The Art of Giving Time

“Great mentors aren’t like The Godfather. Their gifts don’t come with strings attached. All we owe them is to reach the potential they see in us. We don’t need to pay it back, but we can pay it forward. It honors their time and spreads the norm of generosity” -Adam Grant, July 1st, 2020, in a post on LinkedIn

“I give time, because I can give time,” Jaysinhbha said, as he stopped at a red light, on a dimly lit Bissonnet Street. I looked at the Beltway 8 overpass ahead where cars were zooming across. It was almost 11pm, and we’d just left his office with my stomach growling for dinner. “Who gives time to others so late in the day,” I wondered as I sat next to him, in his beige station wagon. I called him “Jaysinhbha,” but to many he was known simply as Jay or Jay Swaly. Almost as if he was reading my mind, Jay responded, “What do we lose if we help others when they ask for it?” I thought to myself, “Jaysinhbha, the line of people looking for help from you, is endless, and we’d be still sitting there talking to your client if I hadn’t mentioned that I was hungry.” 

Don’t get me wrong, Jay also took ample time for himself. He enjoyed reading the Houston Chronicle, from the front page to the last. At 1:30am on any given morning, while perched on the left side of his comfortable pink sofa, he’d work through that paper, article by article. “Why don’t you read the sports section?” he’d ask me, as I sat on the floor by his feet, my head buried in college Chemistry textbook-du-jour. He knew full well that I really didn’t enjoy sports. He knew the news inside and out, though. The TV was on in the background with the local news on, after all, while he read the news in the paper. So, there was no missing any critical part of the news. And, yet, as he sat there, reading, he’d ask something like, “Rahul, do you know why thunderstorms often form in highway and interstate corridors?” I’d wonder if he was reading about that in the paper in his hands, but knowing Jay, I knew that topic wasn’t in the paper. Jay was only inviting me to think outside of the textbook. To open a conversation, in which he would share his thoughts on his proposed topic, while gently cajoling me on some of my potentially nonsensical responses. And then, he was bound to maneuver the conversation into one of his famous teaching moments, in which he would share something so profound, that it would alter your future life in some meaningful manner. Because, that’s what Jay was … a teacher. He loved to teach, and he lived to teach. That night, the night of the thunderstorm question, the lesson for me ended up being about how I should lead my life without seeking permission or approval from others. The maneuver that got us there, “You know, Rahul, when you were six, you would ask me for permission to go use the toilet, even when I could see on your face that you were desperate to go.” I have never quite figured out the connection between thunderstorms and restrooms and approval-seeking … but that’s a classic conversation journey with Jay. So, while I might have thought that Jay was reading the paper, he was really giving his time to me, sharing his wisdom and teaching me, because I happened to be in his presence. I still wonder if the newspaper was just the cover to observe me and if he was waiting for the right time to start the conversation leading to life lessons.

Jay was a legend. He, still, is a legend. Jay was forced to reinvent himself, professionally, multiple times during his lifetime. He was trained as a teacher. Raised in India, he settled in Zanzibar, where he taught high school in the early part of his life. His students, from those days, still recall him fondly, because of his distinctive teaching style. Unlike the teachers molded to a rigid East African education system, Jay stood a class apart, taking the time to explain to students why what he was teaching them made sense. Almost using a modern-day Socratic Seminar, sometimes on a one-on-one basis, asking “So, what did you understand?” Jay’s students respected him for that. The Zanzibar Revolution in 1964 caused Jay, his wife, and four young daughters to uproot their domicile abruptly, with only the clothes on their backs, and resettle in Uganda. He continued teaching in Uganda. Then, in 1971, Idi Amin staged a bloody coup to take power in Uganda, deporting people of Asian origin (in 1972) with whatever they could carry in a small suitcase. Jay and his family first found refuge in Rome, Italy and then in Houston, Texas, through a generous Lutheran organization that helped them resettle. 

I met Jay, in Houston, when I was six. Jay, who was my grandfather’s cousin, was 53 then. I loved him instantly, as I recall. My grandmother and I were visiting Houston from Tanzania, especially to visit Jay’s family. He was warm, funny and charming, kind and generous. He treated me as though he were my father. A pat on the head here, a hug there … and there was good American ice cream, and lots of it. Growing up after that, I often dreamed of an alternative reality where I would be Jay’s son and get to live and study in America. I really wanted to be in America, I didn’t see a future for myself in Tanzania. Jay and his family had been Houston for about ten years then, and Jay had reinvented himself as an accountant working for a CPA firm. The transition to Houston had been stressful for the family. Jay had found that his training as a teacher was not conducive to the American education system, and so, having taken some advanced accounting classes during his time in Uganda, he took a shot at a new career. The cost and the stress of his journey was heavy. Jay had a heart attack during my visit to Houston. I still vividly remember standing next to his hospital bed, begging him to get well soon. My grandmother and I departed Houston soon thereafter, but my love for Jay only grew stronger as I grew older. Soon after recovering from his heart attack, Jay acted on an opportunity at the suggestion of his supervisor, who felt that the expanding businesses owned by the Asian community, and South Asian entrepreneurs, in Houston were underserved from a bookkeeping and tax preparation standpoint. Jay took his supervisor’s advice, and started serving this niche and soon built his own, successful accounting and tax firm targeted to this community. Through his stellar reputation, he quickly expanded his firm to serve all kinds of diverse businesses owned by people of all backgrounds. But, there was some magic involved. Jay built his brand as a listener and an adviser, not just an accountant. Jay became known as an entrepreneur who advised other aspiring entrepreneurs.

I found myself sitting by Jay’s feet, as he was perched on the sofa reading the Houston Chronicle, about thirteen years after my first visit to Houston. I had begun attending college in Upstate NY. Having little family in America, I’d spend a few weeks each summer with Jay and his family. I’d join Jay at his office and quickly learned that his office hours began when Jay offered them. Clients would arrive as their workday ended, at around 6 pm (sometimes 8 pm) and office hours ran till whenever Jay decided that they needed to end. The clients would bring more than just tax questions. They’d seek counsel on challenges in business, with business growth, with spouses, with children, with employees … and the list went on. Jay would listen quietly. Then, he’d draw on his past experiences and vast knowledge and hold court. Sometimes multiple clients would be in with him at once. All captivated by what Jay had to say. And I’d be entranced listening from right outside his office. He had just the right words to say to anyone and everyone. He’d lay out solutions to problems of all kinds. He’d guide his clients with logic, explaining things in a way that they understood his point of view clearly. He’d teach them. He truly cared to help his clients. And I’d learn as I eavesdropped.

Jay didn’t have to work. He’d turned 66 the summer in which I started to eavesdrop outside of his office. I’d eavesdrop for many more summers, soaking in his wisdom and knowledge. How to engage with clients. How to talk to them. How to mentor them. One hot summer Texas night, as we drove to his home from his office, I asked him, “Why do you keep office hours so late? It’s not good for your health.” In typical Jay fashion, the answer was a question “Who is the authority that decides when office hours should be?” In truth, I already knew the answer to my question. Jay kept those hours because he could have his client’s undivided attention then, and give them his best advisory time then. He could efficiently cultivate his following, and therefore his community, in those hours. And, Jay did enjoy a captive audience. He loved to tell long stories, hilarious jokes and gently tease his audience to incite a reaction or a smile. The stories he could tell and the laughter he could generate were unparalleled. He worked those hours, till he no longer could, until age 77. I looked over at Jay, as we drove home. On those nights he’d had a lengthy conversation and a hearty laugh, he’d be smiling as he drove. That’s where my bar was set. If I could help someone and smile on my way home, that is what I wanted to achieve in my life.

I have tried to emulate Jay’s style, people-centric approach, active listening and authentic caring, but he set a very high bar. I find myself falling short everyday. I find myself craving more guidance from him everyday. I certainly crave one more pat on my head from him. I often wonder during my lonely times, of which I have had many as we all navigate this pandemic, if I expressed my gratitude effectively to Jay before he passed away in 2005. So, let me take this opportunity now. 

Thank you Jaysinhbha, for investing your time in me and in others. Thank you for teaching me what you learned through your life experiences. Thank you for being my Elder, my Guru and for sharing your learned wisdom with me. Thank you for caring to make sure that I understood what you taught. I really appreciate that you knew your purpose was to teach and you made giving your time to others an art, so that you could teach. I wish I could still be learning from you, as I try to pay what you have taught me forward. I love you and I crave to hear your voice call my name everyday. 

In his book, “Give and Take, A Revolutionary Approach To Success” Adam Grant says, “Givers succeed in a way that creates a ripple effect, enhancing the success of people around them.” Jay, in my opinion the ultimate Giver and mentor, has left hundreds of these ripple effects in our world through the time and teaching he invested in us. Many people, including I, owe our successes to him. Jay gave his time to leave behind a better world.

You can write to living Elders, who are isolated at Senior Living Communities, and thank them for what they are teaching us everyday through #WriteToAppreciate. Let’s not wait to pay them a tribute. Find out more at writetoappreciate.wordpress.com.

Respectfully,

Rahul Swali