Ratan Tata and Sam: A New York Encounter to Remember

'My friend, Ratan Tata, what a gentleman, a through gentleman!'

'Over three decades back in New York City, I had a brief encounter with Mr Ratan Tata that was for me, a defining experience.'

(Photo: PTI/Altered by The Quint)

Mr Ratan Tata passed away last week.

Over three decades back in New York City, I had a brief encounter with him that was, for me, a defining experience.

The circumstances then were different. Mr Tata had recently taken over as Chairman of India’s largest industrial conglomerate, succeeding Mr JRD Tata.

I was, at that point in time, a graduate student of architecture at Columbia University in the city.

It was a moonlighting job at the Consulate General of India in New York City that I owe this occasion to. Impressed with my knowledge of the built environment of Manhattan, the diplomats at the Consulate General had deputed me to receive and show visiting dignitaries the sights of tourist interest in and around the city. When the situation demanded, I would accompany a chauffeur in a stretch limousine to chaperon these politicians or captains of industry from India.

A chauffeured stretch limousine, the heady feeling at getting acquainted with men and women I had heard of but not imagined interacting with at close quarters, and the delight of paid forays to the city’s tourist spots were an unexpected bonus towards an effort intended to supplement my erstwhile frugal existence.

As a student subsisting on a tight budget, I got a worm’s eye view of the city. Here, I was treated to a bird’s eye view.

Sam and His Cadillac

More often than not, the chauffeur assigned to me was a gentleman of Tamil descent who insisted on being referred to as Sam. The origins of this apparent Americanisation of his name were unknown to those of us who knew him. Sam took pride in the ownership of his Cadillac that signified his transition from a penniless immigrant to the United States to a self-employed entrepreneur.

We hit it off from the first day and between our excursions to the Empire State Building, Central Park and the erstwhile World Trade Center amongst other sights, he’d regale me with anecdotes derived from his years of plying celebrities from India.

Usually critical of the stodgy politicos and the egotistical business magnates from India that he ferried, the only time I saw his eyes soften with a perceptible fondness was when he mentioned Mr Ratan Tata’s name.

“My friend, Ratan Tata, he’d exclaim, nodding his head vigorously as though to emphasise his point, “What a gentleman, a thorough gentleman!”

Accustomed as I was to the rigid social hierarchy in pre-liberalisation India, I’d listen with silent scepticism. In his newly acquired accent that was often an effort to decipher, Sam’s narration of his numerous meetings with Mr Tata would be peppered to highlight a bonhomie that I considered unlikely between a tycoon and a driver.

A Delightful Encounter

I vividly recollect that day when Sam and I were deputed at The Lexington, a midtown Manhattan hotel, to pick up delegates from India for a business exposition. Earlier that morning we had accompanied a minister from the central government to the United Nations headquarters where during the security check, the toe rings of the minister’s matronly wife had set the alarm berserk. In sheer exasperation, the officials there made an exception to let us through as a serpentine queue of visibly annoyed tourists lengthened behind us.

We stood at the hotel’s porch waiting for the delegation when a voice rang out from behind us.

“Sam.”

We turned in the direction of the voice.

It was Mr Ratan Tata, smiling as he made his way towards us.

Sam’s delight at sighting him was amply reciprocated. They both hugged and Mr Tata enquired of his family’s well-being. With their hands still in a warm clasp, Sam mentioned the specifics of why he was at the Lexington which, through those years, was a Taj Hotels property.

I watched as Mr Tata wished Sam well and strode towards the entrance, not as the owner of the hotel but as any other guest.

A lingering trance of pleasant disbelief at this encounter was noisily shaken by an enquiry about the whereabouts of the deputed mode of transportation by one of the Consulate’s guests.

“Driver kahaan hai? Jaldi bulao usko.” (Where is the driver? Hurry up, call him.)

(Rajesh Luthra is an architect in independent practice. Having graduated from Columbia University in New York City, he designs, writes and teaches in New Delhi.)