On the day of his passing, Ratan Tata was eulogised in the media as ‘India’s Crown Jewel’, ‘Living Legend’, ‘Ultimate Icon’ and so much more. Anchors and editors ran out of words to aptly describe the towering personality who had become a household name, all thanks to his surname—Tata. Not only was it easy to remember, but it was everywhere, virtually in every home, synonymous with success, wealth and power.
Tata Group had established its brand equity as a trusted name even before Rata Tata took charge. If a consumer was looking for a reliable, durable, well-priced product, just the imprint of the Tata name was sufficient. But it is still fair to say, that post Ratan’s elevation to the top job, it was his personality that drove brand value for every conceivable Tata product—from cars, trucks and airlines to coffee, jewellery and clothes.
I cannot claim to have been Ratan’s friend. Frankly, his best friends were his favourite four-legged furry doggies, and, perhaps, three or four really low-key loyal buddies from way back when. Fiercely private and innately shy, India’s bachelor billionaire was rarely seen at non-business related society gatherings. He made time to attend his close friend Zubin Mehta’s concerts, of course, but other than that Mumbaikars knew how much his ‘me time’ mattered to him and rarely intruded. My husband and I would frequently find ourselves on a public ferry with Ratan, taking us from the jetty at the Gateway of India, to the Mandwa jetty in Alibag, across the sea. We would chat briefly and leave Ratan alone, as did everyone else. Sometimes, Ratan could be spotted with shopping bags, buying fresh vegetables and fruits from handcarts near his home. No hangers on, no entourage. Just a casually dressed man picking brinjals and cabbages from a vendor, like any other Mumbaikar.
When we interacted at more formal occasions like book launches and charity events, he would be warm, friendly and totally natural, asking about our children, but mainly asking after the family’s dogs, aware that all of us were pet parents, just like him. Since his favourite neighbourhood restaurant (Thai Pavilion) happens to be our favourite, too, we would spot Ratan at the corner table, quietly dining with a few friends, and respect his privacy enough never to intrude.
When he was ailing, and hardly moving out of his home, he was gracious enough to make time to meet my daughter Anandita, thanks to young Shantanu Naidu (28), Ratan’s most-trusted aide, who sweetly set up the personal appointment, knowing her unconditional worship of the man. Anandita was floating on cloud nine after spending time with the great man, who was kindness and grace personified, as he engaged her in an informative conversation which revolved mainly over Bijou, her tiny, pretty French poodle, who had accompanied her. When Anandita heard her all-time hero was no more, she shook with grief and cried for hours, unable to come to terms with his passing. So profound was Ratan’s effect on her, that night, as she lay in bed repeating a prayer for him, she actually “felt his presence”, as he blessed her and her inseparable companion Bijou.
The tributes are still being written. There will be books—many books—decoding what made Ratan such a colossus in our collective imagination. There will be films, statues, hospitals, colleges and airports named after him in the years to come. The posthumous Bharat Ratna is a done deal. I doubt any of this would have mattered to Ratan—the honours and accolades. He was much beyond that.
@DeShobhaa @shobhaade