Sunil Jaiswal is no stranger to making money on the property market, but he marches to his own drum in pursuing a teaching course so that others can also make money. In his day job, Sunil Jaiswal is a property investor and entrepreneur. He feels towards property the way a mathematician would feel after cracking a code: Passion and a desire to spread the word. Sunil translates this into his role as CEO of Sumansa Events. It’s no wonder that the company is organising the largest exhibition of Indian Property in Dubai from the 1st to the 3rd of November, 2006.  http://www.IndianPropertyShow.com

The Story….

What is the measure of a man? Not his words, but his actions. Not his success, but what he does with his success. Not his personal triumphs, but his seeing no line demarcating that from his public ones. A man who has nothing to hide and a wealth of experience that he wants to share, well, that about describes Sunil Jaiswal.

His business is to teach people how to buy property, and profit from it. He is, apart from the special characteristics that mark him out, uniquely placed to have the edge on this: His father is Indian, his mother English. Born and bred in London, he came to Bangalore when he was 13 and has been nest-building all over the globe ever since. Not for him the cliché of not having any roots; he has many, and they’re all home.

“I went to Clarence High School and did my 8th, 9th and 10th there. It was very different but I coped,” he says. With 17 boils and dysentery because no one told him that unlike in England, you could not drink water from the taps. Being Jaiswal, he made that part of his learning curve. “I built up my immune system. Now I can eat anything,” he says.

If you wanted to find him out of his class of 70 students at Clarence, he would be the one on the single computer that was available to students once a week. “I took to computers,” he remembers. He had found his first love. It was not to be his last. But it was certainly prescient, a laying of the foundation that was to be added to in years to come. By the  time he joined one of the most prestigious schools in India for his 11th and 12th, Bishop Cotton Boys’ School, Jaiswal had already had a summer stint getting to know his chosen one at a family friend’s computer center, where he says frankly he was pretty much a ‘child prodigy’. While at Cotton’s, he won a prize for developing software that simulated heart rhythms, the next year the organizers of that event “refused to let me compete, saying I was too good.”

It was an absurdity but it probably planted a seed of quiet rebellion in the young boy which surfaced while he was doing his commerce degree at Sri Nijalingappa. The family friend offered him a job at his computer center and Jaiswal did the unthinkable as far as Indian boys were concerned: He quit college at 19. He was to face another challenge at the center, nevertheless, as though fate was determined he be deemed worthy for what he was to become. “All my peers had finished their Masters, I was younger but I picked up on things.” He went to the States for a few months which is testament to that.

Jaiswal’s penchant for understatement is balanced by his honest admissions of worth, through both you get to sense a man on a mission. It wasn’t easy to see because as he himself admits, “I got bored and I quit.” To join Microsoft? Not quite. He picked up the guitar, not to play out his angst in the garage but to be part of India’s first superstar band, Millennium. Which is not to say that he didn’t also work for companies like Ampersand, Indivisuals and Broadcast Media. At Ampersand, he was promoted at the age of 21 to the background music of one of his colleagues actually crying because at the grand old age of 33, he was still waiting in the wings.

Perhaps he should have got bored, too, because for Jaiswal that word was a euphemism which actually meant he had not yet found his calling. But by now, he knew part of what he wanted. “Millennium didn’t make serious money. Playing heavy metal in India was not the smartest way to do that!”

So he went to the UK, in Jan ’96, and stayed with his mother, who had decided the subcontinent was not where she wanted to be. The naysayers tried to dissuade him, saying there was no future in computers in Britain. Jaiswal went anyway. On his second day there, he went for an interview 100 miles away from home, snagged a job and a flat, got a raise in three months but after a nine-month gestation period, got bored and then got an idea: To set up his own business as an IT consultant. “I saw potential for what I could do,” says Jaiswal and proceeded to work for major companies in London earning a cool 700 pounds a day.

Then, Fate came calling, with a card that said Enough.