Konjo

By Sandeep Goyal

A rip-roaring account of a career in the ad world by a renowned ad-manA few weeks before Sandeep Goyal turned forty, he resigned from Zee. And his world came crashing down. He lost his so-called friends, his Merc, his memberships of the Chambers and the Belvedere, his secretaries and his retinue of hangers-on. Reality took a while to sink in and he realized he was all alone with only his wife to support him. He introspected, did a reality check and decided to look forward instead of brooding on the past. After relentless work he achieved an improbable dream. He signed a joint venture with Dentsu, the Japanese ad giant. To success he needed, as they say in Japanese, Kon Jo or 'fighting spirit' - a combination of will power, guts, perseverance and a dogged tenacity in the face of hardship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Collins
• Release date: Feb 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9789351360797

Sandeep Goyal

Sandeep Goyal, 56, has visited Japan over a hundred times over the past twenty-five years. Goyal started his career in advertising with Hindustan Thompson Associates (HTA), now known as Wunderman Thompson. He then worked at Trikaya Grey and Mudra before going on to become the president of Rediffusion - DY&R at the age of thirty-five. Post that, he became Group CEO of Zee Telefilms,the only listed media company at that time in India. In 2003, he partnered with Tokyo-based Dentsu Inc., the world's single largest advertising agency, in joint-ventures for India and the Middle East. His previous book was titled Konjo.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

At thirty-five, I became President of Rediffusion DY&R, one of India’s largest and most respected ad agencies.

At thirty-eight, I became Group CEO of Zee Telefilms, India’s largest broadcaster and only publicly listed media company.

A few weeks before I turned forty, I resigned from Zee.

One day, I was one of India’s highest paid professional executives. The next day, it was all gone. My Merc, my memberships of the Chambers and the Belvedere, my memberships of the Bombay Gym and Willingdon, my secretaries and executive assistants, my retinue of hangers-on, my myriad ‘friends’, my every-night-a-new-celebration-invites. Overnight they were all gone.

My high-flying career had inexplicably come to a sudden halt. I was always a good student. I was a University gold-medallist in my B.A. Honours. Post my MBA from FMS Delhi, I had only seen an ever-spiralling steep growth curve professionally. There was success, more success, and yet more success with every passing year. I worked hard, very very hard. Rewards followed. I was lucky too. My progress from a mobike to a Maruti to a Mercedes had taken me barely a dozen years. I had begun to enjoy the success, even take it for granted.

I can perhaps never really pinpoint what went wrong at Zee. It was a combination of factors. Maybe I should never have taken that job in the first place. Maybe I was just the wrong guy in the wrong place. Maybe I was too young. Or in too much of a hurry. Or I never adjusted to the company’s culture. Or it was just bad karma.

Reality took a while to sink in. My mobile stopped ringing. ‘Friends’ started avoiding me. I started avoiding parties. I was hurting deep inside. Suddenly, I was all alone.

My wife, Tanya, was my only real support. She, more than anyone else, understood what I was going through. It took her a while to coax me to open up. Talk about what had gone wrong. Introspect. Do a reality check. Think ahead, rather than think about the past.

I brooded. I wallowed in self-pity. I got angry at myself, and at the world. I hated not being in the limelight. I hated not being the centre of attention. I hated everyone and everything around me. I hated my own shadow. I hated myself.

It took me three months to piece myself together again. Tanya and I would sit on our 22nd floor terrace for hours and talk and talk as the sky went from blue to black and back to blue again. My self-confidence had got momentarily dented, but deep down my self-belief was intact. One day, I decided I was going to win again. I started to dream.

The first thing I told myself: The less a life depends on another, the better it is. It may surprise you to know that I could not at that stage of my high-flying career even send out an email on my own! I had had secretaries and assistants to do it for me all these years. I quickly taught myself the basics.

Next, I reminded myself: The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones. This hiatus had shown me who my real friends were. In my earlier successes I had showered favours indiscriminately. Going forward, I shed a lot of ‘friends’.

Last but not the least, I reiterated in my mind: God helps those who help themselves. One fine morning, I walked into the hallowed portals of Dentsu Inc., the world’s largest advertising agency. I had come to seek a joint venture with them for India. At that moment, I did not have a company of my own, I did not even have an office. I had no employees, no clients, no credentials really to woo the world leader. I just had my self-confidence and my self-belief.

I kept my head down, I remained focused, I worked relentlessly to achieve what looked like an improbable dream. I used my intellect, my wits and my experience to try and win Dentsu’s hand. No one gave me even a half-chance. Except God and Tanya.

Nine months after I left Zee, I kissed success again. Dentsu and I signed a JV. It was a coup. The Indian ad and media industry were agog. My mobile phone just would not stop ringing!

In January 2011, after seven glorious years, and after building Dentsu India into a Rs 1200 crore entity (India’s 4th or 5th largest ad agency), I exited my JV with the Japanese giant.

I exited right on top. I exited young. I exited decently rich.

The pursuit of a JV with Dentsu was a foolhardy project. But I was fortunate to tie up with the world leader. But then again, not many gave me a one-in-hundred chance to eventually succeed with the venture itself. We were (despite Dentsu’s global size and stature) little known in India. We were latecomers to the market. We did not have a client list that would automatically become a magnet for talent to join us.

To succeed, I knew, I needed Konjo.

Konjo in Japanese means ‘fighting spirit’. It is a combination of willpower, guts, grit, determination, great stamina, courage, fortitude, perseverance and tenacity in the face of physical hardship, pain or even death.

My Konjo story spans almost eight years. From pursuing the joint venture, to launching it, to growing it into a phenomenal success, to selling it. I hope you enjoy my story.

1

WELL BEGUN IS HALF DONE

I just could not sleep. The drone of the jet engines roared in my ears. I turned for the nth time in my seat. I knew it was futile. I was just too tense. I straightened the seat and sat up straight. I switched on the bright overhead light. All the other passengers were fast asleep. I sipped some water. It did not help. I thought I would watch a movie. I toyed aimlessly with the remote for a while, flicking channels. But I was just too restless inside. The channels were just a blur. I switched off the light, reclined the seat again and closed my eyes. But I knew that I was not going to get any sleep. I resigned myself to more tossing and turning. Tokyo Narita was still five hours away.

I thought back to Friday’s meetings in Singapore.

I was the third, and last, to present. Sam Balsara of Madison was first in the line-up. Arvind Sharma of Leo Burnett was next. Both had presented before lunch.

I was slotted for 2.30 p.m. Since the Dentsu Asia offices were in a tower that was part of the hotel complex, I had only to walk across the lobby and take the elevator up.

I looked at my watch. It was 2.10. I was early.

The receptionist was expecting me. I was ushered into the conference room. The Dentsu team would join me at the appointed hour, she said.

The laptop I had requested was already on the conference table. So was the projector. I would need IT support, I said, as I took out my presentation CD from my bag. She looked at me a bit quizzically. I did not have the heart to tell her how technologically challenged I was. I had the CD in my hand, but did not know how to boot up the computer or to set up the projector. I had never done it on my own before. She must have registered my helplessness because she took the CD from me and soon had the whole system on ‘go’. I thanked her as she left the room to fetch me some coffee.

I looked at the view outside. There were still ten minutes to go. I felt a sudden emptiness in my stomach. I wished I had had lunch. But till then I just hadn’t felt up to it. Now I regretted it. A full stomach is always good to fight on. The receptionist came back with the coffee and some biscuits. I quickly finished them both. I felt better.

A slightly built, good-looking Japanese gentleman was the first to enter. He smiled as he bowed and handed me his card. ‘My name is Yuzuru Kato. I am from Dentsu headquarters, Tokyo. My boss, Oshima san, sends you his regards. He is the one who has sent me to join this meeting today in Singapore. I am looking forward to your presentation.’ For a Japanese, his English was pretty good. But it was his overall body language that I liked instinctively. There was something very positive about him. We shook hands as I handed him my visiting card. He looked at it intently. It simply had my name and home address on it. Nothing else. I don’t know what went through his mind, but he looked up and smiled at me again.

As they filed into the room, I was introduced to Akashi san, the CEO of Dentsu Asia, and to Ishibashi san, the COO. Also joining us was a very young-looking man, Kobayashi san, who introduced himself as the CFO. A couple of others too joined the meeting, but from the far seats they took at the conference table, it was apparent that they were secretarial staff.

There was no preamble. As soon as everyone was seated, Akashi san gestured to me to start.

I stood up. Said a quick, silent prayer. And pressed the remote to go to my first slide.

The presentation had lasted about ninety minutes.

I had started with a brief self-introduction. I was careful to keep it matter-of-fact. The Japanese do not like self-adulation. Family details, education, my initial years in sales, my early years in advertising and my innings at Rediffusion. The Rediffusion bit they listened to very carefully. More so, since Dentsu were a 20 per cent shareholder in the Indian ad agency, alongside Young & Rubicam. I took care to stress my experience of handling Maruti Suzuki, Canon, Sony, Panasonic, Fujifilm and other Japanese brands. I also told them of my stint with Zee Telefilms as Group CEO. There were no comments, no questions. I was sure they had all carefully read, and absorbed, my CV much before the meeting.

I breezed through the India opportunity at a macro level. I ran them through the Indian media and advertising scene. I stressed that giants like JWT, Lowe Lintas and Ogilvy had been in India for years and years and were well entrenched. They listened, without expression or interruption.

I then shifted gears to the main part of the presentation: Dentsu in India. I took them through the experience of all recent global agency launches in India. I spent some time analysing Euro RSCG. Then TBWA. And then, Hakuhodo, Japan’s No. 2 agency, and Dentsu’s closest competitor. I could suddenly see them all taking notes. I dwelt briefly on Chuosenko too, another mid-sized Japanese agency that had come and gone. Finally, I outlined my plan for a direct Dentsu entry into India. I mapped all the product categories, cities, clients, and competition and gave a brief action plan for each product. Once again, I could see pens flying on paper as all of them took copious notes. Yet, no one interrupted, and no questions were asked.

I then got to the most critical question on the India-entry strategy: to build or to buy? Dentsu already had two rep offices in Delhi and Bengaluru. Through these rep offices, Dentsu was the ‘virtual’ ad agency for Toyota and Honda. They ‘serviced’ these clients through Orchard (a part of Leo Burnett), Triton, Dhar & Hoon and Everest. Each of the rep offices had one or two expat Dentsu staff who liaisoned with the local client and with Tokyo. It was a suboptimal arrangement, but it at least gave Dentsu a toehold with key clients. I knew from market sources that Dentsu was under pressure from both these large global clients to up service levels and have a full team on the ground. I quickly did a SWOT analysis on Dentsu’s current agency ‘partners’. None of them, in my opinion, stacked up to much. My recommendation clearly was to build a world-class agency from ground up. Hire top-flight talent. Create first-rate infrastructure. Carry no past legacies. Dentsu needed to launch in India in keeping with its stature as the world’s single largest ad agency, not a ragtag alliance of small shops. Akashi san sat up. I could see Kato san too looking very intently at the pros and cons on the slide. My recommendations were obviously different from what they had heard earlier in the day.

I was now on to the last lap of my presentation, which was also the most difficult. Why partner with Sandeep Goyal?

As I said earlier, the Japanese do not like too much self-adulation. So, I needed my personal hard sell to be packaged and delivered ever so softly. In fact, very, very softly.

I had picked three case studies to illustrate what Sandeep Goyal brought to the table. I first spent time telling them how I had helped launch Canon in India. I stressed how I used to travel almost every week from Delhi (on occasion even more than once a week) to Singapore to service the client as they initially had no offices in India. I focused on how closely I had worked with Canon Singapore and Canon Tokyo in understanding and seeding the Indian market. The subliminal message was: I can handle Japanese client persons and their exacting demands. Then, I drew my first ace: check me out with Matsuoka san, I said. Matsuoka san was a Dentsu veteran who ran the global Canon business at Dentsu HQ. I knew Matsuoka san would give me a good reference. He had seen first-hand the devotion with which I had toiled to get Canon going in India during my Rediffusion days. He was my live testimonial on client commitment and selfless service delivery. ‘I even had the honour of meeting Fujio Mitarai san during one of my visits to Canon headquarters in Tokyo with Matsuoka san…’ Mr Mitarai was the President of Canon Inc., and not everyone was fortunate to get an audience with him. I let that sink in. I could see a flicker of interest on Ishibashi san’s face. Kato san nodded too.

I focused next on Maruti Suzuki. I described how we at Rediffusion had edged out Lintas, brand by brand, to pocket almost 75 per cent of Maruti’s business. I subtly recounted my many visits to the Suzuki headquarters at Hamamatsu. I talked about my visits every year to the Tokyo Motor Show. I could see that they were absorbing every little nuance of what I was saying. When I finally alluded to the great learnings I had imbibed for Maruti Suzuki at Toyota’s AmLux flagship showroom in Tokyo, I knew I had conveyed my deep-tissue involvement in and understanding of my client’s business. To the Japanese, I hoped it indicated passion.

I closed my presentation with a slide on Airtel and my 24X7 involvement with the brand. I talked about the Mittal brothers and how working with them had greatly enriched me. I talked a little about building a new category, and about Airtel’s ambitions to be No. 1. I used the Airtel example to highlight the opportunity that middle-India afforded for the future for Japan. Soon, one day, I said, brands like DoCoMo would be here. They listened intently.

There were hardly any questions. Just a few minor clarifications. I couldn’t really say whether that was good or bad. A bit of discussion or debate could have given me a hint on how my presentation had gone. But all the gentlemen around the table preferred to keep their own counsel. Ishibashi san was quiet. Kobayashi san was studying his jottings in the tiny Dennote diary all Dentsu employees carry. Kato san looked distractedly out of the window. His thoughts were perhaps elsewhere.

Akashi san finally brought the meeting to a close by inviting me to Chijmes that evening for dinner. Round 1 was still not over.

Chijmes is a historic building complex in Singapore that is now a national monument. It once housed a Catholic convent school known as the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus and the convent quarters known as Caldwell House. With a history of over 130 years, the complex is now one of Singapore’s finest shopping, dining and entertainment venues.

The meal was Oriental. The atmosphere a bit more relaxed, if not informal.

We made polite conversation about Singapore weather over the first round of drinks. They were surprised that I ordered a Diet Coke. They found it odd that despite being a diehard advertising man, I was a complete teetotaler.

How have you survived so many years in the profession without drinking, they asked. I said I was prone to bigger vices, advertising being one of them. They laughed. It lightened the mood even further.

Ishibashi san seemed to be doing most of the talking. He asked me to again explain the rationale behind building Dentsu India ground up rather than by acquiring small agencies. My contra-recommendation had obviously ignited internal debate, more so since it was perhaps completely the opposite of what Messrs Balsara and Sharma had proposed. I reiterated what I had said earlier in the afternoon. I explained that the current agencies on their radar were not just small but were also poor also-rans of the business. This led to their attracting poor talent. Which, in turn, resulted in poor creatives, poor client service and poor client ratings. A vicious circle of mediocrity, difficult to break. The ‘new’ Dentsu in India, on the other hand, first and foremost, needed to be seen as ‘new’, and not just be perceived as old wine in a new bottle.

Akashi san was not convinced. The buying option cuts our time-to-market tremendously, he said. I am not so sure, I replied. Buying out half-a-dozen promoters, each with their own agenda and perceived roles in the new dispensation, would not be any less time consuming. Plus, going forward, welding together five or six completely different organizations, each with their own orientation, philosophy and work culture, into one cohesive winning team will not be easy, I contended.

I really don’t remember what we ate. It was irrelevant to the proceedings.

Kobayashi san, the CFO, asked me if I had done some homework on what it would cost to launch an ‘all-new’ Dentsu in India, and how that would stack up against an acquisition option. I confessed I hadn’t gone that far. Especially, a comparison against an acquisition option wasn’t going to be easy as I was not privy to what was being negotiated with those on offer.

Kato san, the man from Tokyo HQ, was largely quiet. We must have been between dessert and coffee when Akashi san and Kato san got into an extended conversation in Japanese. The rest of us were quiet. To be honest, I was feeling quite nervous. I knew they were discussing me and my proposal, but I could not understand a word of what they were saying.

Finally, Kato san smiled and addressed me. They wanted me to visit Dentsu headquarters in Tokyo in the coming week to present my proposal. I nodded and smiled back. As Kato san consulted his Dennote to work out exact dates, I said a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty.

Round 1 was over. I had crossed the first hurdle.

~

If you honestly ask me, this first meeting with the Dentsu guys was not even the usual ‘well begun is half done’. With the Japanese, negotiating a deal is like peeling an onion: one does it layer by layer. All I had done was get started. No optimism, or even cautious hope, beyond that.

The only good thing that I had done this far was that I had started at the bottom of the decision-making pyramid. I now needed to work my way up, building consensus, getting everyone’s buy-in at every stage. The Japanese call this nemawashi. It translates as ‘going around the roots’, though the closest English translation is more like ‘laying the groundwork’. But an exact English translation is hard because nemawashi is unique to Japanese culture.

2

THE HAND OF GOD

I made my way back to the hotel.

I ordered a coffee at the lobby-level lounge. I was deep in thought. The Tokyo meetings were fixed for mid-week. Hence, it made no sense to fly back to India for just a couple of days. I had had the foresight to plan my visas and tickets to allow me the flexibility to fly onwards to Japan, if need be. The planning was coming in handy now.

As I sipped the coffee, I reflected upon the dinner meeting. I felt good that I had sailed through the first round of discussions. But, post the dinner conversation with Akashi san and the Dentsu Asia team, I felt I needed to amend my presentation before taking it to Tokyo. And that posed a problem: I did not know how to change the PowerPoint presentation (remember, I had said that I was seriously technologically challenged!). I toyed with the idea of using a hotel assistant at the business centre to help me. But I felt uncomfortable sharing my confidential presentation with the hotel staff. I thought about calling up a couple of old friends in Singapore, but my plans were at such a nascent stage that I felt uneasy about sharing them even with friends.

‘Hi, boss!’ I heard someone say. It was a familiar voice. I looked up.

It was Rajesh Aggarwal. Rajesh was my colleague at Rediffusion. We started to work together in 1994 when I joined Rediff Delhi. Over the years, we had become very close. I had not realized that Rajesh was in Singapore that day. What a coincidence!

As if anticipating my question, Rajesh said, ‘I am here for a Canon regional conference…came in this morning…staying at this very hotel…good to see you here, boss…’

It was now my turn to answer the unasked question. ‘Came in yesterday…couple of meetings,’ I said evasively.

‘I saw you saying bye to Akashi san and Ishibashi san as I was returning from dinner,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

There was no point giving him the runaround. He was after all an old friend. And perhaps the Almighty had sent him here with a higher purpose – to fix my PowerPoint presentation!

Rajesh’s eyes popped out as I told him of my plans to pitch a JV to Dentsu. ‘You, alone?’ he asked in wonderment. I nodded. I could see the disbelief on his face. ‘Yes, me, alone,’ I replied resolutely.

Rajesh helped me edit and rewrite my presentation. I swore him to secrecy.

I knew I could trust him.

I still had the weekend and a couple of days more to while away in Singapore till I took the flight to Tokyo. I felt very alone in my hotel room.

I shifted in with Conrad and Lynette Saldanha. Conrad, again, was an ex-colleague from Rediff. But, over the years, he had become more than just that. I had actually not known Conrad too well in my initial years at Rediffusion. He headed the agency’s Mumbai operations while I ran Delhi. We did not have much in common as our paths only crossed at quarterly reviews or conferences. Conrad was easily twenty years my senior in age. Plus, we were like chalk and cheese. He was a pucca gentleman. I was the quintessential Punjabi go-getter. We had little reason to bond together. But by the time I got elevated to President of