After three years of running the television factory, I didn’t know how much more I could take. I am in a prison, I said to myself one day. The distributors are telling me what to do instead of the other way around. The five distributors in the state had me by the tail, and the dealers who sold the televisions were dancing around me, knowing I was helpless to do anything. Although I felt trapped, I still tried to talk sense into the dealers. For months, Mr. Bhatt and I traveled from city to city to learn their problems and answer their concerns. We hoped they would pay, but no one offered to repay the money they owed. Suny Electronics, running on five months of credit, could not survive much longer without payment. The amount owed to us was thirty lakh rupees, the equivalent of $150,000.
As a last resort, I refused to send the distributors more televisions unless they paid first. In one case, a distributor finally agreed and gave us a bank draft number and draft amount over the phone, saying the draft was in the mail. Then, as soon as Suny Electronics sent the shipment, he canceled the draft, depositing the money back into his account.
Even when Satish invited the distributors to meet with him at a hotel and discuss their complaints and concerns, there was no change in their behavior. Not even the owner’s presence could push them to do the right thing. Furthermore, Mr. Bhatt took a passive stance with his responsibilities, only acting if I told him to. He did not like asking me for approval of the marketing promotions as I requested. Later on, I learned he had been selling a different brand of cheaper televisions under the table to our distributors. Infuriated, I informed Satish. When Satish confronted Mr. Bhatt about the matter, the man broke into tears, saying he was having trouble communicating with me and could barely keep up with the marketing pressures to maintain sales.
Satish decided to bring Mr. Bhatt back to New Delhi, since he had previously been a loyal employee for many years, and he promised to assign his best marketing man to my factory. In the meantime, the distributors took advantage of my lack of marketing experience. They formed a group to share with each other their complaints about the Indore factory, and they refused to pay any old amounts until we sent them new material.
Each night, I returned home to have dinner with my family, and even though I was mentally exhausted, I kept my chin up for the sake of Raj and the kids. At night, I cried myself to sleep because even though I was the owner of a television factory, I felt like a prisoner locked in a small, dark room.
In April 1989, Satish informed me of his decision to move my factory to Pithampur due to the end of the seven percent sales tax exemption in Indore. In Pithampur, we would have advantage over the competition because the city was in a Special Economic Zone, meaning it was also sales tax exempt. Moving to a new building would reduce our operating costs by $5,000 a month. While still running the Indore factory, I traveled fifty kilometers back and forth to Pithampur to make preparations. I put in sixteen-hour days, and by the time I reached home, poured a drink, and sat down to eat, I had never felt so exhausted.
I was sad about so many things at the time. The Indore factory I put so much work into was coming to a close, and even the name, “Suny Electronics,” was scrapped for a new one. I was sad because out of the eighty employees at the Indore factory, I could keep only twelve. Telling so many people they no longer had work took a toll on my heart.
I felt like I did not belong in this environment. I did not fit in with the people in the television manufacturing industry who thought nothing of ignoring their debts while telling you they would pay. What they said never matched what they thought or what they actually did. I based my entire profession in the States on honesty and straightforwardness, telling my colleagues and the employees working for me exactly what I thought. There was no hidden meaning, no dealings under the table. Here, you couldn’t trust anyone.
And it is strange how even the smallest, least significant things can make you sad. As I left the Indore factory for the last time, my tears overflowed at the sight of the flowers and the mango trees I had so carefully chosen for the landscaping around the factory. They were a touch of love and beauty I hoped to give to a cold and unfeeling place.
In June 1990, I received the accounting report for the fiscal year 1989. I shut the door to my office and sat at my desk, staring at the impossible figure. Suny Electronics had made a net profit of only fifty thousand rupees, the equivalent of $2,500. My share totaled
