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Chhibabhai & Gluco-Cola

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Nilanjana S Roy BSCAL

The history of corporate India usually begins with the Tatas, the Birlas and the Godrejs, but it doesnt have to end there. Beyond them, there are companies with stories to tell that are every bit as fascinating, if not more. In the first of this series, we take a look at Parle, which built up the Indian soft drinks market, took on the multinationals and then bowed out uncharacteristically. This is history worth preserving as an object lesson, or as a study in independence. And it is a history that could easily be lost if the company retreats after losing the business on which the whole edifice came to be built. More than business, however, and more than turnover figures, this is a story about the men who made Parle.

 

The patriarch

My grandfather was the first male to survive in his family, says Ramesh Chauhan, who retired as majority owner of

Parle in 1995. The newborn Mohanlal Dayal was placed in the lid of a huge ceremonial cooking pot or Tapela, and called Chhibabhai. The logic was that malevolent spirits would not be attracted to a baby with such an ugly name.

Mohanlal was engaged when he was one-and-a-half years old to a bride who was then exactly twice his age, and carefully recorded: At that time the expense of an engagement was Rs 25 and that of a wedding Rs 100. His father ran a tailoring business, and he was sent to Mumbai at the age of 12 to learn the trade. He set up shop on his own and was turning a profit by the time he was 18.

A year later, however, Mohanlal slipped away to Kashi to become a sadhu, but couldnt stand the in dignity of living off alms. He returned to Pardi and moved with his wife, Bhulabai, to Bombay. They had just one piece of furniture a cupboard that was used to store the silk clothes he tailored.

Between 1894 and 1911, Mohanlal had five children Maneklal, Pitamber, Narottam, Kantilal and Jayantilal. His fortunes also improved he opened two shops, D Mohanlal & Co and Chhiba Durlabh, and insisted that his sons get a good education. After the First World War, the sons began taking a hand in the business, and Mohanlal retired officially in 1936.

The second generation

The five brothers received a thorough grounding in everything they dont teach you at Harvard Business School. Maneklal went abroad to purchase cloth in 1919, and made another 13 or 14 business trips across the waters. Pitamber went abroad once; Narottam went abroad thrice. Kantilal went to Rangoon to run a cloth shop that his father had started in Burma, and Jayantilal, Ramesh Chauhans father, took over from him subsequently.

Between the wars, the brothers decided to close down the tailoring business and move into confectionery-making. Only English sweets were available, and they figured that Indian manufacturers might be able to get a foot in the door. Narottam went to Germany to learn the modern, hygienic way of making boiled sweets. He returned with a shipload of machinery.

The family was living in Vile Parle, and the factory received an unceremonious baptism in the Chauhan cattle shed. We couldnt afford engineers, Narottam recalled. Between Jayantilal and myself, we set up the whole plant. No one came up with a name; the factory simply adopted the name of the village.

The five brothers worked well together. Mr Narottam and Mr Jayantilal were what you might call the technological team, Mr Pitambar handled the financial side, Mr Maneklal was the fund-raiser, recalls Ramesh Chauhan. And Kantilal took care of day-to-day administration; I remember him as the gardening guy because he was so fond of plants.

They started out heavily in debt, and only Maneklals dexterity kept them afloat as he raised loans from friends and neighbours. In the beginning, shopkeepers refused to even give them display space. In 1934, Parle was actually in the process of selling out to W H Brady when, as Kantilal put it, Our books suddenly showed a phenomenal profit of Rs 3,000. Their first successful Diwali couldnt have happened at a better time.

Jayantilal marked the occasion by adopting a more formal sense of dress. Recounts Ramesh Chauhan, All the Chauhans went to the factory in white shorts that ended above the knee, and I remember father telling his secretary,Saala apna company hai, but my people dont dress up. And the secretary said, When you wear shorts, what do you expect? Jayantilal arrived the next day in a full-sleeved shirt and proper trousers.

Monaco and World War II

Sweets boiled, satin, lemon drops, peppermints, acid drops were the factorys only product. As World War II loomed ahead, the brothers decided to diversify into biscuits. Narottam trained at Londons Kearley & Tong, and sent virtually an entire biscuit-making plant ahead by ship. He arrived much later the captain of the Italian liner Narottam was on had bypassed Mumbai because he wasnt sure whether Italy and the British Empire were at war.

In 1939, the one-oven biscuit factory in Vile Parle came out with a biscuit called Gluco. Six months later, they came up with Monaco, named by Maneklal after the playground of Europe. He was called Mr Englishman, smiles Ramesh Chauhan, he was a thorough vilayati gentleman.

But those Indians who bought biscuits turned up their noses at anything that wasnt from England, and once again, Parle seemed to be doomed until World War II came to the rescue. English biscuits stopped coming in during the war, which was very good news for us, explains Chauhan. Parle also produced a special line for the army, promptly dubbed dog biscuits by the soldiers. They were high-nutrition and not very tasty, says Chauhan.

Plenty of fizz

The war was the turning point for Parle. Post-war, the companys bank balance was healthy enough to allow Jayantilal to study another new line of business soft drinks. In what had now become family tradition, he returned with a shipful of machinery.

Soft drinks were very much a Parsi preserve, explains Ramesh Chauhan. The bania community felt that making a profit from selling water was not right. Dukes, Rogers, Palonjee, Spencers and Hajuri ruled the palate.

Their first product, Gluco-Cola, seemed destined for success. The ad campaign was created by a young man with a knack for cartoons called R K Laxman! But Coke promptly swooped down on Parle they said that Gluco-Cola sounded too much like Coca Cola, and they were also attempting to trademark the word Cola. Like trying to trademark orange, sniffs Chauhan.

We gave in after two years, says Chauhan. Coke brought down all these Queens Counsels for the case, and in India, nobody even knew what trademark meant. We couldnt afford to pay a Queens Counsel large sums of money every week. Incidentally, the Pepsi-Coke battle over the word Cola went on for over 22 years in Canada.

We replaced Gluco Cola with Parle Cola, but the product was dead, says Ramesh Chauhan. In 1952, they launched Gold Spot, then Thums Up and Parle began making headway. Our business really took off with the exit of Coca-Cola in 1977. We had the highest ad-spend of all the Indian companies, says Chauhan.

There were four decades of prosperity for the Chauhans and Parle. And then Pepsi came back into India. And then Coke. And the battles began all over again.... But thats another story. For the moment, even as Chauhan reminisces about his family, he has little real connection with the past.

Its been fifty years since we moved out of Pardi, and no, I dont go back, says Chauhan. Frankly, I was the guy responsible for selling off our land there. The family house was converted into a hospital. The factory at Vile Parle still stands. For the moment.

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First Published: Dec 06 1997 | 12:00 AM IST

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