If there is one word that can describe my life as I find myself on the cusp of 50, it is serendipity.
Long ago (2002? 2003?), I met Shashi Ruia on a flight (flying first class, of course, tickets courtesy of my father’s job with Air India) to London who randomly shared his Swiss acquaintance’s number with me, who, when I called, asked me if I could supply him with pharmaceuticals from India, and whom my young self impressed by quickly flying down to Zurich to meet, and agreeing to source his requirements from India without knowing anything about pharma, and then proceeded to fly back to Mumbai via New Delhi, when I met Dr Bharat Shah, a double PhD in Pharmacology and having his own manufacturing facility in Baroda at the airport lounge in Delhi, who was more than happy to be my supplier, leading to me, before I shifted to Dubai, to become, very briefly, the highest foreign exchange earner at the Standard Chartered Bank on Jangli Maharaj Road in Pune.
Anyway, this post isn’t about that.
This post isn’t even about the time an acquaintance saw Tasha & Girl fruit spreads on a breakfast table in some random small town where the host was recommending them highly when she sent us a message full of pride that there are random strangers, completely unconnected to us, who love what we have made and put out there. I walked on air for the next entire week. I think we all did.
Because this story is about giving happiness and not receiving it.
It so happened that while I was at Starbucks today, enjoying my daily java and working on my machine in a corner, two middle-aged men came and sat down at a table within earshot. Since the cafe was almost entirely to myself this early in the morning, and because I have especially sensitive ears when I am working (the fluttering of a butterfly in a meadow at the Poona Golf Club course a few miles away can irritate and disturb my concentration when I am searching for the right word to describe something, in this case, a better, kinder, and more sophisticated word than ‘fetish’ for ‘the attraction one has for a part of the body’ like Raj Kumar’s character had for Meena Kumari’s beautiful feet in Pakeezah; it’s ‘agastopia‘, by the way), I happened to inadvertently overhear their conversation. They were discussing what car would be ideal for one of the gentlemen and the choices were Honda, Kia, or Hyundai.
After a few minutes, when I could not work because of the chatter, I turned to them, apologised for my rude eavesdropping, and recommended the Hyundai highly, they asked me if I owned one. Yes, I did. No more. But I was very happy with it because it is a fun car to drive, and while it has no badge value or bragging rights like the other two brands, it is very reasonably priced, low on maintenance, and the Indian partners were very competent. Where, they enquired, did I buy it from, to which I told them that it was this dealer called Kothari in Pune (though, since it was 6-odd years ago, and my office did the deal for me, I do not remember the exact location), and that this dealer’s service was absolutely fantastic. I told them that I had travelled and owned cars around the world and I was very impressed with how proactive they were, and how they called my driver for regular servicing, never tried to fleece me by overcharging, kept my insurance and PUC up-to-date, and were very accommodating when I needed it. I told this man to simply ‘close his eyes and buy a Hyundai from Kothari.’
I think I managed to convince them, because the other man (not the one thinking of buying a car) got up and came to me, with his business card, telling me that I made his day and if there is anything he can do for me, he’d be glad to.
Seems, inadvertently, I had made the Managing Director of Kothari Cars a very happy man. My good deed for the day is done. And it isn’t even noon.
