ITC Limited as we all know is the conglomerate headquartered in Calcutta, now Kolkata. It needs no introduction to readers of Madras Musings, but what follows certainly does. It was during the pandemic ­lockdown that a WhatsApp group of former ITC executives went into overdrive reminiscing about their times in the company. This was post-COVID compiled into a book, by an editorial team comprising ITC veterans along with Ranjitha Ashok and with sketches by Biswajit ­Balasubramaniam, names that are very familiar to MM readers. The result is a very entertaining, and thought provoking read. We share below, with permission, some anecdotes that pertain to ITC’s Tiruvottriyur establishment.

– Deputy Editor

Girding One’s Groynes at TVT

A memory from the 1980s. ln Tiruvottiyur, we lived in a house facing the ocean, separated by the colony wall 50 meters away, followed by the road and a short steep beach. It was a calming sight, except when it wasn’t! Which happened every year in early December. The waves would rise, at first just dancing wildly about in slanting rain, sending the fishing boats scurrying to shore. Then cyclone warning flags would appear and the few ships on the horizon would turn from standing square to become just a distant grey line as they braced to line up in the direction of the wind. Then the rain would become continuous, and by nightfall, with a circular wind whistling around the house, we would eat, get kids to bed and spend the night listening to the stutter of doors, roofs and windows.

You could hear the wind and rain rise, both in volume and speed till a steady whistling took over all through the night. Mornings would bring a little respite, giving a short window to start cars and check all over the colony and factory. I recall driving with water rolling over my ankles. First shift was always short-handed. Often there were branches to clear and occasionally asbestos roofs to find and secure. Not to speak of all the water to pump out. But the cyclone would return and now the issue was landfall.

Would TVT be blessed with sitting out the very disagreeable promise of being hit by the storm? Absolutely nothing we could have done about it, but, mercifully, it always veered off and ran up the east coast. A few days later, the newspapers would record the destruction in Andhra or Orissa.

Such a nostalgic scenario at TVT — the relief of the cyclone fading away up India’s east coast is a recurrent theme and continues to be a prayer for North Madras. The longest continuous beach after Bondi Beach, Sydney, does not have bathing beauties but is slowly improving, including adding water sports and surfing in South Madras! An elevated expressway from the Marina outwards to beat the traffic is now being planned, believe it or not!

The Government, to be fair, placed groynes (like breakwaters) at Tiruvottiyur, over a period of time, starting from the 90s, despite the inevitable stop/go discontinuities and this has helped prevent flooding, although 2015 was extraordinary by any standards.

2015 energised the internet communities (including communicating in mixed vernaculars) like never before, spawning sell-help groups and Help Desks with graphics spontaneously shared with the media, demanding attention from laid-back politicians. I found the measured cadence in arguments and the quality of moderators continuously improving, and a willingness to share facts and figures calmly!

R. Srinivasan

* * *

TV Comes to TVT

Television arrived in Madras, towards the end of 1976, in all its black and white splendour! The Branch Manager at TVT was excited at the prospect of installing one at the Park Club as a ‘high-tech attraction’. Hectic activity followed, personally initiated and supervised by the Branch Manager (BM). Capex sanction was obtained overnight, and the best purchasing guy (‘who could understand technology’) was put on the job. His brief was to evaluate options, although only plain vanilla black and white sets were available. Meticulous briefings were given on how to transport it 15 kms to the TVT Park. Air-conditioning in the Club lounge was double-checked to ensure the contraption was not exposed to heat and dust.

Then came the ‘piece de resistance’: the piece was the BM’s, the resistance entirely mine!! As the Assistant Financial Controller and the ex-officio Treasurer of the Club, I was summoned by the BM and conferred the honour of ‘TV in-charge’. I cannot say I was elated. Strangely, I felt that notwithstanding the glory of the moment, I was headed for a trap. But, like the good soldiers we were all expected to be, I clicked my heels and said, “Yes, sir!”

The instructions followed, swift and sombre, as befitted the occasion. The TV lounge was to be kept open for members’ viewing pleasure from 6.30 pm to 9 pm (not that there was any choice, as that was the only telecast time!). Non-members were strictly prohibited.

Guests would require the BM’s prior permission. I was to ensure that Club staff, their children and the entire retinue of Park domestic help were kept at arm’s length, lest their presence interfere with the members’ viewing pleasure. I was to be particularly wary of children in general, given their tendency to fiddle with anything new.

Then came the sadistic blow: I was to be personally present throughout the evening, lock the lounge at the end of the show and ensure the key was kept with me. I had already lined up a rendezvous with a friend of mine that evening for a movie followed by dinner. I was about to ask to be excused, but better sense prevailed. I said as gravely as I could: “Done, sir”. The BM smiled for the first time in that dialogue (monologue to be precise) and said: “Off you go and brief me tomorrow on how it went”. I did go off, to the movies, that is. But not before taking some risk-mitigating measures!

I summoned the head-bearer from the Club and delegated in full. I repeated the instructions verbatim, with the same degree of swiftness and intensity, particularly emphasising the need to brief me the next day. Satisfied that the accountability was understood, I hopped on to my scooter and zoomed full throttle on the highway to Mount Road.

Next day, entering the office, I noticed an unusual situation. The red ‘engaged’ light above the BM’s door indicated that he had not gone for his morning tour of the shop floor. That was an extremely rare event, and certainly indicated a state of emergency. The BM’s secretary was waiting outside my office. She looked horror-stricken. “What have you done?” she asked in a hushed tone. Without waiting for an answer, she went on: “He is livid, wants you immediately.”

By this time, I was beginning to feel nervous. I headed for the BM’s room, and pushing open the door softly, peered in. “Come here,” he thundered. “Where on earth did you vanish last night?” I was initially tempted to bluff my way through the scene. But mercifully, discretion prevailed over valour. I simply mumbled something to the effect that I had gone to town to meet a friend.

It is difficult to exactly describe what followed. It was electronic in its speed and electrical in its intensity. The BM was shaking, I was trembling, the room was booming. It was as if minefields were exploding all around me! The session ended with a warning that I had better take my responsibilities seriously, and that a repeat could cost me dearly.

That evening, and for many more to follow, I was in the Club lounge till 9 pm. No one turned up to watch television. Not surprising actually, considering Doordarshan was the only channel on air. I had posted the club-bearer at the gate to keep the ‘not permitted’ audience at bay. A crowd had piled up there, anxious to burst in and watch the happenings on the magic box. The more enterprising among the lot were even trying to bribe the bearer for a quick sneak peek! I sat inside in splendid isolation, waiting for company.

I do not recollect exactly how many evenings had passed in that fashion. One day I suddenly felt human presence around my feet. I woke up and discovered that a band of some twenty children (of the ‘non-permitted’ variety) were swarming all around me on the carpet, lip-syncing songs playing on the TV and dancing to their beats. Judging by their confidence, they must been doing it for days.

I do not remember when I stopped going to the lounge in the evenings. Perhaps it was the day I sighted a TV antenna on the roof of the BM’s house. Surely there was an unmistakable sign that there would be no more surprise checks at the lounge!

This article was written in 1985 on the occasion of the ITC’s Platinum Jubilee. The Branch Manager who finds mention here was T.V.S. Manian, one of the most fun-loving and warm bosses I ever reported to. He lived a fulfilling life and passed away in November 2021 at the age of 95.

K. Vaidyanath

* * *

When ITC almost lost a Chairman

In 1965, a young IIT graduate from Delhi came to TVT, Madras for a job interview. The Branch Manager had asked the Departmental Managers to interview him separately and to record their observations. The last interview was held in the Branch Manager’s office. The candidate was informed that he would get a formal interview. A joint meeting was held, and it was unanimously agreed that the candidate had the potential and would be an asset to the Organisation. This was telephonically conveyed to the Director at Calcutta, who wanted the candidate put on the first available flight to Calcutta.

It suddenly dawned on the interviewers that none of them had recorded the address of the place the candidate was staying in Madras. A state of panic ensued. All efforts had to be made to locate him. Specific duties were allocated. The Branch Accountant was to keep vigil at the airport and the Personnel Manager was to position himself at the railway station in case the candidate had decided to return to Delhi. The Production Manager, who was familiar with the city, had to systematically check the hotels, etc. After an all-night search, luck came the way of the Personnel Manager who spotted the candidate as he was about to board the train for Delhi. He was brought back to TVT and booked on first available flight to Calcutta for the final selection round. He joined the Company, and the rest is the stuff legends are made of.

YC Deveshwar. Rest in glory.

TVS Manian

* * *

Missed Connections

The story behind the lndia Cement (ICC) acquisition was truly remarkable.

With the attention the government was bestowing on the infrastructural sector, A.N. Haksar’s antennae went up. India was producing a mere 18 million tonnes of cement in 1981 (337 million in 2019) with the lowest per capita consumption, and it was a commodity controlled by the government from licenced capacity to pricing. The price in the black market was almost double!

ANH saw an opportunity to pitch for diversification in cement. He asked Soli Aibara to obtain a licence for cement production of adequate capacity for ITC’s entry and to navigate the MRTP labyrinth. Meanwhile, I was responsible for gathering data for a greenfield operation, including locations and quality of mines, for a one-million-ton cement plant.

Concurrently, ITC set its sights on lndia Cements, which had two cement plants in the south. The company was managed by an MD appointed by financial institutions (Fls) who had taken control from the promoters. A chance to enter ICC arose with the MD’s tenure ending and Fls willing to part with the controlling interest. Acquiring equity in ICC and infusing professional management could lead to profitability and growth. Every technical detail of the existing two plants and, most importantly, the raw material status, coal availability etc., were carefully studied and I had the modernisation plan ready which would improve productivity and reduce cost.

C.R. Jaganathan had thorough knowledge of all personnel in India Cements. The ball was set in motion for acquiring the shares, and strict confidentiality was maintained.

There were a few meetings with the financial institutions and, with instructions from ANH for a quick deal, D-Day arrived. The Fls were reluctant to part with the ICC shares unless we bought Ashok Papers in Assam and rejuvenated the moribund outfit. This was a case of Hobson’s choice, and the deal went through and thirty per cent of ICC shares and controlling interest of Ashok Papers were purchased through ITC group companies.

The task of buying the shares was like jumping into the well halfway – the transfer of shares had to be completed within 48 hours, because the original promoters would not be silent spectators. With meticulous planning, the shares were bought within a tight time frame, and we worked tirelessly to make it happen. The counting and verification of the shares was nerve-wracking, with a shortage of 1,500 shares adding to the tension. Nonetheless, we successfully transported the share certificates to Chennai, where they were officially transferred to ITC group companies.

The deal eventually went through, with thirty per cent of ICC shares and controlling interest in Ashok Papers acquired.

The acquisition marked a significant milestone for ITC, as it entered the cement market and demonstrated audacity and ambition. The absolute secrecy maintained throughout the process was commendable.

With the acquisition complete, the journey for ITC in the cement industry was just beginning. What followed after the acquisition was a whole new chapter, filled with challenges, triumphs, and valuable lessons. After securing the shares, we faced the challenge of dealing with the financial institutions demand to rejuvenate Ashok Papers in Assam.

Looking back, I cannot help but marvel at the hard work and dedication put into this acquisition project. It was a thrilling and defining moment for the company.

What happened after is another story in itself!

K.V. Krishnamurthy

* * *

Snake Snack

In this season of snake talk, I am reminded of an incident in TVT early 1972.

Colleen Shunker said that I was to take Anthony, our all-job man in the Park, to Mrs. Manian’s house because she had seen a snake. So we did, along with our security officer, but since the snake had moved along, we were tasked to ‘find out more’. It so happened that the Sunday Express that week had an article by Harry Miller about the Snake Farm at Guindy, recently started by Rom Whitaker. I took time off from Poltu Dada (Arindam Sengupta) and we met them at the Indian Express office on Mount Road, where Harry was chief photographer. Convincingly, he had a python sleeping in the corner. This introduction satisfied Manian, who invited them for a recce.

Next Sunday, word had got around and, by 9 am, there was a reception party made up of all the teenage boys in the colony. But Harry only arrived at noon. We then had to go to Wimco station to fetch his crew, which consisted of two thin tall men sporting bare feet, in upturned lungis, dirty white kurtas, long scarves, with a large cloth bag between them. These were Harry’s Irula tribesmen. At the Park, they pointed out that as this was a walled enclosure, it was full of rats, and therefore full of snakes. By this time, only Harry Gordon and I were left of the reception party. The three of us sat in the verandah for hours, with Harry Miller happily doing all the talking.

The Irulas went about their business with uncanny efficiency. Their actions went something like this: barefoot with the large toe pressed down, they would move a few feet, stop, look at each other. Mostly, the glance indicated nothing found, but when it did, they moved swiftly, with one of them digging a long cleft stick deep into the sandy soil, the other holding the cloth bag wide open. Sure enough, by dusk, they had collected a lot of snakes. But they were still not done. Their purpose was not to clear the area as much as it was to have a feast. Which they did, right there, over an open fire dug in the sand! Harry said that they carried the cooked meat home, as there was no market for snakes.

By 5 0’clock, Poltu Dada joined to chat over shared experiences of printing work. Harry now had a request: would we print a few copies of postcards with the four poisonous snakes of India? There are only four, he said, and important for people not to fear snakes, etc. The following week, he brought the slides; I did the colour separation and a proof run. I suppose Manian briefed Sarin, because we found ourselves trying to explain exactly how all this had transpired. But they were generous, eventually making fifty booklets with write-ups.

Sadly, everyone in this tale has passed away, each of blessed memory, of happy times.

Deepak Sahay