Two possibilities

Ramesh is my diploma friend. Although he wasn't very quick in his studies, his crafting skills were amazing. He was particularly good at woodworking. We had a carpentry workshop as part of our diploma course. Ramesh’s work would always turn out neat and solid. Even my work in the workshop was done by him. After completing my diploma, I moved to Pune for my BE, while he stayed in Aurangabad. We lost contact.

Two years ago, I found out that Ramesh had also moved to Pune. He was running a fabrication business, making doors and windows, which is a tough business. I met Ramesh, and old memories came rushing back. We chatted a lot. I found his earnings to be just decent.

One day, Ramesh invited me to dinner. He introduced me to his wife, Sangeeta, and his two children—a boy and a girl, forming a happy family. After a delicious chicken meal, Ramesh took me to his room, where he had made miniature wooden models of famous buildings from India. They were beautifully crafted, and instantly recognizable, like the Taj Mahal, the stupa of Bijapur, and the Karnataka Legislative Assembly in Bangalore, among others. I was deeply impressed. Ramesh had not only preserved his carpentry skills but had also beautifully expanded upon them.

On my next visit, I asked him, “Ramesh, you have such amazing talent. Why don’t you give it a professional shape? Why don’t you convert this hobby into a business?” First, he said, “Art is not meant to be sold,” and he got a bit intellectual and emotional about it. I didn’t say much during that meeting, but he didn’t stop meeting me either. He probably knew I would bring it up again.

One day, he told me, “Mandlya, what you say makes sense. That whole ‘art is not to be sold’ idea is just a lie. But I don’t know anything about sales and marketing, and I have no idea who would order from me.” Based on his current business and financial situation, I realized his challenges. Honestly, when I started my own business, I was in the same state of mind.

In our product range, we have something called a "milling head," which is a massive item weighing between 500 to 800 kg, and we have to import it from Taiwan for display purposes. It’s a cumbersome process. I showed Ramesh a picture of it and asked if he could make a wooden model of it. My plan was to use this lighter model for display. He agreed.

I asked Ramesh to prepare a commercial proposal. He replied, “Mandlya, I told you, I don’t know how to do this. You prepare the proposal.” I asked him how much time it would take to complete the work. He gave me a price after calculating his expenses and time.

I laid down the terms and conditions and placed the purchase order with him in January this year. He promised to deliver the model in two to two-and-a-half months.

Now, here’s where I stop. There are two ways I could end this story. One is very positive, where he delivers an outstanding product, and seeing that, he gets a large order from a neighboring company, and you all call me a “jeweler” for recognizing his talent. The other way is that I could say it’s been ten months, and Ramesh still hasn’t delivered the product. Then we, Marathi people, would start cursing.

In life, we encounter both types of experiences. What kind of experiences we weave our lives around is up to us.