NRI,
Sanjay Majhu taken over his curry empire £8million,
for the Harlequin chain of Indian restaurants.
In 1991, he was working as a waiter for Charan Gill,
now Sanjay has taken over his curry empire
GLASGOW'S NEWEST, March 31, 2005
sheila.hamilton
Eveningtimes
curry king, Sanjay Majhu, walks into the Ashoka Restaurant
in Ashton Lane. He could not be more of a contrast
with the larger-than-life character who has just abdicated.
And Sanjay knows it. Endearingly, he spends the first
10 minutes of our conversation praising Charan Gill,
who has long been his mentor.
Sanjay has just paid Gill £8million for the
Harlequin chain of Indian restaurants.
There's obviously a close friendship between Sanjay
and Charan.
They first met when Charan taught a young Sanjay
Indian dancing at the arts centre in Washington Street
in Glasgow. And they both play in the bhangra band,
Bombay Talkie.
"If someone asked me how can I step into Charan
Gill's shoes, my answer would be that you can never
step into his shoes," he says. "People like
Charan Gill come once in a lifetime."
What now for Charan? His friend smiles mischievously.
"I think he's thinking of pursuing a political
career, so I think certain MSPs or MPs should be getting
worried - because my belief is that if he stood for
parliament, he'd win."
Sanjay is low-key and laidback where Charan is flamboyant
with the looks of a Bollywood star. The best that
can be said about the top Sanjay is wearing is that
it's cuddly. "I tend to be a bit rough round
the edges. I struggle wearing a tie.
Sanjay does have a west end townhouse, opposite the
one which Charan sold because he claimed there was
a ghost. He is married to Jiginder, 37, and their
two sons, Anish, 11, and Nitesh, 8, attend Kelvinside
Academy.
While Charan favours Porsches, Bentleys and Mercedes,
Sanjay is happy with a Kia jeep.
He doesn't like the tag of millionaire and claims
he is always 'skint'.
Like royalty, he doesn't carry cash. "I always
have to ask my wife for a sub because I always feel
money should be kept somewhere safe.
"I have always had a fear of spending money.
I struggle with luxury. When I was younger, I lost
of lot of money in business."
His first restaurant - Tandoori Junction ("I
thought it was a good name") opened in 1992 failed
miserably. "Inexperience. Lack of funding. Lack
of expertise. But what you learn in life is what not
to do next time."
Sanjay Majhu seems to have acquired his wealth without
most of us having heard of him, unless you're a customer
of the Spice of Life or one of his chain of Apple
pharmacies.
He has come a long way since the early 90s when he
was waiting on tables at Charan Gill's Spice of Life.
Now 36, the Nairobi-born entrepreneur, who came to
Glasgow with his parents as a two-year-old from Kenya,
intends to remain market leader in the restaurant
business.
His new business empire takes in 16 restaurants and
350 staff with a £12m annual turnover.
He is negotiating to open a Kama Sutra restaurant
in San Francisco.
"We're also negotiating with three multiple
shopping centres, starting to get an inroad into food
courts."
He wants to develop the three Harlequin brands of
The Ashoka, Ashoka Shaks and Kama Sutra.
"What I'm trying to do is to make them all slightly
different so that if you go to a Shak, you don't get
what you get at an Ashoka.
When his family came to Scotland from Kenya, his
father, Ramesh, a medical rep, found he couldn't fit
in and opened a grocer's shop in Pollokshaws Road.
"But the change of circumstances led him to
hit the bottle," said his son. "Yes, it
happens to Asian people as well. and happens often.
Sikhs love to drink - they're drinking warriors."
As it happens, his father is actually a Hindu, while
his mother is a Sikh but she was the backbone of the
family.
"My mum, Pavittar, single-handedly brought us
up. She was a civil servant working in customs and
excise."
It couldn't have been easy, starting over in a strange
land...
"Is that excuse enough?" Sanjay shrugs.
"I'm fine with it now. Maybe I wouldn't be where
I am without the difficulties in my life.
"There were many sleepless nights and picking
my father up from a pub and trying to get him back
home, and I'm sure lots of people in this country
have been through exactly the same thing as me."
He grins. But there is obviously a lot of residual
hurt there. He is grateful he wasn't brought up to
wear a turban in the west of Scotland of the mid 70s.
"That would have been a complete hassle. I already
had trouble.
"We moved to East Kilbride when we first came
here and I was the only brown person in my class.
"That was the time when Boney M came out with
the single 'There's a brown girl in the ring.'
"It was a xylophone lesson and you can imagine
the nightmare scenario of the class singing 'there's
a brown boy in the class'.
"Looking back, you can smile, but I was seven
and it was absolutely devastating for me. I cringe.
"I can remember it clearly- walking into that
class and even the teacher singing.
"The teacher thought it was quite funny. So
there you go, Greenhills Primary..." he said
defiantly.
"Walking to school was a nightmare. You'd get
people spitting at you. I still dread going to East
Kilbride.
"I know things have calmed down, but every time,
I drive into East Kilbride I still get that wee shiver
of what used to happen to me in the past."
His next school was totally different. "The
minute I walked into Cuthbertson Primary Five in the
south side, I saw it was full of Chinese, African,
and Asian kids and I fitted in for the first time
in years."
Of his marriage to Jiginder, it was, he says, a love
match.
"She was born a wee Baillieston lass and worked
as a secretary for the Scottish Asian Action Committee
and my mum tends to be on all these boards.
"Mum had always wanted me to have an arranged
marriage, but she was very happy when I fell in love
with my wife. She is very westernised."
His brother, Sandeep, 39, is a partner in his businesses,
but Sanjay is the driving force.
"Absolutely. I've always worked. Always been
an operational kind of guy.
"Even today, I work in the shops and in the
restaurants. Too many people these days, you don't
see them on the business floor and that's where they
should be.
"If you really want to know what's happening
in your business, jump right in the middle of it and
get stuck in.
"There will be days when I walk into the Ashoka
in Argyle Street and I'll be packing pakora sauces.
Whatever it takes."
But why would someone with a pharmacy degree want
to work in a restaurant?
"It was something I wanted to do at a young
age and I was quite inspired when I went into the
Shish Mahal in Gibson Street in the early days.
He shakes his head. "I was never really in it
for the money. I used to really enjoy running a restaurant
for the buzz. It was to do with passion and enjoyment."
The future is a lot of hard work for Sanjay - but
he cannot wait for it to start.
