Short of a Punjabi century, a glorious life, well lived

IN MEMORIAL/ Prakash Lal Tandon

, the story begins with Eddie's death at age ninety. "It might seem strange to start a story with an ending. But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at that time," the author, Mitch Albom, writes. Eddie then meets Joe in heaven.

He thinks he does not know Joe, but Joe knows him. How? Because long ago, when Eddie was a young boy in this world, chasing his football across the road, Joe was driving his Ford Model A. While swerving to avoid hitting the careless young boy, Joe dies of a heart attack. Since then, Joe has waited in heaven to meet Eddie. Such is the unclear connection between people's lives.

Lives are connected in strange ways, sometimes, unbeknown to the parties concerned. On March 8, 1967, as I sat in the plush board room of HLL for the final interview, the Chairman's secretary, Mavis Lely, stepped in to demand less noise.

"Mr Tandon is at work right next door," she admonished. The legendary Prakash Lal Tandon next door, I could have jumped out of the fifth floor boardroom! A few months later followed the periodic lunch of the trainees with the chairman in his "private dining room," complete with four courses, cutlery and livery.

Equally uncomfortable. The great Tandon spoke in his measured and clipped accent, "Young men. Your ears have twice the surface area of your mouth. And you have two ears, remember. So, listen four times as much as you speak." One of the finest lessons I learnt, whether or not he intended to teach it.

Tandon was my first close subject of study on leadership. Many were scared of him, though he always seemed to speak gently. Apparently, he could be quite scathing. Two of his major initiatives came up for criticism "" HLL's entry into the dairy business at Etah, and the sales re-organisation.

On the other hand, he was rightly revered as a great thinker, a promoter of the 'Indian Manager' concept, the professionalisation of management, the setting up of the IIMs and so on. Loved as an icon, criticised for his style, he was and will remain the quintessential paradox that all leaders pose to their subjects.

A year later, something unexpected happened. It was 1968, and Prakash Tandon would retire ahead of his time after 31 years' of service.

Thirty-one years' of service! And I was all of 22, trying to conjure up how it must have been in 1937, greatly helped later by his second book, Beyond Punjab. I little realised that in due course, I too would retire ahead of my time, also after 31 years' of service, and as Vice-Chairman, not like him as Chairman!

The story that captivated me was his farewell party on the sixth-floor terrace flat on his last day. He came down, and the chauffeur opened the door of his 1957 Dodge, as usual.

"Ab nahin," he said, "Hum tho retire ho chuke hain. Main apni Fiat gaadi mein ghar drive karke jaoonga." And that is exactly what he did. What a story, what an example. I shall never forget that story. And it was true, no folklore.

He liked to keep in touch, but without intrusion. In the mid-Eighties, he met me at the India International Centre, Delhi, his favourite haunt. What brought me to Delhi, he asked. "Working with Ashok Ganguly on a Planning Commission document for Indian exports," I said.

"You know, I did that for K B Lall several years ago," he said. "Unfortunately, the government never implements these reports. But you must persist. As a citizen, it is important to participate. I am glad you are assisting Ashok in this important task. You must continue doing this."

Fifteen years later, I was on the Rakesh Mohan Committee on Indian Railways. We had exactly the same conversation, because he had done a Tandon Committee Report on Railways. Now, I am ready to advise younger people about this lesson I learned from a guru.

In 1990, when I was appointed Chairman of Unilever Arabia, he rang me up from Delhi to congratulate me. I was most touched. He came to my home at Carmichael Road for a drink and said, "You are the first Indian to be appointed to chair an overseas operating company in Unilever. For me it is a landmark, because back in the 1960s, I had to fight to get Indian managers into the expatriate world of Unilever."

I met him off and on in the last few years. In his irrepressible way four years ago, he insisted that I join the board of the IIFT. Then he wanted advice on buying an Indica, which he felt, would be economical for a retired person.

Each year, HLL hosts a retired directors' meeting, and we could see him sinking "" physically, but not in spirit. Just as I thought he just might live out his Punjabi century, his decline accelerated.

Two years ago, he lay weak in bed at his Delhi home, but alert in thought and speech. His sons insisted on moving him to Pune.

Then on September 20, as Unilever announced in London the dismal news about halving its sales growth and its share prices slumped, in an unconnected event several thousand miles away in Pune, Prakash Tandon closed his innings at ninety-three, a bit short of his Punjabi century, but a glorious life, well lived.

(The author is Executive Director, Tata Sons. The views expressed are personal)