Integrity Vs an Unfinished Conversation

In the autumn of 1996, as a student at IIM Mumbai (then NITIE), I embarked on a four-month internship at Cadbury India Ltd. My assignment? “Optimization of Inventories at the Warehouses”.

Cadbury had several factories across Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh. Centralized purchasing was managed from their headquarters at the iconic Cadbury House near Haji Ali. Most materials followed a Just-in-Time model; however, cocoa (imported from Ghana) and sugar (subject to seasonal price swings) required bulk procurement. These two items occupied the largest warehouse volume and were frequently discussed in purchase planning meetings. Headquarters had limited visibility into warehouse capacity at the factories—they relied on calls to each plant before placing orders. Both items are perishable if not stored properly.

On day one, I was introduced to Komal (name changed), a recently inducted assistant manager  from top IIMs who had completed a related project on inventory management just before I joined. Sharp and confident, she shared her findings and graciously helped me gain SAP access to factory-wise inventory.

Coming from an mechanical engineering background with a gender ratio of 1:80 (and IIM Mumbai was marginally better at 1:25), I appreciated Komal’s presence more than I cared to admit. Her presence was a refreshing change. Over chai breaks and Haji Ali juice stops, we often discussed her report and inventory challenges.

Wanting to validate data myself, I visited Cadbury’s Thane factory. Despite the 2.5-hour one-way commute from my powai campus, I spent a week measuring warehouse space with a tape and comparing it to SAP data. The results surprised me: reported capacity was off by nearly 20%. With validation from the store and factory managers, it was clear — central procurement was underutilizing available space.

Excited, I shared the findings at HQ. Around that time, I also got placed with Citibank, a much-coveted role back then. When I shared the news at HQ, everyone congratulated me — including Komal. However, when we discussed my Thane visit, she hesitantly admitted her report had been purely desk-based. She hadn’t visited a single factory.

I shared my insights with Jaiboy Phillips, Cadbury’s Director – Supply Chain and my mentor. He appreciated the rigor and asked me to replicate the study at all factories. For the next six weeks, I travelled extensively, verifying inventory data on the ground. Being from HQ, each plant welcomed me warmly, arranging excellent accommodations and even flights.

By the end of my internship, I developed a Lotus 123 dashboard (Excel’s predecessor) showing real-time warehouse availability across plants. This helped the central purchase team make faster, informed decisions for bulk orders of cocoa and sugar.

Mr. Phillips appreciated my work and even dropped me back to campus personally—a gesture I remember fondly. But something had changed. Komal, once warm and friendly, had grown distant. We didn’t speak again after that. I unintentionally burned a bridge. Komal and I never stayed in touch after the internship.

I’ve often asked myself: Did I do the right thing? Could I have been more tactful? After all, I was already placed. I could’ve based my project on her report and submitted a clean, theoretical solution. But I chose the harder path—fact-finding, challenging assumptions, and field validation.

I may have unintentionally hurt someone who helped me early on.

Looking back, I realize: the real project wasn’t just warehouse optimization — it was learning to walk the fine line between integrity and empathy.

What do you think?

Would you have handled it differently?

Did I let accuracy override diplomacy — or was it the right call for a young intern trying to leave a mark?