Before I get down to telling you about what Harry said to me regarding me getting into Finance, let me just narrate a true story here, which I believe has a moral to it. But then, close friends from my past (stoutly refusing to let go of me even in the present) who can hardly ever believe that I could have anything to do with morals might find this account a mere trifle
Rohan bhai* is one of my vendors. . I buy vegetable oil from him. And sitting across the table from him that lazy Friday evening to discuss an incidence of rejection of one of his tankers at our plant I could not help but roll my tongue over the metal-sour, delicious taste of cold satisfaction in my mouth that came from making this man – who had spent an entire lifetime dealing in oil – feel uncomfortable
A man with a big face with features drawn in by simple, deft, brisk strokes by the Maker – a typically sharp and long North Indian nose, straight eyebrows sitting on candid eyes, long Buddha ears – he sat there twitching his fingers uncomfortably, as I kept poking and pricking him with "How could you let it happen?", "Then you have no control!!", "How would you ensure it doesn't happen again?", "But what if it happens despite that?", "Just assume it happens despite that, then what?". We spent almost half an hour like that
I guess somewhere deep down I was aware of how much money this guy was making in his hard-knuckled-bare-fisted-business and resented him for that. I knew that he will reason, and give excuses and would wheedle himself out of this rejection meeting, and then it would be business as usual for him all over again. Oil tankers would come and go. Cheques would come and stay.
Unfortunate, uncomfortable rejections would keep cropping up occasionally here and there. Some young prick like me would come and try to boss over him for half an hour on a Friday evening when he has nothing else to do but wait for the afternoon to dissolve into the fingers of night that would pull him home. And then the prick would change his job, get transferred, get promoted and it would be some greenhorn all over again trying to get his brass tabs. I think I, at some level, realized all that…realized that beneath this veneer of embarrassed, contrite discomfort lay a calm, solid assurance that "this too shall pass". And And that made me want to snub him more, to corner him.
I closed the meeting. It was close to office-leaving- time for me too. Rohan Bhai was supposed to fill in the notes of the rejection meeting on a piece of paper, sign it, stamp it and give it to us. "Will get it sent to your office tomorrow Sir, with my son, and he can also use the opportunity to take your ashirwad"
"Ashirwad for what?" I II asked, slightly amused at the idea that I could also bless someone.
And his answer, stretched taut as an arrow by his tentative bow-shaped smile as he said it, pierced my heart, leaving me open mouthed for a second. He said something which in all probability I would never be able to say about my son.
"Saab,, he wants to become a pilot. He has completed his training. He has an interview with Indian Airlines tomorrow. If he has your ashirwad,, he will definitely clear it. Kal uska interview hai Indian Airlines me. Aapka ashirwad hoga to wo zarur clear kar lega"
Damn it man!!! If my asashirwad had so much potency wouldn't I have put my hand on my own sconce and blessed myself a hundred times over?
Wouldn't I have become a pilot myself and been clocking bonus miles with all those wonderful air-hostesses?
In that moment I had a vision.
It was of a young lad – maybe 15 -16 years old, my son – standing in front of me and saying eagerly, yet hesitantly – "Dad, I want to become a pilot"
And I could hear my reply, and my reply in the future - in the time yet to be - made my heart heavy as lead in the current moment.
"Don't build castles in air. Remember where you come from. We are not some business family, so that you can take all these fancy chances with your life and should they all come unstuck I settle you down in some part of the family business. Focus on studies. That is all that will save you. Study well now, get into a good engineering college, then a good MBA college, and you will also be a successful man in life….(and and a bit quietly, lest his Mom should hear and come waving the battle-axe of her tongue from the kitchen where she was trying to make RDX with vegetables, rice and some cooking oil) …j …just like your father. See, we have a house (for which you are still paying the EMIs, a tiny voice said inside), a car (but you rather liked the other, bigger one in the showroom, , the same tiny voice again), respect from everybody (except from that Big, Obnoxious Supercilious Swine – B.O.S.S –who could muck up your self-esteem with an unhappy grunt) an aand everything that you want (except for the chance to stake a couple of years of his life on his dream, damn this tiny voice!…..too big words for such a tiny voice!). Don't play with life, beta.
Rohan Bhai's son could play with his life.
Because his father had. And had come out on top of it, young arrogant-but-play-it-safe MBAs notwithstanding. He understood failures and frustrations, and knew that you could still build a life in their aftermath.
I realized that day that the one of the biggest positives about being an entrepreneur is that you can give your kids a couple of years to themselves, to live out their dreams, to test out their wings. If they succeed, then good. If they don't there is always the family business waiting for them. And once these kids came back after their years of folly and adventure to work, nobody asked them the question, "But why this gap in your career?
I smiled and bade Rohan Bhai good bye and his son good luck.
His rejection papers came in by courier.
And I came to know a couple of months later that his son did not make it through the interview. Maybe he missed out on something in his preparations like a good solid Manager Baba ka Ashirwad ( (MBA)
*Not his real name, but this is a true incident.
