The heavens must be rejoicing, opening their arms to this great soul — Ratan Tata, while we mourn the loss of a human who touched millions of lives with his kindness. I’d heard several stories of the ‘Tata Spirit’, of how they helped the sick, the poor, the unfortunate. Of their humility and humaneness. But I experienced it in 2022 when our lives had changed forever.
On December 18, 2014, my 22-year-old son met with a motorbike accident. He was a bright kid who wanted to do his Masters in Economics and later Finance Management. Life was chugging along the path I had expected till his friend, who was learning to ride a motorbike, asked him to sit pillion. He told her to ride the bike in the building compound but after a round, she zipped out and at a high speed rammed the bike into the road divider. Siddhaant was flung from the seat to the other side of the road.
After coma, four months of hospital, my son returned home but with disabilities that the accident caused. He cannot speak clearly, has a short-term memory loss and his right side is 25 percent weaker than the left. The gratitude we felt when he survived and returned home was taken over by helplessness and despair. A 22-year-old young man on the cusp of life was rendered disabled by that girl’s recklessness.
What would he do now? All my dreams of my son being able to live a normal life – a career, marriage, family lay completely shattered. Who would hire a man with disabilities? Of course, my friend Shehnaz Chawla who had a small digital marketing agency gave him his first job – of looking for information on clients for online promotion.
I was relieved. But a dirty little virus hit the world and Shehnaz’s company shut down. Back to square one.
Again after a few months, my neighbour who is the chief of Randstad Risesmart hired him. Here too his job was similar. Make digital greeting cards for the team. Phew. I could now breathe again.
But a year after his job there, he had to be relieved of his duties as the company could no longer support a person with disabilities.
Like a woman possessed, I wrote to anyone and everyone I knew but to no avail. One MD told a friend that he will not give a job to a boy who rides a bike without a helmet. What could I do? I remember, those days, I would shamelessly ask people if they could help my son get a job. It was my friend, Tarun Malkani, a business mentor to start ups, who told me to look for companies that have at least 10,000 employees “they will be able to absorb a person with disabilities”.
At that moment, all the stories about the Tatas that I had heard came flooding into my mind. But how do I get in touch with Ratan Tata? He was a good soul, but I didn’t know him or knew anyone who knew him. Do people read emails? Letters that lie on the table? He must receive thousands of them? How do I get in touch with him?
So I typed a heavy-duty mommy letter, baring my soul and asking him to give my son a job so I could die in peace knowing that he will be looked after by the Tatas. I carried four copies of this letter and went to every place that I knew he could be — the Tata Charitable Trust’s office, his home, Bombay House and Elphinstone house.
Carrying the hard copy was one thing, but how could I ensure that it would reach him? All the offices asked me to leave it in the reception desk and that the letter would be sent to his manager on the top floors. And since desperate minds think differently, I thought what if the letter was sent up and either was discarded by the manager or fell off the desk or… uff, a million things. So, I asked the peon who was stationed at base camp, (Covid restrictions were off, but offices still were careful) to please let me at least talk to his manager.
With utmost politeness he said he’d deliver the letter. I saw that his badge revealed he was a Maharashtrian. So, I spoke to him in Marathi and told him of my case. The Tatas were my only hope, please this letter carried the future of my disabled son. Feeling sorry for me, he dialled the office upstairs.
Hah. One hurdle crossed. I spoke to the sweet lady (upstairs) and told her of my problem and how this letter must reach the hands of Mr. Tata. She assured me it would.
The same story repeated itself at his home at the far end of a lane near Colaba Post office. Security guards will not let you into the lane unless you are verified. They asked me to leave the letter with them and they would deliver it. I told him my story, made him promise me that it would be delivered and came home.
All I could do was pray. After a month, I got an email from his senior manager, stating that Mr. Tata empathises with me and wished us well. This letter was CCed to the MD of TCS. Within a week, the interviews began. Since my son’s speech is a problem, I was involved in these interviews. They wanted to know what was the kind of job he was capable of. I shared his neuro report that stated his issues. Four months later my son was given a job.
But he had to report to the Hinjewadi office. We were surely not going to look this gift in its mouth. But the ‘Tata Spirit’ seeps down to all levels. The manager asked us how far we lived from Hinjewadi. But even before he could report it, his office was shifted to Yerwada, which is just 5 km away. My gratitude knew no bounds and I emailed a thank you letter that his manager replied to.
Mr. Tata had given my son’s life meaning. Post the accident, his speech has made it difficult for his friends to understand him. As a result, he is rather isolated. But today he goes to an office full of people. He does work and if there are errors the ‘Tata Spirit’ takes care of it. It’s now almost two years since Siddhaant is working there. He is happy, and I am at peace, all because of a great man called Ratan Tata. India has lost its most valuable son, but I am sure the Tata Spirit will carry it on till eternity.