From Army Dreams to Market Leadership to Academic Excellence: Transformational Journey of Dr. Oommen Mammen | Dream always take a Detour | Global TV
NV Paulose, Chairman, Global TV +91 98441 82044
In the year 1978, a youngster named Oommen Mammen stood on the threshold of his dream. He had cleared the prestigious UPSC Service Selection Board (SSB) exam and interview; gateways to becoming a commissioned officer in the Indian Army. Out of over three lakh applicants, he had secured an enviable rank of 173.
For the determined young aspirant, it was not just a personal triumph, but the realization of a dream long nurtured in silence. He was fond of the uniforms and had emotionally adorned it on to himself as a matter of pride. He was sure about joining the service of a warrior who protect the nation and was proud about it.
But fate, as it often does, had other plans.
At the medical examination in Gwalior, the dream unravelled. A diagnosis of a deviated septum; a seemingly minor nasal irregularity, disqualified him. Doctors cited potential breathing issues at high altitudes. It was a harsh verdict. In a single moment, the uniform, the stars, and the life of service slipped out of his reach.
Disheartened but composed, Oommen boarded the train back home, unaware that destiny was seated across from him in the form of Mr. Narayan; a General Manager with Smith and Nephew. The two strangers began to talk. Listening to Oommen’s story, Mr. Narayan saw not a rejected candidate, but a resourceful young man brimming with potential. “Why don’t you try marketing?” he asked.
That question became the key that unlocked the next phase of Oommen Mammen’s life. By the time the train reached its final destination, Mr. Narayan had already taken his own mental interview of the young man. The appointment order from Smith and Nephew arrived almost as fast as the train. It was the first major turning point in a life that would soon be defined not by uniforms and ranks, but by strategy, innovation, and the art of influencing people positively.
By 1982-83, Oommen was tasked with the challenging role of marketing an ambitious product named SlimAid, a weight-loss sachet priced steeply at ₹135; an amount that raised eyebrows in a market unfamiliar with diet solutions during those times. Rejections piled up as doctors were sceptical about unproven clinical benefits. But giving up was not in Oommen’s vocabulary. He turned to beauty parlours; an unconventional yet brilliant move. Starting with a friend’s wife’s parlour, he placed a mere two packets. Word spread. Two became twenty.
Twenty became two hundred, and soon the demand touched 2,000 packets a month. He had discovered a grassroots model of promotion that got him connected with real consumers and people who meet them on and often.
Another moment of serendipity followed. At the Taj Hotel in Bangalore, Oommen struck a deal with a chef; introducing SlimAid as a premium health drink. The sachet that cost ₹135 was served at ₹900 on the Taj menu. In a flash, the positioning of the product shifted; from uncertain to aspirational.
Recognizing his flair and ingenuity, his company did something rare; they sponsored him for an elite management program at the renowned Jamnalal Bajaj Institute. It was a transformative period. Surrounded by future luminaries like film director Dr. Manirathnam. Oommen’s worldview expanded very swift and it got polished by academic rigor and the fire of ambition.
By 1993, the boy who once dreamed of donning the army uniform was now the General Manager of Sales. He had climbed steadily, not with the boots of a soldier, but with the boldness of a pioneer.
A Journey of Resolve and Reinvention:
His life, marked by audacious dreams, unexpected detours, and a relentless will to overcome adversity, reads like a narrative meant to inspire not only those in business and academia but anyone who has ever dared to dream.
One evening, during a trip in Hyderabad, he collapsed in his hotel room. A hotel staff member found him unconscious, bleeding from the head. A misdiagnosis followed; carcinoma, a form of blood cancer. For nearly a year, he lived with this grim prognosis, undergoing weekly blood transfusions. “Every youth in my village donated blood,” he recalls. The trauma was immense.
But as fate would have it, a second opinion and deeper tests revealed the real issue: a hormonal secretion disorder related to the pituitary gland. A corrective surgery brought him back from the brink, not just physically, but spiritually. It was during this time that his family began to understand the emotional and psychological toll his career had taken.
A Gentle turn towards Education
Following his recovery, Oommen Mammen left his high-pressure job and embraced a quieter, yet equally impactful path; teaching. He joined Dr. D.Y. Patil University as an Assistant Professor, later moving back to Kerala where he joined the Mangalam Group of Institutions. Initially appointed as General Manager, he soon transitioned to teaching Managerial Economics in their engineering college.
Not one to rest, he proposed and successfully launched an MBA program within the group. However, the transition came with financial sacrifices. From earning ₹70,000 at Smith & Nephew, his monthly income dropped to ₹12,000. The cut was steep, but he chose fulfilment over fortune.
The Essence of a Life Well Lived
Through twists of fate, errors in diagnosis, train conversations, and career upheavals, Dr. Oommen Mammen continually reinvented himself. From aspiring soldier to marketing pioneer, from a falsely identified cancer patient to pituitary survivor, and from corporate executive to educator; his life stands as a compelling example of taking deviation and action in renewed motion whenever required.
What remains constant throughout is his unwavering spirit and his belief in turning setbacks into stepping stones. His story is emerging every now and again, not merely about success, but about transformation, about finding meaning in the unpredictable, and about embracing each turn with purpose and courage.
The Spark of Ethics and the Fire Within
It was never part of a grand plan. When he first stepped into the classroom, the instruction was clear but cryptic: “Talk to them. But don’t talk about the subject.” It was almost absurd to him. He was entering the world of academia with decades of sales and marketing behind him; and now he had to fill an hour without discussing curriculum? Yet something in him stirred. A quiet challenge. A shift.
He began speaking not from textbooks but from memory; from his years on the road, from boardrooms and by lanes, from brand wars and ethics breached. Nestlé in India. Adidas in sweatshops. Coca-Cola’s green-tinted promises. He spoke of the shadows that stalked the gleaming facades of multinational giants. Surprisingly, the students leaned in. His stories got connected.
That day, he discovered the magic of storytelling as pedagogy. When his director eventually assigned him the subject of “Business Ethics”; famously dry and moralistic, he embraced it not with theory but with life. “It was all moral science,” he recalled, “Do’s and don’ts. But I gave it a soul.” He brought in real case studies, ethical dilemmas, and industry disasters. It wasn’t about right and wrong anymore; it was about human decisions, corporate consequences, and moral courage. Behind his ability to talk so freely was a lesser-known discipline: reading. In the lonely hours of travel; on trains, in hotel lobbies, and between flights, he read. News. Reports. Books. Not just for information, but for insight.
“Reading helped me survive that classroom,” he recalled, “It shaped me long before I knew I needed it.” Then life, ever unpredictable, handed him another surprise. One night, his friend turned up at his doorstep. Without much preamble, she insisted: “We must visit our old college.” His wife, trusting and calm, allowed him to leave with her that very night. At midnight, they found themselves climbing a tree on campus; looking for an old carving of his name. Torchlight. Security guard. A 200-rupee bribe. It was bizarre, magical, childlike. A fleeting moment of past and present meeting in silence.
And then she asked the question that would change everything: “Why don’t you do your PhD?” He laughed. “I have no money for that,” he replied truthfully.
But she insisted. She would sponsor it. At least help him apply for scholarships. She pushed him to dream, and when he hesitated, she pushed harder. She found agencies. Suggested universities. Eventually, he was admitted to Utrecht University in the Netherlands. She even gave him ₹1.5 lakh; to begin the process.
Then came the real world: quitting his job, feeding his family, surviving in a foreign system. He stalled. Until one morning, she showed up again; not as a benefactor, but as a creditor. “Either return the money,” she said, “or use it.”
The deadline was six months. There was no money to return. Her words ignited something. A deadline, yes; but also a lifeline. He was being asked to commit, to leap, to step into the unknown with nothing but grit. And so he began again.
The Road Less Taken
But the real battle had just begun. How could I afford to live abroad? Quit my job? Maintain a family? Survive? I turned to something I had done before: books.
I began organizing book exhibitions across college campuses. I sold academic titles to libraries, often earning commissions of 35%. After travel and logistics, 25% was still mine. I sold for lakhs at each event. I was part sales rep, part porter, part dreamer. But I survived. My family survived.
Then came the Netherlands. Expensive. Alien. Cold. My professor there said, “Take up a part-time job.” But part-time work meant less time in the library, less focus. She gave me a crazy idea: “Sell flowers at the pedestrian crossings.”
And so I did. Friday to Sunday, I stood at traffic lights, selling tulips and roses. Not because I had fallen. But because I refused to fall. The library was my university; the flower stand was my sponsor. When I came back, everything changed. My eyes opened wider. I understood that life is not about climbing ladders but about building bridges.
People often ask me, “Why do you speak differently? Why do you teach differently?” I don’t follow the conventional route. Never have. I walk into classrooms with chaos. I speak without notes. I provoke, I disrupt, I challenge.
Sometimes, my ways confuse my students. Sometimes, my department doesn’t understand me. But I know this: I survived. And more than that; I created my own path. They say destiny is written. I say: I write mine.
