Steel saga

Two years too late. That’s the first reaction to Cold Steel. The next reaction? Too little. It’s a pity that the saga of one of the world’s most fiercelyfought corporate battles should make a book that, while being excessively complimentary to its protagonists Lakshmi Niwas Mittal and his son Aditya, offers little fresh insight. That, however, is not to say Cold Steel isn’t gripping. In fact, the narrative is so dramatic (“Mittal looked at the croissants. They stayed where they were.”) that had the authors not been writing about a real takeover drama, it could have made a racy corporate potboiler.

Details of meetings, locales and even moods of the people in the drama are fleshed out excruciatingly, with some poetic licence thrown in. Take, for instance, the authors’ description of the dinner meet at Mittal’s Kensington Palace Gardens mansion in London. There are only four men at the dinner table—Arcelor’s Guy Dollé and Alain Davezac, and Lakshmi Mittal and Aditya—but the narrative seems partial to the Mittals. Dollé’s discomfort at the dinner—in fact, everything from the opulence of the Mittal mansion to Aditya’s “brashness”— is seen from the perspective of his host. Sample this: “Guy Dollé had no time for Aditya. As far as he was concerned, he had been born rich and lucky… What Davezac took for brilliance, Dollé regarded as an irritating brashness.”

There’s no doubt that the authors adore their subject. But what’s not fair is that they show some of the other players in this drama in poor light. Dollé, for instance, is portrayed as someone prone to stupidly shooting his mouth off—unlike the slick and sophisticated Mittal. Yes, Dollé did make some remarks that some Indians found unsavoury, but to characterise him as a bumbling executive with oversized ambition probably isn’t fair.

The authors prove they are out of their depth when it comes to understanding India or its politics. There’s a lengthy chapter on Mittal’s trip to India that coincides with French President Jacques Chirac’s visit, but Bouquet and Ousey are unable to deliver a nuanced dissection of the subtle politics Mittal must have played behind the scenes. Also, they have no clue that Hindi is the language and Hindu, a follower of Hinduism. Ergo, their reference to the Hindi language media as ‘Hindu’ media. The book is also marred by some minor typos (“Aditya bounded in like (a) Tigger” (sic)).

Just the same, Cold Steel must count among the rare corporate page-turners. It is a racy read, where the only tragic character turns out to be a Frenchman—Guy Dollé.

If there’s only one management thinker you choose to follow, let it be Peter Ferdinand Drucker. In a remarkable career that stretched over seven decades, Drucker literally invented the discipline of management.

Drucker, born in Vienna in 1909, was more than a management thinker; he was a seer. He was very different from other writers on management for a fundamental reason: he didn’t believe in buzzwords that seem to so characterise management writing of recent decades. Fundamentally, Drucker, who died in November 2005, eight days ahead of his 96th birthday, was an analyst and an investigator; he was deeply interested in the man in ‘management’ and how that man interacted with others in an organisation. Classic Drucker is a compilation of 15 of his 38 articles written for Harvard Business Review, and carries an introduction by HBR’s editor Tom Stewart. Needless to say, HBR editors serve up a selection that’s not just wholesome but stimulating. Take, for instance, Drucker’s wonderful piece on Managing Oneself.

Although written almost a decade ago, it is relevant even today and, no doubt, will remain relevant for a long time to come. Reading Drucker is like having the future told—for the manager and his organisation.

—R. Sridharan