“If it’s good for Ratan Tata, it’s good for us” was my saintly-strictly in the sense of being indifferent to extravaganza-husband’s winning line last weekend when I was trying to convince him to take our holiday to Taj Fort Aguada, the adjoining sister-resort of the Taj Holiday Village. The superlative hospitality team at THV had promised to move us to their Fort resort if we didn’t find the newly renovated cottages comfortable enough. Surely, we did face some minor first-mover issues. This essay is not about our holiday, though I must write more about such things given as parents to two daughters and three dogs, such holidays are a true luxury for us.
A ‘VIP’ Without Fuss
On Friday at noon, the big cottage adjacent to ours got a little busy. We lazed in our garden, looking at the uncharacteristic commotion: housekeeping staff with welcome placards and front office personnel dressed in their finest formal rig standing in front of the cottage. Barely fifteen of them, but even that appeared too much in an otherwise tranquil resort. I joked, “VIP arrival. Maybe even Ratan Tata”. And then I corrected myself, “Not Ratan Tata. The CEOs would be lining up to welcome him.” Within a few minutes, two golf carts pulled in with guests. We smiled and nodded at them and went about our business of whining about our children. A gent from the party, to be referred to as D, asked us if we were comfortable. We gave him a thumbs up. D became a friend over the next few days.
But it was not until S, a friend and the livewire at Taj’s many Goa resorts who convinced us to come to Goa for a landmark birthday celebration, visited us an hour later that we realised it was indeed Ratan Tata who checked in next door. There was minimal fuss, zero security, and absolutely no paraphernalia. Just a congenial old man sitting next to a young woman-his nurse-in the buggy, smiling at us.
‘Once In A Lifetime Chance’
For the next two and a half days, Mr Tata lived out the humility that people like me have only gathered from various public reports and personal anecdotes. I was naturally thrilled by how he smiled at us from the buggy; I’d initially thought that this sweet gentleman was wondering at our silliness of being outdoors under the bright Goa afternoon sun. The thrill of being Mr Tata’s temporary neighbour was duly shared with one of my closest friends R-an old patron of this resort. “Once in a lifetime chance,” she said when I shared how I was too much of a chicken to go say hello to him in this non-professional setting. I missed that chance. (R has, however, succeeded in getting me to write about this very personal experience.)
I missed that chance. What I did not miss, however, was the firsthand experience of his legendary simplicity. Most Indians have a problem respecting personal space boundaries. By Saturday, many guests learned of Mr Tata’s presence in the resort, and then the competition to take pictures and video clips from his lawn’s periphery started. The more daring ones peeked from the tall hedges. Predictable behaviour. What was not predictable, however, was the response from one of the world’s most impactful business tycoons. Nobody was ‘politely’ removed from the scene. Mr Tata spent his last days outdoors, looking at the Arabian Sea from his garden canopy. People gathered outside the cottage from time to time. There was no security detailing.
The Man ‘Who Could Afford Jalebi Every Day’
I shared this with my father on the phone, and he gave me another Tata anecdote. In 1968, he was reading a book about Jamsetji Tata, Ratan Tata’s grandfather. A classmate of my father from the village school asked him about the book, and he replied, “Ye Hindustan ke sabse bade aadmi ke baare mein hai” (It’s about the wealthiest man in India.) The classmate replied in excitement, “He must be able to afford jalebis for breakfast every day, then!” Industrialists are rarely respected in countries and contexts overridden by poverty. Mr Tata’s ‘jalebi’ legacy stays untarnished mainly because of his personal ethos.
Mr Tata checked out of the Goa resort on Sunday and checked into a Mumbai hospital on Monday. As a small crowd was gathering outside his cottage to bid him adieu, T, the housekeeper, came to tidy ours. He had earlier shared that he was also taking care of the ‘other’ cottage. “Don’t you want to say bye to him?” I asked T. He nodded enthusiastically but was reluctant to leave his job unfinished despite my repeated assurances. “Thank you, ma’am; I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” he finally said while running to the other cottage. T came back after an hour, beaming. “He came to this hotel after almost 30 years, ma’am. He’s such a nice man. We all had a group photo with him. Sorry, that’s why I got late,” he was narrating everything excitedly.
If It’s Good For Ratan Tata…
I happened to be the last journalist who witnessed Mr Tata living out his much-talked-about values of humility until his last breath, quite literally. Perhaps that’s why, despite temptation, I could also hold on to my entirely unnecessary self-imposed rule of never intruding on famous people’s personal space, even as a journalist. Our friend D had convinced me on Saturday to write a note to Mr Tata, which I did. Maybe he read it, maybe he didn’t. I don’t have a photo with him, but I have my lesson: if it (a hotel room or living by certain ethos) is good enough for Ratan Tata, it’s good for me.
(Nishtha Gautam is a Delhi-based author and academic.)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
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