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Sanjay Jha Profile


Mr. Sanjay Jha,
Executive Director,
Dale Carnegie Training India.

Sanjay Jha is the Executive Director of the world-famous Dale Carnegie Training operations in India, which has a global experience of having worked with over 400 of the Top Fortune 500 companies. In India, Dale Carnegie has worked with over 3000 corporate firms, multinational companies, public sector, government and NGOs and trained more than 200,000 Dale Carnegie graduates in the last ten years. His area of professional interest and management science specialization includes leadership development, change management, corporate culture and ethics, business strategy and emotional intelligence. Sanjay is a Motivational speaker, an Executive Coach and Mentor who has advised top management, including CEO’s as well as senior political leaders.

Sanjay has often received an overwhelming feedback and recognition for his high-quality training and leadership talk. He is one of the senior leaders in the worldwide Dale Carnegie Training network, and has addressed global audiences in New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Chicago, Singapore, Bermuda, Taiwan, Mexico and Toronto. Jha has addressed managers and leaders at ICICI Pru, TEDx, IBM, Axis Bank, Goldman Sachs, Microsoft, Oracle, British Gas, Brookings, Dainik Bhaskar, Crompton Greaves, Pricewaterhouse Coopers, Bajaj Electricals, SHRM, Standard Chartered, Tata Motors, CII, IMC, Venture Capital Association, NHRD, Apple, Bharat Petroleum, Citibank, Mahindra & Mahindra etc. He has conducted several corporate programs focused on executive development, advised companies on corporate image management, done executive coaching and consulted with companies. He has also addressed business schools, industry conferences and knowledge symposiums, and has also been engaged frequently as a strategic consultant/ advisor on training to a leading political party. Mr. Jha is also the National Spokesperson of the Indian National Congress Party.

He has made several contributions to mainline news and business dailies and magazines such as Business Standard, Indian Express, Financial Express, Hindustan Times, Mid-Day, Tehelka, and The Huffington Post, and appears regularly to air his views on print and electronic media. He is one of India’s top influencers on social media.

He has founded one of the world’s leading internet portals called CricketNext.Com which was ranked once amongst Alexa Top 1000 sites globally, and is now part of the Network 18 media Group.

Prior to starting Dale Carnegie, Sanjay was instrumental in setting up the private sector mutual fund industry in India, having worked as a Senior Vice President with ITC Threadneedle Asset Management ( part of BAT plc, UK) and as a Vice President , Alliance Capital ( New York, USA).  His career in banking included stints with both Bank of America and ANZ Grindlays Bank where he worked in NRI marketing and operation services, product-technology training, retail banking and branch management. He started his career in sales with Bharat Petroleum.

Jha completed his MBA from XLRI, Jamshedpur and his Master’s in Economics from Gokhale Institute of Politics and Economics, University of Pune. He graduated with distinction in Economics from Fergusson College, Pune.

Sanjay has also written a cricket anthology titled 11—Triumphs, Trials and Turbulence in Indian cricket, two cricket quiz books and published his first collection of poems.  Jha has recently authored a book on leadership called The Superstar Syndrome (The Making Of A Champion), co-authored with Dr. Myra White, who is a Professor at the Harvard Medical School. This book was launched in August 2013 and featured in the Crossword Bestseller list.



‘A thoroughly engaging and enjoyable book which delves deep into the human psyche and the superstar resident within each one of us.’
Naina Lal Kidwal President, FICCI and Country Head India & Director Asia Pacific, HSBC
‘The Superstar Syndrome is not about how to become one. But to release your natural talent to exhibit your true stardom. This is because you are a natural superstar. Whose stardom is hidden. Here is a book that tells you how to take off the covering.’
R. Gopalakrishnan, Director, TATA Sons Limited
‘The Superstar Syndrome is a book filled with wisdom. Wit, and well known leadership superstars. Dr Myra White and Sanjay Jha have done a superb job.’
Peter Handal, Chairman and CEO, Dale Carnegie and Associates
This is a must read for everyone who is looking for deeper insights and leadership.’
H.N. Shrinnivas, Senior Vice President-Human Resources, The Taj Group of Hotels
‘The Superstar Syndrome will help many of our young mentees and millions of other to look deep in to themselves and find the courage and commitment to excel.’
Dr Ganesh Natarajan, Vice Chairman and CEO. Zensar Technologies
‘An insightful, inspiring guide to unleashing our potential. Practical and powerful, this book uniquely includes terrific examples from India that have relevance across cultures.’
Rajeev Gowda, Professor, India Institute of Management Bangalore
‘Engrossing, intriguing, and highly recommended.’
Dr Thomas G. Guthell, professor of Psychiatry’ Harvard Medical School
‘The book is well-written and easy to read.’
S.P. Raj, Distinguished Professor,Whitman School of Management, Syracuse University, New York
‘This book gives hope-and concrete steps-that each one of us can use to create magic in our lives.’
Rajeev Dubey, President (Group HR, Corporate Services and After Market), Mahindra & Mahindra


( As Chennai Express becomes the biggest blockbuster in the history of Indian cinema by crossing 3 Idiots , I remember my piece written in 2009 .  Shah Rukh Khan’s success and endurance has a lot to do with his own unshakeable inner faith in a world of cynics, critics and competition. He is not called King Khan for nothing).

I met Aamir Khan in the halcyon Internet days of Y 2000 , when the word dot com on the visiting card represented a new zeal, the symbol of risk-taking , of creating a dream global company. With Shah Rukh Khan already the reigning badshah of the web world with, Aamir became for us fledgling entrepreneurs the next best alternative. Astutely suave and certainly discerning, and with a more cerebral outlook than his other contemporaries, we met Aamir to proposition a brand ambassador role with an equity stake attached in our proposed entertainment portal.


Aamir was remarkably modest, possessing down-to-earth humility, an attentive listener, and having a sharp instinct for worldly affairs. While there have been several sardonic digs at the ” madness in his method acting” , Aamir came across as a successful actor with a open, flexible mind-set, ready for novel experimentation. Lagaan was yet to be released, as he escorted us to the production studio in his back-yard where Ashutosh Gowariker was circumspectly editing the film’s rain-song sequence . We were amongst the few to get a sneak preview of what soon to be Bollywood’s landmark cinema.

Eight years later I write this piece , provoked by a stray comment made by an office colleague last Friday afternoon, when the corporate world usually gets into unwind zone, gradually dissipating the hectic pace into lower gear as the week-end beckons.

” Shah Rukh Khan seems to have been suddenly targeted by the entire film industry; everyone from the Bachchans, Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar , Aamir; you name it. Odd bedfellows , but they are all ganged up in this anti-SRK campaign”, said the anxious fan. Normally, I would have thought nothing of the post-lunch observation uttered by a devout follower about the celebrity crowd we know nothing of other than what we read in Page 3 gossip columns.But I admit this one got me thinking.


I remember discussing Asoka , SRKs home-production( which was just about a financial break-even) with Aamir in a CII get-together . Asoka was by no standards a war epic or a cinematic master-piece. You could make out it was made on a limited budget and with modest ambitions, attempting to take a personal slice of the former emperor’s life, and weave it into a commercial format. While it may have failed the critics-test or the box-office window, it was certainly not a tacky ham-handed effort. I told Aamir just that , adding that I loved the emotional last few moments. Aamir’s sharp, cold response somewhat stunned me. He was bitterly caustic, rubbishing the film’s whole premise, and almost ridiculing SRKs misadventure. The seething competitive rage within was palpable. A fleeting thought passed me by; if I were to re-make the classic Amadeus, I know who would play Mozart , and who the conniving arch-adversary.

Therefore, recently when there was the expected brouhaha about Aamir’s ” my dog is called SRK ” comment, it hardly surprised me. As have the unpredictable Salman Khan’s bitter tirade against SRK , Akshay Kumar’s rather pathetic attempt to live under delusions of grandeur that he is supposedly the new King, and even the great Amitabh Bachchan’s rather unwarranted sarcastic digs at SRK’s quiz show. Even Manoj Kumar , resurrected by a calculated frown on his forehead joined the anti-SRK bandwagon. Bollywood is a dirty rat-house despite the steaming coffee with Karan, and synthetic smiles. It’s an insecure world out there, living a paranoid existence.

They may anoint him as King Khan but strangely enough SRK may be a victim of the fact that he will be perpetually perceived as ” an outsider” by the grand old family-networks that still strangulate free enterprise in Bollywood. For many, the short-sized slender cigarette smoking middle-class Delhi-wallah was an alien intrusion . The fact that he usurped the coveted throne, and has steadfastly refused to give an inch for over a decade, has clearly rattled Bollywood rivals. I think no one anticipated such impregnable , enduring dominance from brand SRK. Like Sachin Tendulkar in cricket , the man has been extraordinarily consistent. Box-office success and acting awards , hosting quiz shows and award functions, a slew of commercial ads, jet-setting with corporate honchos, Madame Tussauds , Temptations road show, book -releases, the IPL franchise-ownership , a self-owned production company and an animation studio. Lunch with the Gandhis. He has even made doing his Dard-e-disco at private weddings a revenue stream. Other fellow actors, have quietly followed. With increased corporatisation and free capital inflows, the financial stakes in Bollywood have become astronomically high. SRK has single-handedly created the entertainment industry’s financial capital warehouse; both working funds and huge profits. Now everyone seeks a lion’s share. It’s pure financial arithmetic.

But I think what has unnerved most about SRK is the fact that behind that ” I am the best” macho line, he is remained the simple old Delhi wallah. He has not beaten up his sultry wife Gauri, and his sister is not filing a criminal suit against him. He is a protective, indulgent father, and a trustworthy friend. These are all rare commodity traits in our glittery stardust world. Underneath the six-abs pack he remains a small-town boy in a world he knows only essentially worships the last man standing on a Friday opening.

I thin SRKs hidden biggest strength comes from his own internal pain. The fact that his parents died when he was still young. That his mind-numbing success will be forever elusive to them. I think only those who have no parents will understand his emotional-mental construct.. I think he lets his passions overflow , his energies double-up, his character assume new dimensions whenever he gets in front of those whirring cameras. It’s a cathartic moment. He lets it go.

So Rahul becomes the new name of several new born children in India. SRK may pretend otherwise, but Bollywood  is not his real home. It will never be. It is only his corporate office and a place where he has a job to do, expectations to meet and moments to memorize and mesmerize the world. . A scene to act. A product to endorse. A super- hit to deliver. Again and again.

Because his biggest family is now widespread across the desert plains of Rajasthan, his home-town of Delhi,  across the seas in Dubai,. the congested by-lanes of Hyderabad , the maddening multitude of Kolkota, the home-sick in New Jersey , the fan clubs in Jhumritalaiya, the upscale gentry of Mayfair in London, and the many, innumerable unknown cities, towns and villages that make India. And the world.

That’s where Rahul rules. That is his home.

Death of a Professor

The brutally slaughtered Professor Harbhajan Singh Sabharwal never gave me classroom lectures. Neither did he solicitously provide me career advice. In fact, outside the academic fraternity of Ujjain, he was perhaps just a simple middle – class family man , low profile and living a modest existence of a professor a few months shy of retirement. . But last Saturday, as a frenzied mob of irate students of Ujjain , visibly bursting with incendiary fury and seething with incalculable rage callously hammered him to death, he has overnight become a national symbol of our disintegrating culture, caught on candid camera as he collapsed into a tragic limp heap, motionless . I am compelled , by an imperceptible surge to remember another professor. Professor Diwakar Jha. A teacher. And my father.

Father’s Day for me , in our rain-washed metropolis , is a wet manifestation of the onset of the monsoon season in June ; lashing waves against the Marine Drive embankment, black umbrellas sprouting like innumerable dark canopies as desperate commuters hurriedly elbow into suburban trains. Die-hard romantics soar their faces skywards allowing the rain streams to fall in an incessant rush on their faces, the unending serpentine mass of four-wheelers dodge assiduously ahead amidst the slowly shrinking road space which is Bombay city, and overjoyed cricket fanatics bat away in unusually unfriendly weather conditions , the leather ball skidding on slippery and muddy turf. The Kanga league can have a prolonged wait.


The night before, four years ago , he had been his usual imperturbable self; totally calm against the impending crisis, just a fleeting tremor of uneasiness. Father was often christened by his contemporaries as not just a simple bloke , but a virtual simpleton. His contemporaries called him ” Professor”, he was the archetypal teacher of economics, which was in complete contrast to his spendthrift ways. Clearly, he favored the law of demand over supply-side economics. In the traumatic post-partition days of 1947, this bespectacled son from an agricultural family in the rural interiors of Bihar , set sailing to the London School of Economics , carrying with him a dozen pre-rolled ties , as he had almost strangled himself the last time he had endeavored in those adventurous territories.

Most children are thrilled beyond description when they win school prizes for outstanding achievement , as they march triumphantly in rehearsed steps up the school pedestal to receive framed certificates from School Principals grinning away at their little protégés. Not me. In my growing years , perhaps the most difficult time was the prize distribution ceremony , as I was thoroughly embarrassed to be show-casing my rotund parents ballooning from all directions, my father accentuating matters by also proudly displaying his irradiant bald head. Apparently, a hereditary affliction.

He remained the quintessential professor; invariably immersed in voluminous books , perched incongruously on his reading table like several sky scrapers inhabiting an urban nightmare, while he made copious notes on the impact of the capricious monsoons on our farm production. His absent mindedness was legendary ( he had once got into a train going in the wrong direction, and even incredulously enough made it across the sensitive borders of China in those frosty days of the 1980s without a valid visa). And despite being a certified diabetic , it did not take wizardly knowledge to know that he had surreptitiously disappeared to the nearest sweet-shops on lazy Sunday afternoons. After all, whenever he returned from those casual sojourns there were traces of his gluttonous consumption on his shirt, which he was usually oblivious about.

One day when I had rudely remonstrated against my abysmal pocket-money, he called me by the side and said, ” This is all I can afford. Your father is a professor, and salary is my only source of income. I have spent all my life’s savings on giving all my children the best education, at least on that I have not compromised , if I could help it. I know I cannot do everything you ask. Just keep one thing in mind—- you are rich not by the material possessions you own or your bank balance. You are enormously wealthy if you have knowledge and wisdom. A sound knowledge base will give you the ability to discriminate, to make choices, to see right from wrong, and to look beyond the perceptible optical vision. All your worldly possessions are meaningless if you do not possess the intangible strength of these basic characteristics. “. I mumbled incoherently, cussing under my breath, not entirely pleased with his long-winded explanation. It sounded like the usual mumbo-jumbo parents resort to when they cannot acquiesce with your requests.

He understood that I did not understand or chose to be stubbornly defiant. Either way, he continued , ignoring the audible snigger of his adolescent son ” Expand your horizons, and pursue knowledge with an insatiable passion. It will lead you to riches beyond the boundaries of your dreams, and above the specks of white clouds in the sky. I promise you, you will experience wealth far more than the metallic grandeur of gold or the unending stacks of currency bundles”. And saying that, he put his pudgy hand in his creased trouser-pockets and pulled out some crumpled notes and coins and gave them to .me. ” Here, take what is left with me for the day, but spend it wisely”.

Twenty-five years later, on an overcast afternoon when it rained intermittently and where the world looked a perfect place to me as I sipped on some hot aromatic tea, savoring the Sunday papers , a few days before Father’s Day , he passed away. As quietly , as he had usually retire for the nights. As I went through his badly documented file of papers and books , there were an assortment of colored passbooks of his numerous savings accounts, all aggregating to a few thousand rupees, which could be easily exhausted over a week-end family brunch at the popular deli.. There were several notes hand-scribbled and written to bank managers for mundane enquiries, to which he had apparently received no response. And amidst the chaotic mess of his study-table was one singular investment he seemed to have been particularly proud of , as it was properly covered and stored; a Post Office fixed deposit receipt of a thirty thousand rupees, which would not even get me an economy class ticket to New York. That was all I could find, besides some other frivolous investments where the promoter firms had perhaps ceased to exist. I don’t think he was even aware of that.


He was no globetrotting industrialist or a savvy businessman. He was not an inheritor of ancestral wealth or a beneficiary of windfall profits. He was leaving behind no legacy of material acquisitions or a will which would require a microscopic scrutiny by a legal eye. But I knew something no one else did. The professor who died was a rich man.

Last Saturday, as TV cameras captured the maddening assault on Prof Sabharwal and his colleagues, I remembered my father’s words all over again. Former PM Atal Behari Vajpayee is perhaps still ruminating on hitting the right chords, re-drafting a politically appropriate response to the inane massacre , which he will one day utter with his archetypal masterful oratory , each pause an excruciating wait. One by which he will seduce us perpetual suckers with his ostensible pain, while he will with expert craftsmanship try and convince us all that the hapless , ” misled” students ( murderers?) only had a momentary lapse of reason. And in a few weeks , Sabharwal will join the slain Shanmugam of IOC as another sad victim of India’s increasingly violent social system. Forgotten. Laid to rest.

I am glad that my father was not in Ujjain, hit and hammered by the same students he wanted to become India’s future, the pillars of our destiny blah-blah! And I am also glad that he is not alive today to witness such a humiliating end to a dignified existence of someone of his ilk.. I still reminisce a senior politician who went onto become a Chief Minister of Bihar who used to respectfully get up from his seat and frequently touch his feet whenever my father went calling on him; all because he had taught him public finance and developmental economics once, and drafted his budgetary speeches sometimes.    Times sure have changed.

As someone who has studied in India throughout his learning years , we have grown up treating our school teachers and college professors like a consecrated learned community, a powerhouse of intellectual prowess and worldly knowledge, to be respected and looked upto. Always. We have had the same deep deference for our teachers as we have perhaps for our parents. Even today, if we providentially encounter any of our old teachers, we are spontaneously overwhelmed by nostalgic memories, and one feels humbled. Yes, some of us have been fortunate enough to have gold credit cards with unlimited spending limits and find international business class travel a monotonous experience, but the old retired man awaits his superannuation benefits which matter so much to him. The irony is palpable, and if you ask me is one of life’s strange paradoxes.

Old-fashioned maybe for today’s BPO generation , but we believed our teachers finally gave us that valued knowledge, taught us those basic values that today defines our real net worth. Not necessarily measurable on an XL sheet.

At Ujjain on Saturday, it was not just Prof Sabharwal who died. But a country’s character.

(Sanjay Jha is the Managing Editor of Views expressed here are his own.)


Read More :


Delhi, one summer evening
Elections in the air
I am home returning
There is palpable excitement everywhere

The sky is dark and ominous
Interspersed with thunder and lightning
I almost crash against a stationary bus
At the byzantine turning

Am gripped by a strange sense of inexplicable fear
It’s only the 21st of May
Wished I could share with someone near
Seemed like an unusual day

I wonder about a lonely pilot
Up in the dense clouds in a throbbing cockpit
Experienced sure he maybe, but
This sudden storm is quite a bit

Reach home and quickly switch on the news
Heave a sigh of relief
The pilot is in Madras airing his political views
Am delighted beyond belief

Reassured, I go to sleep
Set my bedside clock for morning alarm
Next day there are business appointments to keep
Even under the thin quilt, it is quite warm

Unexpectedly, the telephone rings
I get up with a disgruntled start
Wonder what news it brings
Why is my heart beating so fast?

Haven’t you heard the news as yet?
It is a terrible disaster
This is certainly one of the saddest
A woman has lost her husband, the children their father

In a state of virtual shock
I struggle out of bed
It is midnight, reminds the grand old clock
It is true, Rajiv Gandhi is dead

In an obscure, so far unheard-of-place
A happy soul, a genial man has met with fate
Only memories remain of his handsome face
Alas, an appointment for which he was not late

I look up to find, surprisingly, the clouds have cleared
It seems like an impenetrably calm, still night
The moon and stars have again reappeared
But there is darkness in the light


I was working in the NRI Division of ANZ Grindlays Bank at 10 E Connaught Place in New Delhi in 1991. It was a regular day at the office, business as usual, men at work and everyone pretending as if the world survived thanks to their inimitable dexterity. Bankers are ( were???) pregnant with hubris. Outside, the mercury rose with a determined resolve, unrelenting in its searing intensity. But by afternoon, the weather outside had begun to subtly change, before suddenly assuming extraordinary proportions. Quite dramatically. The scorching sun had given way to one of Delhi’s typical summer dust-storms which enveloped the city in a thick dark particle-infested smog-like cloud. By late evening , we were experiencing heavy thundershowers accompanied by fiery lightning in sporadic bursts. It seemed like the heavens above were experiencing some serious warfare. The gods indeed were expressing a peculiar ire.

The bitterly-contested election campaign of 1991 was drawing to a close, and there were newspaper reports that former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was occasionally flying his small plane himself, the private passion of a former Indian Airlines pilot. Although I had read that he was campaigning down in southern parts of India  , I sincerely prayed that he was not up in the sky above Delhi that evening in his miniscule aircraft as it would be highly unsafe given the rough weather conditions. I reached home about 7 pm that evening and tuned into Doordarshan to find that Rajiv Gandhi was indeed wrapping up the national campaign in Madras (Tamil Nadu)  that night. I was hugely relieved. But the deep sense of an unnerving premonition was disconcerting. It lingered momentarily, but soon I moved on.

I was a big Rajiv Gandhi fan; for many in our generation, Rajiv Gandhi was India’s new hope , who inspired you into believing that we would be in able hands under his stewardship. In short, he was India’s lodestar. Although he had taken charge under tragic circumstances on the ghastly night of Mrs Indira Gandhi’s assassination in 1984, he brought in a breath of fresh air with his bold, pragmatic, breakthrough statements and actions before some calamitous errors had brought that golden honeymoon period to an abrupt halt. But the two years under the opportunistic VP Singh-led alliance had been disturbing, and during their reign the country looked liked it was drifting into complete chaos , lacking in direction and going nowhere under their shibboleths of social emancipation . Initial opinion polls indicated that the Congress would reemerge as a leading political force and that Rajiv Gandhi would be Prime Minister once again. We were indeed very excited.

Then late in the night as I prepared to sleep the telephone rang. And everything changed.

This poem was written over a decade back and is an extract from my book When I Wondered About You , published in 1999.

NICE GUYS FINISH FIRST : Speakership Series

Speakership Series :- Sanjay Jha.

rogerfedererWe mistake ethics with just society values, legal processes, statutory compliance and rigid adherence to rule books. But in reality ethics is also about willingly taking questionable decisions, risky positions, doing suspect transactions , and implementing strategic plans that may actually be permissible by both law and general management principles. Usually such actions are influenced by rising expectations, peer pressure, competitive egos, and short-term profiteering. If the end consequences are indeed disastrous, leaders pass the buck on to a changed environment or something usually external. Accountability is tragically missing. They conveniently ignore the repercussions on the large majority of employees, customers and other stakeholders, should the contrary transpire. It is the latter category who are left holding a crying baby and pink slips.

In the boom phase, everyone just focuses on market capitalization and shareholder value. There is such a frantic rush to be on those famous lists published regularly by well-circulated business weeklies. Since it is a human condition that optimism feeds on itself, no one realizes that ballooning over-confidence often leads to a bubble that frequently bursts. Interestingly, this familiar story usually repeats itself. There is no assurance that the calamitous forays of 2007-08 will not repeat itself. Are our leaders prepared to be guarded against such susceptibilities in the future?

As the world recovers, albeit slowly, from a difficult and exacting phase in it’s economic history, probably the worst since the 1930s Great Depression, it is time leaders went back to the drawing board, reinvented themselves, thought long-term and looked at recreating faith in their abilities to lead people and organizations with honesty and ethics.

Integrity remember, never takes a holiday .


Speakership Series :- Sanjay Jha.

India's Dravid hits a shot against the West Indies in KingstonCrisis comes in many shapes and forms, colors and size, but it always has one constant element; surprise. Most crisis, even forecasted ones, appear at unexpected times. Thus, it poses challenges, both manageable and monumental , insurmountable and difficult, that need to be overcome.

It could be a financial collapse, negative publicity, fraud, legal wrangle, declining market share, an attack on the brand or corporate reputation, competitor onslaught etc. At every step, and practically all the time, leaders get tested. It is never easy, as they have multiple stakeholders to handle, satisfy and placate. Remember, in calm waters, every ship has a good captain.

Real leaders actually shine like a knight in shining armor when their organization’s are threatened. They emerge not only unscathed, but also winners in the long-run. Even if they frequently encounter short-term adjustments or are compelled to make a tough transitional change, they use the lessons to emerge stronger in the future

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