Author's Note

'The Invisible CEO' is a sobriquet that was bestowed on me, mid-career. I loved it the minute I read it. It so aptly described who I was and am. Notorious for being absent on the invariable high-profile cocktail circuits that my peers seemed to frequent, my 'invisibility' has always been commented on throughout my career. Let me take this opportunity to explain. I believe there are two kinds of CEOs. I am not passing judgment on either type, this is merely an observation. Type A is often seen in the 'right places' with the 'right people' on the 'right newspaper pages', dispensing the 'right sound bytes'. Type A CEOs are, in other words, 'high-profile'. The general public knows them by face. And they continue to remain high-profile, even when their organisation has slipped on performance parameters. They are in a sense, quite divorced from the company they keep. Their company's lack of performance in no way taints their public persona. I would like to believe I belong to the next category- the Type B CEO. This is your typical low-profile leader who shies away from the power circle as it were. Yes, that is very much who I am. I would choose to remain invisible personally and let my name be linked to the performance of my company instead. In fact, during my Mudra years (1980-2003), my identity was the same as Mudra's. If Mudra failed, I failed. If Mudra succeeded, it was my victory. Which is why when Mudra lost anything, I took the blame. I put myself in the line of fire. I could never at any point in time, have sat back and said, "It was not my fault". Because I have always firmly stood by the view that that my identity began and ended with my visiting card. Take away the Mudra logo from the card and A G Krishnamurthy was a nobody. Now, let me take a moment to explain why after all these years of being 'invisible' I have chosen to write about Mudra now. Looking back I realise that Mudra was an extremely unusual agency headquartered in an unusual place and manned by a band of really unusual people. We were not the prevalent stereotypical 'agency types'. And Ahmedabad in the eighties was a quiet city with laid-back gentle folk. Our language was generously peppered with Indian colloquialisms, we ate with our fingers, and when we celebrated, we distributed jalebis and pedas. But what was most significant of all was that our agency had a Sanskrit name, long before it was fashionable. So in a way, the odds were really stacked against us. But yet, we seemed to have made quite a mark in a world that was so unlike us. A world of three-martini lunches, cigar puffing CEOs, old school-boy networks and agencies which carried famous American/British names. But yet, despite the initial reservations the industry had about us, acceptance did come. And that is the story I would like to share and which I hope would be of some inspiration. No matter how different you are, or how much of an 'odd man out' you feel, if you believe strongly enough and long enough, it is possible to continue to be who you are and to make a success out of doing what you love. The way you love doing it. I would like to thank three of my gurus and a colleague. Giraben Sarabhai, who taught me the ABs {Aesthetics and Business} of Advertising. Dhirubhai Ambani who encouraged me to dream big and taught me how to make them come true. Dr. Verghese Kurien from whom I learnt the art and benefits of being Indian. A11d my colleague Minnie Abraham, but for whose contribution and support, this book and the popular column AGKspeak in Business Standard over the past seventeen months would not have been a reality. I would also like to thank T N Ninan and Business Standard for their encouragement and support of AGKspeak, and, Magindia the online advertising archive for supplying us with all the print and television references.

A.G.Krishnamurthy Ahmedabad 26.12.2004