Tales of India - 5

Some incidents leave an indelible mark on us. We don’t think of it often, but it remains with our core and also shapes you into the person you are, completely unknowingly to us. Several years ago, on a sojourn to meet a client in interior India, I had some interesting conversations about life, incidents, and the way we remember people. This was amidst an interesting excursion to a client site where we spoke to the promoter of a leading group of diversified manufacturing products. The factory was just off a large city, on the periphery of the bustle of the city traffic and maddening ocean of people and vehicle movement. We reached a well-appointed office in the middle of the factory which was bordered with a surprising amount of greenery and even some creepers thoughtfully grown and manicured inside the office as well.

I was let to the swanky top floor much like the penthouse of a large apartment. The name board ‘ Chairman and Managing Director’ indicated the address of a very successful first-generation entrepreneur, who prided in building a conglomerate of manufacturing products known for very high quality and innovation. In the lobby outside the lift, there was a large full-size picture of an old couple in traditional Indian dresses which was clearly a painting which looked fresh and there was a traditional Indian lamp lit at the bottom of the picture, which nearly touched the floor below and the ceiling above. I looked at the faces in the picture – the smiling lady and a serious man standing next to her.

“He never smiled…” I heard a voice behind me. I turned to see the legendary entrepreneur wearing a tucked in white shirt short sleeved, over black trousers; he also wore black leather sandals neatly polished not hiding the neat, manicured toes hovering on the edge of the sandal.

We quickly exchanged pleasantries and I gave him my business card. “Thanks for coming Mr Nair. I got your reference from a close friend and one of our first employees. You worked with him three years back on their costs and business plan”. I smiled acknowledgement to his reference and mental montages of the earlier work glided through my mind. ?The next two hours were presentations by his team on the various aspects of our proposed engagement. As I listened attentively and took notes , I was quite intrigued by how he never interrupted the presentations and added his bytes to what his team said. ?As we finished, he invited me over for lunch and we sat on tables with well laid out cutlery and his staff served me one dish after the other. I had small portions of most of the vegetarian spread. I noticed that he had a two or three small size rotis , a bowl of daal and a small ball of mashed potatoes.

Looking at me and perhaps the intrigued expression , he said “ This is what I eat early day for lunch for the last several decades, Mr Nair. Roti , daal , chokha – they mix up some ingredients but it is mostly the same.” I smiled and he had his staff serve me the mashed potatoes – mashed, with a sprinkling of green chilles , fine pieces of onions and mixed together perhaps with a dash of mustard oil – Chokha – I thought.

“ My parents were landless farmers and they worked in the fields of a landlord. My mother packed this food for me in the morning and carried another portion for them to the fields. I went to the nearby school , overseeing the fields. On days of holidays, I went with them to the field and read or studied in a nearby mangrove, but we had lunch together. “

I looked at him with a certain respect and thought, how is that for humble beginnings. “ Is that your parents in the picture outside?” He nodded and said “ Yes, our lives ran the same routine all through my childhood. After I was born , my mother was constantly ill and they could not have another child, so they showered all their love on me.? I studied well , got scholarships and also met the right mentors at the right times and here we are. They passed away recently in quick succession but had the satisfaction of seeing me become successful and more importantly happy.”

We walked towards the picture and as we stood there, he said “That roti and chokha was my early memory of my mother. The smell of her hands, love, the care was there in every morsel. With my father it was always the serious unsmiling face , but never a word to scold and always a tacit yes to what I asked for.” I looked at the picture again, he did have more resemblances of his smiling mother.

“What is your first memory of your parents?” I jogged my memory and thought, I did see some pics.

“With Amma, I think it was the me rubbing her elbows when she cuddled me close. I distinctly remember the soft edges of her elbow; I touched each time I went to sleep. I think of Dad, it was more of an incident – I think we were returning after a movie and I had slept off, he was carrying me with my face resting between his neck and left shoulder, while he perched me up with his locked hands below. What I distinctly remember is his heavy breathing – I was a plump kid as well…” I smiled

“That is a lovely vivid memory”, then as we sipped on the butter milk served to us, he said “I also remember an incident. When I was a small boy, there were no places on the fields for the women to use a toilet. They were not expected to use it all day, perhaps. And then this one day, my mother had to walk all the way home for using a urinal and she got an earful from the supervisor for it. This happened many times later as well, as she landed up with a bladder infection in her later life.”

I might have had the perplexed look on my face. ?Then I thought, perhaps this must have happened all over the country too in those days. “The landlord’s house was the only place where there was a covered lavatory.”

As we stood on the portals of the lift, he said – “Let me show you around”.

We stepped out of the office and walked slowly around the factory. The roads had shrubbery on both sides, and I saw mangroves on one and a recently made lake on the other side. At one corner was a large building with a cafeteria in the front and a public toilet which faced inside the factory premises and also the outside highway for travelers to use. It also had multiple other games facilities inside and a large creche and play area for the children.

“I was keen to provide a facility like that to everyone here and even those travelers who pass by. We do not charge for the staff at the cafeteria and a nominal charge for the travelers to order and have food or snacks on the other side.”

As we walked further on the road on the perimeter of the complex, there was also a temple like structure. “ I had built a small memorial for my parents.” Interesting as we approached it, it was not a temple, just a one room where there was a cot on one side, a makeshift kitchen and a chair and a table. “This where I grew up. I still can see my mother cooking something, my father sitting and gazing at the sky in the evening, resting his tired limbs, as if he was looking at the horizon and planning for a better life for me”

I felt intensely proud of him and the human spirit at that moment. That is an accomplishment.

“This is still my favorite place of all the establishments I have, you know why?” and this time he had a twinkle in his eyes. Perhaps because it was close to his original home, I thought.

“The factory stands on the land that was once the fields my parents worked in and later became barren.” And then he looked on the other side of the campus we had crossed earlier and stood with his hands gripping his waist on both side and pointed the right hand in the direction of the restrooms – “And that was where the house of the landlord stood!” I saw a rare pride, determination and satisfaction in his eyes” … The house which did not allow his mother to relieve herself – thousands of people go there every day, within the factory and outside!

Some incidents outline our life, it stays with us much more than what we think it would. It reminds us that how we live each day is how we live our life. It is not just those large successes and failures that define us – it is also those simple days of the past.

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