Ratan Tata stands next to company’s modified version of ‘Indica’, which was first launched in December 1998. File
| Photo Credit: S. Subramanium

In the mid-1990s, the 26th and 27th floors of World Trade Centre (WTC) in Mumbai’s Cuffe Parade, were abuzz with excitement. The headquarters of Telco (as Tata Motors was then known as) were dealing with the transition of being not just a bulwark in the heavy commercial vehicles space, but also as an aspirational company selling cars.

The Tata Estate, Sierra and Sumo brands were already available in the market. The last-named brand was a runaway winner and production lines in the factories at Pune were hurriedly tweaked to meet the excess demand. It was also a time when the management wanted to segregate the dealerships as a consumer buying trucks is obviously different from the one keen on cars.

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One man shepherded the change, Ratan Tata, who was also equally caught up with his big idea at the time: the Indica. His people’s car idea at the time was pegged on one central theme – the size of an Ambassador at the price of a Maruti 800.

It was a phase when Telco, besides picking the brightest MBAs from management institutes across the country, also began the Officer Trainee (OTs) scheme which recruited post-graduates from the science, commerce and humanities streams of leading colleges. Many of these officer trainees had stars in their eyes as they trooped into WTC, stood in a queue and hailed the lift.

The year was 1996 and at times, Mr. Tata would join the line, and typical of the man, there was no fuss, while a silence borne out of respect would descend within the ascending cubicle. He would wave at the Parsi receptionist and walk towards his meeting. At times, if he was in a rush to get to Bombay House, the Tata headquarters near Flora Fountain, he would hail a regular cab, the kaali peeli as they call it in Mumbaiya slang.

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Even then, he would find time to pet a stray dog and it was no surprise that man’s best friend was most welcome inside Bombay House. Mr. Tata was a man of infinite grace and to a bunch of officer trainees dealing with their first job and pangs of homesickness, his presence at work was reassuring. Even if work was a five-day affair, projects and tight deadlines meant that even Saturdays drew the youngsters to office, jostling as they did in the suburban trains before hopping onto a bus or taxi towards Cuffe Parade.

Some weekends turned out to be special as Mr. Tata would be present for a last-minute conference. The canteen, helmed by a Mangalorean, would be understandably at half-strength and just as the young bunch wondered whether lunch would be available, word would spread about an imminent buffet. By then Mr. Tata would have discreetly enquired about the number of people at work and sourced lunch from a nearby fancy restaurant. This was manna from heaven.

Empathy for the common man defined the Big Man’s (as he was referred to in whispers among the youngsters) legacy. Be it ensuring the weekend staff were fed or thinking about an Indica and much later the Nano, Mr. Tata had his ears to the ground. Extremely reticent, he would acknowledge a greeting with a tilt of his head, a half-wave of his hand, a half-smile and a bassy hello, and he would be gone. When India woke up on Thursday (October 10, 2024) to the news of his demise, it marked a closure to a corporate leader with the quintessential human touch.

(The writer was an Officer Trainee at Telco (now Tata Motors) during 1996-97)