http://www.scmp.com/node/529326TO MOST READERS, Esquire conjures images of the popular men's magazine. But for a generation of Indians, it is synonymous with supplies of electronic goods and Bollywood films and music. Although Esquire ceased operations a decade ago, the trading company made headlines in July after winning a David-and-Goliath legal battle against HSBC: the banking giant was found to have acted with a 'total lack of morality and legality' in forcing Esquire to sell a key property and having the troubled firm liquidated when it challenged the sale.
The bank has since appealed against the ruling and a judgment is imminent. But whatever the outcome, the family of founders Arajan and Gurdas Choithramani feel vindicated by the earlier decision - and they're ready to move on to a new chapter in their lives.
'Our prayers were answered after 11 years,' says Sheela Choithramani, Arajan's wife.
Even so, life will never be the same for the Choithramanis, who had been among the leading lights of the local Indian community. The family had to struggle to send their children to university in the US. And six years into the trial, Arajan Choithramani was diagnosed with cancer. Fair-weather friends deserted them. They were grim years for the family.
It's been a harsh reversal of fortunes. Though well-appointed, the family's modest home in Castle Peak Road is nothing compared to the luxurious Villa Monte Rosa on Stubbs Road, where they lived in the late 1980s. 'We had everything then, a large house, cars and drivers, domestic helpers. We were very involved with the community here. Life was very different then,' Sheela Choithramani says.
The family hosted extravagant parties, sponsored prizes at the annual Diwali balls and was given to grand gestures - presenting the Indian singer Lata Mangeshkar with a gold CD when she played Hong Kong in 1994, for instance.
The good life was founded on Esquire. Set up in 1965, it grew briskly in the 70s and early 80s thanks to the lock that the Choithramanis had on Bollywood entertainment. For decades, they held distribution rights to the films churned out in Mumbai, and grew wealthy selling videos to the Indian diaspora around the globe.
'Esquire was a one-stop shop for all my Indian entertainment needs,' says local businessman Bhagwan Nihalani. 'To the best of my knowledge they were the first to release Hindi movies on videotape and then on laser disc. Plus, they made their own compilations of songs and video clips.'
In the early 90s, to mark major laser disc releases, they would throw Bollywood-themed bashes where guests dressed to the hilt. Often the soirees were recorded on karaoke disc, with many participants reliving the fun as they sang along to the Hindi songs.
During later years, Sheela Choithramani was often found behind the Esquire counter with other staff, greeting members of Hong Kong's 30,000-plus Indian community as they walked in during the annual sales.
'Their greatest asset was Sheela's ability to make you feel at home, like it was your own shop,' says Nihalani. 'Invariably I would find myself there at least four times a week to check what was new. When we heard that Esquire was closing, it was a shock.'
Choithramani, who moved from Delhi in 1973 after marrying her Hong Kong resident husband, recalls the early years.
'Esquire had a couple of shops on both side of the harbour at first. There were two managing directors, my husband Arajan and his brother Gurdas. They expanded from two to eight shops, and we had about 200 staff.'
At its peak in the late 80s, Esquire's annual turnover totalled more than $500 million. 'We had branches in Mumbai and Delhi, and had agents selling our goods in the Middle East and around Asia, particularly Singapore.'
Electronic goods and laser discs formed the core of the business. 'We were the first in the world to open master copies of Bollywood movies. We bought the worldwide rights to the best Hindi movies,' says Choithramani.
'Of course, there was competition with many retail shops, but Esquire was well known and had established itself in the 80s,' says her son Ravi Arajan, who was a teenager when Esquire was renting out videos at its Central outlet in Melbourne Plaza.
'Esquire made a name with good service. We were well known because we sold original items. There was nothing fake sold in our shops - including the movies and CDs. We introduced sportswear and we were going to expand on the property market. But then, things didn't ... '
Choithramani stops mid-sentence. With a deep sigh she peruses the newspapers spread out on her coffee table - even the Chinese dailies. Although she can't read the Chinese characters, the pictures hint at the story: her family, her legal team and the opposing one are lined up with Hong Kong Bank's iconic lion prominently displayed in one corner.
Esquire's foray into property proved to be its undoing. It borrowed $180 million from the bank in 1981 to purchase Li Fung House in Central - a 100 per cent loan. Struggling to meet finance charges amid a slumping property market in 1983, it struck a debt restructuring deal with the bank. But following a dispute over debt charges, the company was forced to hand over authority of the property to the bank four years later, which then sold it to the family of Hang Seng Bank founder Ho Sin-hang. Esquire challenged the sale after learning the details in 1994, and the bank had the company liquidated.
Reduced to just two employees, the last remnant of Esquire was a small, second-floor video and CD shop. That, too, pulled down its shutters for the last time in the summer of 1996 after a closing sale.
It was only one of many troubles to come. 'The past 15 years have been the worst,' says Choithramani. Although the family had the help of a formidable legal team, the lengthy dispute with the bank tested their fortitude to the last.
'We were struggling through the court battle, and we needed to give the best education to our children and survive. It has been hard to make ends meet over the years, but we managed.'
Then her husband, Arajan, was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a cancer of the plasma cell. 'My husband was critically ill and it was due to the stress of this case and everything related to it. You breathe stress in the air in Hong Kong,' says Choithramani.
'During the trial, all our accounts were frozen, but we managed because we were commission agents for fashion goods for various companies. The children were in good schools and they had grants and scholarships. When they grew up, they were working and helping us - our children have been behind us at every step.'
Dressed in a black salwar-kameez, her face carefully made up and her eyes stained with kohl, Sheela Choithramani has kept a brave front through the years.
'We couldn't afford private health care. From throwing lavish dinners to worrying about medical bills, you can imagine what we went through,' she says, her voice wavering. She looks down for a second, straightens her back and continues. Thanks to the medical team at the Prince of Wales hospital, her husband has made a 'miraculous recovery', she says. 'He passed a stage of cancer, multiple myeloma - it wasn't the cancer itself, but he had some complications.'
Choithramani is reluctant to discuss how friends and even relatives have changed when the going got tough. 'We have gone through an emotional roller coaster, many ups and downs. But our family have faced it bravely; we always asked for the strength of the Lord to help us through these trials,' she says. 'Over the years, perhaps we've lost a few friends. But if the ocean loses a few drops, it doesn't dry up. We've managed just fine.'
A resilient matriarch, Choithramani is keen to get going again. 'Once the settlement is done, we will restart, bigger and stronger than ever,' she says.
'I don't know if it'll be in electronics because the market isn't what it used to be, but the next step is to ensure that the children can fulfil their dreams. Winning the case has been ours.'
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