The Day Average Joe walked into Harvard

Thirty years ago, I left school barely able to hold a conversation in English. Writing was a distant dream — a country I had no visa for.

My parents, bless them, believed in me more than I ever did in myself. They pledged gold to send me to NIIT every morning from 7am to 9am. I would then take the bus to RKM Vivekananda College, Chennai for my B.Com every evening from 4pm to 8pm. In between, from 11am to 3pm, six days a week, I scooped ice cream at Baskin Robbins — their second outlet in India, right near my home.

Eighteen months of DOS, C, C++, Java, and MS Access. Long lab sessions staring at what I called a "smart-box." I scored in the top percentile. And then I prostrated before my parents and said — “I have no plans to save the world from Y2K”.

They pledged their newly bought house next. For my MBA. No parent should ever have to do that. No son should ever forget it, I say.

Campus placement at RPG Retail followed — a decent salary at the turn of the millennium, when jobs were genuinely hard to find. 

What came next felt like a long relay race across fourteen extraordinary years — Musicworld, Foodworld, Central Malls by the Future Group, United Colors of Benetton, Cafe Coffee Day, and Royal Enfield. 

Each baton pass shaped me more than I understood at the time.

Twenty years ago, I became the first Indian to pioneer Airport Retail — at the country's first PPP greenfield airport in Bangalore. That single chapter handed me a confidence I had never owned before, and a reputation that quietly preceded me across the Indian retail industry.

Fifteen years of Strategy Advisory and Consulting later, something stirred. In August 2024, I began exploring the Senior Executive Leadership Program at Harvard Business School. I enrolled in December 2025. A fat tuition fee. Full-on debt.

My maiden trip to Boston was equal parts surreal and stunning. 

Standing in the rain outside the Mumbai Consulate in mid-July. A 90-second visa interview. Four tense minutes at Boston Logan — answering a curious officer's questions while he read my HBS invitation letter with what felt like deliberate slowness.

And then — the campus. The Baker Library. One hundred and fifty case studies across nine months, led by eighteen of the world's finest teachers, professors, and human beings.

My opinions mattered in that classroom. They rarely shifted. But my lens changed — permanently.

In the closing session, I told our Dean: "I came here in January 2026 hungry and impatient. I am leaving as a human being — taught humility, and to live with Purpose."

On 11 September 2026, forty-eight rockstars of the 22nd SELP-India batch stood outside Baker Hall together. I felt equal, grateful, and ready.

Average Joe. Done well, I say.

I still have Miles To Go.

Boston Days — Part 18

Two Airports, One Telling Silence

(I am writing "Boston Days" as a series of articles for quick reference for myself and other retail pilgrims. This concluding piece is about two airports — and what retail looks like inside each.)

August 22. Madras Day. The 387th anniversary of the founding of one of India's greatest cities. I was at Chennai International Airport, bags checked, about to board a flight to Boston.

There was not a single mention of it anywhere. Not a standee. Not a display. Not a book.

That absence travelled with me. It returned sharply weeks later at Boston Logan — on Labor Day weekend. A city that helped ignite American independence, now 250 years past. 

Not a word of acknowledgement. Not a commemorative shelf. No bookstore at either airport. For two cities carrying centuries of documented history and global significance, that is a remarkable omission.

Both airports are government-operated. Both have made credible choices in their retail concessionaires. 

At Chennai, the spread is genuinely varied — Chennai Duty Free by Flemingo anchors international departures with perfumes, chocolates, spirits and Gifts from India. 

Adyar Ananda Bhavan draws steady queues. Barista offers a comfortable sit-down space. 

The specialty corridor carries Fabindia, Forest Essentials, Nappa Dori, Hidesign, Co-optex and Krishna Pearls — a grounded, India-rooted selection. 

Guardian Pharmacy and Ray-Ban round off a reasonable concession mix. Newcomer Vidveda is still behind hoarding, clearly getting ready. 

Boston Logan reads differently — Boston Duty Free runs a strong liquor, wine and tobacco operation across terminals. 

Color Pop brings a curated beauty offer. Stephanie's delivers comfort food and cocktails to a reliably packed house. Gachi holds its own in sushi and noodles.

Each airport has its anchors. Neither is truly driving conspicuous consumption.

The problem is structural. At both locations, stores occupy the sides of the walking corridor — the passenger is not required to pass through retail to reach the gate. 

At Singapore, Hong Kong and Dubai, retail is the pathway. Stores have no shutters. SKUs reach almost into the aisle. The distance between traveller and product collapses by design. Here, you must choose to walk in. Most passengers simply do not.

The lounge picture compounded things further. At Chennai, the Priority Pass lounge sits on the third floor — a deliberate detour that breaks the departure rhythm. 

At Boston Logan, no independent Priority Pass lounge exists at all. Only airline-specific clubs, behind closed doors.

Why do government-run airports worldwide maintain this quiet, hands-off relationship with consumerism — even when the infrastructure is entirely capable?

Passenger amenities, to their credit, are well managed at both. Clean, functional, adequately staffed.

But the business of retail — the invitation to browse, to discover, to spend — is still waiting for its boarding call.

Boston was teaching me on last time, as I bid adieu to the States. Until we meet again, IF we meet again, perhaps! 

(I am writing "Boston Days" as a series of articles for quick reference for myself and other retail pilgrims. This is the concluding piece in the series.)

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16 and Part 17 here.

Boston Days — Part 17

The Name Promised The World. The Store Delivered A Bazaar.

(I am writing "Boston Days" as a series of articles for quick reference for myself and other retail pilgrims. This article covers what a visit to one of America's most ambitiously named specialty retailers revealed about category identity, the discovery model, and why a brand name without a brand spine is just signage.)

There is something about a name.

World Market. Two words. Infinite expectation. I stood outside — beige façade, red serif lettering — and felt the particular excitement only a retail pilgrim truly understands.

In the late 1950s, a San Francisco businessman began selling shiploads of hand-woven wicker from one of the city's piers. 

William Amthor opened the first store in 1958 at Fisherman's Wharf and called it Cost Plus World Market — named after his pricing strategy of selling goods at cost plus ten percent. 

The model was essentially a bazaar: imported furniture, eclectic finds, a treasure hunt by design. 

Bed Bath & Beyond acquired the chain in 2012 for USD 495 million. Los Angeles-based private equity firm Kingswood Capital Management completed its acquisition in 2021, retaining approximately 245 stores. Today the brand simply calls itself World Market.

A few quick facts the curious retail practitioner should know. 

Typical store size runs between 16,000 and 20,000 square feet. California leads with 52 stores; Florida follows with 28. There is no international footprint — this is an entirely US-domestic chain. 

The original Fisherman's Wharf store closed in 2020. The nearest competitors are HomeGoods and TJ Maxx — interestingly, World Market's own Executive Chairman Alex Smith previously served as Group President of HomeGoods at TJX — along with IKEA for furniture, ethnic grocery chains for the food section, and the now-bankrupt Pier 1 Imports, which was, ironically, a direct Cost Plus franchise spin-off from the 1960s. 

The core consumer profile is middle-income, college-educated, culturally curious, and homeownership-oriented — a shopper who takes pride in an eclectic, well-travelled aesthetic on a sensible budget.

I walked in, expecting discovery. What I found was a potpourri.

Greeting cards — an entire wall. Then loose furniture. A Little Italy pasta aisle. A Bake Shop corner with Cadbury and Pascal. Keogh's crisps beside Dad's Root Beer. 

Henna wood elephants from Rajasthan under the Craft by World Market sub-brand. Impulse candy at checkout.

Three decisive observations for the retail practitioner.

One: The discovery model is not dead — but it demands curation. TJ Maxx thrives on treasure-hunt retail. The difference is that TJ Maxx has a consistent identity: great brands, below-market price, across one broad lifestyle category. World Market has the treasure hunt without the theme. Browsing without a compass is not discovery. It is exhaustion.

Two: Amazon has not killed discovery retail — it has raised its bar. You can find Bundaberg Root Beer, Keogh's crisps, and imported pasta cheaper on Amazon, delivered faster. The only reason to walk into a physical import store is for serendipity that feels intentional. World Market's serendipity currently feels accidental.

Three: A name is a contract with the consumer. World Market implies curation, provenance, a point of view. What the store delivers is an assortment strategy that has accumulated over decades rather than been designed. When the merchandise is everywhere and everything, it stops saying anything.

Boston was teaching me from SKUs, assortment and insights around the world.

(I am writing "Boston Days" as a series of articles for quick reference for myself and other retail pilgrims.)

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15 and Part 16 here.