I was fortunate to meet Dhirubhai Ambani three times. The context is worth recalling. In 1993, he was chosen as Businessman of the Year by Business India. That same year, I had rejoined the magazine. If memory serves me right, a high-powered jury selected him for his pioneering efforts and visionary leadership in transforming Reliance Industries into India’s largest private-sector enterprise. A petrol pump attendant from Aden who became a legend in his own lifetime.
In Room with Dhirubhai
To cut to the chase, my publisher, Ashok Advani, asked me to be part of a three-member team working on the cover story on Dhirubhai Ambani. The assignment involved interviewing key figures from his life, visiting plants and interacting with family members. The Ambanis readily agreed to this format.
Our first meeting took place at a time when Dhirubhai had just suffered a paralytic stroke that affected his right side. We were advised by his corporate communications team to extend our left hand for a shake. Despite the physical setback, his presence was electrifying. In a large, well-appointed cabin, he seemed like a man in a hurry yet sharp, alert and already assessing us. After the initial pleasantries, he settled into his distinctive burgundy upholstered single-seater sofa, a piece that, as the story went, travelled wherever he did. Unlike today’s business families, the Ambanis of the 1990s consciously stayed away from Page 3 events and industry bodies like CII, Assocham, or FICCI. When asked why Reliance was not part of any trade associations, he dismissed it as a personal choice.
Economies of Scale
The conversation soon shifted to his success and business rivalries. I brought up the Indian Express campaign against Reliance. He responded with characteristic bluntness: “If any riff-raff like you becomes the owner of Business India, it will make everybody jealous. They will badmouth you and try to bring you down… that’s what has happened to me.” He later apologised for using the term riff-raff, but the point was made.
That evening, we were invited to his residence, Sea Wind, in Cuffe Parade. At precisely 7 pm, we entered a large terrace garden overlooking the Arabian Sea. Dhirubhai was seated comfortably, flanked by senior communications executives. On a side table were two landline telephones with long trailing wires. Everything about the setting spoke volumes on his clout, power, connections and wealth. For a fleeting moment, Vito Corleone from The Godfather crossed my mind. But what stood out more was his clarity of thought. He spoke about building world-class plants, achieving economies of scale and thinking big.
Record Execution
When asked about competition, he brushed aside the notion of rivals. Criticism, he said, was a sign that one had arrived. One piece of advice he shared has stayed with me ever since. Whenever you face a problem, whether in a company or a government office, never approach the top person directly. Start at the lower levels. If someone says no, move one level up. But if the chairman or CEO says no, the door shuts completely. It was a simple yet profound insight into navigating systems. During dinner, Mukesh Ambani and Tina Munim joined us. Mukesh left shortly after, but Tina stayed on, engaging warmly in conversation. When I asked if she was involved in the business, given her family background, she smiled and said no. Our third meeting took place the following day over lunch at his office. This time, Ashok Advani and Malavika Singh joined us. Mukesh was present, while Anil dropped in briefly to greet us.
The next day, we visited the polyester plant at Patalganga in Maharashtra. At the time, it produced LAB, PTA and PSF. Dhirubhai had even coined the term chamak for polyester fabrics. The plant marked Reliance’s decisive entry into synthetic textiles. What struck us immediately was the scale and the immaculate housekeeping. Commissioned in a record 14 months under Mukesh Ambani’s supervision in 1986, the plant was a testament to execution excellence. We were told how unseasonal torrential rains had once brought the entire MIDC area to a standstill. While others struggled to recover, Reliance mobilised 6000 workers within 96 hours and restored production in just two weeks!
Born on 28 December 1932, in Chorwad, a small village in Gujarat, Dhirubhai Ambani’s journey remains one of the most compelling rags-to-riches stories in modern India. He was both an outlier and a disruptor. While competitors operated capacities of 15,000–20,000 tonnes per annum, Reliance installed capacities of 145,000 tonnes. With the scale, he could sell at prices that matched his competitors’ cost of production, leaving them little room to survive. The result was devastating: nearly 90 per cent of competitors became sick companies. He was also ahead of his time in telecommunications, envisioning mobile services at the cost of a postcard, an idea that would later redefine access in India. In marketing, Brand Vimal brought global spectacle to Indian television, offering audiences a glimpse of events like the Oscars and the Grammys on Doordarshan in the 1980s.
A lesson well taught
A fierce competitor, he famously took on a bear cartel in the early 1980s that had aggressively short-sold Reliance shares. By demanding delivery and systematically buying back shares, he triggered a squeeze that forced the Bombay Stock Exchange to shut down for three days. Several bear operators went bankrupt. From then on, few dared to bet against Reliance. He also attempted a hostile takeover of Larsen & Toubro between 1988 and 1990, facing resistance from the government led by V P Singh. Eventually, the Ambanis exited L&T in 2001, selling their stake to Grasim Industries. That episode later became the subject of one of my cover stories titled “Exit Ambanis, Enter Birla.”
Dhirubhai Ambani passed away on 6 July 2002. He was, in many ways, a one-in-a-billion phenomenon. What set him apart was not just ambition, but his instinctive understanding of scale, systems and human behaviour.