationals give gifts to their
clients. I myself get gifts from my bankers. Is this corruption?’
Kuldip backed his outreach programme, supplemented by dinners at
home and gifts, with quality products delivered on time. ‘There was never
an order that was delayed or of inferior quality,’ said Kuldip with pride. The
orders started coming with increasing regularity. However, Kuldip could see
that the potential for business with the Soviet Union was much larger.
‘I had to take a call. I realized that some of my time was still being spent
on the domestic Rajdoot Paints business. It was a good business and we
were making a name for ourselves. But the money was much more in the
exports. There were also less hassles,’ said Kuldip.
Exports did not have to suffer the excise inspectors, sales tax and other
assorted tax inspectors and the plethora of other government officials who
thrived in those years of ‘licence raj’. ‘It was a clean business. No number
two ka paisa needed,’ said Kuldip. He decided to put most of his focus on
the export business. ‘If it had not worked out, I alone would have been
responsible,’ he said.
The recurring theme in Kuldip’s life is that once he decided to achieve
something he did whatever it took to achieve it. He decided that Rajdoot
Paints would be run almost on autopilot with the professional team he had
in place.
‘True, I was still not happy with the CEO I had but at least I had one,’
said Kuldip as he reflected on the mid-1980s. At Rajdoot Paints, however,
he trusted people like Rajkumar who ensured that business was carried out
in line with the guidelines laid down by Kuldip. Gurbachan was managing
the factories and the production.
 Thirty-one
‘I Gave the Russians the 2 Per Cent Bonus
Scheme!’

Kuldip started visiting Moscow regularly. His visits to Sojuzchimexport

centred around one of the business divisions, the Household Chemical
Division, which included paints. A Russian lady, Madame Shayk, was head
of this division. She decided which order went to which supplier.
‘She was an elegant lady, tall and stunningly beautiful. She had red hair
and a charming presence. She could speak English very well and was a
complete professional,’ said Kuldip. He looked into the distance as if he
was seeing her image in his mind’s eye. There was a faint smile on his face
as he remembered her. ‘But she was very tough in her dealings with all of
us,’ he said, the smile leaving his face.
The orders to UK Paints had grown from 50 tonnes to nearly 10,000
tonnes. Since Kuldip had decided to focus on the exports business all orders
were executed on time. The specifications sent by the Russians were
produced by Gurbachan in the factory and the paperwork handled by the
team of staff under Neelam.
‘Oh God, the paperwork for exports never got over. One form and then
three more, and then more and more. Everything had to be tallied as the
Russians were very strict,’ said Neelam as she remembered those days.
Sometimes the orders given to UK Paints were executed even before
time. ‘This was something new for the Russians,’ said Kuldip. Before UK
Paints came on the scene, the Russians had been used to Indians asking for
deadline extensions and telling Sojuzchimexport that because of electricity
and other problems like strikes by workers, India could not produce more.
 ‘I said the complete opposite,’ said Kuldip sitting up straighter in his
chair. Kuldip told Madame Shayk that he could produce as much as they
wanted and within the deadlines they wanted. ‘And I told them that
electricity or no electricity, labour or no labour, if an order was given to me,
Sojuzchimexport would get it on time!’ he said.
Kuldip’s words were backed by actual performance. Within a short time,
Madame Shayk found herself signing more orders for UK Paints. ‘But it
was still not 100 per cent of their requirement,’ said Kuldip with a small
pout. He was not happy with the 30 per cent or even 40 per cent of their
total requirement. He wanted more.
As he visited Moscow more often he would meet Madame Shayk in the
office. He told her that he was unable to give her better prices and tighter
schedules as he was not sure of the forthcoming orders from Moscow. ‘You
have a requirement and I can give you more. But I need to plan better so
that I can get better prices for my raw materials,’ Kuldip told Madame
Shayk. The solution he offered the head of the department was that if he got
70 per cent of the total orders of Sojuzchimexport, he would not only give
them better prices and tighter schedules but also 2 per cent more as bonus at
the end of the year. Kuldip smiled broadly and his eyes sparkled as he spoke
about the ‘2 per cent bonus scheme’.
‘Just like the Delhi scheme!’ he said, beaming with pride at his own
ingenuity.
Dealers of Rajdoot Paints had understood and accepted the 2 per cent
bonus deal immediately. But it took the sustained effort of Kuldip before
Madame Shayk saw merit in his offer. Ultimately UK Paints got a contract
to supply Russia with 70 per cent of the total paint orders of
Sojuzchimexport. ‘I was not able to get a commitment for 100 per cent of
the orders. But I got there eventually,’ he said.
The Russians were looking to import large quantities of all kinds of
goods from India. Both governments were providing incentives for this
trade. One of the reasons for this focus was the Rupee Trade Agreements
signed by India and the Soviet Union in 1953. This agreement was billed as
the opening of a new chapter in the Indo-Soviet economic cooperation.
Under this, the Indian government purchased items like crude petroleum,
defence equipment and fertilizers from the Soviet Union and made the
payments in Indian rupees instead of in US dollars. Alongside, India
exported tea, clothing, consumer goods, paints and spices to the Soviet
Union and got paid in rupees. This allowed India to use the scarce US
dollars for trade with other countries.
One other reason for the Indo-Soviet cooperation was the fact that
independent India had been looking to build up a steel industry in the
1950s. Nehru had requested the US for assistance. However, the US had
rejected these requests. The Soviet Union saw an opportunity to start
building an economic relationship with India. They made an offer for
economic cooperation and India gladly accepted. The rupee–rouble trade
agreement was an important part of the economic cooperation. By the late
1970s India had a surplus of the Soviet rouble balances as India had bought
large defence supplies from the Russians. To counterbalance this excess,
exports from India to the Soviet Union started to soar. The Soviet demand
for agricultural raw materials like cashew and mangoes, and for consumer
goods ranging from soaps and detergents to textiles and shoe uppers seemed
insatiable. In fact, an entire mini-economy sprung up within India to cater
to the Soviet Union. The Indian trade surplus with the Soviet Union was
nearly US $500 million by 1983; this grew to US $700 million by 1986.
 Thirty-two
‘Russia Became the Favourite Child; Rajdoot
Paints Became the Neglected One’

It is often said that hard work alone is not enough for success. There needs
to be dollops of luck as well.
Kuldip did not shy away from hard work but it was Lady Luck that
ensured that he was at the right place at the right time. Business with the
Soviet Union had been Kuldip’s father Niranjan Singh’s dream, but he died
an untimely death just days before he was to leave for Moscow to explore
business opportunities. Almost twenty-five years later, it was as if he was
orchestrating the happenings and guiding his son, Kuldip, to fulfil his
unrealized dreams.
As the orders for export started growing so did the file that the state
authorities must have kept on Kuldip. ‘There were always two people who
would meet me at the trade office initially,’ said Kuldip. ‘One of them knew
his stuff about the paints and other things. The other one used to just sit
silently, listening and taking notes. I think that the second one was part of
the state authority who kept his eye on the kind of people they dealt with,’
he continued. While Kuldip was quite matter of fact about the state
authority being part of the discussion, I sat up surprised.
‘State authorities to watch out for trouble elements?’ I asked arching my
eyebrows.
‘Yes, I am quite sure,’ Kuldip answered. ‘They wanted to know who they
were dealing with,’ he continued.
The Soviet Union was at the height of the Cold War with the United
States. In fact, this cold war had come to the Summer Olympics in Moscow
in 1980. The US led the way in a mass boycott of the Moscow Games. In
these heightened tensions the Russians wanted to know if they were
working with ‘friends of the Soviet Union’ or otherwise.
Kuldip had been to countries behind the Iron Curtain as part of his hitch-
hiking holiday. He shared his experience with the Russians during the
various conversations they had had over many meetings. Further, his refusal
to take direct orders while he was working through Jyoti Impex had surely
also made its way into the file.
‘Not many people had refused to take direct orders from the Russians. In
fact, I think I must have been the only one,’ said Kuldip. The Russians took
note of this and had ticked off ‘loyal to associates’ and ‘honest in his
dealings’ in his file. ‘Once I had been given the clearance by the topmost
authorities concerned, there was no looking back for me,’ he said.
The Russians saw Kuldip as a person they liked to do business with. He
was different from the many other Indian exporters they had met. The
rupee–rouble trade agreement led to a requirement of millions of dollars’
worth of exports out of India into the Soviet Union. But the Russians found
that matters of quality and schedule could not be managed from Moscow.
The Indians usually asked for either more time or more money. Kuldip did
neither! Even at 70 per cent of all their requirement, Kuldip was able to
supply quality paint on time and wanted more business. The officers of
Sojuzchimexport appreciated this and, like any other office colleagues,
shared their experiences about their suppliers with each other.
In particular the Sojuzchimexport officers shared the wonderful time they
had in India, courtesy of Kuldip. It was not unusual to find ten to twelve
Russians at the Dhingra farmhouse in Delhi spending their day lounging in
the garden or in the pool, taking occasional trips to the buffet table set up in
the dining room.
‘I remember that Mom was very busy with all the parties for Papa’s
people from the Soviet Union. We kids got to know most of them,’ said
Rishma, Kuldip and Meeta’s eldest daughter.
‘It is because of Meeta that Kuldip was able to do so much of business
with the Russians. She was a wonderful hostess and took care of everything
at home,’ said Brinder Singh, a family friend of the Dhingras.
The parties at home also ensured that none of the other exporters would
be able to sidle up to the Russians to ask for business. ‘I ensured a totally
controlled environment in India,’ laughed Kuldip.
The visits to India were also a kind of R&R (rest and recreation) time for
the visiting officers. Their favourite places were Goa and Kerala as the
Russians loved the sun and the beaches of both the areas. Kuldip, however,
would take his visitors to even more exotic places. ‘I would charter planes
and take them to Goa, Kerala and the Maldives,’ said Kuldip. He made sure
that there were valid official and business reasons for them to accept such
trips.
His decision to go the charter route was made when he was travelling
with Russian delegates to Goa on an Indian Airlines flight. ‘I saw another
exporter also on the flight. He managed to get a seat next to Mr Tsygankov
and they talked through the flight,’ said Kuldip. ‘I did not like it at all.
Maine paise kharch ke ticket li hai Tsygankov ke liye aur [I have spent the
money on the ticket for Tsygankov and] that exporter spends the whole two
hours talking with my guest? This had to be stopped.’
Kuldip’s solution: Stop going commercial and start chartering flights!
The chartered planes meant that there would be no other exporters in the
plane and the exotic, expensive places ensured isolation. It was a win-win
situation for both parties—the Russians and Kuldip!
As his reputation spread among the Sojuzchimexport officers, Kuldip
started getting inquiries about a variety of products. ‘One day I was asked if
I could supply raw materials for paints and then a week later I was asked if
I could supply textile dyes,’ he said. At the time of the first such inquiry
Kuldip had asked in bewilderment, ‘But I am a paints producer. How can I
give you textile dyes?’
‘Textile dyes are also a kind of paint, is it not?’ came the reply.
‘In a way they were right, you know,’ said Kuldip.
‘The Russians told me that it did not matter if I produced them myself or
not. I could source the material from anyone but I had to make sure that the
quality, price and the deadlines were maintained,’ he added. Kuldip’s quick
business mind went into overdrive as he foresaw the possibility of
incremental business. He said yes to the first orders of textile dyes and
pigments for paints.
‘Haan tan maine kar ditti [I said yes] but then I had to come back and
find suppliers!’ said Kuldip. He talked the matter over with Gurbachan,
who handled all factory-related matters. ‘I said to my brother, “What’s the
problem? Of course, we can manufacture all this,”’ said Gurbachan with
total nonchalance.
Gurbachan had his trusted suppliers for raw materials for Rajdoot Paints.
However, the challenge in dealing with them was to keep to the deadlines
with uninterrupted deliveries at the required costs. The quantities were large
which added to the challenge. Gurbachan decided to work directly with
other factory owners for these critical requirements.
Time, it seemed, had come a full circle in less than ten years. UK Paints
had started their export business by supplying to Jyoti Impex who in turn
were exporters to the Soviet Union. By 1987 it was UK Paints that was
sourcing from others for the Soviet Union. ‘Word had got around
Sojuzchimexport and some other companies that I had been cleared from
the top and that I was dependable,’ explained Kuldip. He also made clear to
all the officers that UK Paints would only source the products for exports.
The Russians were fine with it so long as UK Paints took ownership of
quality, price and timely delivery.
With Kuldip’s total focus on growing the exports business, the domestic
business was run completely by professionals by now. ‘Rajdoot Paints was
like the neglected child,’ said Rajkumar, a member of the core team of
Rajdoot Paints. ‘KS had limited time and he used all of it for the Soviet
Union. We in India were left without much guidance. If he had spent even
some more time, Rajdoot could have grown very big. But I understand that
he had to focus on the exports,’ rationalized Rajkumar.
Kuldip continued to be unapologetic about shifting focus from domestic
to exports. ‘There was no comparison at all. Rajdoot could never have
compensated for Russia,’ he said expansively.
 Kuldip decided, consciously, to take his focus away from Rajdoot Paints
as he saw a better return on his time spent with the export business. He also
got Meeta to wind down her furniture and interiors business. ‘Kuldip told
me one day that he needed me in the exports business and that I should
wind down my own business,’ said Meeta. She was not quite happy at this
because she had built her own business from scratch. ‘Plus, I had orders to
finish. I had clients to take care of,’ she explained. But Kuldip needed
Meeta by his side as a business partner when he visited Moscow and as a
hostess when the Russians visited India.
‘I stopped taking new orders and focused on finishing the ones in
process. I told all my carpenters, my workers and staff that I was winding
down the factory,’ Meeta said. Meeta finished the orders in process and shut
down her business and showroom.
It was not only her business that had been taking her time. She was also a
mother handling the children almost single-handedly. ‘Kuldip was so busy.
He was travelling. He was negotiating. He was going all over. He had no
time for the children. I had to take care of him and the children,’ said
Meeta.
Rishma was the first one to leave home. She went to Buckingham
University in the UK. Jessima was in Aiglon College in Switzerland. ‘I was
going completely nuts. Between Delhi, Moscow, Switzerland and then the
UK, it was a mad time,’ said Meeta. Kuldip was focused totally on the
export business as he now had to manage products beyond just paint. ‘He
had no time for the family. He was only working. Moscow, Russians,
orders, delivery, that was his life. I did not want to disturb him,’ said Meeta.
She made sure that she was there for all her daughters no matter which part
of the world they were in. ‘I was there for all school meetings in
Switzerland and in the UK. No one had seen Kuldip and some used to
wonder about the father of the daughters!’ laughed Meeta.
Meeta used Jessima’s graduation as an occasion to drag Kuldip to Aiglon
College in the Swiss Alps. ‘I thought it was time that he visited at least one
of the colleges of his daughters,’ said Meeta.
 ‘Arrey, it is such a beautiful place! Why did you not get me here before?’
was Kuldip’s reaction when he reached Aiglon. Kuldip was so taken in by
the peace and tranquillity of the place that he decided he would spend a
week there. Meeta and he hired a car and they drove around the area. ‘We
had a lovely, but most unexpected, holiday,’ remembered Meeta.
 Thirty-three
‘Yeh UK Paints Kithon Aa Gaya Hai Exports
Karne?’
‘WHERE HAS THIS UK PAINTS COME FROM?’

With Rajdoot being managed by professionals, Kuldip realized that the

exports business also needed some professionals. ‘How much could I do? I
had to travel extensively, spend time in Russia, spend time with the Soviet
business professionals, entertain them, take them around in India.
Gurbachan was handling the factory and some procurement. I needed
someone to source suppliers for me,’ said Kuldip.
In the late 1980s, Indian industry needed to export to get import licences.
Almost every company, every business, had an export division. The
government did not care what was exported, whether it was related to the
core business of the company or not. Instead it encouraged and incentivized
the exporters for earning foreign exchange for the country. The government
wanted companies to show their export business before they were granted
import licences. Agro-chemical companies were exporting prawns and
scampi around the world; cigarette companies were exporting leather
goods; fertilizer companies were exporting ready-made garments. All for
those elusive, but important, import licences.
Kuldip and UK Paints were not short of suppliers—companies and
people willing to export. It was finding the right suppliers that was the main
issue. ‘There was a potential for a lot of ghaplabaazi [bungling] in sourcing
and I did not want any of that. I have always done things the right way,’
said Kuldip. To make sure that the procurement work would be done well,
Kuldip had to find the right person to work with him.
 ‘There was this boy, Kailash, who worked in ITC. His father was in
Jenson & Nicolson,’ said Kuldip. He liked the young professional and
wanted him to leave ITC to come and take charge of the export supplier
business. ‘His father got very angry with his son. He asked, “How can you
leave a company like ITC to go and work for a small company like UK
Paints?’’ said Kuldip with a laugh. But Kuldip had decided that he wanted
Kailash and used all his persuasive powers, charming him into leaving ITC.
‘He went against his father’s wishes to join me,’ said a delighted Kuldip.
Kailash took charge of sourcing suppliers across a variety of products. ‘I
had inquiries for textile dyes, dyes intermediaries, pigments for paints,
soaps, scouring powder, detergents, shampoos, shaving cream, toothpaste,
and then motors for sewing machines, compressors for refrigerators, electric
panel parts and various types of household chemicals,’ said Kuldip reeling
off names of items much like a waiter in an Udupi restaurant! In effect UK
Paints had become a kind of buying agency for the Soviet Union. A buying
agency, typically, is a body that buys goods on behalf of the foreign buyers.
The buying agent represents and buys a specific kind of product within a
specific territory, which can be a country or multiple countries.
By 1988, UK Paints was getting orders of 100 per cent of 20,000 tonnes
of paints that the Soviets bought from India each year. The company
managed to product all the paint itself. ‘However there was more than
50,000 tonnes of household chemicals that had to be exported. I had to find
other suppliers,’ said Kuldip.
Gurbachan was not happy at the orders going out. He wanted to
manufacture all of it at UK Paints.
‘Why give away business to others? We can do it ourselves,’ he said. But
the large factory at Sultanpur soon ran out of space to store even the
finished barrels of paints.
‘The finished paint products were exported in 200-litre barrels. We ran
out of space inside the storehouse and started piling the barrels out in the
open at our farm. We had to get special permission from the excise
authorities to store material in the open,’ remembered Gurbachan. Vinu and
Meeta too remembered going to the farm one day. ‘It was like a barrel-field!
Wherever the eye went, there were barrels and barrels of paint,’ Vinu said.
It was then that Gurbachan understood why Kuldip wanted to source
other suppliers for paints. Gurbachan, however, continued to get the factory
to produce more and deliver on time. He was putting to good use all that he
learned from not only his eldest brother Sohan Singh but also from visiting
large paint factories in Europe and the US.
Gurbachan is proud of one mixing tank—the tank in which all
ingredients of paints, the pigment, binder and solvent, are mixed together to
make the final product—in the Sultanpur factory. ‘Each batch coming out
of a mixing tank has a certain quality. To ensure consistency across a large
batch a bigger tank is required,’ he explained patiently. He, along with his
engineers, made a mixing tank that had a capacity of 70,000 litres. ‘The
largest paint company in India at that time, Asian Paints, also did not have a
tank as large as that,’ said Gurbachan. While he was not able to convince
Kuldip to insource all of household chemicals, he was able to persuade his
brother to allow him to set up a small factory to produce detergents and
scouring powder!
In Delhi, the crowd of suppliers wanting to export to the Soviet Union
through UK Paints kept growing outside Kuldip’s office. ‘I used to have a
line of people waiting to meet me for exports. But I would tell everyone that
my staff and Kailash would handle it,’ said Kuldip. He remembered a
particular supplier especially.
‘I got a call on behalf of Adi Godrej one day,’ said Kuldip. Adi Godrej
wanted to export to Russia and wanted the orders for household chemicals
like scouring powder, soaps, shaving cream and toothpaste. Kuldip told
Godrej that he would come the next day to meet him at the Godrej office in
Asaf Ali Road. ‘I still remember what Godrej told me,’ said Kuldip quietly.
Adi Godrej said that UK Paints was the client and Godrej was the supplier
and therefore, following protocol, it was Godrej who would come to
Kuldip’s office.
‘I thought to myself—he is such a big man but has such good values,’
said Kuldip.
 Gurbachan, however, has another memory of the same meeting. ‘Godrej
also wanted the order for detergents. We were already making them for
export. So we knew the costs,’ said Gurbachan with a delighted laugh. He
broke down the costs presented by Godrej, ingredient by ingredient, and got
them to agree to a cost which was 30 per cent lower than the initial one.
‘We were used to cost our own products down to the last detail as we
brothers had worked at the ground level,’ said Gurbachan.
As one of the de facto representative of the Soviet Union (or so the
Indian suppliers assumed) for a variety of products, UK Paints was in much
demand in the Indian market. However, there was much heartburn among
the manufacturers who were outsourced the products by UK Paints. ‘As for
paints, earlier there were export orders given to Jenson & Nicolson,
Garware, Asian Paints, British Paints, Modi Paints and others. All of these
gradually stopped as all orders were given to me,’ said Kuldip with a
chuckle.
It was obvious that these paint companies and the other outsourced
manufacturers were not happy with this new situation. ‘Yeh UK Paints
kithon aa gaya hai? Chhotti jeyi company hai aur saare orders ennoo mil
rahe hain [Where has this UK Paints appeared from? It is such a small
company and yet it is taking away all the orders],’ said Kuldip, repeating
what he had heard in the market. Some of these people complained to the
trade office of the Soviet Union. It was alleged that the quality of the
products being supplied were not good. ‘I told the trade office, “Check
against the specifications given to me,”’ said Kuldip. The trade office
checked but could not find fault with any of the materials being supplied by
UK Paints.
‘I was called by the owner of one of the large paints company in India.
He used to get orders for paints from the Russians earlier but now believed,
mistakenly of course, that he had to deal only with me if he wanted to
export,’ remembered Kuldip.
He met the business owner at the latter’s residence. ‘Why are you getting
all the orders, Mr Dhingra?’ asked the paints business owner aggressively.
‘You know we have stopped getting orders. Why is the Soviet Union doing
this?’ he continued, blowing a plume of smoke in the air as he crossed his
legs and leaned back in his chair.
Kuldip said steadily, ‘How should I know? I am not the Soviet Union. It
is better you ask them.’
Another large producer of dyes intermediates who supplied his material
to UK Paints for export, Mr Mehta, was also upset about not getting orders
directly from the Russians. ‘I was in a meeting at a Soviet State Firm Office
in Moscow. One of the officers came to me and said, “Mr Dhingra, will you
come into this room with me please,”’ said Kuldip. He was concerned as
the tone of the officer suggested some kind of hidden conspiracy.
‘My mind immediately went to things like orders not reaching on time,
quality not good, paperwork not done,’ continued Kuldip. With these
thoughts, he accompanied the Soviet officer to a meeting room. The officer
opened the door and gestured for Kuldip to walk in.
Kuldip was surprised to see Mr Mehta sitting inside the room, along with
a couple of the state firm’s officers. But Kuldip’s surprise was nothing when
compared to the shocked look on Mr Mehta’s face as he saw the newcomers
enter the room.
One of the dealing officers in the meeting room looked at Kuldip and
said, ‘Ah, Mr Dhingra, good you are here. Mr Mehta was asking us about
orders of H. acid and gamma acid and we thought it would be best if he
spoke to you directly.’ The officer turned to Mr Mehta and added, ‘You do
know, Mr Mehta, don’t you, that we are quite satisfied with these supplies
of textile dyes and intermediates from UK Paints?’
‘That Mr Mehta was trying to go behind my back and get orders
directly,’ Kuldip said, evidently still chafing. ‘I had never done that to Mr
Jain. But look, he was meeting these Russians and asking for orders,’ he
continued. The Russians, however, sent a message to Mr Mehta that they
trusted Kuldip and UK Paints.
 Thirty-four
‘We Were Given a Diplomatic Status in Moscow’

The business with the Soviet Union increased to the extent where Kuldip
realized that he needed an office in Moscow. The Soviet officials had also
started suggesting that it would be better if UK Paints had an office in
Moscow. It would help in more efficient business relationships which
would be good for growth of business. To his delight, UK Paints was
offered the status of an accredited company.
‘It was a huge complement and was a prestigious position which
signified the importance the Soviet Union was giving to UK Paints. You
know we were either the only, or one of the two–three companies from
India to be accredited by the Soviet Union?’ said Kuldip with evident pride.
‘We saw it as an honour, a reward and an extremely pleasant surprise,’ he
continued.
The other Indian companies that were given such accreditation were
limited to large government organizations like Air India, State Bank of
India, Indian Oil, State Trading Corporation (STC) and Metals and Minerals
Trading Corporation (MMTC). Being awarded an accreditation is like a
certificate by the giver that the company is competent, behaves ethically, is
trustworthy and employs suitable quality assurance. Being accredited by the
Soviet Union was a signal for all state firms in the country to give priority
and preference in doing business to such firms. For a small and relatively
unknown company like UK Paints, it was a huge pat on the back.
Being an accredited company also meant that UK Paints would be
accorded a diplomatic status which further meant that the government
would provide a suitable place for an office and residence at a reasonable
price. The government also provided a distinctive and special number plate,
like a diplomatic number plate for the cars.
‘We felt like total VIPs there. Almost like diplomats,’ said Kuldip with a
huge smile. He did not say it but that he, a shopkeeper from Amritsar, was
being treated at par with diplomats and with Indian giants like SBI, MMTC,
STC and Air India must have pleased him no end!
Kuldip was given two apartments with almost diplomatic status. He
combined the two and made an office in a part of it. Meeta had already
become part of the export business. She had wound down her furniture and
interiors business as, again, it made more business sense to focus on exports
to the Soviet Union.
But Kuldip needed more trusted people to deal with the Russian buyers.
‘I did not want to let any outsider deal with my buyers,’ said Kuldip
categorically. Gurbachan could not be pulled out of the factory at any cost.
Sohan Singh was not part of this business at all because of the unfortunate
stroke he suffered from in May 1982. The children were all in school.
‘Whom could you depend on?’ I asked, aloud.
‘Why do you forget that I also have a sister?’ asked Kuldip with a smile.
Ashi, Kuldip’s sister, was in Amritsar as her husband had moved there to
manage a couple of the yarn factories of his family. But his health was
delicate and the business was not doing very well. Kuldip had been worried
about his sister and her family for a while but did not want to do anything
that seemed patronizing. Kuldip now saw an ideal opportunity to achieve
both objectives all at once. Kuldip asked Ashi to help him out in Moscow.
‘Kuldip bhapa called me and said, “Ashi, I want you to go to Moscow
and manage our office there.” He said it so calmly and with full confidence
in me. But I was totally flustered,’ Ashi said. For a young lady whose work
experience had been limited to going to the factory and helping out with
some books of account it was a huge ask. ‘But Kuldip bhapa had full
confidence in me. And the Dhingra spirit in me told me that I had to live up
to his expectation,’ said the now-confident Ashi.
Meeta and Ashi started learning Russian at the Russian Centre in Delhi.
Ashi’s husband and children also took the Russian language classes and
were enthusiastic about the impending Russian adventure. Within four
months they had a vocabulary that could sustain the basic conversation. The
two ladies preceded the rest and went to Moscow to set up the house.
‘It was so cold,’ was the first impression that Ashi had of Moscow. Their
apartments, including the kitchen, needed to be set up. ‘Meeta and I set up
the whole house there and I moved bag and baggage, with my children, to
Moscow,’ said Ashi. Her husband had to stay back to look after his parents
and the work in Amritsar.
It was a completely new environment for Ashi, who had lived either in
Delhi or in Amritsar so far. She was away from her husband. She also had
to learn how to deal with the Russian officers in Sojuzchimexport and other
companies.
‘Kuldip bhapa helped me in each step at Moscow. He taught me how to
go for meetings, how to conduct meetings, the nuances of dealing with the
Russians, how to talk to people and how to conduct myself . . . everything,’
said Ashi.
While Kuldip supported her during her stay in Moscow, Meeta provided
a home for Ashi’s children in Delhi. ‘My son, Gurpreet, and daughter,
Nikita, lived with Meeta in Delhi for quite some time as they had to go back
to Delhi for their education. And Meeta never, even once, differentiated
between her daughters and my children. She treated everyone the same.
That is why sometimes I feel my children love their mami as much as they
love me!’ she said.
The office in Moscow helped the business grow even more. Kuldip now
had a trusted hand in Moscow to deal with the officials. Ashi would go
regularly for liaison meetings, for getting inquiries, to show new samples,
to get orders.
‘I had decided that I would have my own identity in Moscow,’ Ashi said.
She decided to take only her silk sarees to Moscow. ‘I had long hair at that
time and I would make a tidy bun,’ she remembered. The lady in the sari
with a coat and a bun became a familiar figure in the offices and corridors
of Sojuzchimexport and other companies in Moscow.
 The small office of the Dhingras in Moscow was staffed with some
Indians who had stayed on in Moscow after their studies. There were a
couple of locals as well. ‘I am absolutely certain that our apartment and
office in Moscow were bugged,’ said Ashi seriously. Her driver was also a
local and she suspected that he too was part of the ‘overseeing team’ of the
Russians. ‘But I was not worried. Why should I be? I was not doing
anything wrong, was I?’ she added.
From the growth of business after Ashi went to Moscow, it looked like
she was doing everything right. The business was growing by leaps and
bounds and Kuldip needed to set up another company to take in more
orders.
‘It would work better if the entire business was split between at least two
or more companies,’ said Kuldip. Thus, UK Paints set up a sister company
with Meeta, Ashi and Vinu as its owners. This company of empowered
women expanded the business footprint of the Dhingras in the Soviet
Union.
‘The first time I went in for a business negotiation I was quite terrified
inside,’ said Meeta. It was a discussion for an order of toilet soap. The
Russians wanted tonnes of it. She spent ten days in discussions. ‘I knew the
offices as I had been coming with Kuldip but I did not know too many
people. The Russians kept asking for details and I had to keep going back
and forth to get them the information,’ continued Meeta. Just before Meeta
left for India, she had a commitment of Rs 5 crore order in her hand.
 Thirty-five
‘Russian Export Business? It Is Only So-So’

With the women taking care of the Moscow office, Kuldip had more time
to look after the delegations when they came to India. ‘By the late 1980s
UK Paints was sourcing pretty much everything that we could think of. I
was signing orders very frequently and very regularly. They wanted to deal
only with me, so there were days that I signed more than three orders in a
day,’ said Kuldip.
Many of the orders were signed by the delegations when they visited
India. All signing of the orders was accompanied by cocktails and lunches
and dinners as celebratory protocol events. There were days when Kuldip
had an early dinner, signed a contract and then went for a later dinner and
signed another contract. Since he was dealing with the Russians, he had to
keep up with them when it came to drinking. ‘I was leading such a hectic
life. Business meetings through the day, then drinking with the Russians
and then dinner and then drinking till late,’ said Kuldip with a shudder. He
was prone to headaches but could not let his health come in the way of
business. And for sure he enjoyed his drinks too! He started popping
painkillers. Since in most cases, he had to host his business partners for
cocktails and dinner, the painkillers were chased down by alcohol.
It was not only the health and the too-much-of-the-good-life problem that
Kuldip had to deal with. ‘There were many ladies who used to be part of the
delegations,’ said Kuldip in a muted voice. The ladies were all officers of
either Sojuzchimexport or some other Russian company giving business to
Kuldip. His looks and charismatic personality didn’t just help in getting
orders but also ended up inviting attention. ‘There were a couple of those
women who were sort of trying to get extremely friendly and close to me,’
he said with a little swagger. ‘Or maybe it was just a feeling I had due to
their favouring me consistently with big and profitable orders?’ he
wondered aloud.
Trading with the Soviet Union followed a bilateral trade agreement
between governments. The suppliers got the money in their bank account
against LCs (letters of credit) immediately on submitting documents
including proof of delivery. Between the Delhi and the Moscow offices,
there came a time when UK Paints was told that the quota of exports under
the trade agreement for the year was exhausted. However, the appetite of
the Russians was insatiable. They wanted more goods from UK Paints.
‘They were importing for one-sixth of the land mass of the world,’ said
Kuldip. All material went to the port of Odessa and from there it was sent
by trains, roads or even planes across the vast country. ‘It was such a large
country. They had eleven time zones. Wohh khatam hi nahin honda [the
country never ended],’ laughed Kuldip. Unable to export more from India
Kuldip sought, and received, permission from the Indian government to set
up a company overseas. Thus, UK Paints Overseas was set up.
Kuldip had requested his wife and sister to help out when he could not
handle the India business alone. Now that he had to source from overseas,
he fell back on his trusted friend, Jean Claude. The Frenchman had kept in
touch with Kuldip. He had even visited the Dhingras a couple of times after
that initial trip in the minivan. Jean Claude was happy to help out as exports
meant good money. The Frenchman started sourcing for UK Paints
Overseas from Spain, Portugal, Algeria, France and other countries to
export to Russia.
Those were the heady days for Kuldip and UK Paints. ‘By 1990 the
profits from my export business were more than the profits made by Asian
Paints,’ said Kuldip. Asian Paints was and continues to be the largest paints
company in India. Besides being the largest, Asian Paints is also among the
most respected companies in the country. Kuldip was particularly happy
about being more profitable than they were at that time. However, the low-
key Dhingras kept the financials also low key and did not publicize their
profits or their sales volumes.
‘People would ask me about the Russian business and I would say, ‘Aisa
hi hai, bas theek thaak hai, margin-vargin kuch nahin hai’ [Business is just
okay, the margins are nothing],’ laughed Kuldip. He also did not speak
about the volumes and the quantum as he preferred to be under the radar of
their competitors.
However, he was very particular about the quality of material being
exported under UK Paints. ‘There was a huge reputational risk as I had
spent years and years building my credibility,’ said Kuldip. He ensured that
UK Paints used its inspectors and quality assurance professionals before
each order was exported. Much of the inspections were done at the
suppliers’ factories.
‘I put the fear of the Russians in all my suppliers,’ said Kuldip simply.
He told them that if any order was found wanting in quality or delivery
schedule, the suppliers, even if they managed to escape the wrath and
claims of the Russians, they would have to deal with Kuldip personally as
well.
 Thirty-six
‘The Dalai Lama Told Papa Not to Deal in Arms’

Kuldip’s trustworthiness had grown so much in the eyes of the Russians

that he was the go-to person for almost all their requirements, even those
other than in the chemical industry. ‘I remember that the Russians sounded
out Papa to be involved in everything they did. They trusted him so much,’
said Rishma.
While Kuldip revelled in this trust, it came to bite him most
unexpectedly. The Russians sounded him out to deal, on their behalf, for
selling defence equipment to third-party countries.
‘Defence equipment?’ I exclaimed! ‘You mean guns and all that?’
‘Yeah,’ said Rishma ‘and he was most uncomfortable with this even
though it had nothing to do with India.’
Kuldip did not want to get anywhere close to anything related to defence
even though the products being discussed were army tents, uniforms and
boots. However, the Russians were trying their best to convince him to get
involved. Kuldip, by now, interacted with the big bosses of the Soviet trade.
He was also much obliged to the Soviet Union for supporting him in his
export business. He was caught between a rock and a hard place.
‘Papa was in a real dilemma. He did not want to do any kind of defence
business for sure. But he also did not know how to refuse, diplomatically of
course. He did not know what to do,’ said Rishma.
Kuldip firmly believes that God looks after him and that he sends his
people to save him when no one else can. His saviour at this stage came in
the form of His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
 ‘We had all gone to Manali for a brief holiday. There were two of our
guests, one Russian lady and a Turkish businessman, with us as well,’
remembered Rishma. Kuldip and Meeta with their three daughters had
planned to take the visiting guests to Manali.
As luck would have it, the Dalai Lama was in Manali at the same time.
The foreign guests saw the hoardings about his discourse and wanted to
attend it. Kuldip made inquiries and was told that there was a separate
enclosure for foreigners and they could all go there.
After the discourse the foreign guests wanted a personal meeting with
His Holiness. The resourceful Kuldip, once again, ran around and spoke to
the protocol officer of the Dalai Lama. ‘Papa told the protocol officer that
our guests are extremely keen to meet with His Holiness,’ said Rishma.
‘Sure, come tomorrow at 4 p.m.,’ was the immediate reply of the
protocol officer.
The next day all of them trooped in for a private meeting with His
Holiness. They met with the officers of the Dalai Lama and were escorted
into a room. ‘We had a face-to-face meeting with His Holiness!’ said
Rishma.
The group sat on the floor and were given tea. The Dalai Lama walked in
with his trademark smile and a twinkle in the eye. He spoke with the group
and then told them that each of them could ask questions if they had any. ‘I
don’t remember what questions any of us or our guests asked but I
remember very clearly what Papa asked,’ said Rishma.
‘Your Holiness, one hears about attaining moksha. And the way to attain
moksha is to go away from worldly duties; you go away to the mountains or
to the forests and you start meditating and you get into the spirituality thing
rather than doing all this that we are doing. Working, earning money. All
these social obligations. If I did that, who would look after my family, who
would look after all the employees that I think I am actually supporting, and
in turn their families? If I was to be selfish and go and try and attain
moksha for myself what happens to everyone else whom I, rightly or
wrongly, feel responsible for?’ asked Kuldip of His Holiness.
 The Dalai Lama looked at Kuldip, thought for a moment and said, ‘You
are absolutely right. You don’t need to go and leave all this and your
business because you are helping people in a much bigger way.’
‘But,’ Rishma paused dramatically and said, ‘he told Papa, “But, never
indulge in any business that is connected to violence. Do not deal in any
weapons or any goods used for wars.”’
‘The Dalai Lama actually said this? He told your father not to do any
business in arms?’ I asked in amazement.
‘Yes, he said that. In front of our Russian and Turkish guests. He told
Papa, “Never indulge in businesses that are connected to violence. If you do
not deal in arms the wars will not stop; if you deal in weapons wars will not
start. But wars are a curse for mankind and we need to spread the message
for peace,”’ said Rishma.
Kuldip looked around to his Russian guest as the Dalai Lama finished
speaking, and as soon as they walked out he told them that he would follow
the instructions of His Holiness. To their credit, the Russian lady must have
conveyed this message to the concerned people and the Russians stopped
their conversations with Kuldip about defence business.
‘That day changed our lives. I think it also helped Papa structure his
mind,’ said Rishma. ‘We still have goose pimples every time we think about
it. Without any of us talking of arms or any such business, the Dalai Lama,
out of the blue, spoke and solved Papa’s problems,’ said Rishma. ‘It really
was a kind of divine intervention,’ she finished.
While the Russians stopped talking to Kuldip about selling arms for
them, they built up another kind of pressure. After importing household
chemicals, paints and other products through UK Paints from India and
other countries, one large state firm wanted Kuldip to start sourcing
household chemicals from Syria and Jordan. ‘I said to myself kithe hai
Syria–Jordan aur kithe hoon main!’ said Kuldip. But the Russians had a
trade surplus from these countries and wanted Kuldip to start exporting
from those countries to recover their monies.
‘I knew it made good business sense but I could not handle it myself,’
said Kuldip. He also knew that the business was one that needed trusted
hands on the job. Jean Claude was doing admirable work out of France and
neighbouring countries. Kuldip wanted him to stay focused on that. The
Dhingra ladies were managing the business from Moscow and Delhi. He
realized that he did have a friend whom he could trust completely.
Jaspal Sawhney was running his own furniture business. ‘But I was
getting tired of it as it was a very personalized business,’ said Jaspal. His
friendship with Kuldip had only grown since 1984. Kuldip asked Jaspal if
he would like to partner with UK Paints to set up an exports business out of
Jordan and Syria. ‘I had absolutely no idea about exports till then. I was
only dealing with the domestic market,’ said Jaspal. He came from an
illustrious business family of Delhi and was a part-owner of the iconic
Plaza Cinema in Connaught Place. An astute businessman, Jaspal
understood the potential that the partnership with Kuldip offered. He agreed
and became Kuldip’s business partner.
‘My first trip to Syria and Jordan was an eye-opener,’ said Jaspal. Syria
was under emergency law and had been so from 1963. ‘The country was
rich but the people were poor. The state was all powerful,’ said Jaspal. He
had the onerous task of finding the right-profiled suppliers for products the
Soviet Union wanted.
‘I had to find people who could produce in larger quantities and were not
breaking any law of the land,’ said Jaspal. Kuldip had been clear from his
early discussions with Jaspal. No law was to be broken and everything had
to be done as per the system.
After visiting both the countries, Jaspal also understood the reason for
Kuldip’s keenness to export from Syria and Jordan. Both these countries
had a land route as well as a sea route to the Soviet Union. It also took less
time for shipments to reach their destination from these two countries.
‘Kuldip had seen that the frequency of the orders increased if the deliveries
were made faster. It was good business but for me it lasted only a couple of
years,’ Jaspal said ruefully.
Within a couple of years of Jaspal and Kuldip’s partnership, the Soviet
Union broke up.
 ‘I saw it happen. I was there,’ exclaimed Ashi as she remembered the
night of 25 December 1991. ‘It was a momentous day when Mikhail
Gorbachev resigned as the president of the Soviet Union and Boris Yeltsin
took over as the president of the newly independent Russian state.
While his friend rues the day Soviet Union collapsed, Kuldip was
ecstatic. ‘My mind and body had started protesting against my lifestyle. I
was sure that I would die if I continued this lifestyle,’ said Kuldip. The
continuous pressure of work spread across India, Europe, Syria, Jordan and,
of course, the Soviet Union combined with the almost daily wining and
dining of the Russians had taken a toll on Kuldip. However, he could not
stop the business as not only was it very lucrative but there were also many
others who were dependent on it.
It does seem that destiny has played an important part in the life of
Kuldip Singh Dhingra. Just when Kuldip Singh’s mind and body had started
protesting against his lifestyle, the Soviet Union disintegrated. And the
booming export business screeched to a halt.
‘I went to Bangla Sahib and thanked Babaji the day Soviet Union
collapsed,’ said Kuldip. ‘It saved my life,’ he said with complete
seriousness.
1990
 ‘I remember that our house used to be full of visitors from the Soviet Union. Here you can see
Papa with the officials of the Foreign Trade Office of the Soviet Union in India. Mr Vakulenko,
foreign deputy trade commissioner, is the one with the dark glasses’—Rishma Kaur, Kuldip’s eldest
daughter.
 Thirty-seven
‘Berger Paints Is Being Sold and I Want to Buy It’

‘Surinder, have you seen today’s Economic Times?’ asked Kuldip, ‘The
news says that Vijay Mallya wants to sell off Berger Paints. I want to buy
it.’
‘Huh? What?’ Surinder (name changed to protect identity) asked.
Surinder was a neighbour of the Dhingras in Golf Links. Kuldip, the
Dhingra cousins and he had spent their early childhood days together.
‘It was either 1 or 2 February 1990 and I was in Bombay. I had not seen
the paper that morning,’ said Surinder.
‘Go and see for yourself. Berger Paints is being sold and we want to buy
it. Please tell Vijay Mallya that we want to buy that company,’ said Kuldip
again, unfazed by the response, or the lack of it, from his friend.
Surinder had been a business associate of Vittal Mallya’s, Vijay Mallya’s
father, and was now dealing with Vijay. ‘I think he has already sold Berger,’
said Surinder, maybe trying to wriggle out of the conversation, and added,
‘I was in the room when Vijay was talking to the other party about the sale.’
‘No, no, no! I want to buy Berger Paints. Please get me a meeting with
Vijay Mallya,’ said Kuldip urgently.
‘You are saying you saw the news in 1990? And you guys bought Berger
in 1990?’ I asked Kuldip. ‘But the Soviet Union collapsed only in
December 1991. So why did you want to be distracted in 1990 when you
export business must have been going strong?’ I queried.
‘Oh yes, business was at its peak in 1990. But I knew instinctively that it
was too good to last,’ said Kuldip. He certainly did not know that the Soviet
Union would collapse a year later, but he was sure that the good times for
exports would not last. ‘It was like a dream. But I know that it doesn’t take
much time for a dream to quickly end as well,’ said Kuldip sagely.
Kuldip’s sixth sense had been raising its head for a few months now.
Business had grown from virtually zero to hundreds of crores of rupees.
Kuldip was a star in the Soviet Union and he was a star in India.
‘I just knew that this could not last,’ he said, adding, ‘I used to discuss
this with Gurbachan as well. That this just could not have lasted.’
As he was convinced that the export business was unlikely to be
permanent he resisted the pressure Gurbachan was putting on him to set up
more factories. ‘Gurbachan kept telling me that we can produce soaps, the
detergents, the shampoos, the scouring powder and every other thing. Why
was I letting others take the orders? He could set up factories in no time and
start the production of all of these products,’ said Kuldip.
‘Of course, we could make everything that the others were supplying.
Why give so much of money away? But Kuldip bhapa believed that it
would not last,’ said Gurbachan.
Kuldip chose to go by his gut instinct. ‘I kept telling Gurbachan, “Eh
export business khatam ho jayega ek din [This export business will end one
day]. Then these factories will become white elephants,”’ said Kuldip.
The collapse of the Soviet Union was the last thing on Kuldip’s mind
when he sat down to have his coffee and opened the financial daily for his
morning update one late January morning.
‘I saw the news about Vijay Mallya selling Berger and I knew
immediately that I had to buy that company,’ said Kuldip. ‘We had oodles
of money. How much of property could I buy? We had to buy a business,’
he continued. He had been speaking with Gurbachan over the last few
months about their future. The Rajdoot business had grown during the last
ten years, but it was still in the range of Rs 10–15 crore annually.
‘We had many small factories, all under Rs 1 crore to reap the benefit of
small scale. But the name Rajdoot was not a premium brand,’ explained
Gurbachan. The two brothers had been bouncing around ideas about buying
a running paints business.
 ‘We had been in discussions with some other paint companies. I even
went to London to discuss the matter with the foreign owners of a well-
known paint company,’ said Gurbachan. UK Paints was not a known
company, Rajdoot was a small brand, and the Dhingras were low-profile
people. The foreign promoters had a large business worldwide and were
selling only their Indian operations. They did not like the idea of selling out
to what they thought was a smaller company run by someone who did not
understand corporate culture and had been running a shop in Amritsar till a
few years ago.
‘I got the feeling that he was not even happy talking to us about it,’ said
Gurbachan without any self-pity. The foreign owners eventually sold their
company to a better-known and a bigger industrial family of Delhi.
‘But could you not use the money to focus on Rajdoot Paints which was
your own company anyway?’ I asked Kuldip.
‘But Rajdoot would have to be managed by me if I wanted it to become
even half as big as what Berger was then. And I simply did not have the
time. Berger was a professionally managed company and had a good team
—at least that is what I thought at that time. I believed that once we bought
the company, apne aap chalti rahegi [it will run by itself],’ explained
Kuldip.
Kuldip certainly did not have any time to manage any other business
except his export business. The export business had given him ‘oodles of
money’ as Kuldip put it, and it had also given Kuldip a world view of
business. He was dealing with a cross section of professionals from around
the world and he had become used to large businesses. Rajdoot, though one
of the fastest-growing paint companies in India in the late 1980s, was at
best a regional company. It was not a star or even an emerging star on the
horizon. Kuldip, on the other hand, had become used to being a star! He
was feted as an important businessman in the Soviet Union and was known
as a big exporter in India. Should the export business wind down, he knew
that he would continue to be very wealthy but he would feel stifled by the
small, regional business of Rajdoot. He did not want to be clubbed in the
‘Others’ category in the domestic paints business. He realized he needed a
larger canvas for his domestic business dreams.
‘I was doing business in hundreds of crores with the Soviet Union. And
the total turnover of Rajdoot then was just Rs 10–15 crore,’ said Kuldip.
While he was exporting a variety of items to the Soviet Union, at heart he
remained a paints-man. ‘There was only one business I understood well and
that business was the paints business,’ said Kuldip. So when he saw the
headlines about Berger Paints being sold, the instinct bulb in his head burnt
bright.
Berger Paints has an interesting history that goes back to 1760. Lewis
Steigenberger, a German citizen, moved to London from Frankfurt that year
to sell Prussian blue, which he made using his own secret formula. For ease
of business, he shortened his last name to Berger and became known as
Lewis Berger. The Prussian blue was a success and he soon expanded the
business to sell more than nineteen different pigments as well as black lead,
sulphur, sealing wax and mustard.
Lewis Berger died in 1814 and his sons, John and Samuel, inherited a
successful business. The third generation of the business, Lewis Berger’s
grandsons—Lewis Curwood and Capel Berrow Berger—inherited the
business after the death of John and Samuel. The fourth generation, Arthur,
who was the son of Lewis Curwood, took over the business and kept it
running. Lewis Berger and Sons, the company, was incorporated in 1879,
almost twenty years before the Dhingras set up their first shop in Amritsar!
The newly formed company was headed by Arthur John Berger, who was
the managing director of the company. The new board of directors, and
Arthur in particular, made some decisions that did not take the business
forward.
In 1905, the financial health of the company became quite uncertain. The
company gave the opportunity to a competitor, Sherwin Williams, an
American paint company, to buy a controlling stake in the company but
keep the brand of Berger going. The company was made a private company
in 1908 and went public in 1926.
 In 1960 the company merged with Jenson and Nicholson and the new
company was called Berger, Jenson and Nicholson Limited (BJN). In 1969
BJN acquired British Paints and became the second-largest paint-producing
company in the world.
At the time, British Paints was part of an American company, Celanese
Corp. They had an Indian operation headquartered in Calcutta. The Indian
company, British Paints India, too was sold as part of the larger company
and became part of BJN. However, the company in India continued as
British Paints India.
BJN as the second largest paint company had been on a roll with the
acquisition of other companies. In 1970 it was the turn of BJN to be
acquired. Hoechst AG, the world’s largest chemical company, was based in
Frankfurt. Hoechst bought BJN in 1970 and in a sense the company turned
a full circle. It was in 1760 that Lewis Berger moved to London from
Frankfurt. Over two hundred years later, the business came back to
Germany.
Hoechst was present in India through Hoechst Pharmaceuticals. Vittal
Mallya, Vijay Mallya’s father had, along with two other Indian partners,
tied up with Hoechst AG to promote the pharma company in India. Vittal
Mallya owned 48 per cent of the Indian company and was the chairman of
the board. He was an unassuming man, the son of an army doctor, who
quietly built an empire by acquiring companies. Before his death in 1983,
he owned United Breweries, McDowell and Carew, Kissan, Dipy’s, Finit
and companies that produced Singer sewing machines, Cadbury chocolates
and some of the most commonly used drugs of Hoechst and Roussel.
When the parent company Hoechst AG acquired BJN, Vittal Mallya
became the owner, and subsequently the chairman of British Paints India as
it was a part of BJN. Vijay Mallya was a teenager in 1970. However, his
father wanted to groom him for the top job. He sent his son to the US for
his studies and thereafter for getting work experience in Hoechst and Jenson
and Nicholson. Back in India, Vittal Mallya renamed British Paints India as
Berger Paints India Limited.
 Vittal Mallya died in 1983 and Vijay inherited the diversified businesses.
The young man realized that the diverse portfolio of businesses was too
much for him to handle. He decided to sell off some of the companies.
Starting off with Kissan and Dipy’s he sold off many businesses that his
father had built. However, Berger Paints was a company that he
consolidated.
‘The CEO at that time, Biji Kurien, convinced Vijay Mallya to buy the
global paints business of Berger/British Paints,’ said Subir Bose who led
Berger Paints after Kuldip bought it. The opportunity to buy the global
business came in 1988 when Hoechst AG sold BJN to William Holding.
Allowing himself to be convinced by Biji Kurien, Vijay Mallya acquired
Berger’s overseas operations, excluding Australia, Europe and the UK,
through a leveraged buy-out.
Vijay soon realized that the paints business was neither easy to operate
nor did he have any interest in it. United Breweries was his first love and he
wanted to focus on it. The expansion of his core business was burning a lot
of cash and as a result Berger Paints India was left wanting for funds. The
business suffered and the company’s financial health began to deteriorate.
Vijay Mallya thought it best to divest this business and use the funds
received for his core business. Through some discreet discussions some
interest was shown from paint companies of Bombay. The Dhingras in
Delhi, and with Kuldip unconnected with the corporate world, had no clue
of the impending sale of Berger Paints India.
 Thirty-eight
‘Tussi Tan Dukaandar Ho, Company Kaise
Sambhaaloge?’
‘YOU GUYS ARE SHOPKEEPERS. HOW WILL YOU MANAGE A
COMPANY?’

‘I did not know anything about Berger except maybe the turnover and the
fact that it was a professional multinational,’ said Kuldip.
Going back to that early February morning in 1990, Surinder said he was
sceptical about Kuldip’s keenness to buy Berger. Kuldip did not know the
details of the business units, the production in various factories, the debt
Berger had on its books. ‘In short, he knew nothing except the brand and
the turnover. It was like looking at a car and wanting to buy it without going
on a test drive or even checking how much of mileage it had done already,’
said Surinder.
Gurbachan remembered that when Kuldip and he first spoke to Surinder,
the instinctive response was, ‘Tussi tan dukaandaar ho, company kis terhan
sambhaaloge [You guys are shopkeepers. How will you manage a
company]?’
‘I knew they were doing well in exports but Berger was a multinational. I
wondered if Kuldip had the wherewithal to buy such a company,’ admitted
Surinder. Surinder Singh today is one of the largest distributors of liquor in
India. He is also one of the largest importers of wines and other liquor. He
had started his business when Vijay Mallya’s father was running the show.
He had, thus, seen Vijay grow up, work with and then head the liquor
company. Surinder was fairly familiar with the liquor baron and Kuldip
wanted to exploit this proximity.
 ‘Vijay Mallya used to sponsor the Derby in Bombay every year. It was
held on the first Sunday of February every year. So, I knew that I would
meet Vijay in the next few days,’ said Surinder. He told his friend Kuldip
that he would speak to Vijay Mallya and try to set up a meeting.
‘That’s all I wanted. A meeting with Vijay Mallya,’ said Kuldip.
On 4 February, which was the first Sunday of the month, the glitterati of
Bombay went to Mahalaxmi Race Course, which is the venue of the Derby.
Surinder found Vijay Mallya surrounded by his friends and associates,
which was nothing unusual. He managed to catch Vijay Mallya’s eye and
conveyed to him through a hand gesture that he wanted a moment.
‘What is it, Surinder?’ asked Vijay.
Surinder told Vijay about his childhood friend who was one of the
biggest exporters to the Soviet Union and now wanted to buy Berger Paints.
‘But you know that the deal is almost done,’ said Vijay sounding a bit
irritated that one of his business associates was talking about an unrelated
business deal.
‘But Sir, all he wants is a meeting with you. After that it is your call
anyway. And if he is ready to pay you more than what you are already
getting . . .?’ Surinder let the sentence trail away.
The shrewd businessman in Vijay Mallya saw an opportunity to negotiate
for a better deal. ‘Tell your friend that I am in Delhi next week. We can
meet at home,’ Vijay said in Surinder’s ear as he turned to greet some new
friends in his booming voice.
Surinder quickly called Kuldip with the news and promised to set up the
meeting. ‘But I was still quite sceptical,’ said Surinder candidly. He had
known Kuldip as a child and then had kept in touch with him sporadically
through the intervening years. ‘But I had not met him for at least the last
three years,’ said Surinder. He, however, had seen Kuldip’s cousins who
lived in Golf Links. The cousins were all traders and Surinder believed that
Kuldip too was following the family tradition of trading in paints.
He was not sure if Kuldip would be able to take forward the discussion
about buying a company like Berger. ‘I told him that I had a sensitive
relationship with Vijay Mallya’s company. My entire business depended on
him. I did not want to be in a situation where we went in deep and then
Kuldip backtracked because he could not carry forward the deal,’ he
continued.
Kuldip assured him that not only did he have the money to buy the
company but also he had the intent to do so. ‘I was still sceptical but then I
trusted my friend,’ admitted Surinder.
‘Gurbachan and I went to meet Vijay Mallya at his Sardar Patel Marg
home,’ remembered Kuldip. Surinder was also present at the meeting. ‘We
reached his house and Vijay was sitting in his large room having beer,’
remembered Gurbachan.
‘Come on, guys, have a cold one,’ offered Vijay to his guests.
‘But we had gone for work, how could we have beer?’ asked Gurbachan
as he related the story. The beer offer notwithstanding, the conversation got
going from the start.
Vijay Mallya knew Surinder was a common factor. Kuldip found Vijay
Mallya to be a very smart businessman, a far cry from the flamboyant and
larger-than-life image that was later to become the trademark of the liquor
baron.
‘We talked about the paints business and then talked about many other
things,’ said Kuldip.
Surinder added, ‘We completely sidestepped the fact that we were there
to negotiate a buy-out. Vijay Mallya kept asking us about our Golf Links
days and then our college days. We talked of many things, laughing and
chatting. I think of the total time we spent, only 5 per cent went in talking
about Berger Paints.’
Vijay Mallya understood, astutely, that the Dhingras were very keen to
acquire Berger Paints. He upped his asking price. The figure Vijay asked for
was found to be much more than what Kuldip and Gurbachan had
anticipated. However, both parties were unwilling to put an end to the
negotiations. Finally, the deal was agreed in principle but subject to
conditions laid down by both sides. It was agreed that Surinder would take
the necessary steps to take this further.
 It was February 1990, and Kuldip was neck-deep in his exports business.
He had to leave for Moscow the night after his meeting with Vijay Mallya.
Before leaving, Kuldip and Meeta went to meet Surinder at his farmhouse
to discuss strategies and numbers.
‘I tell you I was so impressed with Meeta! She was so supportive and she
kept asking such intelligent questions about the deal. I was surprised,’
Surinder continued.
Meeta, Kuldip and Surinder discussed various aspects of the business
deal. ‘I remember telling him that it was a mistake to let Vijay Mallya know
how much Kuldip wanted to buy the company. The numbers had to go up
obviously,’ said Surinder.
However, Kuldip had made up his mind to join the big boys of the paints
industry. Kuldip asserted that while he was an emotional man he took
business decisions non-emotionally and said that the decision to buy Berger
was an unemotional, cold business decision.
While many people intuitively understood Kuldip’s desire to be part of
the corporate world, they found his keenness to buy Berger perplexing. The
Indian paints industry had not been in the best health since 1988. The paints
industry was in a crisis because excise duty had been increased from 20 per
cent to 45 per cent. To add to its woes, the V.P. Singh government had
increased the import duty to 110 per cent. Manmohan Singh and his
liberalization-driven budget was nowhere on the scene.
Kuldip certainly did not have any foreknowledge of excise and import
duties falling after the mid-1990s. These were the years when the business
was actually de-growing and the problem was compounded by Berger being
a Vijay Mallya company. While Vijay Mallya may be known for a great
many things, running a tight company and adhering to corporate
governance rules was not among them. But Kuldip did not care about any
of this. He simply wanted to work on a larger canvas.
Kuldip had no doubt in his mind that Rajdoot would eventually get in the
list of top five paint companies in India. However, he knew that it would
require time and money. Kuldip had the money and was a man in a hurry!
With his export profits, Kuldip wanted to shorten the time to get to the top
five. Buying Berger, with its ready-made business and management team,
would enable him to do just that. When he considered the net present value
of the money it would take Rajdoot to get to the top five, the deal with
Vijay seemed in the range, though the numbers were just about pushing the
boundaries.
He shared his thoughts with Gurbachan before leaving for Moscow and
told him to continue the discussion for further action with Surinder and
their lawyer—Rajive Sawhney. ‘In less than forty-eight hours we had the
broad details of the deal that would be workable with numbers in line with
our respective mandates,’ said Surinder.
‘I called up Kuldip very excitedly to give him the news that the deal was
through,’ said Surinder. He was surprised by the reaction from Moscow.
‘What? The deal is finalized? Have you confirmed with Vijay Mallya?
How can companies be bought and sold like this? At least take the details to
Vijay and let him go through it. The owner should agree and only then can
the deal go through,’ Kuldip told Surinder. The shopkeeper-turned-exporter
was quite at a loss to understand the workings of multinationals where the
entire company could be sold off without the owners even meeting to shake
hands!
It was decided that Gurbachan would meet Vijay Mallya at his
Safdarjung Office in the evening.
Rajive and Surinder had a sheet of paper with the details. Vijay looked at
the sheet and said, ‘Hmmmm . . . looks OK. Wait, what? My CEO will go
along with the company? And what’s this, I am to remain the chairman for
the next six months?’
Surinder and Rajive advised Vijay that it would be better for continuity
for the current chairman and the current CEO to stay on in their respective
positions for at least half a year.
‘OK then, let’s shake hands and finalize the deal,’ boomed Vijay
delightedly. He needed funds for his other businesses and this deal would
help with that.
Gurbachan was delighted as also was Kuldip. They were going to be the
owners of a multinational company!
 Did Kuldip imagine, as he sat in his shop in Amritsar selling British
Paints, that one day he would be the owner of the company that owned
British Paints?
‘What a stupid question! Of course not,’ snapped Kuldip but with a broad
smile!
1990–92
‘While Mr Vijay Mallya was quite hands off, Mr Dhingra knew his stuff about the paints industry.
His inputs and guidance proved invaluable to Berger Paints’—an old-timer at Berger Paints.
 Thirty-nine
‘The BMW Came in the Dowry’

‘I must tell you that we were absolutely horrified when we heard that the
Dhingras were in talks with Mr Mallya,’ said Subir Bose, the former
managing director of Berger Paints. He joined Berger Paints in 1984 and
was the head of operations in 1990.
Subir had heard the rumours around the sale of Berger Paints. ‘We were
proud to work for a multinational company. Rajdoot was a very small
company and Kuldip Dhingra’s family business had included paint shops
and some manufacturing units. There was no comparison between them and
us,’ he said candidly.
‘We all thought that we should leave but the job market was very tight
then,’ continued Subir. ‘I knew what the people in the company thought and
how they would react if I suddenly made an appearance and took charge.
That was one of the reasons why I wanted Vijay Mallya to stay on as the
chairman and Biji Kurien as the CEO,’ said Kuldip.
After his meeting with Vijay Mallya at Sardar Patel Marg, Kuldip sat
down with Gurbachan to discuss the way forward. He knew that he had to
continue to travel to Moscow for the export business. He explained to
Gurbachan about the need for continuity of business at Berger.
He realized that dealing with a set of professionals working in a
multinational company would be very different from dealing with the trade
and dealing with the Russians. Therefore, he believed that a slow initiation
for himself and his brother would be best for all. He was relieved when
Vijay Mallya agreed to continue as chairman and also agreed to let Biji
Kurien continue as CEO.
 After the two in-person meetings between Vijay Mallya and the
Dhingras, the intent on both sides was clear but the paperwork remained.
‘There was a mountain of paperwork that had to be done. Agreements,
shareholder documents, and then some more documents,’ Surinder shared.
Kuldip along with Rajive Sawhney, their lawyer, moved to London for a
couple of weeks. The complex documents were scrutinized by Kuldip, who
by now had valuable experience of agreements. ‘I was signing a new
agreement for business almost every day and I could look at a document
and know which clauses were going to be painful,’ laughed Kuldip.
The paperwork finally finished, and Kuldip and Gurbachan became the
new owners of Berger Paints India. However, there were no major
headlines, nor was there breaking news about this deal.
‘The media was largely absent in 1990,’ explained Surinder. The focus
on business news and 24/7 news came in the mid-1990s. In fact, the
financial papers too were not read as widely as they are today. The deal
between Vijay Mallya and the Dhingras went under the radar of most
people.
However, there was a buzz of gossip within Berger Paints in Calcutta
(now Kolkata). ‘We knew that the company was in a financial mess. We
knew that Vijay Mallya was really not interested in the paints business. We
also had heard that he wanted to sell off Berger Paints,’ remembered Subir.
There was reason within the ranks at Berger for the alarm bells to go off.
‘We were a true blue-blooded British MNC and we were in Calcutta. You
can imagine the life for all of us,’ laughed Subir. The headquarters of the
global operations were in London. Biji Kurien—the global CEO—used to
shuttle between countries and the professional managers ran the businesses.
‘It was a sahib-life totally,’ said Subir. ‘You can imagine—lots of cocktails
and dinner parties. A bit of stiff upper lip actually.’
The basic fear of the management of Berger Paints was that there would
be a shift in culture. The professionals were used to a hands-off approach.
Vijay Mallya had inherited Berger Paints from his father but his interest
really lay elsewhere. As chairman, he was often missing. ‘I remember one
particular evening in the 1980s. Invitations had gone out from the chairman
of Berger Paints to all business heads and industrialists of Calcutta,’ said
Subir. The evening was a typical Berger Paints event. At a posh venue the
glitterati of Calcutta were present in sharp suits; their spouses in chiffons or
jamdanis and pearls. Cigarette- and pipe-smoking men stood in groups with
their cocktail glasses while the women sat in another part sipping delicately
from their crystal glasses. Everyone knew everyone and there was a general
air of bonhomie in the air. ‘However, there was an air of anticipation as
well. We were all waiting for the host to make his appearance,’ said Subir.
Vijay Mallya was missing from his own party. The invitees waited, and
then had dinner and went away. The senior management could not leave as
they did not know if their chairman would indeed make an appearance. The
last thing they wanted was for Vijay Mallya to walk into an empty room!
‘We waited for some time after the guests had gone. The chairman did reach
the party but it was only us by then,’ said Subir. Vijay apologized to his
team present and admitted that the Berger Paints party had slipped his mind.
The management had become used to this lack of attention. They did not
like it but they also learned to make the best of it. The lack of interest from
the chairman, and a CEO who was more out of the country than in, meant
that the daily pressure was off. The chairman and much of the board did not
understand the paints business and the business heads were largely left to
themselves to run the company. ‘The company needed serious infusion of
funds to keep the operations going,’ said Subir. He was the head of
operations during the late 1980s.
The business at Berger had moved away from marine and rail
applications, and the company had decided to put its financial and
management muscle behind Luxol Silk, the first acrylic emulsion paint
from Berger Paints. Luxol Silk took on products like Dulux Velvet Touch,
Apcolite from Asian Paints, Shalimar Paints Superlac and Jenson and
Nicholson’s Special Effects. Using some smart and sustained advertising by
Lintas, one of India’s largest and most respected advertising companies in
the eighties, Luxol Silk gained market share. While this focus did take
Berger Paints up the ranking charts it also meant that the company needed
more funds.
 ‘We were running a very tight ship those days. Working capital was just
enough to keep the operations going and we were just about breaking even
as a company,’ Subir said. The senior management in the company was
quite sure that things needed a change. They, however, were not quite sure
if they wanted a change that included a Delhi- and Amritsar-based
businessman as their new boss! ‘Those were some very stressful times,’
laughed Subir as he looked back at the 1990s.
Times were stressful for the Dhingras as well. While they could not take
the focus away from the Russian business, the acquisition of a well-known
company needed to be handled. Kuldip, even with his outgoing personality,
is a private person at heart. He did not want to make a public announcement
about his new acquisition. But he realized the momentous nature of the
transaction. In one fell swoop, Gurbachan and he had moved from being
mere businessmen-exporters to the owners of a blue-chip company. Kuldip
wanted to share the excitement with people he could trust.
Kewal, Kuldip’s friend from Hindu College, remembered getting a call
from Kuldip one day. ‘Kuldip said, “Why don’t you come over home this
evening?”’ Kewal remembered.
‘What’s the occasion?’ asked Kewal.
‘Oh nothing really. Just wanted to share some news with you. Shaami aa
jaana. Sab gal-baat shaami karenge [Come over in the evening and we’ll
chat then].’
Kewal went over to Kuldip and Meeta’s house that evening. At their
home he saw the snacks laid out and the bar ready. A champagne bottle was
chilling in the ice bucket.
Kuldip looked very excited and welcomed his friend with a broad smile.
‘Oye Kuldip, ki hoya? [What’s happened, Kuldip])?’ asked Kewal.
‘I have just bought Berger Paints from Vijay Mallya,’ said Kuldip.
‘The glass I was holding nearly fell from my hand. I was very surprised,’
said Kewal. ‘Vijay Mallya? And you say you have bought a whole company
from Vijay Mallya?’ Kewal was not sure if Kuldip was serious. ‘I kept
thinking to myself—I know Kuldip is doing well. I know he is dealing with
the Russians. But buying Berger Paints was something that was out of the
blue. I was very happy for Kuldip and I needed to know more,’ admitted
Kewal.
After popping the bubbly and raising a toast, Kuldip asked, ‘You know
what is even better?’
‘Now what could be better than this?’ wondered Kewal. He shook his
head. Kuldip excitedly pulled Kewal by his arm and said ‘Chal tennu
dikhata hoon [Come, I will show you].’
Both friends went down the stairs into the portico. ‘I saw an old metallic
silver BMW parked there,’ said Kewal. As he was wondering what the old
car was doing there, Kuldip pointed to it and with a broad smile said, ‘I got
this as part of the deal. Isn’t this wonderful?’
Kewal laughed as he took a sip of his lemonade at the Golf Club. ‘I can’t
believe that Kuldip was more excited about getting that old BMW car! It’s
as if he got it in the dowry!
Kuldip remembered that he had gone to Bangalore to finalize the deal.
The papers were signed at Vijay Mallya’s office and the two men shook
hands. As he turned to leave, Vijay Mallya called out, ‘Oh, I almost forgot.
Here, please take these.’
He had his hand stretched out, holding a bunch of keys.
‘What is this for?’ asked Kuldip. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. The company
owns a couple of cars. These are yours now,’ said Vijay.
Kuldip took the keys and was escorted to the car park. ‘I saw two big
cars parked there,’ said Kuldip. It was then he realized that he was indeed
the owner of what used to be a multinational! ‘I said to myself, “These are
mine!” and decided that I will take at least one and use it Delhi,’ said
Kuldip with a boyish enthusiasm.
Kuldip and Gurbachan’s children also remember the excitement of the
cars. ‘The company was something we could not see but the cars—they
were right there!’ said Sunaina, Gurbachan’s daughter. ‘I remember that all
of us were really excited about the two big cars that came. No one cared
that they were old cars. But they were a BMW and a Mercedes!’ she
continued.
 Forty
‘Mr Dhingra Is a Super Salesman. He Sold Me the
Job’

The excitement about the company and the two cars lasted for a very short
while for Kuldip. There was work to be done. He needed to have a better
understanding of his new business and, more importantly, he needed to
understand the people he had inherited.
‘I had dealt with people from the various paint companies when I used to
be in Amritsar. We were their biggest distributors and their sales guys and
their bosses used to visit us,’ said Kuldip. He had always had a healthy
respect for professionals. The shops in Amritsar were valuable distribution
partners for the paint manufacturers and this importance was manifested in
their dealings with the Dhingras. The sales and marketing professionals
spent a lot of time with Kuldip as and when they were in Amritsar for their
field visits. ‘Plus, we always had non-family managers running our
businesses. Right from my grandfather’s days,’ continued Kuldip. Further,
he had dealt with people like Arun Nehru at Jenson and Nicholson. ‘I went
into Berger with a very healthy respect for its management. I had thought
that Vijay Mallya ke kol to time nahin tha [Vijay Mallya did not have the
time]. So it would have been the professionals who would have been
running the company!’ said Kuldip dramatically.
The Dhingras had indeed inherited a complete business team at Berger.
However, a CEO was needed for Rajdoot Paints. Kuldip’s luck with
professional CEOs had been bad. ‘I had a few CEOs but I was not really
happy with them. Par kaam to chalaana tha [but the work had to be
managed], so I let it continue,’ said Kuldip. He realized that the Berger
responsibility added to the exports business would not leave him time for
Rajdoot. His heart, though, would not allow him to wind down that
business.
‘It wasn’t only an emotional decision,’ Kuldip was quick to clarify.
Berger Paints produced goods for the premium and affluent segment. They
did not have products in the mass market. Rajdoot, on the other hand, was
known in the industry as a mass-market product company. The brand itself
was also aimed at the mass-market segment. Kuldip saw an opportunity to
cover all segments of the market through Berger and Rajdoot. So he
continued his search for a good professional who would be able to grow
Rajdoot.
Kuldip maintained that he had always been lucky. ‘There have been times
when I have been helped and I don’t know how it would have happened. I
just take it as a blessing,’ said Kuldip.
Lady Luck came to Rajdoot and Kuldip in form of Sunil Sharma. ‘Hua
iss tarah [What happened was like this], there was this person who used to
be with Jenson and Nicholson. He knew Sunil.’ The Jenson and Nicholson
person talked to Kuldip about Sunil and asked if he could set up a meeting.
‘I went to Mr Dhingra to meet him as the meeting was set up to explore a
CNF (clearing and forwarding) arrangement with a retired senior employee
of my ex-employers. We spoke for some time and then Mr Dhingra said,
“We will talk about the CNF later. How about you joining me?”’ Sunil said.
‘I was caught completely off guard,’ he added. After a company
manufactures its products, the products need to be sent to the market, and
CNF agents act as a medium between the manufacturer and the distributors.
Sunil was working in Garware Paints at that time. He had just returned
from Bombay after leaving a multinational as he wanted a better work–life
balance. He was, however, not very happy at Garware Paints. ‘Mr Dhingra
told me that they had a tie-up with Glidden Paints for Rajdoot and wanted
to make the business national. I think they had just bought Berger at that
time,’ said Sunil. Rajdoot was a very small set-up at that time. Sunil was a
paints professional. But destiny played a part in his decision to join Rajdoot
Paints.
 ‘Sunil had inherited a family house in Shanti Niketan in Delhi,’ said
Kuldip. Shanti Niketan is one of the most exclusive addresses in Delhi. The
house was a sprawling bungalow with a garden and staff quarters. ‘Sunil
did not want to leave this and go and stay in an apartment in Bombay. But
he wanted a larger role in an organization as well,’ said Kuldip.
Kuldip offered him the role of vice president of sales and marketing of
Rajdoot Paints and Sunil accepted. Sunil’s friends and family were aghast at
his decision. ‘How can you first leave a big multinational company, then
join an Indian company and now want to join a small Indian company like
Rajdoot Paints?’ they said.
‘But Mr Dhingra is a super salesman. He sold me the job!’ said Sunil,
without any iota of regret in his voice. ‘It gave me an opportunity of a big
challenge and yet be based in Delhi,’ he continued.
‘We were a very small company compared to Nerolac and Garware. But
here he would have an opportunity to grow the business and, most
importantly, he would continue to enjoy life in Shanti Niketan,’ said
Kuldip, clearly delighted. But what delighted him even more was that he
got Sunil Sharma ‘for free’. ‘I did not even have to pay any headhunter and
I was handed a professional CEO on a platter,’ Kuldip continued, shaking
his head and smiling happily.
There was now a management team at Rajdoot and one at Berger.
However the interactions with the team at Berger was limited to the CEO
and the board. Kuldip wanted to take his time to understand the culture of
the company and the people before giving it his own stamp.
‘What was the hurry? It was my company and I had time on my side,’
said Kuldip.
People whom Kuldip trusted interacted with the company on his behalf.
Anil Bhalla had been with Kuldip right from his Ajmeri Gate days. ‘Mr
Bhalla used to be present at all meetings,’ said Subir. The old management
team at Berger was getting used to the new team of the owners.
 Forty-one
‘The Root of All Acrimony in a Large Family Is
Money’

The years between 1990 and 1992 were of transition for Kuldip. In 1991,
the Soviet Union collapsed. The orders from Soviet Union stopped.
However, Kuldip now co-owned Berger Paints.
These were also the years when Kuldip the businessman had to transform
into Kuldip the promoter. Kuldip has an inbuilt confidence in his own
abilities. His interpersonal and business skills had been honed for almost
ten years in the international market. He had also dealt with professionals
all his working life. Even then, moving into the role of owner of a listed
company that had multinational heritage did require a bit of steeling of
nerves.
Today, as he looks back, Kuldip is dismissive of his early hesitations.
However, people at Berger remember Kuldip as someone who was aware
that the management professionals were looking at him with scepticism.
The management at Berger Paints was looking at their new owner also
with trepidation. ‘We had heard stories about his hot temper,’ laughs Subir
Bose, adding, ‘We were sure that our comfortable days were soon going to
be over once we became part of the Dhingra family!’
The Dhingra family itself was also going through a transition. Sohan
Singh, the elder brother of Kuldip, had never quite recovered from the brain
aneurysm that he suffered ten years ago. He had completely detached
himself from the business. Amrit Kaur, his wife, tried hard to get her
husband to go back to being the business patriarch but she was
unsuccessful. Thus, Sohan Singh was not part of the management of these
businesses even though he continued to own shares in them.
The ownership of UK Paints was with the three bothers—Sohan Singh,
Kuldip and Gurbachan. Ashi, the daughter of the house, had been given her
share of wealth at the time of her wedding. ‘We were not that well off when
Ashi got married. But we did the best we could. And my brother made her
sign that she had got her fair share of the family wealth,’ said Kuldip. When
Sohan Singh had his stroke, his eldest daughter was already married and the
other two were in school. Harman, his only son, was the youngest child and
was a pre-teenager at the time—in 1982.
By 1991–92, Harman had turned into a young adult. He was sent
overseas to study. ‘Bhabhiji had come to me saying that Harman wanted to
go abroad for higher studies. Of course he went,’ said Kuldip. ‘Since I was
running the business now, I was controlling all the finances. So, I ensured
that my nieces had good weddings and my nephew went to the college of
his choice,’ he continued.
Harman returned to India after his studies and had the option of joining
the paints business. The Berger deal had just gone through and there was an
opportunity for the young man, had he wanted it.
‘But you know the young people! They want to do their own thing,’ said
Kuldip. Harman wanted to set up a medical transcription business with his
US-based cousin. The early 1990s were still ten years away from the
Internet boom but the young were gravitating towards what they called the
‘new economy’.
Since Sohan Singh had slowly withdrawn from the business after 1982,
Harman, his son, did not see his father go to the UK Paints office each day.
There had been no business conversations around the dinner table. He had
not spent his teenage years in the UK Paints factory. Thus, it is conceivable
that Harman had no emotional connect with the paints business and did not
think of the UK Paints business as ‘also his’. He did know, however, that
his father was a partner in the entire business. Thus, when he came back
and was presented with a choice, he opted to go his own way. ‘The
entrepreneurial bug had bitten me,’ said Harman.
 Harman wanted to set up a tech company oriented towards a BPO and
this needed some cash. The Dhingras and UK Paints, like a typical family
business, were asset-heavy but cash-light.
‘When Bhabhiji told me that Harman wanted money to set up his
business I told her the situation,’ remembered Kuldip. ‘While the family
was discussing this matter, Bhabhiji suggested that they take the advice of
her guru, the Babaji,’ he added. ‘I have great belief in Babaji. He is like my
father,’ Amrit Kaur had told me earlier.
‘I don’t believe in any Babaji-shabaji but Bhabhiji did and all of us went
to his ashram in Delhi,’ said Kuldip. Surjit Kaur, Amrit Kaur, Kuldip,
Meeta, Gurbachan, Vinu and Ashi—the entire Dhingra family went to
Babaji. Once they were in the presence of the guru, Amrit Kaur brought
Babaji up to date on the matter. They asked him what could be the best
solution in a case like this. They wondered aloud if dividing the assets and
giving Harman his due would be a good idea. Babaji pondered for a bit and
then agreed.
‘Mummy was not very happy but I nudged her and told her that it’s
okay,’ said Kuldip in a hushed voice. He was clearly not very happy at the
flow of events, but he understood that it was inevitable. ‘When someone
wants their own share you should not stop them. And it was their share after
all,’ rationalized Kuldip.
Be that as it may, a division of assets of a family is quite traumatic.
Kuldip, with his practical sagacity, helped make the process simpler. ‘It
happens in every family and Bhabhiji is my elder. So why should I fight?’
said Kuldip.
The Dhingra family asked Babaji for suggestions on the division of
assets. The guru thought for a bit and then suggested the details of the total
assets to be given to Harman. ‘We agreed and went back and did all the
paperwork for the transfer,’ said Kuldip. The next time they went to Babaji
to tell him that all was done, the guru asked for the Golf Links house to be
given to Amrit Kaur. ‘He said, “She and her family are staying there. Let
them have it,”’ said Kuldip.
 Surjit Kaur was not happy at this. ‘Mummy had an emotional attachment
to the Golf Links house,’ said Kuldip. Niranjan Singh had built the house
by selling his wife, Surjit Kaur’s, jewellery. ‘And it was her inheritance
from my father,’ continued Kuldip. It was Kuldip again who told his mother
to let it go. ‘How does it matter? My brother’s family is also part of the
family,’ he said.
Kuldip, as the patriarch, decided that it was important to keep the
relations cordial within the members of the Dhingra family. ‘I always
believed that relationships are important and there should be no acrimony
between us. The root of all acrimony is money. You take money out of the
equation and why should there be acrimony?’ was his simple logic.
Keeping the relationships healthy as his prime objective, Kuldip agreed
to whatever was suggested by Babaji. ‘I am sure that Bhabhiji and Harman
were surprised because Babaji asked for much more than the expected
share. But I did not want the relationship to sour,’ said Kuldip.
The assets were divided with agreement from all, and the paperwork was
done. There were some land assets that had to be disposed of to generate the
cash to be divided. Kuldip asked for some time to hand over the cash.
Ultimately it was agreed that Kuldip would take his time to sell off the land
assets and give Harman post-dated cheques for the amounts. ‘I gave the
post-dated cheques and for the next couple of years they encashed the
cheques each month,’ said Kuldip.
The settlement between the eldest brother and the rest of the family
unshackled Kuldip. After Sohan Singh’s stroke, Kuldip had become the de
facto head of the Dhingra business but the elder brother continued to be a
partner. Even though Sohan Singh did not have the inclination to be part of
the business and Kuldip was running it along with Gurbachan, the fact that
there was a third owner of the business did weigh in on some decisions.
Kuldip’s appetite for risk, at times, had to be tempered because of
considerations of the brother who was not in active business.
With the settlement of assets the business—UK Paints and Berger Paints
—was owned and operated by Kuldip and Gurbachan. ‘I was now mentally
totally free and the best thing is that the family did not split. I could now
focus completely on Berger Paints’ said Kuldip.
It was this focus on Berger Paints that the senior management of the
company was apprehensive about! ‘Mr Mallya was very hands-off. We
rarely saw him. The CEO was travelling around the world. There was no
one to guide us and we were pretty much on our own. Kuldip did not have
the reputation of being hands-off. We were all bracing ourselves for the
onslaught,’ Subir said.
The 1990s
 ‘Kuldip bhapa and I are very fond of fishing. In my farmhouse we even have a small lake with fish
and now even my grandson loves to fish’—Gurbachan Singh Dhingra, vice chairman, Berger Paints,
and younger brother of Kuldip.
 Forty-two
‘I Did Not Know How to Deal with Listed
Companies and Boards’

‘One of the reasons we bought Berger Paints was that I thought it had a
good team of professionals running it. I believed that all of them were true
professionals and very capable. But I soon realized that I was not quite
correct,’ said Kuldip. ‘I discovered many other aspects of professionals
once I started dealing with Berger. I must also say that I was disillusioned,’
he continued.
The Dhingra family was based in Delhi while the headquarters of Berger
Paints India was in Calcutta. ‘I did not even for a moment think that we
needed to shift the headquarters or that I needed to shift to Calcutta. The
professionals were running the company and I thought it was best to let
them continue,’ said Kuldip. However, as he started interacting with the
managers in his capacity as the new owner there were some surprises in
store for him.
‘I started realizing that professionals were not all the same and many
were not up to my expectations. There were some good ones and there were
some not so good ones,’ said Kuldip.
Kuldip had limited his interaction with the CEO and a few others at
Berger Paints after he became the new owner. Vijay Mallya was still the
chairman and Kuldip wanted continuity in operations. The senior
management, on the other hand, were keen to interact with the new owner
—a new owner meant new relationships had to be forged with the boss.
They wanted Kuldip to know them and the work they did at Berger Paints.
People found different ways to get his attention.
 ‘There was this one chap. I had initially thought he was a good guy. I
won’t tell you his name. Let’s just call him Menon,’ said Kuldip. Menon
was part of the senior management. He had been used to dealing with Vijay
Mallya and had been close to him. He now wanted to shift loyalties and was
looking for a way to reach Kuldip.
‘Menon told me that there was one Mr Shah who wanted to meet me.
Menon had fixed a meeting at Taj Mansingh in Delhi and wanted me to be
there to meet Mr Shah,’ said Kuldip. While he was unsure of the reason for
the meeting, Kuldip went ahead as those were early days of his ownership.
He did not want to seem unapproachable or arrogant to the new
management.
He reached the hotel and Mr Shah, who had been waiting in the lobby,
came up and introduced himself. They then went to the lounge and ordered
coffee.
Kuldip was an impatient man. He could not sit still. He also liked to
come straight to the point in conversations. He waited for a bit for Shah to
tell him the reason for the meeting, but Shah and Menon were indulging in
small talk. Kuldip kept looking at Menon to speed up the meeting. ‘But I
got the feeling that Menon and Shah already had an understanding,’ said
Kuldip.
Finally, Shah said, ‘Mr Dhingra, I have to pay you some money. About
Rs 60 lakh. Tell me how you want it.’
‘Money? You owe me money? I don’t know you. Why do you owe me
money?’ said Kuldip in a confused rush.
Shah looked at Menon in confusion as if he were checking if Kuldip had
been briefed. Menon made a delicate gesture with his eyes to Shah to
continue.
‘Berger made a property deal in Calcutta with me. This is the balance
amount that is outstanding. I wanted to check with you if you want cash or .
. .’ Shah trailed off as he saw Kuldip’s eyes grew intense.
‘What do you mean? Why will I want this money? This is company
money. Why are you asking me this?’ thundered Kuldip. As he saw other
people in the lounge look up to see and hear what was being said at their
table, he lowered his voice. However, the intensity stayed. ‘Tu kya samajhta
hai mujhe? Main company ke paise khaata hoon? Dafaa ho jaa yahan se.
Chup-chaap cheque de de company ko [What do you think I am? Will I
take any money that belongs to the company? Get out of here and give a
cheque to the company],’ said Kuldip softly but fiercely.
Kuldip was still agitated as he told me this story. He glowered as I asked
him, ‘What happened to Menon then?’
‘Kya hona tha uska? [What would have happened to him?] I knew what
kind of a man he was. So I was careful afterwards,’ said Kuldip, cooling
down.
There was also the incident of the Berger office in one of the landmark
buildings in south Bombay. ‘Berger had a lovely office, very spacious, in
that building,’ said Kuldip. Apparently, the owners wanted the space back.
The agreement signed by Berger and the owners in the early 1950s had
given a tenancy right to Berger.
‘Menon came and told me that the owner wanted to meet me,’ said
Kuldip. Once bitten twice shy, Kuldip asked Menon for the agenda of the
proposed meeting. He was told that the owner would request Kuldip to
vacate the building. ‘The owner is ready to give you some money to
vacate,’ said Menon, not having learnt his lesson.
‘Mainu paise dena chada hai? Maine nahin khaali karna [Oh so they
want to give me money to vacate. I will not vacate],’ retorted Kuldip, upset
at both Menon and the owner. He had refused to go to the meeting and told
Menon to tell the owner that Berger would stay in the building.
‘Later I found out that the owner had filed a suit against Berger,’ said
Kuldip. He gave instructions to Menon to make sure that Berger wins the
case. ‘But Menon was quite sympathetic with the owners and wanted to
curry favours with them,’ said Kuldip ruefully.
The personal ethics of some of the people in the management team were
found wanting. At the same time the financial condition of Berger Paints,
the company itself, was also found wanting by the new owner. ‘I was
horrified to see that bahar se inni vaddi company aur andaron bilkul
khokhli [such a big company from the outside but completely hollow from
within],’ said Kuldip. There had been no financial due diligence conducted
before the purchase and Kuldip had blindly walked into his new company.
All he knew was that it was a multinational and had about Rs 90 crore of
turnover. He also knew that it was run by professionals. Kuldip had
assumed that Berger would not require much of his time. However, he
realized within a year that without his time and guidance Berger could not
even continue to do the business it was doing then. Fortunately for Kuldip
this realization came alongside the Soviet Union breaking up. The full focus
of Kuldip post 1991 would be on Berger.
By early 1992, the Russian business was winding down. While other
exporters had taken a financial hit, Kuldip had walked away from the
business with almost zero losses. One of the reasons for this is Kuldip’s
ability to do business with great involvement but without emotional
attachment.
Harman Dhingra, Kuldip’s nephew, speaking about the reasons for
Kuldip walking away unscathed from Russia, said, ‘Kuldip chachaji told
me that one should always keep an exit open under all circumstances. I
really appreciate how he was able to swiftly exit Russian exports while
others burnt their fingers,’ said Harman.
The business with Russia did not end but the orders had slowed down
both in quantity and frequency. Orders with the new country were limited to
paints. UK Paints as a buying agency for the Soviet Union had run its
course.
But Kuldip was unfazed. ‘I thought that the best thing would be to route
the orders through Berger as it would be in keeping with the corporate
governance,’ said Kuldip.
Berger had been exporting paints during the 1980s. ‘But we did it only
because the government wanted us to. The import licences were given in
lieu of the export business. We certainly did not see it to be the kind of
business that Kuldip managed to do,’ said Subir. ‘None of us saw the kind
of opportunity that Kuldip saw in exporting white paint to the Soviet Union.
He has an uncanny ability to sniff out the business opportunities in any deal.
While some paint companies were exporting 100 or 200 tonnes of paint to
Russia, Kuldip was exporting over 20,000 tonnes of White Synthetic
Enamel alone!’ added Subir. Berger had the capacity and they took on the
Russian business gradually over time.
With the Russian business sorted out Kuldip was now free to focus on the
domestic business of Berger Paints.
Kuldip interacted with the Board of Berger once the deal had been made
public. ‘People kept saying that the Dhingras bought Berger in 1991, but we
had struck the deal verbally in 1990. It took almost a year for the paperwork
to be done. So, in a sense, both dates are correct. I was allowed to interact
with the company people only after the deal was made public,’ said Kuldip.
Vijay Mallya had laid down a condition in the agreement that Kuldip and
Gurbachan could not meet anyone nor interact with any company employee
till the deal was sealed and signed. ‘Maybe he was afraid of what we might
find and walk away from the deal,’ said Kuldip.
Some people who were close to Vijay Mallya tried to reach out to Kuldip
even while the paperwork was being done. ‘In fact one of the senior guys
told me later that if we had reached out to him, he would have got us the
deal much cheaper. But I did not meet anybody as ethically it would have
been wrong. I had given my word to Vijay,’ said Kuldip.
He had agreed not to meet any Berger employee without the presence of
Vijay Mallya but he also had laid down his condition. ‘I had told Vijay that
he could not take any of the Berger people out of the company,’ said
Kuldip. He had bought the company because he believed that the team was
good. He also knew that Vijay had other companies as well as there were
other operations of Berger in countries outside of India. ‘Jin logon ke
peeche maine company kharidi hai unhi logon ko woh le jaaye? Phir kaise
chalega? [I had bought the company because of the professionals. If Vijay
took them all way, how would it work]?’ said Kuldip.
Vijay had listened to Kuldip and had said, ‘These people are not my
slaves. How can I force them to do anything?’
‘You can’t force them but you have to promise not to take them away,’
countered Kuldip.
 ‘I certainly will not take them away. But if they, on their own, decide to
leave you’ll just have to accept it,’ asserted Vijay Mallya.
Kuldip kept his promise and did not meet anyone till the deal was made
public. Vijay Mallya remained the chairman and Kuldip Dhingra became
the vice chairman of Berger Paints India.
‘I did not know how to deal with a listed company and boards,’ said
Kuldip candidly. ‘Where had I dealt with true blue-blooded multinational
listed-company people? And now I was the vice chairman,’ he added.
It is not easy to imagine the authoritative Kuldip as being iffy but the
prospect of walking into the board meeting of his own company did give
him a few butterflies in his stomach. However, he was comforted by the fact
that Rajive Sawhney, his friend and lawyer, was by his side throughout the
deal and thereafter. Rajive had been inducted into the board of Berger
Paints. ‘Rajive has a great presence and he knew how a listed company
worked. He knew what to do in a board meeting,’ said Kuldip.
Kuldip is a fast learner. Within a few months he understood the working
of the company and also the working of the people. He realized that the
company he had bought was different from the company he had believed it
to be! The company needed help and it needed help fast. The downfall of
the company had been taking place for some years but was hidden from the
public eye.
As he interacted with his new teams Kuldip realized that Berger Paints
had been drifting like a rudderless boat in a choppy ocean. Biji Kurien had
got Vijay Mallya to buy the global operations of Berger in the early 1980s.
Kurien continued to be the global CEO for Berger till Vijay Mallya decided
to hive off the various parts of the company and sell them. London was the
global headquarters of Berger and Kurien was in London for the better part
of the month. He also travelled to other countries where Berger had
operations. ‘As a result, the CEO really had no time for us in India,’ said
Subir.
The almost leaderless team had decided to make the best of the situation.
‘The paints industry was not growing. There were no jobs outside,’ said
Subir. The smart professionals looked around and had come to the
conclusion that their situation was not all that bad. They had good jobs with
colonial perks, the review meetings were formalities, some profits were
being made, and the brand of the company was good. The only issue was
that the company lacked funds for operations. Working capital was
becoming a problem.
The tight financial situation led to a tightening of operations. Subir was
the head of operations. He saw that giving credit in the market was a
problem. ‘Dealers would book orders with us and tell us to send the
material. When we asked for payments they would say, ‘Kal tak bhej
denge’. But “kal” never came,’ said Subir. The credit management system
was done manually which led to major delays in payments recovery
resulting in serious working capital crunch hampering operations of the
company. The major corrective step taken to rectify the problem was the
introduction of credit management through the computer billing system
allowing for no human intervention. This led to major improvement in
credit control and helped the company to partially tide over the crisis. After
Subir instituted a computerized credit system new orders could be booked
by the trade only after they had paid for their earlier orders. Since the
invoicing was all system-driven, beating the system was difficult. These and
other initiatives kept the operations lean and mean.
Kuldip realized within the first few interactions with the company
management that the reality was different from the perception. ‘I did not
even dream that the company finances would be in such a mess,’ is all that
he was willing to say. He was aghast to find out that salaries of employees
were not being paid on time. The company needed the cash fast. This was
an easy problem for Kuldip to address. The Russian exports had ensured
that he could help their new company with it. ‘Salaries were being delayed
and that was not good. I had to ensure that the funds required were given to
the company,’ Kuldip said.
Kuldip also learnt a few life lessons while dealing with the professionals
at Berger in the early years. ‘The grass is greener on the other side’, ‘all that
glitters is not gold’ and ‘door ke dhol suhavane [distant drums are
pleasing]’ are some truths that hit him as he went about taking charge of
their new company.
While he had built a large business of paints and paint exports, Kuldip
had not had formal business education. All he had learnt was by working on
the job. He had grown up in his work life with a very healthy respect for the
professionals. In his mind he had created a halo around all management
professionals. This halo was punctured soon enough. He had believed that
the professionals, with their management education and experience in
working in professional companies, would be at least as good if not better
than him in all matters. ‘But I was very surprised,’ said Kuldip with a tinge
of regret.
Kuldip found even his initial dealings with the management wanting in
detail and ideas. ‘They were afraid of taking risks. They did not want to
think and do things differently,’ he said with almost a sense of wonder.
‘And they spent money almost without a care. Paise ka khayal kam tha un
logon mein [they did not care about spending money],’ he added with some
exasperation. Having come from a background where every rupee was
spent after much thought, Kuldip found the approval for expenses process
very shallow. ‘They were not able to come up with good explanations when
I asked them why they wanted to spend that money,’ he said.
The paints business was, and continues to be, Kuldip’s life passion. He
soon realized that as the new owners of Berger Paints, the Dhingra brothers
would not only be required to bring in the required capital and expertise,
but also passion for the paints business in his team of professionals.
‘Without passion how can anyone be successful?’ asked Kuldip as his
forehead wrinkled up in a frown.
Passion would take time to build, but Berger Paints needed money
immediately. The first capital infusion from the Dhingras came as a breath
of fresh oxygen for the gasping operations. ‘We were happy that we could
keep the operations going,’ said Subir.
The other problem plaguing Berger Paints was the supply chain issues.
Berger had only one manufacturing unit in Howrah, West Bengal. This
presented a problem as Howrah was at one end of the country while the
products had to be supplied to all parts. It is not easy to set up factories in
India in a short time. The management had believed that there was no
solution other than contract manufacturing. However, with the Dhingras
coming in as the new owners, the factories of UK Paints were available to
Berger. Almost overnight, the team had access to new capacities.
Through all these small but significant changes Subir Bose continued as
the head of operations and Kurien remained the CEO. ‘Kurien was older
than Kuldip and was old school. Moreover, Kurien saw his role as CEO
India as a downgrade as he had become accustomed to being the global
CEO of Berger,’ said Subir. The Dhingras had given him a free hand to run
the company but he left Berger in 1994. Subir Bose became the new CEO
for Berger Paints.
 Forty-three
‘I Wanted to Study More, Not Get Married!’

Kuldip had been immersed in this new business but it did not take his
focus away from his family. Rishma, his eldest daughter, had finished her
graduation from the UK and was back in India. She started working in
Deutsche Bank in Delhi. Kuldip and Meeta believed that it was time for her
to get married. Rishma, on the other hand, wanted to study more and do her
masters. It is ironical that it was Kuldip who prevailed upon her to not study
any more. He wanted her to look at the various rishtas that were coming
their way.
It had been more than three years since the Dhingras had acquired Berger
Paints. Kuldip, as the patriarch, was now firmly part of the corporate world.
From a businessman he had become a corporate promoter. Mothers of
eligible bachelors started eyeing the eldest daughter of Kuldip and Meeta
with great interest.
‘I wasn’t interested in getting married at that stage. I wanted to study
more,’ said Rishma. However, ironically Kuldip, who had once pleaded
with his brother to be allowed to study, now wanted his daughter to get
married. ‘I was the eldest and I think that was weighing heavy on his mind,’
explained Rishma. ‘It was a big bone of contention between us both,’ she
laughed as she remembered the stormy arguments she had with her father.
There was one particular potential rishta that Meeta and Kuldip were
keen on. Raninder Singh, son of Captain Amarinder Singh, had finished his
graduation from the same university as Rishma was planning to go to. In
fact, he had written a letter of recommendation for Rishma. ‘He did not
know me but his aunt requested him and he wrote it for me,’ she said.
 Raninder’s aunt and Meeta were friends. It was during an informal
conversation that the topic of Rishma and Raninder came up. ‘My parents
actually decided to send me to Buckingham University because Tikku
[Raninder’s pet name]) had gone there,’ said Rishma. ‘It was only after I
came back that I realized that kuch rishta-vishta ki baat hai [there was some
talk of marriage]. Mom liked the idea and Papa liked it even better. No one
listened to me,’ said Rishma plaintively.
Everyone was excited about Raninder because he belonged to the royal
family of Patiala. His grandfather was the last maharaja of the princely state
of Patiala. Captain Singh, Raninder’s father, had gone to school with Rajiv
Gandhi and was inducted into the Congress. He won his first election in
1980. However, after the Operation Bluestar in 1984, he left the Congress
and joined the Akali Dal. In 1992, he broke away from the Akali Dal and
formed the Shiromani Akali Dal (Panthic), which he later merged back into
the Congress. At the time of writing this, he was the chief minister of
Punjab.
Raninder Singh is the only son of Capt. Amarinder Singh and will inherit
the honorary title of Maharaj Sahab from his father. The Dhingra family
was very excited at the prospect of the rishta. However, they had to
convince Rishma first!
‘My sister had met Raninder in the UK. I had not even met him when this
rishta was being planned. I met him once when I came back to Delhi during
my holidays,’ said Rishma.
When she came back to Delhi having finished her graduation Raninder
met her again and took her out for dinner. ‘Then I was told that there was a
dinner organized with the parents,’ Rishma added.
Before leaving for the dinner Kuldip asked his daughter, ‘What should
we say in case Maharaj Sahab asks us about your decision?’
Rishma waved her hand expansively and told her father that nothing like
that would be asked as Raninder and she had not even spoken about
marriage.
The Dhingra family went to Capt. Amarinder Singh’s house in Delhi.
They sat for a brief while after which the two families moved to House of
Ming at Taj Mahal Hotel, Delhi. ‘It was at dinner that I realized that
something was brewing. Maharaj Sahab ordered a bottle of champagne,’
said Rishma. The chilled bottle arrived at the table and Capt. Singh popped
the bubbly. He poured the champagne into the crystal flutes and then raised
a toast, ‘To Rishma and Tikku!’
‘Everyone had broad smiles on their faces. I looked at Tikku and he was
also smiling. He winked at me!’ said Rishma.
Rishma later asked Raninder what was that about. ‘Oh, I was supposed to
ask you before dinner but I forgot! So, I am asking you now,’ he said.
Rishma and Raninder got married soon after. Life changed for Rishma
after she became the Yuvrani of Patiala. She had given up her job at the
bank and she now understood that her desire to study more also could not
be achieved. Within a year of her marriage she gave birth to Seherinder
Kaur, her first child. Raninder and she had moved back to Delhi within a
few weeks of the wedding. Capt. Amarinder Singh had bought a house in
Jor Bagh. The only problem was that he had bought it along with the tenant
who lived on the ground floor.
‘It took a long time to get the tenant to move out. And therefore, we had
only the first floor with us,’ said Rishma. The first-floor house had only two
bedrooms and a small drawing room. One bedroom was for her in-laws,
which left the smaller room for the new couple. And when Seherinder Kaur
was born, the drawing room virtually became her nursery. It was a far cry
from the sprawling farmhouse and the acres of space that she had become
used to at her father’s farmhouse. ‘But Patiala was very different. It was a
huge palace,’ she said.
After her other children were born, Raninder and Rishma decided to
move to Patiala. ‘Tikku wanted his children to grow up familiar with their
heritage. So, he decided that we should all move back to Patiala,’ said
Rishma. She took charge of the large house there.
After a few years at Patiala and once her children were in school, Rishma
realized that she needed to get back to work. During the intervening years
she had kept in touch with the company, but her children and family had
been her priority. Once she started reconnecting with the Berger office she
realized that her father and uncle had done well with the company in the
intervening years!
 Forty-four
‘Sapno Ke Rang, Bane Sang Sang’
‘YOU CAN MAKE THE COLOURS OF YOUR DREAMS YOURSELF’

Berger Paints had indeed done well. Kuldip was the chairman of the
company now and gone was his initial diffidence. He was the true owner of
the business. Paints was a business he knew well and it was a business he
was passionate about. Subir Bose, the CEO, understood his chairman and
appreciated the knowledge he brought into the business.
‘It was good to have a chairman who asked us the right questions,’ said
Subir as he described the interactions with Kuldip through the years.
Berger, till the Dhingras came on the scene, had got accustomed to cursory
meetings and shallow questions in the board room. ‘Now the questions
were pointed and focused. Earlier we could get away by faffing. But now
no bullshit was possible. You could not fool Kuldip,’ said Subir.
Kuldip has always said that destiny had played an important part in his
success. It was destiny again that was on the side of the Dhingras in the
1990s. The paints industry had been stagnant and even shrinking during the
1980s. Paint manufacturers were struggling with the high excise and import
duties. Manmohan Singh presented his landmark budget in 1991. The
liberalization of the economy did not happen overnight. It took a few years
for the government to implement the changes introduced by Manmohan
Singh.
‘The first major change for us happened in March 1993. The excise duty
fell to 35 per cent and the import duty was almost halved,’ said Subir. The
market reacted positively to these changes. For many years the prices had
gone up because of the increase in the various duties imposed by the
government. In 1993, there was for the first time a marginal reduction in
prices due to the reduction in duties and taxes. The demand in the market
skyrocketed. Berger was at the right place at the right time and in the next
six years moved up from being the seventh largest in India to the third
largest paints company.
One of the reasons that Berger was able to grow faster than the industry
from 1993 onwards had to do with its suboptimal operations during the
1980s. Berger, which had been struggling during the 1980s, had used that
time to streamline its operations. Costs had been brought under control but
capacities and working capital had been a problem since the Mallya days. In
late 1991, the deal with the Dhingras was made public and Kuldip became
the vice chairman, and in 1992–93 the Dhingras pumped in the first tranche
of much-needed funds. The infusion of funds coincided with the time when
the tariffs and duties were brought down by the government. Berger now
had additional capacities through the UK Paints factories, fresh funds to
keep the operations going and a market that boomed with increased
demand. ‘I am very blessed that luck has helped me many times,’ said
Kuldip.
It was not only luck that saw Berger grow. It was the focus on the
business, which started from the very top. Kuldip had always been the face
of UK Paints. Gurbachan was more the back-room man managing the
factories and production. The same arrangement continued even at Berger.
Both brothers had bought Berger, but it was Kuldip that the management
saw and interacted with. ‘We did not see Mr GS much as he was more
involved in the factories. And he was also quieter than Mr KS,’ said one of
the old-timers at Berger.
One of the advantages of the cash infusion was that the company was
able to bring down the cost of raw materials. ‘We never used to have money
to pay for the supplies and would ask for a credit period. This would
increase the cost as the interest had to be built into the cost. Having ready
funds available freed us from the tyranny of our suppliers!’ said Subir. The
cost of raw materials went down and Berger converted 60 per cent of dealer
to the cash-and-carry mode. ‘I had introduced the credit system where the
trade would be able to book their orders only if they had paid for their
previous one,’ continued Subir. ‘And now when the demand came we
started flying,’ said Subir gleefully. Berger grew by over 17 per cent in
1993–94 while Asian Paints, the largest paints company in India, grew at
only 8 per cent, according to Subir. He also added that Berger grew by 23
per cent in 1994–95.
The company also shifted focus in the products. Berger had been known
for its protective and industrial paints including primers and enamels. But
the largest market in India was for decorative paint in the water-based
category. They were called the emulsion paints. Berger did not have
products in this category and had been struggling to compete in the
decorative paints category. Demand in this category was not only booming
but was also more profitable. ‘We had been in the decorative paints segment
and we got the management to fill the gap,’ said Gurbachan.
Subir understood this and worked with the Dhingras to fill the gap in
their offering. The problem was that Berger was an unknown entity in the
emulsion paints category. Asian Paints and Jenson and Nicholson were
established and the shelf space in the dealer showrooms was already taken
up by them. The dealer had no space to hold yet another brand of paint.
Besides, the working capital of the dealers was tied up in the stocks of
Asian and Jenson and Nicholson. Since these were the market leaders, the
dealer could not afford to cut down on stocking the various shades offered
by these companies. Thus, the dealer also had a working capital problem.
Each dealer would store twenty to thirty shades of emulsion paints from
each company. The choice of the shades was made based on the history of
sales through the dealer. However, the dealers did have customers coming
in and asking for a particular shade that was not available. Thus, it was a
challenge for the trade to stock Berger Paints. There was simply no space
even if the dealers had the money. Kuldip understood this space problem
very well as he had sold paint himself at the Amritsar shop. He looked
around for a solution to his problems.
The solution came in the shape of a computerized machine—the colour-
tinting machine introduced by Jenson and Nicholson in some parts of the
market. Kuldip remembered Subir Bose talking about these machines at a
review meeting and wanted to know more. Subir was happy to provide
details.
The colour-tinting machines were the size of a small ATM and were
essentially computerized colour mixers. The computer in the machine had
formulas for a number of paint shades stored on its microchips. Each
machine could store upwards of 5000 shade formulas. Each shade had a
shade code attached to it.
‘If you wanted a particular shade of paint, the dealer had to simply punch
in the shade code into the machine,’ explained Subir. The machine would
then drop the colourants or the pigments into the paint can, which had the
base variant of paint. The dealer could choose the base variant from pastel,
medium and dark. For a darker colour the dark base was chosen and for a
lighter colour, the pastel.
‘Each colour is a mixture of various basic colours. The machine was
programmed to drop the required colour pigments into the can,’ he
explained. Once the pigments were in the can, the lid was closed and taken
to a gyro-mixer. A gyro-mixer is nothing but a mechanized mixer. The arms
of the mixer held the paint can in a vice grip and the gyro-mixer machine
then took the can around rapidly. This vigorous shaking ensured that the
pigments got thoroughly mixed into the white paint. When the can was
subsequently opened, the inside paint was of the desired colour shade.
Kuldip listened to Subir with great interest about these colour-tinting
machines. Kuldip remembered his days at his Amritsar shop. He looked
back at the difficulty of storing many different types of colours of paints
and the working capital it required. He also remembered the number of
customers he had to send back due to unavailability of the required colour.
He also thought back of the time when the customer liked the shade
available but wanted it in a lighter variant. He understood immediately the
opportunity these machines offered Berger Paints.
‘From just sixteen colourants each machine could produce 5000 shades
of paints and that too with a much less working capital. Just imagine if in
Amritsar I had to store even one can each of the 5000 shades. Possible hi
nahin hota [It would not have been possible],’ Kuldip exclaimed.
Kuldip realized that the machines could reduce the requirement for space
for the dealers and their inventory management could also improve.
However, the biggest benefit of these machines according to Kuldip was the
fact that the customers could be given a shade of their choice.
‘If Jenson and Nicholson had introduced them already in 1990 why were
the dealers not using them?’ I wondered aloud. The reason lay in the
economics of the machine. Each machine cost approximately Rs 8.50 lakh.
In the mid-1990s it was a large amount for any dealer. Jenson and
Nicholson were unable to take the capital expenditure of these machines.
Kuldip had become a co-owner of a multinational brand but his street
instincts were still alive. He remembered his annual 2 per cent bonus
scheme that had worked both for the dealers and the Russians. Subir was
told to work on an innovative marketing tactic and to put together a sales
incentive scheme for the dealers for these colour-tinting machines. Once the
scheme was approved by the chairman it was pushed aggressively by the
sales team in the market. The dealers responded with enthusiasm. Within a
couple of years Berger was able to install 400 machines, one-third of the
total machines installed. From an unknown in the emulsion paints category,
Berger became a big brand with a strong presence.
‘We backed our on-ground sales incentive schemes with an original
television commercial. The catchphrase was, “Sapno ke rang, bane sang
sang [You can make the colours of your dreams yourself],”’ said Subir with
pride. Asian Paints, the market leader, soon followed with their own
campaign which turned iconic—Mera wala cream!
It, however, took Asian Paints one more year to launch their own version
of the colour-tinting machines. This time was enough for Berger to go out
aggressively into the market and expand the dealer base for water-based
products where the company market share was virtually negligible in the
mid-1990s. The novelty of the colour-tinting machines proved to be the
initial draw but the practical benefits of the machines soon overcame the
sheer novelty. As the dealers started signing up Berger decided to develop
the southern market where it had low market share.
‘The south market is the best market in India and we were not present
there,’ Subir said.
‘Why is the south market the best?’ I asked Subir.
‘The southern part would have a growth of almost double that of the
northern part,’ he explained. The education levels in south India coupled
with better industrial growth led to wealthier households. People were ready
to spend more to keep their homes in better condition. Berger used the
colour-tinting machines to open up the southern market for itself. ‘And that
became a huge boost,’ said Subir.
While Kuldip was focusing on the sales, marketing and overall business
development with the Berger management, Gurbachan was doing what he
does best—focusing on the manufacturing and processes, purchase, and the
civil construction of paint factories. ‘When I first went to the Berger factory
in Howrah I was very surprised. It was an old factory making industrial and
protective paints. In fact, our UK Paints factories were better than that as
they produced at higher levels but at lower costs,’ he said. Gurbachan too
had initial apprehensions about dealing with the management of what had
been a multinational company. ‘The managing director, Biji Kurien, was
like an Englishman himself!’ laughed Gurbachan. ‘But when I saw the
factory I told myself, ‘I can handle all this!’ he continued smiling.
Gurbachan had been running the UK Paints factories single-handedly
since 1982 when Sohan Singh had his stroke. ‘We were not only producing
Rajdoot brand of materials for the local markets but also for exports to the
Soviet Union. Our factories were also supplying to Jenson and Nicholson
and to Shalimar Paints. Berger was aware of this and of the quality we were
producing. I was familiar with the machines and the other equipment. The
Berger factory at Howrah had had no new machinery because of lack of
funds. But their R&D was much better,’ said Gurbachan.
UK Paints had not invested much in R & D. However, most of the
formulations had been developed in-house and with help from their
technical collaborators—Glidden Co. Gurbachan and Mukherjee, their chief
chemist, had worked in Glidden’s laboratories in Cleveland, USA, and had
developed decorative paints suitable for India. Rajdoot had thus focused on
selling decorative paints in the Indian market. ‘I saw that Berger was
largely into industrial and protective paints,’ said Gurbachan. Protective
paints are coatings that are used to protect metal and concrete surfaces of
chemical, steel and power plants, bridges and refineries from corrosion and
erosion. However, the margins were much better in the decorative segment,
and Gurbachan had the expertise to guide the teams at Berger. ‘My brother
worked on the Berger management to enter into the decorative paints
segment. But the management was apprehensive. They kept saying that
they did not have the money to get into the decorative category. They did
not have the containers,’ said Gurbachan. Berger had been short of funds
during the Mallya days and decorative paints segment did need huge
investments in factories, packaging materials and attractive cans. Further
investment was required to build the brand as well. ‘Basically, the
confidence levels were low,’ explained Gurbachan.
The Dhingras had the confidence but the challenge was to transmit that
confidence into the management. ‘UK Paints had a great factory
manufacturing attractive printed paint containers for Rajdoot Paints and for
exports. I knew about all the costs, the material used, the printing process
for the cans,’ said Gurbachan. The decorative segment is very different
from the industrial segment. The decorative segment caters to retail
consumers and the industrial segment caters to corporate customers.
Decorative paints account for three-fourths of the overall paint market in
India and the demand comes from households both in the rural and the
urban areas. Though price-sensitive, the decorative paints segment
generates better margins for the manufacturer.
‘My biggest challenge in the initial years was to get the buy-in from
Berger teams about implementation of new ideas. I also arranged for
Glidden’s engineering team to guide the team at Berger. The first reaction
of the Berger team used to be “we know it all” and “what will this foreign
engineer teach us?” I used to get frustrated at times,’ said Gurbachan. But
he continued to push for implementation. ‘Subir Bose was always open to
new ideas and that helped,’ said Gurbachan. Kuldip was pushing the sales
and marketing and overall business development and Gurbachan provided
the thrust from the manufacturing.
‘I kept pushing for setting up of new factories, new facilities. I wanted a
modern resin plant to be set up, I wanted newer machineries,’ he said. The
Berger teams, during the 1980s, had become accustomed to doing things
according to their own will. Supervision from the bosses had been minimal.
Guidance almost non-existent. ‘In fact Berger had no civil engineer in their
team,’ said Gurbachan. It was not surprising, therefore, for Gurbachan to
run into passive resistance from the Berger team.
‘They were apprehensive about their own ability of doing all that at low
costs. I had done all of that myself and knew that it was no big deal. But I
guess they were used to the multinational style of working,’ said
Gurbachan, somewhat disparagingly. He also found that the effort on
production and sales was suboptimal while the expenses were in line with
the market. ‘Fizool kharchi mujhe pasand nahin thi [I don’t like wasteful
spending]. So I told them to manage with lower production expenses with
better and larger machines for bigger batch sizes,’ said Gurbachan.
The wheels turned slowly but surely. The management realized that the
owners knew their stuff and sometimes even better than they did. The fact
that the sales teams on the ground were marching with confidence
generating more orders than before also galvanized the teams to get their
act together. ‘We were getting the orders and needed to fulfil them.
Actually, when Subir Bose took over as the managing director he was able
to implement our vision much better,’ said Gurbachan.
The Berger teams knew that the factories of UK Paints were capable of
producing quality material. Further, they knew that the UK Paints factories
were already manufacturing decorative paints. It would have been galling
for the erstwhile multinational to find out that should they fail to produce
decorative paints, the Dhingras would simply use the UK Paints factory to
produce it!
2000 Onwards
‘Mr Dhingra drove us hard to achieve targets but the results were for all to see. Berger Paints
moved up many notches’—Subir Bose, ex-managing director, Berger Paints.
 Forty-five
‘Kuldip Is the Most Relentless Person I Have Met
in My Life’

‘Everyone says Kuldip is a good guy. Would you know of anyone who
thinks he is not?’ I asked Jerry. I was in conversation with Jerry Adams, an
associate and good friend of Kuldip’s. He is an American now based in
Australia. I asked Jerry about his impressions of Kuldip.
I could almost hear the mental gears grinding over the phone.
‘Hmmmmm . . . ummm, let me think,’ said Jerry in his American-
Australian accent. There was a long pause on the phone. ‘You know,
actually I can’t,’ he said finally with a tone of wonder in his voice.
‘When you get to the level at which Kuldip is now, people will tell you
that he is wonderful,’ explained Jerry. ‘I have known him for many years
now and will say this—Kuldip is a good guy but he is not perfect. There are
people who may find dealing with him a bit challenging or find some of his
qualities a bit difficult to cope with. But I don’t know anyone who will say
that he is a bad guy,’ he added.
Jerry elaborated, saying that everyone has their own style of working. In
business dealings people have to accept that everyone has their own
personalities and their own quirks. What is difficult to accept are people
who have bad intentions or those who are corrupt or manipulative.
‘Pardon my language but people don’t like others who try to screw you,’
said Jerry. ‘Those who have dealt with Kuldip and those who know him,
quickly understand that he is an honest guy. You can talk to him. But mind
you, you will not always have an agreement, that’s for sure,’ laughed Jerry.
‘But you will not doubt or misjudge his intentions and his fundamental
honesty. And therefore, people generally don’t say that he is a bad guy.
Sure, you can find someone who will turn around and say, “Kuldip annoys
me”, but that is because Kuldip is the most relentless person I have ever met
in my life,’ continued Jerry.
‘Relentless?’ I asked. ‘As in unstoppable?’
Jerry is American but he made a very French pffff sound, blowing out air.
If he were in front of me I am sure I would have seen him shrug his
shoulders and throw up his hands out for emphasis. ‘Absolutely. Kuldip is
without any doubt the most relentless person I have ever met in my entire
business career across the whole wide world. Oh, totally relentless,’ said
Jerry enunciating each syllable. ‘He will never give an inch! He will push
you and push you hard to do better. No wonder there may be people who
will say, “Oh Kuldip, he wears me out!,”’ said Jerry.
‘People also say that his temper also wears them out. Do you have . . .’ I
started saying.
Jerry cut me mid-sentence and said, ‘Oh, his temper is legendary!’
Subir Bose agreed. ‘Kuldip can get angry and when he does, we all run
for cover,’ he said.
‘We make sure that the mood of the boss is OK before we go to speak
with him,’ laughed Abhijit Roy, the current MD and CEO, Berger Paints.
‘Sometimes, on a bad day, he loses his temper fast. We have learnt to defer
our meetings then,’ he continued.
‘There were times we went to him for a particular approval and he threw
us out of the room. But when we went back with the same proposal Kuldip
cleared it without any questions,’ laughed Subir.
‘I remember that I sat home for three days once when Mr KS fired me for
no fault of mine. I thought I will resign. But then I went back to work after
three days. The first thing he told me was, “It takes you three days to get
over your temper, Neelam? It took me only five minutes to get over mine,”’
said Neelam.
‘Oh, he is like a volcano. Temper up . . . Poof! And then peace and quiet,’
said Jerry throwing his hands up again.
 Jerry remembered his first interactions with Kuldip started in 2000. ‘I
was the CEO of Dulux in Australia and flew to Delhi to meet with Kuldip
with a broad agenda in mind,’ said Jerry. He was looking at some kind of a
collaboration between the two companies and though he knew that Berger
was managed professionally, he thought the discussions were best had with
the largest shareholder. ‘We had a good conversation and Kuldip and we hit
it off as two individuals,’ remembered Jerry. The rapport between Kuldip
and Jerry worked its way into a collaboration between the two companies.
Berger, at that time, was looking for an industrial paint technology and
Dulux in Australia had it.
‘So, we got into a licensing deal between our companies,’ said Jerry. He
clarified that Dulux in Australia had no connection with the Dulux in India
as the ownership of the two companies was different. ‘It was just a cold
call, if you want to put it this way, but now that I know Kuldip better, I
know that he had a natural curiosity and is always ready to have a chat with
people who may have something to tell him,’ said Jerry.
‘Kuldip is also the most focused man I know. Not only is he focused on
business but he is also focused on the paints business. However, he is not a
unidimensional person. He has an interest in everything. He can tell you
about the trees in his garden and the birds that live in the trees,’ added Jerry.
‘The thing about Kuldip is that he is always thinking of the business,’
said Subir Bose. He worked with Kuldip for more than twenty-five years,
mostly as the CEO of Berger Paints. ‘And he follows his gut, his instinct is
very good,’ he continued.
It was this instinct of Kuldip’s that made him walk out of a deal that was
almost signed. In the early 1990s, Subir had just become the CEO of the
company. Berger Paints was on its path of recovery under the guidance of
the new owners. The management team was exploring a joint venture with a
leading automotive refinish paint company in Europe.
‘The automotive refinish paint is different from the one used on cars
when they are being made at the factory. This refinish paint is the one used
when your car or vehicle goes in to the workshop for a touch up or
repainting of a small area due to a scratch or an accident,’ explained Subir.
The management team had visited the European paint giant a few times and
had invited their senior management to Calcutta. ‘We even took the
foreigners to meet with Kuldip in Delhi,’ said Subir.
After the discussions and the draft agreements were finalized, the Berger
Paints team went to Europe so that the joint venture deal could be signed. ‘I
had personally spent more than six months on this deal and we were all
very excited about the meeting in Europe,’ said Subir. Kuldip and
Gurbachan, along with a couple of directors of the board, accompanied the
senior management of Berger Paints for the deal signing.
The table in the boardroom of the foreign company was prepared. The
agreements and other papers were kept on the table in front of the two seats
that Kuldip and the head of the foreign company were to occupy. New
designer fountain pens were laid out on velvet cloth for the signatories to
use.
The Berger team reached the office of the foreign company half an hour
earlier than the meeting time. While the rest of the team waited in the
anteroom, Kuldip went into the boardroom.
‘I thought he had gone to inspect the room and generally get an idea of
the lay of the space,’ said Subir. He was surprised to see Kuldip walking out
almost immediately with a grim look.
‘I am not going to sign the agreement for this deal,’ said Kuldip. As
Subir’s jaw dropped to the ground in total surprise, Kuldip added, ‘I don’t
have a good feel about it. I think it is not right.’
‘You can imagine how embarrassing it was for all of us, and especially
me,’ said Subir, still sounding rattled. The chagrin he felt at that time was
evident in his voice decades later. ‘But Kuldip said that the joint venture
was not good for Berger as we were not prepared for it at that time,’
continued Subir sombrely. ‘And that was the last we saw of that European
company,’ he said, finishing the story.
However, with hindsight, Subir agreed that the instinct of Kuldip was
absolutely spot on. ‘We would have made losses for many years if we had
gone ahead with the deal. Though we would have recouped our losses, it
would have bled the company for quite some time. It took an enormous
amount of guts for Kuldip to walk away from an almost-done deal. Berger
was a very small company then and this European company was the world
number two or three. But he did not care. He followed what he believed
was right for the company,’ said Subir with grudging admiration in his
voice.
‘Mr Dhingra is always open for any kind of joint venture, any kind of
partnership with anyone so long as it brings value to Berger,’ said Sunil
Sharma. ‘One of the examples I can quote is our joint venture with Nippon
Paints,’ he continued. Berger and Nippon are fierce competitors in the
Indian market for a variety of products. However, for automotive coatings,
a fast-growing market in India, Kuldip sought out Nippon for a joint
venture for the manufacture of coatings for plastic substrates. These
substrates are used in cars and these are top-coated as part of the coating
system. ‘Mr Dhingra knew that Berger alone would find it difficult to enter
the Japanese companies like Maruti or Honda. So why not get into a joint
venture?’ said Sunil. ‘Once he decides on a course of action, he does not
yield an inch. He will push everyone to get to where he wants to go,’ he
added.
The management at Berger Paints discovered his relentlessly pushing
side. Kuldip continually pushed the team hard to perform better. It was
Kuldip’s credibility that allowed him to be relentless in his demands from
his team. From selling paints in Amritsar, to being the co-owner of one of
the oldest paints company, Kuldip demanded better performance from his
teams. The teams too responded as they realized that they now had a
promoter who understood the paints business, in some cases, even better
than they did.
Kuldip and Gurbachan understood the paints business as they had learnt
on the job, selling at the shop and working in the factory. They had not had
any formal education in either higher chemistry or manufacturing. The gen-
next was different. Kanwardip, Gurbachan’s son, had studied chemical
engineering. ‘I grew up knowing that I will join the family business. My
dad would tell me stories about their struggle, the factory and their business
all through my childhood. After I was ten years old he even started taking
me to the factory,’ said Kanwar.
The love of chemistry and for paints helped him in getting a job, after he
finished his chemical engineering studies in the US, with Sherwin Williams
Company and Rohm and Haas, a speciality chemicals company, in Houston.
He knew that he would eventually come back to Berger Paints but he
wanted to understand how the other big companies worked. He credits his
own maturity at work today to the years he worked at Sherwin Williams and
Rohm and Haas.
‘I learnt about dealing with people, especially people on the shop floor
who may be junior in rank but know more about production than any of us.
I also learnt about working with structured processes and systems. I used to
take notes for everything and I still check them,’ he said.
Gurbachan and Vinu were proud of their son and followed his progress
keenly. ‘He had stopped taking any money from us once he started earning.
We wanted him to come back home but he kept saying, “thodi aur der, thodi
aur der [some more time, some more time]. I want to complete my projects
in hand,”’ said Vinu.
Once back, Kanwar joined Berger Paints and spent a couple of years
learning on the job through a rotational programme. Rishma joined Berger
Paints in the marketing division and the two inheritors started working
under the guidance of their fathers. The youngest Dhingra in the gen-next,
Kanwar, was under pressure to get married. The Dhingra family soon
welcomed Sneha as a daughter-in-law.
At Berger, both Rishma and Kanwar chose to spend time in building their
own credibility. It took time, no doubt, but both believe that it is for the
better. ‘You can’t force people to respect you. You have to earn it by your
own work. My father and my chachaji have earned it over years. I can’t
expect people to start respecting me overnight,’ Rishma analysed.
‘I worked with people and made sure that I listened to them. We
discussed and debated each matter. If there was a good suggestion I made
sure that everyone knew where it came from. Showing my colleagues
respect was key to earning respect myself, which in turn helped propel my
productivity and level of engagement. I also wanted to get a buy-in from
everyone as I realized that it was a way of letting them see my abilities,’
explained Kanwar.
‘My son Kanwar has been instrumental in helping out Berger in
automation in all old factories as required as well as setting up of most
modern automated factories requiring minimum labour. This has helped in
quality production and huge cost savings for Berger’, said Gurbachan. ‘The
next generation is being groomed and it is they who will decide what to do
after I am gone,’ said Kuldip.
However, he was clear about the manner in which the business should be
run. ‘I want the business to grow even more. But it has to be profitable
growth. If business does not make profits, it will stagnate. It has to keep
making money,’ he concluded.
 Forty-six
‘Berger Has Been Turned Around with Almost the
Same Team Kuldip Inherited’

The initial infusion of capital and increase in capacity had given an early
fillip to the Berger business. The colour-tinting machines added to the
momentum. From a struggling company in 1990, Berger became the
number two company in India in less than a decade.
People have asked Kuldip and Gurbachan about the key to their success.
The owners of Berger Paints maintain that God has been kind to them and
the teams did the job. A deeper discussion and analysis indicates that while
luck indeed played a major part, the Dhingra touch led to the business
turnaround. Kuldip focused on some key areas to take Berger Paints on the
growth path.
‘I understand only one business and it is the paints business,’ said Kuldip
with confidence. ‘We will therefore focus on paint and grow only in paint.
Whatever capital is available with us, we will use it for our paints business
and not anywhere else. We will not go for diversification,’ he added.
This relentless focus on paints, and only paints, yielded rich dividends for
Berger and the Dhingras.
The paints industry is a complex one. It is a ruthless industry, with
limited scope for product innovation and low involvement for the end
customers. Added to this is the voluminous nature of the product itself and
the ever-increasing number of variants of paints, leading to slim margins for
distributors and dealers. This is, however, an industry that Kuldip
understands well. He also understands optimal use of capital. He had been
through a time when capital for their business was a constraint. Melding
together a knowledge and understanding of both aspects, Kuldip laid down
his vision for the team.
The Dhingras provided the capital to the business, but Kuldip insisted on
a disciplined approach towards the allocation of the capital. The laid-back
approach of a multinational was replaced by a hard-nosed one by the new
owners. The Dhingras did not micromanage, but the guidance was clear.
The factories had to produce more and the supply to the dealers from the
depots had to be faster.
The supply chain assumes importance in the paints business due to the
nature of the product itself. Dealer shops are not very large but the paints
come in packs that take up a lot of space. The number of variants, shades
and sizes add to the problem.
‘Imagine a customer walks into our dealer store and asks for ten drums of
crimson enamel paints,’ explained Subir. No dealer would keep ten drums
of a particular colour in his stock. One, it would involve working capital
tied up and, two, he would not have the space for drums of all shades.
‘Thus, the dealer would call our depot and ask for the drums,’ he added.
The quicker the depot of Berger Paints was able to deliver the material
the happier the customer was. ‘But it was not as simple as that. How would
the depot know that ten drums of crimson enamel paints would be
required?’ he asked.
The answer to the problem lay in the ability to predict the demand in the
market to some extent. The ability to predict is a result from the order
history of the dealers. ‘Berger was a very small player in the market and the
dealers would give us orders, say, once in a month,’ said Subir. By contrast,
the leader—Asian Paints—would get orders many times in a month. ‘This
gave Asian an ability to analyse the order history of their dealers and
predict, to some extent, the nature of demand,’ explained Subir. Berger in
the mid-1990s did not have that ability.
‘Slowly, as the orders from the dealers started increasing, we also started
building our own order analysis and started to understand demand patterns,’
said Subir. As the orders started building up, manufacturing kept pace with
it. Gurbachan took the lead in expanding the manufacturing base, and from
1996 onwards factories were set up in Pondicherry, Jammu and Gujarat.
‘In fact, the decision to set up a factory in Jammu was a very bold one,’
said Sunil Sharma. The industry, in general, was keeping away from the
troubled Jammu and Kashmir area. However, the government wanted
industrial development as it believed that with industry would come some
stability in the region. Kuldip had studied the concessions given by the state
and discussed with Gurbachan the prospect of setting up a factory in
Jammu. ‘Some of us were worried about the location, but Mr Dhingra
waved aside our concerns. He said that the general public stayed there so
why couldn’t we put up a factory there?’ remembered Sunil Sharma.
The factory was set up and the state government rolled out the red carpet
for Berger Paints. The company was granted fiscal concessions such as
relief in sales tax and excise duty and income tax refund. The factory in
Jammu helped Berger as the production for northern India went up
dramatically.
This helped the teams on the ground to go forth and aggressively push
sales. As the sales teams were able to predict the demand better, the
inventory costs at the depots went down. The Dhingras were able to
understand very quickly that every additional rupee in manufacturing
yielded a non-linear positive result. The better results were manifested
through a generous dividend pay-out to the shareholders. In the initial years,
when the business was still finding its feet, Kuldip ploughed back their
share of the dividend into the company.
The second key area of focus for Kuldip was innovation in the market.
The innovation did not limit itself to innovative products but extended into
other areas as well. One of the early decisions made by Kuldip was to
merge Rajdoot Paints into Berger and operate it as a division of Berger
Paints. ‘Rajdoot had a tie-up with Glidden Paints since 1988 and we were
selling our products under the joint brand name,’ said Sunil Sharma. The
business plan had included a listing of the Rajdoot Paints business, which
would help the company gain national stature. ‘Unfortunately for us, before
we could go for a public listing Glidden got bought over by ICI,’ said Sunil.
Rajdoot, therefore, could not use the brand of Glidden in India any longer
as ICI was a competitor company here. ‘We had to shelve many of our
expansion plans as they were incumbent on the Glidden brand. Rajdoot
would have been difficult to sell nationally. We were all quite upset at this,’
he added.
Kuldip was also upset, but his mind continued to look for a solution to
the new googly thrown at the business. ‘This was the first time that I saw,
first-hand, his mind at work. He called me for a meeting and said, “Why
don’t we become a division of Berger Paints?”’ Sunil’s initial reaction was
to wonder how it would work. There was no example of one company with
two competing brands. But the more he thought about the idea, the more it
appealed to him.
On 1 October 1998, Rajdoot became part of Berger Paints. Sunil Sharma,
the CEO of Rajdoot Paints, became a part of Subir Bose’s team. ‘The
market was amazed at this decision. They all thought that we had gone
mad,’ said Sunil. However, it made complete sense to Kuldip. Rajdoot was
a regional company with brands that sold in the mass-market segment.
Berger did not have a product range that addressed this segment. Together,
the company would be able to address all segments of the market without
eroding the equity of the premium brand. Rajdoot Paints would be able to
take the advantage of the distribution network and be able to transform into
a national brand, leaving its regional-only identity behind. The advantage to
the dealers was that they would be able to address the needs of all segments
under one large umbrella brand.
Rajdoot Paints became a division of Berger Paints but the name
‘Rajdoot’ was jarring to the company employees. Very often they would
complain to Kuldip about the fact that Rajdoot did not sound premium
enough. It is a fact that even in a mass market, customers aspire for a
premium brand!
This was when Kuldip brought out the British Paints brand from its
hibernation. When the Dhingras had bought Berger Paints, the brand of
British Paints had come along with it. The right to use the brand belonged
to the Dhingras. However, amid all the immediate tasks and efforts to turn
around the company, the brand of British Paints had been forgotten. It was
many years later, after the merger of Rajdoot Paints into Berger Paints, that
Kuldip remembered the brand.
‘Mr Dhingra asked me if renaming Rajdoot Paints as British Paints
would make sense to us,’ said Sunil. ‘Of course, it did!’ he added
enthusiastically. Thus, in 2008 Rajdoot Paints was renamed British Paints,
which continued to be a division of Berger Paints. It is ironical that Berger
Paints that was once bought by British Paints turned a full circle and
became the parent of it!
Kuldip had understood the value of incentives and recognition even when
he was a one-man company operating out of Golf Links, selling the material
produced by the Amritsar factory. The 2 per cent scheme that he launched
for the Delhi dealers and then subsequently offered to Madame Shayk had
paid rich dividends. His streetwise tactics complemented the corporate
strategy drawn up by the management teams. The dealers saw some
aggressive sales incentives come their way. However, this was
counterbalanced by a reduction in credit period and rebates offered to the
dealers.
The new thinking continued to manifest itself in the products that Berger
Paints offered to the market. Starting from Luxol Silk, a premium emulsion
sold in the market, Berger brought out new products based on active
research. Breathe Easy was one such innovation that caught the interest of
the market. This was a paint made from low volatile organic chemicals and
was therefore suitable for schools and hospitals. People who suffered from
breathing problems and the elderly would be the obvious customers for this
product. WeatherCoat AllGuard, a silicon-based exterior paint that had
water-resistant properties, and Easy Clean, the most washable interior paint,
soon saw the share of Berger Paints rise in the decorative-paints segment.
And then came Express Painting Solution, a cleaner and faster painting
service that freed the clients from the clouds of dust and remnants of smell
associated with house painting.
The innovation and the focus on only paints with prudent capital
management alone could not have taken Berger out of the hot water. The
strategies had to be executed on the ground. ‘What is absolutely amazing is
that the entire turnaround took place with almost the same team that Kuldip
inherited. He did not sack anyone like many new owners of business do. He
empowered the existing team to do things differently,’ said Brinder Singh, a
family friend. Indeed, with the exception of Biji Kurien, the senior team has
largely remained the same.
‘This degree of separation of ownership and management in Berger
Paints is rare compared to other companies,’ said Abhijit Roy, the current
MD and CEO, Berger Paints. Even the vendors and suppliers commend this
separation of ownership from management.
‘I have met Mr K.S. Dhingra only once when the foundation stone for
their Pondicherry factory was being laid,’ said A. Kumar, owner and
managing partner, Gemini Paints, a vendor of more than thirty years with
Berger. All his dealings are with the management team though he knows
that Kuldip is always kept informed. ‘But I have never seen him interfere in
the process,’ said Kumar of Kuldip.
This is a refreshing change from power-hungry promoters not only in
India but across the world. Berger Paints was run by professionals before
the Dhingras bought the company, and it continued to be run by
professionals thereafter. The new owners continued to let professionals run
Berger Paints and have given their guidance through the board. The day-to-
day executive role is not for them.
Kuldip and Gurbachan grew up seeing the working partner model in
place in their business. One of the incentives for the working partners was a
share of the profit. In a listed company, it was not possible to have a similar
arrangement. However, attracting and retaining talent was one of the
problems Berger faced. At each annual budget meeting, the fact that the
company was losing good people would come up. Kuldip could not
understand why the company was not able to retain good professionals. He
told the management team to work on a stock option plan. Kuldip thought
that the professionals would jump at the thought of getting stocks and
waited for the scheme to be brought to him for discussion. But Kuldip did
not see even a draft employee stock ownership plan (ESOP).
 ‘I could not understand why. Usually it is the owner who does not want
to part with equity as the owners’ share gets diluted,’ said Kuldip. ‘Here I
was the owner who was asking the management to come up with a scheme
but no one was forthcoming.’
At a subsequent annual budget meeting the subject of high attrition was
brought up once again by the management team. Kuldip took this
opportunity and asked management the reason for their lack of interest in
the equity-sharing plan. ‘There was total silence around the table.
Everyone’s eyebrows went up and they all turned and looked at one senior
member of the team,’ said Kuldip. He realized then that the old-school
ideas of senior members were coming in the way to execute this scheme.
Kuldip had decided that ESOPs had to be given and once his mind was
made up, there was nothing that could come in the way. He engaged a
consultant to work on a plan and the company launched the scheme. Berger
was the first paints company to have an ESOP scheme and till today
remains the only company with such a plan. ‘The additional benefit was
that everyone started looking at the share price and the market cap of the
company,’ laughed Kuldip.
 Forty-seven
‘You Can Take Mr Dhingra Out of Amritsar but
You Can’t Take Amritsar Out of Mr Dhingra’

One of the reasons that Berger Paints had been attractive to Kuldip was
that it was a multinational. However, what he did not realize was that the
multinational management were accustomed to their perquisites. Expense
allowances, large homes and comfortable travel were perks that the
management took for granted.
Kuldip and Gurbachan had grown in a different manner. ‘Money had
been a scarce commodity, and so we had all learnt to make the most of what
we had. Spending on unnecessary things was not something that we were
comfortable with,’ said Gurbachan. The brothers flew economy and worked
out of humble offices. The Dhingras may have acquired dollops of wealth
but they remained grounded to their roots. The Zamrudpur office is a fairly
nondescript building and Kuldip’s office there could be a general manager’s
office in any company, domestic or multinational. The families neither
grace the glitterati parties nor do they feature on page 3. It is almost as if
there is an attempt to keep out of the radar of people in general.
The 1980s and 1990s had seen the fortunes of the Dhingra brothers
change greatly. In the 1980s the Dhingra brothers had to find their feet after
Sohan Singh’s stroke and in the 1990s they had seen their brother suffer
from another medical setback. In spite of trying to carry on as best he could,
Sohan Singh passed away in the early 2000s. Kuldip Singh became the
patriarch of not only the business but also of the family.
However, he never forgot his roots. ‘I was a shopkeeper in 1967,’ said
Kuldip with pride. He was not ashamed of his humble past. From a
shopkeeper to one of the biggest exporters of India and to the owner of a
corporate company—Kuldip made this transition in twenty years. His
values and the values of the family, however, remained rooted.
Kewal remembered an evening when Kuldip was over at his home for
dinner. ‘My nephew and some other youngsters were present. Kuldip
started talking about a new car he was planning to buy,’ said Kewal. Kuldip
was very impressed with Mahindra Scorpio and thought it would be a good
idea to buy one. ‘My nephew’s jaw dropped. Here was the owner of Berger
Paints, worth I don’t know how many crores, and he wanted to buy a
Scorpio!’ laughed Kewal as he found this conversation funny. The
youngsters protested and told Kuldip that he had to buy a better car.
‘Ultimately he did buy a German car but he cribbed that it was very
expensive,’ said Kewal, laughing as he remembered the conversation. ‘He
kept telling me for days after that that my nephew made him spend so much
on a mere car,’ he added. ‘It is just a means of transport,’ he said.
The sun was setting and the shadows were growing longer. The mood in
the room was mellow as Kuldip and I talked about his businesses in other
countries. ‘I love to travel and visit my offices, but I notice that I am
starting to get tired these days,’ said Kuldip in a candid moment. ‘I am not
forty years old any longer, you know. Waiting at airports is very tiring.’
‘Can Berger not invest in a company jet? It will enable you to travel but
will cut out the time spent at various airports,’ I asked seriously.
Kuldip shook his head slowly, his face mirroring his emotions. He cannot
even think of such an extravagance. ‘How can I do this? It is completely
against our family values,’ he said.
I persisted, saying, ‘But it is not a luxury. You don’t drive in a Maruti 800
any longer, so why not just look at it as a mode of transport? Also, it will
not be for you and the family only. The management of Berger could also
use it.’
Kuldip looked at me with anguish. He was saddened that I could not
understand. ‘What message will we be sending out if we buy a jet? We are
not that kind of people,’ he said.
 The management of Berger in the initial days was apprehensive about the
new owners cutting down their lifestyle perks. However, the canny
businessman in Kuldip understood that the perks were a small price to pay
in return for his demand for better performance.
‘He does not ask anyone to travel in a particular way. He just tells you
that he is travelling economy and leaves you to make your own decision,’
said Jerry laughing. ‘I remember that once we were travelling to Dhaka for
our board meeting. Kuldip told me that he was travelling premium
economy. I booked my ticket in the same class. But I saw some other senior
employees and other directors on the board in business class, and Kuldip
was OK with it,’ continued Jerry.
‘I am allowed to travel business class as the company policy but the
culture ingrained in all of us is to conserve expenses. So, I book my travel
accordingly,’ said Abhijit Roy, the CEO of Berger Paints India, with a
smile.
‘You can take Mr Dhingra out of Amritsar but you can’t take Amritsar
out of Mr Dhingra,’ said an old-timer at Berger. ‘He brought in the frugal
approach to spending money on people from his Amritsar and Rajdoot
days,’ he continued.
Maintaining some of the perks of the management certainly did help in
alleviating their fears about the new owners. What won the new owners to
the management was their approach to the work. ‘We are allowed to
innovate and allowed to make mistakes. No one is berated or scolded; we
are not told to follow a straightjacketed approach from the leaders. This
helps in building an entrepreneurial feeling amongst all the employees,’
said Abhijit Roy. ‘But Mr Dhingra constantly pushes us for better
performance all the time,’ he added.
The entrepreneurial approach and the freedom given to the management
to execute their strategy works for Kuldip at two levels. One, this approach
frees him to focus on the way forward. ‘If I get caught in the day-to-day
routine I will not have time for anything else,’ he said.
The other way that this strategy works for Kuldip is that it takes away the
reason most often used when agreed-upon targets have not been met.
‘Professionals are very clever. If I tell them to do something and it doesn’t
work out they will just look at me and say that I had told them to do it. They
are quick to pass the buck in case anything goes wrong,’ he said.
So Kuldip leaves them to make their own decision under the guidance of
the board. The management is under no pressure to follow an instruction if
they do not believe in it.
‘Abhijit, I think you should take out an ad about Russia using our paints
for their stadiums and airports,’ said Kuldip. We were a few months away
from the 2018 FIFA World Cup kicked off in Russia. The country had been
getting its football stadiums and airports spruced up for the big international
event. The paint being used in at least three stadiums and a couple of
airports was from Berger Russia. Kuldip saw this as a great opportunity for
brand building. He spoke to the CEO about it but was told that the
marketing people were using digital media for this. ‘I don’t understand this
digital-shigital. I can’t understand why they don’t want to release ads about
this,’ Kuldip said to me before he dialled Abhijit Roy.
It was a Sunday and close to noon. Abhijit, in Kolkata, was on leave from
work as he was preparing to go overseas for a family vacation. ‘I don’t
know why professionals take so many holidays. I don’t like holidays,’
muttered Kuldip.
‘You know people in the government and in the embassies—they will all
see the ads. I don’t know how many people will see your digital ads,’ urged
Kuldip.
I could hear only one side of the conversation and inferred that Kuldip
was being told that the marketing team does not think that the ads will add
any significant value. ‘Chalo, dekh lo phir. See what you want to do,’
sighed Kuldip after a fifteen-minute conversation and signed off.
He turned to me and said, ‘I splashed Delhi with hoardings and took out
large ads when the Moscow Olympics happened. I said in all my ads that
Moscow Olympics was using Rajdoot Paints.’ The company and UK Paints
was not a big company but they still made a lot of noise about their
contribution to the international event. ‘I got many new contracts after that.
A lot of people noticed us because of those ads,’ he continued ruefully. ‘But
these professional people, they have their own ideas,’ he said.
‘You are the chairman of the company. You don’t want to instruct them to
take out these ads now?’ I asked.
‘No, no. I don’t want to give instructions. They will tell me that they used
up all their marketing budget for my ads and that’s why they did not have
money for marketing and therefore they could not meet their business
targets. The fact that the chairman of the board is calling someone on a
Sunday afternoon should be indication enough of my intent but . . .,’ he
trailed off.
Well you win some and you lose some!
 Forty-eight
‘Even Though I Was Working for Him, Kuldipji
Gave Me So Much Respect’

‘We were coming back to Delhi from Lucknow, where we had gone for
a meeting together,’ said Ajit Singh Syali, who worked in an advisory
capacity for some years with Kuldip Dhingra. Ajit’s wife, Brinda, grew up
with the Dhingra children in Delhi. Brinda’s parents were friends of
Kuldip’s parents and his uncles and aunts.
‘My family was originally from Amritsar, so there was that connection.
And Sohan bhapa was a couple of years my senior at Modern School in
Delhi,’ said Brinda. She married Ajit, who was working in the government
and became part of the founding team of the Research and Analysis Wing
of the government (RAW), the foreign-intelligence agency of India. Ajit
later headed RAW for three years.
Kuldip and Meeta had kept in touch with Brinda and Ajit over the years.
When Ajit retired from RAW, Kuldip asked him to come to UK Paints as a
consultant. ‘I did not know anything about paints but Kuldip told me that he
thought I knew a lot about strategy,’ laughed the mild-mannered Ajit.
Kuldip and he had gone to Lucknow for a meeting and were rushing to
get to the airport for their flight back to Delhi. ‘Suddenly Kuldip looked at
the shops on the road and said, “I have to stop for a moment. I have to meet
Mr Sharma,”’ remembered Ajit. Kuldip used to deal with Mr Sharma, then
a dealer for Rajdoot Paints. ‘I told him we were running late and we may
miss the flight,’ said Ajit. But Kuldip was adamant. He had not seen Mr
Sharma in years and he could not pass the street without stopping to say
hello to him. ‘He had helped me a lot when I was just a small businessman,’
explained Kuldip as he instructed the driver to take a small detour to go into
one of the narrow by-lanes. He remembered the exact shop and told the
driver to stop.
‘Mr Sharma could not believe his eyes,’ exclaimed Ajit. Kuldip was now
the chairman of Berger Paints, which is a big company. The dealer could
not believe that the chairman of this large company had come to his shop.
‘Kuldip was so nostalgic when he spoke with Mr Sharma,’ he continued.
Mr Sharma himself started remembering the old days. ‘You know in
those days whenever Kuldip came here I would get papdi chaat from next
door for him,’ said Mr Sharma. He turned to Kuldip and asked if he would
still want to eat that chaat. Kuldip nodded promptly. Mr Sharma called out
to his office boy and said to him, ‘Jaldi se jaa. Bhaag ke teen chaat le kar
aa [Come quickly. Run and get me three plates of chaat].’
Ajit was getting a bit worried about the time and reminded Kuldip that
they had a flight to catch. But Kuldip would not leave till the chaat arrived
and he ate it. After wiping his hands Kuldip got up and hugged Mr Sharma
and left.
‘When we left, both Kuldip and Mr Sharma had tears in their eyes,’ said
Ajit. ‘He got really emotional and all through the journey to the airport kept
telling me about his days in Rajdoot,’ Ajit said.
‘Mr Dhingra has this ability to speak with anyone and make them feel
like they are the most important person for him,’ said Abhijit Roy. ‘I
remember the time when a few of us had gone out for a meal after the
meetings,’ he continued. The team had gone to the Taj Hotel, where a table
had been reserved for them. Everyone gave their order when the steward
came to take down their choices. Kuldip, after telling the steward what he
wanted, asked him, ‘And how are you? Is all well with you?’ The steward
was surprised as he knew that it was the chairman of Berger Paints that was
asking him the question. ‘All is w . . . we . . . well, Sir,’ he stammered.
Kuldip was not finished yet. ‘And how is everyone at home? I hope they are
all fine,’ Kuldip continued to talk to the steward. ‘Yes, Sir, all are well.
Thank you for asking,’ the steward said, getting back his voice. Kuldip then
patted the steward on his arm and said, ‘Chalo, take care of yourself.’
 Abhijit was watching this from his seat. ‘I can’t forget the look on the
steward’s face. He was surprised, thrilled and honoured, all at the same
time. He had a broad smile on his face by the end of it all,’ said Abhijit. ‘Mr
Dhingra may not remember his face the next time he goes to the same hotel
but that guy will remember him for a very long time,’ he added.
Brinda, Ajit Syali’s wife, narrated an incident that happened on her
birthday. ‘Kuldipji was the honorary counsel of Georgia for many years,’
remembered Ajit. As honorary counsel Kuldip had to fulfil some diplomatic
duties. ‘He told me that since I had worked in the government I would be
able to better understand the protocol and other bureaucratic work. He
asked me to help him with the counsel work as well,’ said Ajit. ‘I forget the
number of visa applications that we processed as part of the counsel office,’
he laughed.
Kuldip had to visit Georgia regularly and sometimes Meeta would
accompany him. ‘This time he invited Ajit and me to also accompany them
to Georgia,’ said Brinda in her soft, measured voice. She taught at Modern
School, Barakhamba Road, for many years and she had the patient manner
of a teacher used to dealing with pesky children.
The flight to Georgia was via Istanbul and the two couples took a day’s
break in Turkey. ‘We went for lunch at a restaurant. It was my birthday and
I told them,’ said Brinda. They had a good lunch. ‘In between Kuldip
excused himself for a while and got up. I thought he had gone to the toilet
or something. Anyway, he came back soon enough,’ remembered Brinda.
As lunch was finishing there was a small commotion near the kitchen. A
small retinue of stewards walked towards their table. The steward in the
front was holding up a cake and the rest of the staff was singing ‘Happy
birthday’ in their Turkish accents. ‘I was so touched that I almost started
crying. Kuldip had got up and gone to order this cake for me,’ said Brinda,
getting a little emotional even now.
‘Even though I was working for him, Kuldipji gave me so much respect.
He told me that he had lost his father when he was very young and that he
would take any advice I gave him as given by a family elder,’ said Ajit. ‘He
is really a genuine person,’ continued Ajit, one of India’s top spies at one
point of time.
The internal auditor at Berger, Shubhashish Mukherjee, had his own
story to tell. He was coming back from his honeymoon and saw Kuldip
sitting in the same aircraft. ‘I recognized him but of course he did not know
who I was,’ he said. After the aircraft reached cruising altitude and the seat
belt signs were off, Shubhashish got up from his seat and went to Kuldip.
‘Sir, you don’t know me but, I work at Berger Paints. I saw you, so I
thought I would come to give you my regards,’ he said.
Kuldip did not know him but asked him his name and the department he
was working in. ‘So what work did you have in Delhi,’ asked Kuldip
assuming that Shubhashish was travelling on work.
‘No, Sir, I am on leave. I am returning from my honeymoon,’ said
Shubhashish shyly.
‘Oye, honeymoon!’ exclaimed Kuldip and turned to Meeta who was
sitting next to him. ‘Meeta, see Shubhashish is returning from his
honeymoon. We must say hello to his wife.’
He told Shubhashish that Meeta and he wanted to meet his wife.
Shubhashish was thrilled and went back to get his wife. Kuldip and Meeta
spent five minutes talking to the couple. ‘I was so happy and my wife was
so impressed that the chairman of the company spent time talking to us,’
said Shubhashish happily, his eyes shining with joy years after the incident.
The emotional side of Kuldip shows itself very frequently. For a man
who is known for his quick temper and iron will, the vulnerable side comes
as a surprise. But then, it is only the strong who can afford to show their
vulnerability.
Looking Back and Looking Ahead
 ‘Kuldip is a family man. His life is only about his business and his family. Here you see him with
(left to right) Jessima, his middle daughter, Meeta, his wife, Rishma, his eldest daughter, and Dipti,
his youngest daughter’—Harish Ahuja, a business associate and Kuldip’s friend.
 Forty-nine
Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi
LIFE IS LIKE AN EXPRESS TRAIN

Kuldip Dhingra is a man that evokes a multitude of emotions. The only

emotion he does not evoke is that of indifference.
‘It is difficult for someone to meet Kuldip and walk away without being
affected either positively or negatively,’ said Jerry Adams, Kuldip’s
business associate since 2000. ‘He has an inbuilt ability to connect with
people.’
‘Now that you say it, I think it must be true,’ said Kuldip
contemplatively. I had told him that people say that Kuldip is able to talk to
anyone and everyone.
It was late evening and Kuldip had had a busy day. ‘Not at work. There
was a family occasion,’ he clarified.
The garden outside was not visible as the floor-to-ceiling glass doors
reflected the warmly lit indoors. It was cold outside but the electric fire was
keeping the indoors warm. The room smelled lovely as the tuberoses, fresh
from the Dhingra farm, in all corners of the room gently spread their
fragrance.
‘Yes, I think I have a connect with people. But I feel that I am losing that
as I feel isolated now,’ mused Kuldip. ‘There is no time to visit the factories
and the people there. I don’t remember the last time I went to meet my
dealers,’ he said.
‘What keeps you busy at work? You have a full professional
management, your daughter Rishma and nephew Kanwar are also fully
involved in the business. Have you thought of slowing down? Do you see a
time when you are not working at all?’ I asked.
‘But what will I do then?’ Kuldip shot back, doubtfully. ‘I love my work
so much. I am so passionate about it. I don’t know what else to do,’ he said.
He stopped to take a sip of the hot coffee as he thought about a life without
work. ‘I have worked for so many years. This is the only life I know. I get a
headache if I don’t have anything to do,’ he said. ‘See I am not the kind of a
person who will go on cruises or for shopping. I know only to work. Unj hi
chalda rahega. [It will carry on like this only]. After all, chalti ka naam
gaadi [literally, life is like an express train]!’ he said somewhat
sardonically. ‘I love the paints business and there is so much to do. I really
want to get into R&D full time. It is such an exciting time,’ he said,
enthusiasm returning to his voice.
Life, which has been full of excitement for Kuldip, continues to play a
role even in the seventh decade of his life. ‘Do you have any regrets?’ I
asked.
‘I have no regrets at all,’ Kuldip said immediately. ‘Whatever I have done
I have done after a conscious decision, after thinking about all the pros and
cons. So, if things go wrong I don’t curse anyone. If things do well, it is
because God is kind to me,’ said Kuldip.
‘I take life as it comes. What is there in my control?’ he asked me.
He did not wait for me to answer. ‘Nothing. There is very little in my
control. There is a larger force that controls our lives,’ he said. However, for
a man who believes that nothing is in his control Kuldip is a control freak.
Having spent a lifetime in the paints industry and having built the
business from scratch, Kuldip believes that he knows more than anyone else
in his company about the business of paints. And he does not hesitate to tell
them. ‘See, professionals are professionals at the end of the day. They are
worried about their CV all the time. If the business collapses they will find
themselves another job. But where will I go? This is the only business I
have,’ said Kuldip. ‘So, I have to patiently teach them about the business. I
have to get them to love the business as much as I do,’ he added. ‘But I
can’t leave it completely to them,’ he said seriously.
 ‘What about the gen-next? Can you leave it completely to them?’ I asked.
‘They are already in the business. I have voluntarily stepped off some of
the boards. Gurbachan and I are there to give them guidance but the
children are taking a lot of decisions themselves,’ said Kuldip. ‘The other
children are free to do whatever they want to do. We are very strict that
way. Only Rishma and Kanwar will be part of the business. The others will
not work in it,’ said Kuldip.
One of the other decisions that the family needs to take is about the
separation of the business from the family assets. ‘Gurbachan and I are in
the process of disentangling the joint holdings in our assets other than the
business. It is better that we do it so that after us there are no problems,’
said Kuldip. ‘The work has been on for a while. There are only a few loose
ends that need to be tied up now but we are almost there,’ said Kuldip.
‘Once this is all done, I am free to concentrate on my work again!’ said
Kuldip, his eyes shining.
‘Theek hai, as you say chalti ka naam gaadi,’ I said. ‘But tell me now
that you have earned fame and money, what are you working for? What
keeps you motivated?’ I asked.
Kuldip sat up straighter. ‘I don’t think I have earned fame,’ he bristled.
‘The day I think ki mera naam ho gaya that is the end of me,’ he added.
‘Not you, but others believe that you have earned a name for yourself,’ I
persisted.
‘Let them say,’ interrupted Kuldip with a wave of hand. ‘I don’t believe
them. I have only done my work. I haven’t thought of name-vame or
anything like that. I don’t go anywhere to make speeches, I don’t go to
collect awards. It is a waste of time. I just concentrate on what I have to do,’
he added.
I held up my hands to admit defeat in this discussion. ‘OK, OK. So, you
don’t think you work for name and fame. What about money?’ I asked him.
‘Oh money! Yes, money initially was a matter of survival. I had to earn
money to keep the families going. But now money is not important. I don’t
work for money. I work to grow the business. There is so much to be done,’
he said.
 ‘I love the discussions for joint ventures, for takeovers, for mergers, for
new businesses. We are doing so much of good work. We have products
that no one in the Indian market has. Even Asian Paints doesn’t have those
products,’ said Kuldip speaking fast as if he wanted to make the most of the
time. ‘And I think the reason I enjoy all this is that I genuinely love
connecting with people. Koi dikhava nahin hai [There is no pretence]. I
speak to them from my heart and I think people respond positively,’ he said.
‘Business is my life and it is my destiny,’ said Kuldip seriously. ‘And I
cannot take either for granted,’ he added.
Kanwar, his nephew, had just returned from Poland after a board meeting
there. ‘I told Kanwar, “You always have to keep your eyes on the business.
You cannot relax thinking that it is going well. The moment you take your
eyes away, you take your focus away, the business could slip out of your
control. It will happen so fast that you will not even know it,”’ said Kuldip.
‘“There are competitors waiting for you to make a mistake. One mistake,
and phat,”’ he slapped his hands together, ‘“you will be finished.”’
‘I have seen the world and I have seen life from all angles. I know that it
is a fight, a struggle to keep going every day. And that is why I continue to
be in business. To fight. I will never run away. I will never, ever do that.
Come what may, I will fight back. Always.’ Kuldip concluded.
*
Name has been changed to protect his identity.
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 Acknowledgements

Saying thank you to the family is usually kept for the last—be it at award
functions or in acknowledgments of books. However, I start my
acknowledgments by thanking my family—my husband and my son—for
the role they have played in my life journey. It takes inherent self-
confidence and compassion for men to appreciate, truly, the success of
women. These two strong men have supported and applauded me, albeit in
their own unique ways! These men keep me steady and are my sounding
boards for whatever I do, including writing this book. Thank you, Juggi and
Karan, for always being there.
Working with an editor takes on almost the same intensity as being with
family. I am fortunate to have Lohit Jagwani as my editor, and have come to
think of him and Zoya, his wife, as family. Lohit is extremely well read,
loves to talk about what he has read and is a good listener to boot! Talking
to him has always helped me structure my own thoughts; working with him
has helped me write better. Thank you, Lohit, for your continued
motivation, enthusiasm and patience.
Milee Ashwarya is the editor-in-chief at Penguin Random House, and I
am delighted that I am an author who is part of her team. A bundle of
energy, Milee has an uncanny ability to bring a sense of calm in her authors.
Discussions with her have always been insightful and her comments have
been incisive. Thank you, Milee, for your continued guidance.
Kuldip Dhingra is known to the world as the chairman of Berger Paints.
Besides the occasional anecdotal story, not much is known about him
personally to the world at large. Kuldip, for the first time, allowed a total
stranger to access his hitherto fiercely protected personal life and told his
story with honesty. Thank you, Kuldip, for trusting me with your story.
 Unstoppable would not have been possible without the generosity of time
and commitment of the immediate family, extended family, friends,
associates and employees of Kuldip Dhingra. While some names have been
changed on request, these people are all there in the pages of the story.
Thank you, all, for your stories and the many hours you spent going down
the memory lane.
Then there is the team at Penguin Random House which works behind
the scenes but consists of people who are stars in their own rights.
Unstoppable would not be the book it is without the experienced hand of
Saloni Mital as the manuscript copy-editor. Her skilful editing has taken the
rough edges out of my writing and has made it seamless. Akangksha
Sarmah had the unenviable task of putting together a ‘colourful’ cover. And
she has delivered a cracker of a cover. Thank you, Saloni and Akangksha,
for your support and hard work.
A very special thank you to all the readers, especially the readers of my
first book—The Inheritors. I have been touched by the number of messages
on email, Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter and Instagram from people who took
time out to write to me. From long messages to short and sharp ones, they
have always brought a smile on my face and warmth in my heart. Thank
you, again, dear readers, and I do hope that you will continue to be
generous with your comments and critique for Unstoppable.
 THE BEGINNING

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This collection published 2019

Copyright © Sonu Bhasin 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Akangksha Sarmah
This digital edition published in 2019.
e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05600-1
For sale in the Indian Subcontinent only
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,
resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding
or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.