More Than a Pipeline: How I Became Friends with a Business Development Executive
When I first met Rohan, he introduced himself with a firm handshake, a confident smile, and a title. "Rohan," he said, "Business Development Executive." The title hung in the air, crisp and professional, like the starched collar of his shirt.
In my mind, a "Business Development Executive" was a species of human I'd only seen in corporate dramas. Someone who lived in a world of targets, leads, and conversions. Someone who probably saw every conversation as a potential networking opportunity. And for the first few weeks of knowing him, Rohan did little to change that impression.
Our early interactions were always in group settings. He’d be on the phone, pacing and talking about "Q4 projections" and "strategic alliances." He had a way of making "let's circle back on that" sound like a profound statement. He was charismatic and driven, but there was a professional gloss to him that felt impenetrable. I was a friend of a friend; in his world, I probably felt like a low-priority lead.
The shift happened on a humid Tuesday evening in Kanpur. A sudden, torrential downpour had knocked out the power in the cafe where a few of us were hanging out. The inverters whirred for a minute and then died, plunging us into near darkness, illuminated only by our phone screens. The usual chatter died down.
With no Wi-Fi and no network, Rohan the BDE was offline. For the first time, he seemed... still.
"Well," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, the confident posture melting away slightly. "So much for closing that deal tonight."
"The world won't end if one deal waits till morning," I offered, half-joking.
He chuckled, a sound that was less polished and more genuine than I was used to hearing from him. "You'd be surprised. Sometimes it feels like it will."
In the quiet dark of that powerless cafe, we actually talked. Not about pipelines or partnerships, but about life. He told me about the immense pressure he was under, about his dream of one day opening a small book cafe, a place with no targets to meet. I told him about my own anxieties and my passion for painting, a world away from his corporate ladder. He listened—really listened—not like he was trying to find an angle, but like a friend.
That night, I met Rohan. Not the executive, just Rohan.
Our friendship grew from there, in the spaces between his client calls and my creative bursts. I learned that the skills that made him a good BDE also made him an incredible friend. He was a master at following up, not just with potential clients, but with a simple "How did that difficult conversation go?" text. He was strategic, not just in business, but in giving surprisingly insightful life advice.
He, in turn, found a space with me where he didn't have to be "on." Our friendship became a "no-pitch zone." We'd grab chaat at Swaroop Nagar, talking about everything and nothing. He'd ask for my opinion on a new shirt, not because he was trying to project a certain image for a client meeting, but because he genuinely wanted to know if it looked good.
People are so much more than their job titles. We put them in boxes—"the engineer," "the artist," "the BDE"—but the best connections happen when you look past the label on the box. Rohan is ambitious, sharp, and one of the best in his field. But he's also the guy who will listen to you vent for an hour, remember the tiny details, and show up when it counts. Our friendship isn't a transaction or a strategic alliance. It’s just real. And in a world full of targets, that's the most valuable asset of all.