The grandfather I knew (not)

I grew up in a joint family. And it’s funny because my dad’s elder sister is as old as my mum’s mother. So, my aunt is my grandma’s age. Which made my grandma, my Great Grandma’s age? And my grandfather… Well, you get the point.

"But wait, hold on, why are you writing this on LinkedIn?"

Because skills and mindsets are both important, and while skills can be quantified by certifications, degrees, and work experience; mindsets are acquired over time.

And this is just one of the stories of building a mindset that I learnt from my grandfather, who would have been 105 today.

Due to this massive age difference (of 72 years between him and me), I got to know him as a person that the rest of the world didn’t. And didn’t get to know the man he was, till I was told stories about him by others. I returned to Agra, only in 1996, and he was 80.

It was like the life he lived with me and the life he lived before I met him were two different lives. I never knew the HoD of mathematics, the professor, the weightlifter, the tennis player, the statistician, or the economist in him while he lived. But I definitely knew the honour bound, simple living, high thinking embodiment of intelligence, who'd consistently challenge me, frustrate me, and patiently wait for me to come to the 'aha's' of life. (When I would annoy him too much, he'd just switch off his hearing aid - he'd turned his disability into his advantage!)

Despite being hyper conventional, he would challenge my thinking every evening at 5 PM, with his evening tea. He would force me to spend Rs.50 every day, and I couldn’t spend it on buying things like clothes, books, shoes (stuff that I wanted). And I had to tell him exactly why I spent it the way I did. While I would be highly annoyed, it made me realize how to manage my own P&L at the age of 8, building my own metrics for 'Societal Return of Investment'. It taught me how money is but a tool, an important one, and not the reason. He taught me how to spend on others, to give back, and to only loan as much as I could give away, because money feuds could cause the best relationships to strain. And he taught me the value of the community, where we come from, and why we need to give back – to the family, to the society, to the planet.

He believed that Societal Healthcare and Education (SHE) was key for the betterment of society, and I saw that reflected between my parents – my mum, a teacher, and my dad a doctor.

Over the years I have realized that health and education are more intrinsically bound than ever before, especially as we look at new modalities of access, that need, or in certain cases assume, basal educational literacy. And in countries like India, SHE comes down to making sure there is physical, psychological and financial safety for the mothers and their newborn to break the intergenerational transfer of disadvantage. (That is something that his son spent a large chunk of his life working on, but I digress.)

They say that mindsets are instilled gradually, much akin to a stream of water cutting through a rock, and it was his evening conversations, that made me realize (much later in life), on how we can leverage other’s experience to further our learnings. We try and reinvent the wheel, because we believe that there is a fresh perspective and a new approach needed for everything. Or sometimes the ego of it not being their idea.

The scientific mind, on the other hand, explores, and starts with a ‘literature review’ of all that has been done before, and tries to build on the work of others. But, if we try to conform ourselves to the tried and tested path, we would never tread on the road untrodden, and unlock new value, unshackle our mind, and unearth new approaches.

They say that an educated person is one who can entertain a notion without having to support it. Babu was a traditional conservationist – to the tune of everyone telling my mother’s family that she’d been married into one of the most conservative families that there could ever be. But, the beauty of the mind of an educationalist was that he never forced his choices on others, and accepted that each and every one of us is entitled to make our own choices.

On the contrary, he used to show signs of pleasure when I’d challenge his argument, and if I was able to prove his hypothesis incorrect, or mine better, he’d happily accept it – something that I am still trying to get myself to do.

There were many a times when I’d go to him with a problem, and though he’d advise me, he would always want me to solve it myself. If I failed, he’d pick me up, tell me to dust myself, and ask me to understand the reason for failure. As a teenager it was really frustrating to know he could have solved it in half the time that I would take, and then I could just be done with my homework and go play, but he would patiently watch me process it, going down wrong paths, before I corrected myself, muttering under my breath why he’d let me run about like a headless chicken.

He was a true supporter, immaterial of failure or success. Success gives name, failure wisdom.

It’s been 18 years since he left us, and in those eighteen years I have learnt, travelled, and understood the world (or so I’d like to think).

What changed is that the words that he’d spoken to me in those hours I spent discussing random things, started making sense, and I could sense the timeless wisdom in what he’d said. And I saw a plan emerge – he had made sure that I was well fed and watered, that I did not have to be forced to do something because I had to do it – I could choose to do what I wanted.

And I believe that he’d have wanted me to give back to the society and work for its welfare. That idea gave birth my startup, Tathaastu to further Healthcare, Education and Rural Welfare (HER), and while it failed, the vision persevered and spills over in my work even today, and the projects that I invest my time and efforts in.

I couldn’t make a difference in 2014, failing to raise funding for my startup. But his wisdom stayed close to my heart – success gives name, failure wisdom.

I am the traveler who happened to stumble upon his unwritten book, and now is leafing through the chapters, revisiting them with newfound perspective, learning as I progress – slowly but steadily.

Happy birthday, Babu, thank you for being my first teacher, a professor who was also my friend - and one day, I might make you proud. Till then, I shall keep trying.