Marketing Battles – Part I

(This was written in 1988 for the parting copy of the IIM-Bangalore hostel magazine IIMages as a spoof history of marketing management. Needless to say, the fictional company and characters do not intend to describe anyone in the real world and, if any existing company or person is mentioned, there is certainly no intent to state that the actions and motives ascribed to them are in any way the truth This was written in an era where the internet was not even a blip on the horizon and TV was a relative newcomer to the world. Furthermore, it is set in an era when even TV was barely a blip on the horizon.)
Men without money can be endlessly inventive about how to spend the money that they do not have; men with it do not know what to do with it. The attempts of one of the latter to find a way ended up revolutionizing the entire economic and social landscape of the world. Mr. Z (for he belongs to that unnatural group of people who do not seek fame) was in a quandary. His dad had had the Midas touch and, unlike the mythical Midas, it had not worked on his food and children. Everything else that he touched, however, had turned to gold and he, apparently, had spent his life touching everything that he could reach. Thus it was that Mr.Z had ended up inheriting obscene balances in almost every bank in his country. It did not seem possible for him to spend all that moolah in his lifetime and worrying about it had given him brain-fever. His gravely concerned doctor told him, “Z! You have to do something. Produce a movie, start a business or stand for President. You are killing yourself with sheer ennui!” Z was delighted. Two options were ruled out for a publicity-shy person like himself. The idea of starting a business, however, seemed to be the ideal solution to losing his money. He had not inherited his father’s Midas touch for the land deals nor had he the least little idea about what business was all about. How could he fail to lose money if he embarked on one? For a man whose most strenuous activity had been hauling himself to the dining table, Z engaged in a whirlwind of activity. The moment the doctor exited his doors, he had called his personal secretary in and was firing orders at him. Having found a way to expend his money he was in no mood to lose any time in starting to do so. By the time the PS exited his unusually excited boss’ room, his head was whirling with the multitude of orders which resolved themselves to one single imperative – Find his boss a business to engage in. This was the age when mushrooms had not yet been overtaken by management consultants in the rate of proliferation. The PS was at a loss as to how to go about finding a business venture for his boss. His experience in paying out salaries to the household servants and sorting out the mail had not equipped him to venture into the uncharted waters of commerce. Musing miserably about his predicament and cursing the doctor fluently he walked the streets only to trip over a chain and fall flat on his face. The dog, attached to one end of the chain, and the owner, attached to the other, turned on him and started abusing him in their respective languages. The dog seemed inclined to sink his teeth into the problem. The PS fled unceremoniously down the street only to trip over another dog. This time he did not even wait an instant before he took to his heels. When fate has got it in for you, things happen that do not find a place in any computation of probabilities. Thus it was that the PS found that the street seemed filled with dogs and dog-owners from end to end with not even standing room. Phrases like ‘Cruelty to the poor dumb mites’ and ‘These people ought to be lynched’ were floating around freely. The snarling wolf-like poor dumb mites growled menacingly and dragged their owners along in their chase after the PS. Feeling very much like the fox in a fox-hunt, the PS ran the first and fastest marathon of his life not stopping till he bounced off his locked front door. It was much later that it struck him that fate had not been totally unkind to him. His quest was ended and he had found ‘THE BUSINESS’. With so many dogs around, petted and pandered to by their owners, there could be no difficulty selling dog-foods and there was no currently extant dog-food business. Having thus done scientific market research, the PS prepared a 150 page proposal and took it to Z. Z tossed it into the nearest dust-bin. “Tell me what business! I don’t have time to waste on all that poppycock” The PS stuttered, “Do..Do…Dog foods” Z was ecstatic. When a man with humongous sums of money says, ‘Let it be so’ it normally ends up being so. Thus was born “Dogfood Inc”!
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