In India we say "arre, woh toh salesman hai" in a very particular tone. Usually it means someone you don't fully trust, someone who's trying to get something out of you.

Funny, because nearly all of us sell something every day. You sell yourself in an interview, a pitch to an investor, a plan to your parents. Even a baby has to cry before it gets its milk.

I believed them for a while. But when I look back at the deals that actually worked for me, almost none of them came from pushing. They came from the things I thought were my weaknesses.

When we opened the first Anardana in East Delhi, it was a plain North Indian restaurant. Honestly, Pandara Road did dal makhani and butter chicken better than us, so I couldn't figure out why anyone would pick us.

Since I didn't have an answer, I went and asked. I started talking to customers, including a group of aunties at a kitty party. One of them said she'd come every week if she could also get pizza and chowmein there.

It sounded odd for a North Indian place, but we added it, and our outlets went from around ₹40 lakh to ₹70 lakh in revenue. I would never have come up with that idea sitting in a meeting.

Later I came across research that explained why this works. 

The best ones spend the rest of the call asking questions.

I think of it like going to a doctor. If a surgeon told you that you need an operation without asking you anything or running a single test, you'd walk out, even if he was right.

The thing about listening properly is that sometimes you hear an answer you don't want.

One of the largest media houses in the world once came to Innov8 Old Fort asking for 70 seats for their journalists. We had the space. But after understanding how their team worked, it was clear all 70 would never be in the office on the same day.

So we told them to take 40. They couldn't understand why a seller was asking them to spend less.

The way I see it, if you look after your customer's money, the customer ends up looking after yours. 

At Anardana Saket, our full plate of kebabs had six pieces, and most tables couldn't finish it because they were ordering a main course too. The leftovers got packed or thrown away, and sooner or later those customers would decide we were expensive.

Two people who used to share one full plate of tikka started ordering half a tikka and half a mushroom galouti, and our margin on the half plate turned out to be higher. HUL figured out the same thing years ago with the shampoo sachet.

The people who worried I was too straight to sell weren't entirely wrong. I'm still bad at the pushy version of it.

I've put all of it into one video: six lessons on selling, plus nine biases that shape how people buy, from why Starbucks writes your name on the cup to why a restaurant with a queue keeps getting a longer one.

See you soon,
Ritesh

P.S. If you're ever at Anardana Saket, order two half plates instead of one full one. You'll eat better and spend about the same. Yes, I'm aware I'm selling you something :)