Vizag: Once a month, both CH Joshi Ranganath and his 2-year-old wear a diaper to bed—a fact, that strikes his 6-year-old daughter as rather odd. “Papa do you also have a susu problem like baby?” she frowns. Ranganathan laughs and explains as he always does: “No beta, I work for Friends diaper company!”
A senior sales manager for India’s oldest and leading adult diaper manufacturer, Ranganath’s job is, in his own words “challenging, satisfying, and often controversial”. Having earlier worked for FMCG and pharma giants, including the makers of a popular pain-relief balm, disinfectant and toilet cleaner, Ranganath’s switch to selling ‘adult diapers’ has involved more dialogue than most of his previous roles.
“Most products have ready buyers. Adult diapers though? The category is still mired in stigma. Friends’ sales strategy often means convincing buyers to not give up on life; to believing that living well with urinary incontinence is possible,” says Ranganath.
Area Sales manager of the Andhra Pradesh, the 32-year-old, leads a team of 22. In a blue polo company t-shirt, Ranganath bobs in and out of view, as he effortlessly snakes through the heavy pre-festive season crowd in one of Vishakhapatnam’s many markets—leading us on with a constant commentary of numbers and information.
A short walk later, we come to the fourth store we are visiting today; and for the fourth time Ranganath happily accepts a cup of steaming chai. “Saying no is out of the question,” he tells me, mopping the sweat of his forehead, later. “To the retailer I am a representative of the company. I cannot reject his offering.”
Do retailers offer spaces to sit and tea to all sales folk, we ask. Ranganath’s smile is pleased, and yet shy. Personal relationships are a cornerstone of his sales modus operandi: “How is your son, did his entrance exam go through? Oh! He got a seat in Tirupati? Sweets from me tomorrow!” “Congratulations on your baby, Naidu*! I told God will bless you! For 18 years you and bhabi have been trying!”
Sales figures, pricing details for each of his company’s 100+ products on offer, and even the personal details of nearly every chemist in his ‘beat’— Ranganath’s mind seems to hold information effortlessly.
“Sales is about relationships,” he tells me as we stop for lunch later. “And in this economy information is power.”
Recently for example, he tells me, Ranganath and his teammate convinced a man to buy Friends for his 78-year-old father and include him on a long wished-for trip to Kashi. “They’d bought local diapers of inferior quality, didn’t have confidence in the product, but didn’t want to spend more money on something they assumed would be futile. We spoke to the retailer and went to visit them at home. The user’s son, a young engineer, initially refused us. But we got talking. A programme on real estate prices was playing on their TV, and my Territory Manager, gave the son a few helpful tips regions to invest in. The son, thoroughly impressed, now with more trust for us agreed to hear us out. Next week, his father, in Friends Dry Pants, is all set to go to Kashi.”
An affable man with a beaming smile, it is visible how proud Ranganath is of the work he does. “Friends is one of the few companies where I can pick up the phone and call the senior management directly,” he says. “They believe in the products they make, in the lives the help. Want proof? Just see the quality of their factories.”
It is hard work, he agrees, to sell what he says is the country’s most stigmatised product; but every sale, every conversation, and the belief of every one of the company’s 1000+ sales team, is bound to affect change.
“When I first joined Friends, my father lamented. ‘What will I tell people? My son sells diapers!?’ Yes, I told him,” says Ranganath. “Tell them very proudly.”
