The Indenting Agent

The Indenting Agent

Rasheed Appa, my maternal grandpa, ran his own indenting agency, Kingston Agencies, located at our home in Bambalapitiya. He was doing pretty well with many foreign products under his belt and tons of containers that he received through the Colombo harbor on a regular basis. Our garage, in the backyard, was always stacked with crates of Pearl Barley, Quaker Oats, Soft Toys, and whatnot, waiting for wholesalers to call over and pick them up.

 

Appa never went to University but the immaculate knack he had of doing business with, both, local buyers and foreign manufacturers, would have made the Harvard Business School blush. Math, Accounting and typing were certainly not his cuppa tea and so it was outsourced to his two sons, my maternal uncles, and then later on to my bro and me. Grandma was called Umma.

Appa: “Those Dutch food manufacturers are planning a visit to Ceylon to meet us and assess our future capability to act as their agents here. We must put on a good show.”

Umma: “We can refurbish the verandah, office room, and living room and convert it into a makeshift office to satisfy them. We have a large house with a big yard in the front and back. Anyone who is not impressed with this outfit won’t find another for sure.”

She was a very wise old lady, who hailed from the very well-known and famous, “Jemmi” family in Colombo. She used to read lots of stuff in English and Arwi (Arabic/Tamil) and relate many stories to us when we were little. Her memory on genealogy was also overwhelming. Her best characteristic was her tremendous patience which I try so hard to emulate, yet with not much success.

And so the Dutchmen came.

A limo was arranged and sent to the airport to pick them up and transported to our home in style. The place was nattily furnished, with all our home furniture neatly arranged to look like a posh office, of course, with a typewriter, Secretary, and clerical staff all dressed to kill. Appa sat behind his big mahogany desk like the Mudalali he was. Sir Razik Fareed, his maternal cousin, was also invited to be a part of the business meeting that ensued. Appa felt it would add more weight to his enterprise with a British Knight around. Our domestics were all kitted up to kill and served the refreshments. Homemade pastries (short eats as we chose to call them), Ice Cream and Orange Barley.

My maternal uncle, spruced up in a black bow tie, sat behind a desk, looking very much like a manager. The discussion ensued. The Dutchmen were very impressed.

Grandpa won the deal and his agency contract was renewed without much fuss. That’s how international trade was done in the 50s.