RAJU HARILELA has just opened two new restaurants in the Sun Hung Kai Centre, where Landau's used to be. If the unveiling of Milano and Saigon is a revelation to you then you evidently weren't on the list of 3,500 people invited to the three-night opening. Consul-generals, hotel managers, government officials, lawyers, the Indian community, bankers, socialites - all were made welcome. 'And, of course, the entire Harilela family,' added Raju. That must be roughly 3,500 people in its own right, I said, and Raju giggled and said, no, but it was more than 100.
Relations between Raju and his many relatives have not always been smooth. There was a distressing incident six years ago in which his arranged marriage broke down amidst public wailing from his fiancee about her intended's possible homosexuality, followed by a curious incident in which her five-month-old nephew was kidnapped for 40 minutes; Raju's uncle and head of the family, Hari Harilela, persuaded the family to drop charges.
A degree of tiptoeing, therefore, seemed advisable for our meeting. But it was a tender, compassionate, nay, deeply loving Raju who appeared in Milano for a late lunch.
Although we'd never actually met before, we held hands for several long moments as we greeted each other, gazing deep into each other's eyes. As his are long-lashed, enormous and melting, and he has recently acquired a Middle Eastern-style beard, the resemblance to an ayatollah crossed with Bambi was striking. One of the waiters brought some canapes and Raju gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and said, warmly, 'You guys are working so hard, but it's good karma just to feed everybody.' This set the tone for a conversation which rolled along on billows of contented happiness. 'Even when we took over this site, it was done so beautifully,' marvelled Raju. 'Landau's wanted to leave, we have a wonderful relationship with Sun Hung Kai, we have such a lovely team. It just happened, all those vibrations ...' He shook his head, momentarily silenced by the continuing wonder of his own good fortune. 'We always do our own thing in the 11 companies I own today. You know, I'm 32.' Raju paused, looking bashful, and as some response was clearly required I asked him how old he felt. He nodded, thoughtfully. 'I think I feel my age. I think there was a time when it all overwhelmed me but I have found my peace. I follow a guru. He's 84, such a kid at heart, so playful, so incredible. I was in New York on my birthday in April this year and I got this calling that I should go to see him in West Virginia, so I called him and he said, 'Son, I've been waiting.' And he taught me - and I share this with a lot of people, Fionnuala - that God loves fun. And you know what? God does love fun.' And what, exactly, is the divine definition of fun? 'I think living your life in a very pure way, non-aggressive, sharing, loving, giving. That's the relationship I have with all 110 people in my 11 companies. There's so much love, so much giving in my companies. We've laughed together in the good days, we've cried together in the bad days.' I wondered if there was much profit-sharing too, and Raju replied, 'All the managers are on incentives. I think one of the people I'll always treasure is Sandeep, my managing director. I hope you'll say something about him, he's a very beautiful portion of my life.' He started his business in 1990 with US$25,000 (HK$193,500) after graduating top of his hotel and restaurant administration class at Cornell. Now he supplies hotels and food outlets with tableware, ovens, information technology and consultants, as well as running his own restaurants. And, as he put it with modest succinctness, 'The rest is history.' Did he ever think of changing his surname? 'Fionnuala, you know, I come from a rich and powerful family and when the dust of the terrible 20s settled, growing up with the background of the Harilela family has been a great source of love and kindness and spirituality. Of course, there were a lot of jealousies and envy with all the cousins.' Oh? 'There were days and there were times when one wasn't necessarily welcome. But now I've invited each and every one separately to my apartment to find out what motivated them to say and do the things they did when we were growing up, to show that life is greater than all the pettiness, all those occurrences when we were growing up. And they've met with my gestures very positively.' Needless to say, I was trying to work up to the petty yet pressing question of his non-marriage when fortunately he made a fleeting reference to his 'broken engagement'.
Was that a turning point? 'Absolutely, just as Milano and Saigon have been a milestone,' replied Raju, niftily demonstrating the art of product placement. 'It was a growing experience, I look back on the good memories that my fiancee shared with me.' So you've forgiven her for going public then, I murmured. Raju leaned over with luminous eyes and breathed, 'You know, my dear, wholeheartedly. And lovingly. Now I'd like to share something very private with you, Fionnuala.' Crikey, I thought, mentally adopting the brace position. 'I get up every morning at 5.30. And you know what I do at 5.30? I do my yoga, my pranayama - that's my breathing exercises - and my meditation. And I think, 'Oh my God, do I really have 110 people working for me?' But it's great that I can touch 110 lives, it's much more than me. 'Me' is so transient. 'Me' is only here for 60 or 70 years - although I have to tell you that I'm looking forward to my 100th birthday.
I let life get the better of me and now I get the better of life.' Nothing, it seems, can dim the radiance of Raju's spirits. Even the sad story of one of his employees, who is seriously ill with cancer, somehow ended up as a tale of supreme good fortune: 'How lucky that she joined my firm, how lucky that I can share with her her last days. People say, 'Aren't you sad?' but I say I'm lucky, lucky.' Well, I agreed, God does love fun, after all.