It was September 2001, Ashok Chokalingam [the head of international sales for Amrut Distilleries] walked into Newcastle University and was instantly awestruck – there was so much to take in, from manicured lawns to legacy buildings.
He entered the fan-shaped classroom with its stepped seating. White lights illuminated the hall. The acoustics were perfect, transforming ordinary chatter into crisp sounds. Then came the most pleasant surprise of the day – a conversation taking place in the row behind him.
“I’m from Bangalore, India.”
Ashok turned around and spotted the smart young man with egg-shell spectacles. He was conversing with an elegantly dressed lady; her luscious hay-coloured locks glistened in the light.
“We run a distillery called Amruuu –” trailed off Rakshit Jagdale, as he was bodily lifted a few centimetres off the floor by Ashok’s bear hug – an embrace that surprised Rakshit but was natural to Ashok thanks to their common Indian roots.
As pals, Ashok and Rakshit hit the pubs, watched movies and even visited football matches. Just after one thrilling football game, Rakshit meticulously measured and poured a round out of a copper jigger. Every time Ashok saw the pouring device, it reminded him of a damru – the two-headed drum of Lord Shiva. Almost unconsciously, the image of the majestic Shiva temple back home would flit through his mind. Life in Mayavaram, Tamil Nadu, had been so different. Alcohol was a strict no-no. But in Newcastle, drinking was an integral part of the culture. Still, there were things he missed about home: its quaint houses, majestic temples and the piping hot sambar paired with pongal. At the end of each day, he would dial home.
Ashok’s excited voice usually took the lion’s share of the phone call, with his mother laughing at just the right moments as she urged him to go on when he fell silent to confirm she was still paying attention. She would listen as Ashok described every minute detail, painting a vivid picture of the life he was living. She would smile gently at his enthusiasm. It was as though Ashok’s experience was not just his own but also hers. The few words she did speak were to reinforce the values she had instilled in Ashok since childhood: “Be brave, admit when you’re wrong and correct it.”
These qualities had come in handy when Ashok finished his high school education and moved from his small town to the metropolis – Chennai. His first job was as an apprentice trainee for a cutting tool company called Addition Tools. The next one was in Hyderabad at Flow Lines Engineering, as a sales engineer. Both these jobs were short stints and lasted about a year each. While working, Ashok appeared for a written test for MRF and was selected.
On one usual night shift at MRF, a colleague was absent and, on enquiry, his manager told Ashok that his co-worker had quit in order to pursue a master’s degree in the US. That seemingly ordinary incident triggered Ashok’s interest in an MBA abroad. Life in MRF would be spent in shifts. He knew he would hit a glass ceiling soon. Ashok’s MBA prep began in earnest.
Studying in a Tamil-medium school and growing up in a small town meant that Ashok had to put in more effort and long hours of study to hone his competency in English. But this had to be artfully scheduled with work. So, he opted for a night shift at MRF and took evening classes to crack these competitive exams. Owing to its good reputation and low intake, he picked Newcastle University as his school of choice. The last hurdle to flying to the UK was the fees. His father’s retirement further exacerbated the problem of raising money for tuition. But his mother was staunchly on the side of his dreams. She went to Ashok’s father and said, “Since our marriage, I haven’t asked you for anything. But now, I am. Let’s send Ashok abroad to study.”
The die was cast, the family home was pledged, a loan was raised and Ashok enrolled in Newcastle University. His time at the university was filled with case studies, assignments and term exams. Playing cricket and working part-time made the clock spin even faster.
Ashok worked part-time in a convenience store stacking boxes. The UK had many of these outlets that sold everything from sticks of gum to bottles of alcohol. Every day at 5 pm sharp, Ashok would leave his dorm and walk about 4 miles to the store. The route was so familiar that he navigated effortlessly, his mind filled with thoughts about the day’s lessons, from debentures to debt. Some days, his thoughts moved into the future, imagining what would be waiting for him at the store. This was a self-learning exercise for Ashok, recalling the names from memory, imagining the bottle shapes that he stacked.
Ashok’s duties included opening up the shop, cleaning and making sure all the items were stocked and properly labelled for the customers. The storeroom walls were made of neatly cut rectangular bricks. Once he reached, Ashok would pull a string hanging from the low ceiling, lighting a big tungsten bulb that filled the room with its warm glow. Cardboard boxes filled the room, with just enough space between them for one person to walk through to the other end. Wines, lagers and whiskies from around the world were stacked up on one side of the small back room. For someone coming from a culture where alcohol was barely tolerated, this was a new and unexplored world as well as an opportunity to fill the gaps in knowledge.
Inside the store, Ashok looked at a dark blue bottle with a trendy yellow logo of a kangaroo. “Yellow Tail, place of origin New South Wales, Australia”, the label read. He admired the bottle for a bit and his eyes moved to the most complex word on the bottle – Cabernet Sauvignon.
How would one pronounce this? he wondered, running his thumb across the smooth label – an action that he would repeat with every product that was new to him, which was pretty much everything in the beginning. After checking the stock of wines, he moved on to unpacking the whiskies. His mind grappled with words like Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Balvenie. He did not read them out loud, but he turned the words over in his mind. Ashok opened the canisters to examine the bottles inside.
In time, Ashok would know all the popular brands and understand the finer details about packaging, which he would use to transform Amrut Single Malt. On a lighter note, he would largely use Indian names for future Amrut expressions like “Kadhambam” and “Naarangi”, tongue twisters for non-Indians, recalling the times he struggled to pronounce “Auchentoshan” or “Glen Garioch”.
Tasting whiskies with Rakshit added an experiential level to his theoretical knowledge, and would serve him well as he worked with Amrut.
Excerpted with permission from Amrut, the Great Churn: The Global Story of India’s First Single Malt, Sriram Devatha, Westland.
