Why Ratan Tata's passing feels like a Personal Loss

I never met Mr Ratan Tata. Nor have I ever worked for a Tata-owned organisation. Yet, his passing left me in tears. It felt like we’ve been robbed of something very precious. I spoke to a longtime friend, Smriti last night. She said that she’d been poring over videos of Mr Tata’s funeral and articles chronicling his life since she heard the news. She wondered if being so affected by the death of someone who is technically a stranger made her a ‘freak’. I told her I felt the same way. To this she said,

“I’m so glad I’m not a freak. Or that we are freaks together.”

She verbalised what I was feeling. The oddness of grieving for someone known to us only through news reports, rare interviews and legends narrated by his associates. Of course, we’ve all been long-time consumers of the many, many products and services produced by Tata brands but that has nothing to do with it. As I scrolled through social media and read comments from Indians across walks of life, I repeatedly come across the phrase ‘personal loss’. Why are so many people feeling this way?

Photo Courtesy: Instagram

I’ve tried to understand what makes Ratan Tata’s passing feel like a personal loss. Since the only perspective I’m truly privy to is my own, then that’s how I shall proceed.

I had planned to publish a post about work-related truths today. However, late on Wednesday night, Mr Ratan Tata breathed his last. The news spread like wild fire on social media. Upon reading a statement from the Tata Group Chairperson, N Chandrasekaran, I felt a sense of emptiness and disbelief. A dull sheath of gloom descended upon me.

To me, Mr Tata represented the idea of doing the right thing even in circumstances where it is obvious that profits lie in accommodating grey areas. I believe there is a Greek inscription that greets visitors at TCS House in Mumbai that reads,

“Walk the Straight Line.”

Sounds simple enough but practised by very few.

We live in a cynical world where ethics, friendship and common decency are sacrificed at the altar of profit and short-term thinking. Here was a man who never indulged in self-aggrandizement, arrogance or hypocrisy and was unfailingly humble and disarmingly considerate.

Photo Courtesy: Instagram

While the Tata name has long been synonymous with nation-building and being the trustees of the people of India, stories about Ratan Tata always reflect his regard for the last person in the room. I recall an Instagram post by him requesting blood donors for a dog in Mumbai, suffering from suspected tick fever and life-threatening anaemia. Mumbai responded in the best way possible. Five dogs accompanied by their humans came forward to donate blood. A cross-match was found and all ended well. That would’ve been enough for most.

Mr Tata, however, returned to Instagram the next day to post pictures of the five dogs who showed up to help and named all of them (Casper, Leo, Scooby, Ronny and Ivan) in his post. It is such thoughtfulness that makes me tear up. In a world where genuine connection is hard to find and people walk around too distracted to listen to each other, Mr Tata exemplified the power of empathy and kindness. He was famously a dog-lover with both Bombay House and the Taj properties throwing open their doors to homeless dogs in all kinds of weather. His example inspires people like me to do my bit as well.

Stories of Mr Tata’s generosity and concern for the well-being of everyone who worked for his companies and even those who didn’t, are the stuff of legend and may they continue to be repeated for years to come because they matter. The stories are endless from what he did for the injured or the families of those killed in the 2008 attack on the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai, his contribution to improving healthcare infrastructure by funding cancer hospitals or the Tata Group’s exemplary service during the Covid pandemic. Mr Tata was proof that genuine goodness and goodwill that is not aimed at gaining publicity has a sheen that is impossible to tarnish.

What’s more, it has the power to inspire anyone who witnesses it. The very chemistry of our bodies supports this idea. Of the four ‘happy hormones’ coursing through our bodies, oxytocin and serotonin are called the ‘selfless’ chemicals, making us do nice things for other people. This helps form bonds of friendship and trust.

Each time we cooperate or help someone, the release of the serotonin and oxytocin make us feel rewarded with feelings of fulfilment, belonging, trust and camaraderie.

The most interesting thing about oxytocin, however, is that not only does the person exhibiting the tiniest bit of goodness get a shot of oxytocin, the person receiving the kindness also gets a shot of the feel-good hormone. But that’s not all. Even someone merely witnessing the act of generosity gets a chemical boost. Simply seeing or hearing about acts of human generosity makes us happy and inspires us to do the same.

In a way, Ratan Tata was our dose of oxytocin – reminding us to be proud to be Indian, inspiring us to do better as human beings, counselling us about there being more to life than scoring a promotion or a pay hike. Mr Tata was a living embodiment of how it is possible to be gracious and considerate while having nerves of steel.

I believe everyone who has been moved to tears by Mr Tata’s passing and felt like they lost a loved one, is right to feel so. His close aide, Shantanu Naidu referred to him as his ‘lighthouse’. While Shantanu was lucky enough to be mentored by Mr Tata for a number of years, the rest of us echo his sentiment. Ratan Tata was a lighthouse to us all, albeit a distant one. His life has been a beacon that has lit up the way and cut through some dark nights.

I recall an interview where Mr Tata was asked how he would like to be remembered. In his inimitable humble way, he said,

“I’d like to be remembered as a person who made a difference. Not anything more, not anything less.”

If there ever was an understatement, this must be it. Long Live Ratan Naval Tata. May his legacy never fade.

P.S. Smriti, if we’re ‘freaks’, so be it. I suspect we're not the only ones.