26 Jun 2025 / Shooting the Breeze

Unlikely Contraptions and a weeb

In 1995 I landed a job with the lobbying arm of what was once the Imperial Tobacco Company, re-christened in independent India, very unimaginatively, as ITC Limited. Within my twenties, I was appointed general manager, to run communications on the face of it and in fair measure. The actual job was to widen the debate and confuse the issue ---- behind the face of it. The job was good, the money was better. A fair amount of bells and whistles attached. For respite, there was an interesting and voluptuous older woman in the adjacent office who flirted with eye contact and coy smiles but never responded to overtures, so I let it be. I had a room all to myself which overlooked the swimming pool of a hotel, I had a secretary – a man from Kerala, who was co-conspirator and agent provocateur when needed for unofficial projects (suitably compensated)…. Hum-drum was chugging on and I was king of the heap except that I was thoroughly bored. The lobbying arm was full of near-geriatric men, who treated me for the callow youth I was, save my still evolving craft.. Then, one day, I was asked to meet a man from Philip Morris, Hong Kong {it wasn’t yet 1997, the island was still a British colony}. “A young man, closer to your age, you’ll like him” was how the elderlies commiserated with me. And I must say they were kind. Shortly thereafter, I was introduced to Richard. Let’s call him WRW. We hit it off.

My first impression of the man was the word Scaramanga {The Man with the Golden Gun} save the fact that except for the impeccably stitched white suit and a degree of mannerism, the eminent gentleman was shorter, pulpier, rounder and softer. A Thai of aristocratic descent, very well mannered, very well educated in law (Cornell), very well dressed, bit of a purist in being proper, with a penchant for whites and pastels. Secret ogler and prince of purple prose, Mr. WRW was smooth without being a hustler. He knew his stuff ---- consumer and regulatory affairs. This was a time the Indian government had banned smoking in public (altogether ludicrous considering the belching buses with diesel fumes did your make-up as an Enid Blyton Gollywog in a matter of seconds). As decidedly better educated, clearly sharper and obviously smarter artists in moves of cut and thrust, we had hit upon the perfectly plausible proposal of marrying cause with the hospitality industry and had also convinced brethren in the advertising industry that after health warnings on cigarette packs the Government would gun for advertising, killing off all including surrogate ads. The ad-boys would be hit between the eyes and between the legs simultaneously. It had worked. Freedom of Expression, creativity for a legit product, freedom of choice….the atmosphere was set. Philip Morris and BAT held hands to offer the ‘Courtesy of Choice’--- a campaign to underline the necessity, practicality and efficacy of accommodation programmes between smokers and non-smokers. A rather refined, nice, couth, civilized appeal in a wrapper of science around air-flow patterns, officious waiters, hospitality establishments…that’s how we hired a second PR agency with a tacit agreement of a pleasant client servicing team as primary requirement. The gods were kind and sent us a rather appealing young lady with green eyes and alabaster skin to lead the account (she was supplemented by an expat lady as senior counsel). This helped the cause, we reasoned with my boss. These young ladies had a good education, good personality, were presentable (rather too much), well networked and would bring more and more hospitality establishments into the fold of our very scientific (we had two English environmental engineers to study air-flow patterns and suggest seating) very attractive (literally and figuratively) programme…everyone was happy and quickly graduated to being very, very courteous and caring. As inspired purveyors of perfection, we embarked on off-shore trainings with a wider cross-section of persuasive young ladies, sterile scientists and slightly greasy, excessively corpulent corporate affairs guys. All very nice, very efficient…..On one such trip WRW introduced me to Kenzo Takada, founder of the excellent Japanese-French brand, Kenzo. I fell in love with the style statement, the tonality, the creative language, the aesthetic….and then I fell headlong in love with other things Japanese. It has been thirty years now and my Japanese attraction has held as a halo-fan of sorts from literature, to films, to confectionary (a cultivated taste), to perfume, to manga….The only other brand I stayed true to was Dunhill (my father’s cigarettes in the 1980s were the trigger, but that’s another story)….WRW is long lost, the attractive young ladies are now crones I guess, just as surely as I have graduated to being an old dog….but Kenzo still reigns in my life. Not absolutely, but in very substantial measure. It is strange and rather odd, how without meaning or intent, flukes and tangents can be vectors to unimagined, unforeseen landings ---- destination Nihon/Nippon in my case. There is a photograph somewhere of Mr. WRW performing the Macarena (in white business suit), it’s there somewhere in my study, I can’t seem to locate it just yet. Meanwhile, to be courteous: thank you WRW, where ever you are. I enjoyed our days. I enjoyed our soirees. I think you did too…time flies, as does life….

Hey, let’s just continue with doing the Macarena, for the Macarenas we encountered (long after the 1966 original). Oh yeah…Macarena !!