Making It Big Read online

  BINOD CHAUDHARY

  MAKING IT BIG

  The Inspiring Story of Nepal’s First Billionaire in His Own Words

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  With my blessings!

  Contents

  A Rebeginning . . .

  PART I: BIRTH

  1. The Beginning

  2. My Passions

  3. Drawing from Sports

  PART II: THE ASCENT

  4. The Leap

  5. Encounters with Politics

  6. World Leaders and I

  7. My Guru: Sri Sri Ravi Shankar

  8. Professional Battles

  9. The Politics at FNCCI

  PART III: REBIRTH

  10. The Turning Point

  11. Salaam Bombay

  12. Birth of an MNC

  13. The Multinational Journey: Partnership with Taj

  14. CG Hotels & Resorts

  15. Zinc: Our Own First Global Hotel Brand

  16. Iconic Properties

  17. Destination Dubai

  18. The Globalization of Wai Wai

  19. The Forbes Story

  20. The Chaudhary Foundation

  21. African Adventure

  PART IV: MY BUSINESS MANTRAS

  22. The Mantras

  23. Self-evaluation

  Illustrations

  To Be Continued . . .

  Epilogue

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  PORTFOLIO

  MAKING IT BIG

  Binod Chaudhary is the president of the Chaudhary Group (CG Corp Global), a multinational conglomerate with a portfolio of 122 companies spread over five continents and with seventy-six renowned brands in the global market. He is an internationally respected name in FMCG as the man behind Wai Wai noodles, the most iconic brand from CG. His other business interests include electronics, hospitality, infrastructure, education, telecom and realty, which are among the fifteen business verticals he runs within CG. The Chaudhary Group’s assets include a controlling stake in Nepal’s largest private-sector commercial bank (Nabil Bank) and a string of hotels, and JVs with the Taj (Tata Group), Alila, Fern and the Farm at San Benito, to name a few prominent brands. Chaudhary is also regarded as a leading philanthropist in Nepal. He is an avid trekker and a fitness enthusiast.

  For my father

  ‘You have to sacrifice something to gain something else,’ my father told me.

  That is one piece of fatherly advice I could never accept.

  I want everything from life, not one thing at the cost of another.

  My late father, Shri Lunkaran Das Chaudhary

  A Rebeginning . . .

  The clock tower in Kathmandu would soon strike noon. But here, thousands of miles away, in the Chilean capital of Santiago, time hung so heavy that each ticking of the clock felt like an eternity.

  Monday, 1 March 2010

  4 a.m.–5 a.m.

  We were milling around the reception lounge in Kennedy Hotel like a flock of startled birds, trapped with no sign of escape. I could clearly see the hair on my arms standing on end. My mouth felt parched, even though we were in an air-conditioned facility. My legs trembled uncontrollably. My heart was heavy as a rock in my chest. When would this crisis end?

  All we wanted was to be able to make one call to Kathmandu—at any cost. But the telephone system was down. Sometimes a call would get through, only to disconnect after a brief ring. Sometimes we could hear a muffled voice at the other end, and our eyes, dulled by many hours of fear and sleeplessness, would suddenly brighten. But, to our dismay, our desperate screams of ‘Hello! Hello!’ would fetch only a noise that sounded vaguely like rushing water.

  If everything had gone according to plan, we would have been on our way to Rio de Janeiro. Our flight was due to depart at 10 a.m. As we prepared to leave for the airport, the hotel receptionist announced that all roads leading to the airport were closed and that all flights out of the city had been cancelled. Some of the roads were severely damaged and a number of flyovers had crumbled. Many vehicles lay overturned on the roads. At the airport, wide cracks had appeared on the tarmac, and the control tower had completely collapsed.

  ‘They’re trying to clear the roads to make way for the ambulances and fire trucks,’ the receptionist announced. ‘Please have patience.’ But patience it was that was running thin, and her exhortation calling for stoicism on our part only made us even more anxious. But there seemed no respite to this crisis, and we had little choice but to ride it out.

  The night before, as we were browsing through our itinerary, I had told Lily (a name I lovingly use for my wife Sarika) that Chile had been a great experience. We were excited and wanted to explore Brazil now, especially Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo. After our South America trip, we would head directly to Dubai.

  Lily, as always, listened to me patiently as she packed. Packing the night before makes life much easier in the morning and allows one to have a sound night’s sleep—a simple rule I observe when I travel.

  Little did we know that that night would turn out to be our worst nightmare.

  3 a.m.–4 a.m.

  I was jolted out of my sleep. The bed was shaking. Something fell from the table, smashing on to the floor. The bed continued to shake. I was in a state of shock.

  Another loud thumping sound. Something else fell from the table. I jumped out of bed and looked at the clock on the wall. It was 3 a.m. I looked around the room and felt as though we were being sucked into a vortex. Lily woke up with fright. ‘An earthquake has struck, Babu, an earthquake!’

  She closed her eyes and desperately started to chant, ‘Sai Ram, Sai Ram.’ She was praying for help from Sathya Sai Baba, an Indian guru considered to be an avatar of the gods and a divine teacher. The belief is that he performed miracles through the materialization of vibhuti, or scented holy ash, which had healing powers. According to his followers, Sai Baba had divine powers, even of bringing the dead back to life. I had the opportunity to meet him before he passed away at the age of eighty-four in April 2011.

  As for me, I could neither close my eyes nor see clearly.

  The bed started to slide. We felt as though we were dolls in a doll’s house shaken violently by an angry child. Things were ricocheting all over the room. The curtains would be dragged to one side by an unseen force, and then to the other side. Nothing remained on the table. Everything was scattered on the floor. If we could get off the bed later, I thought, we would have to tread carefully.

  I discovered that when an earthquake shakes a room, it produces a deafening sound, like a huge tree uprooted by a powerful storm, with rattles, bangs, screeches, raps and rasps. Next thing, I thought, the walls would crumble and the whole room would collapse. Our hearts were in our mouths.

  ‘Babu, let’s run for cover!’ Lily said in a quavering voice.

  But where could we run to? We were on the twelfth floor. If a big room like ours could spin like a revolving restaurant, what would be the state of the elevator? It must have crashed to the ground. We thought about taking the stairs, but what if they collapsed as we were going down? Should we just hang on where we were? What if the roof caved in? I did not believe at that moment that I could possibly survive. I was sure that the entire building was about to collapse or that our floor would be torn away and flung into the night to land God alone knew where.

  An earthquake follows a pattern. It heralds its arrival with a series of tremors, and after the main quake subsides, there is a number of intermittent aftershocks. After two minutes and forty seconds of continuous tremors, the quake began to subside.

  Lily sprang to her feet. ‘Babu, I think it’s over. Let’s go downstairs.’

  I hurriedly slipped on my trackpants, a T-shirt, and my shoes. As we were leaving
the room, I glanced through the open bathroom door. After having my medicines the night before, I had left a bottle of mineral water beside the sink. I had forgotten to put on the lid. The entire room had been turned upside down, but the water bottle was standing there untouched. I was amazed.

  We ran towards the elevator, but it was not working. It had been shut down as a precautionary measure perhaps, I thought; or had it actually crashed to the ground? Could there be people trapped inside?

  We rushed towards the stairs. Every step produced a crunching sound as the stairs were littered with shards of broken glass. Many doors were jammed shut, and some hotel staffers were trying to break them down to rescue the guests trapped inside.

  A large number of guests had already gathered in the lounge at the reception. Just as they were starting to talk nervously among themselves, a sudden tremor sent the room into a wild convulsion. Everybody was thrown about, like stalks of corn buffeted about by a gale. We were aware about earthquake aftershocks, but this one had happened with such ferocity that it appeared as though the quake was returning in full force. We wanted to go outside, into an open space towards the lawns, but a security guard stopped us. ‘Going outside a tall building like this could be fatal,’ he said. ‘A cable might snap and hit you, or the windows could shatter and fall on your head.’

  In a situation like this, the basement is usually considered the safest option for refuge. The hotel’s basement had been unlocked, but the power supply had been switched off, probably to prevent short circuits, and it had no lighting or air conditioning. The guests gathered there were drenched in sweat, and had to use their mobile phones for light. It was so unbearable there that we headed back to the lounge.

  CNN was already running the breaking news: a massive earthquake measuring 8.8 on the Richter scale, the strongest in the world since 1965, had hit Chile. Its epicentre was Santiago. Lily and I held each other’s hands tightly.

  Who could have imagined that a journey that began with so much excitement and enthusiasm would lead to such a terrifying night?

  Sunday, 14 February 2010

  I was on a ten-storeyed ship belonging to Celebrity Infinity Cruises that had just begun its journey to Antarctica from the Argentinian capital Buenos Aires, with 2000 passengers and 1000 crew on board. The cruise liner offered all the facilities of a five-star hotel: round-the-clock casinos, an ultramodern theatre, a luxury spa, and restaurants that served cuisines from all over the world. It was like a floating city. I was vacationing with Lily, Naresh Khattar—a friend from New Delhi—and his wife Rita (Guddi).

  I have always had an appetite for adventure. In 2009, I crossed the 5416-metre-high Thorong La pass on the Annapurna circuit. I have trekked to Kailash Manasarovar. I like to take up challenges and savour that feeling of victory when I complete them. This is my weakness as well as my strength. Some might call me overambitious, or a thrill-seeker, but to me, taking on challenges and succeeding at them is one’s strength of will. And if you have strong willpower, there is nothing you cannot achieve. The voyage to Antarctica was a continuation of my quest for adventure.

  The Celebrity cruise liner left the shore and soon seemed lost in the deep waters of the Atlantic Ocean under a crystal blue sky. We could not see land until we reached the Falkland Islands.

  We experienced rough seas during the first two days of the voyage; something that felt like a perpetual, mild earthquake. We had not experienced anything like that before, and were so afraid we could not sleep. As if this was not enough, our ship was rocked violently by storms too, adding to our sleeplessness. We felt nauseated. At one point, I got so paranoid that I called the reception in the middle of the night, asking, ‘What on earth is going on?’

  ‘Sir, this is a normal thing for a cruise liner,’ came the reply. I felt embarrassed. ‘That idiot,’ I thought. ‘Patronizing me. Meet me at Thorong La pass if you have the nerve.’

  People pride themselves on appearing calm and in control. But Lily’s false courage made me laugh. She was trying to soothe me, saying, ‘Babu, it can’t be helped. We’re on the high seas.’ I quipped, ‘You’re so calm, you think it’s like boating on Lake Fewa, do you?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped, ‘I don’t think so at all and that’s why I’m not as scared as you are.’ Khattar’s wife loved the way Lily and I teased each other. She burst into laughter.

  As the ship sailed farther into the sea, we began to feel better and started enjoying ourselves, making the most of what life on a cruise liner had to offer. Sometimes we went to the deck for the bracing, sometimes numbing, chill of the polar winds. At other times, we played roulette at the casino and ate delicious meals at the restaurants. Sometimes Lily and I simply stayed in our cabin, talking and laughing.

  After four days of uninterrupted sailing, the ship arrived at the Falkland Islands, a place with historical ties to the Nepali Gurkhas, whose courage and discipline are legendary. In 1982, Margaret Thatcher had crushed Argentina, largely with the help of the fierce Gurkha soldiers fighting alongside British regiments. One story has it that the Argentinians fled when they heard Britain was dispatching a regiment of Gurkhas to the front.

  Four years later, after Britain and Argentina had faced off once again—this time in a World Cup soccer quarter-final match—Argentinian football legend Diego Maradona reportedly said, ‘This is a football ground and not a battlefield where the Gurkhas come to the rescue of the Brits.’

  Even today, residents of the Falkland Islands are generous in their praise of the Gurkhas’ bravery. From the chauffeur to the restaurateurs, everybody who discovered we were from Nepal treated us with immense respect. We felt a little overwhelmed. Thousands of miles away from home, our hearts swelled with pride at being Nepali. Britain still retains this oil-rich archipelago and should be grateful to the Gurkhas for that.

  Our next destination was Elephant Island, considered the gateway to Antarctica. Here, all the colours of the world converge into two: the blue of the water and the white of the icebergs—some as big as mountains—floating on it. The sight evokes great tranquillity, much as the sight of the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas meeting the blue sky does.

  I had felt the same way at the Thorong La pass in Nepal as I looked around, standing close to the sky and surrounded by the mighty peaks of the Himalayas. I felt I had escaped the force of gravity and could float away any moment. An experience like that, so far removed from the mundane, has a huge impact on the mind. Most people’s lives are so bogged down in trivialities that they find little chance to rise above them. To be surrounded by the majestic heights of the Himalayas or the depths of the ocean leads one to contemplation and a feeling of inner peace. We are in a place where no one can disturb us.

  Nobody disturbed us during our voyage, except for a few tourists who could not stop themselves from screaming in delight at the sight of the gigantic icebergs. Some of them ran from one end of the deck to the other, mindless of the frigid polar winds buffeting them. Others stood at the extreme edge of the starboard side, extending their arms as if they were in the movie Titanic.

  The cruise liner manoeuvred its way safely through the icebergs. We crossed the tail of Antarctica and arrived at Cape Horn Island in Chile two days later.

  We were greeted by the penguins. The penguins love human company; these danced like children on meeting us, making us laugh in delight. We took many pictures with them. A film we saw on the ship showed how penguins can travel up to fifty kilometres a day searching for food for their fledglings. While the male goes out in search of food, the female takes care of the chicks. As soon as the male comes back, the female leaves to fetch more food. They know how pressing their task is, because if they cannot find enough food for their chicks, the young ones will die of hunger. There is something to be learnt from them: a lesson in perseverance, a lesson that one should never give up, no matter how daunting a challenge might appear.

  From Cape Horn we headed towards the southern-most point of the world. Had we been ants crawli
ng on a globe, we would have been scrambling upside down, feeling as though we were about to fall off.

  I have no idea how many people have set foot on Antarctica. Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen was the first man to reach the South Pole, when he set foot there on 14 December 1911. We landed there on 20 February 2010—eighty-eight years, two months and six days after Amundsen did.

  The next day, we arrived at the port of Ushuaia in Argentina. The cruise liner was to dock at some ports in Argentina and Uruguay during the remaining six days of the voyage. I decided to cut the voyage short and visit some other Latin American countries before returning to Kathmandu. Khattar did not like the idea.

  ‘You want to dump us in the middle of the trip?’ he protested. I managed to cheer him up while Lily embraced Guddi goodbye. Leaving the Khattars behind, we set out to travel overland from Ushuaia to Mendoza, and from there to Buenos Aires and finally to Santiago in Chile.

  Thus it was that we found ourselves in Santiago, where we experienced the worst nightmare of our lives.

  28 February 2010

  5 a.m.–7 a.m.

  One of the hotel staff called out to me, ‘Mr Chaudhary, your line is connected.’

  A smile spread over Lily’s face. She raced to the reception desk and grabbed the receiver. I followed her, hoping the line would stay connected this time.

  ‘Hello, Nirvana,’ she said in a single breath.

  ‘Hello, madam, this is Sanjay.’ One of our aides had picked up the phone. ‘We’re at a function at the Chandbagh School. Nirvana Babu is delivering his speech.’

  ‘Get him on the line at once,’ Lily said. ‘It’s an emergency.’

  How unnerved Nirvana must have been, to unexpectedly have to take an emergency call from his parents in the middle of his address! But we were left with no other choice. The connection was unreliable and could be lost at any moment.