MEMOIRS OF A ‘TEXTOIL’ TYCOON

Memoirs of a 'textoil' tycoon.


‘A story like mine should never be known, for my world is forbidden, fragile and well, fatuous. I was born in a faraway land, in the lap of luxury, thanks to the toil of my predecessors. My childhood was the happiest phase of my life; a time when I could be and express myself and have nobody judge me for it, when friends were just that, when my surname was not an invisible decorum ;Then, I grew up.

’ Go make a life ‘, they said.’ See the world for yourself. We have set up a textile mill for you; all you have to do is run the show.’ I smiled to myself; this meant Independence, an opportunity to prove my ability. I wanted a life that was mine to live, this was going to be it or so I thought.

I had read that the Parsis considered themselves as sugar when they first arrived in Gujarat to mingle in and spread sweetness; I thought of myself as water. Water can carve its way through even stone and no matter how tough a time I would face, I was ready to work my way out from it.Ah! But I was young then, and naïve.

So, I gave up my city of joy, its club culture and cosmopolitan crowd .Trading old girlfriends for a wife, my top end car for a second hand model and a palatial mansion for a condominium that was part of the mill premises was not exactly as much adventurous fun as books otherwise make it out to be. I often wonder if that wry smile on father’s face when he talked about Surat actually meant that he knew it was part of a ‘dry state’ area. Freedom came with its own set of limitations here, I realized it much later.

A man’s power cannot be judged by his appearance alone-It’s the first lesson my mill labourers taught me as they twisted me around their little fingers. I learnt to adjust myself to filthy surroundings, gutter tongue and toxic air; the moolah mania overpowered all other senses. Competition and inflation were yet to take over, making good money was really easy; I was determined to not seek to defeat the men I was competing, I had decided to defeat their confidence, taking myself to unreachable heights.

I was quick to make it to the top slot. But dreams, alas! They can either make or break you. As you try and make them come true, you must live both the sides of that desire. With power also comes responsibility and if you cannot handle both, there will be none left.

Through the years, my life turned to routes I had never foreseen, the city took back as much as it gave, monetarily and socially. My wife switched from a veiled, head nodding docile daughter in law to a vain, haughty socialite whom I no longer recognized. Was she in the wrong company, I wondered? But then again, her inner circle was that of my community, how could I blame the city? The women in Surat are modern, I admire that, they voice their opinion, wear what they want and even as they are feminine, think themselves no less then the man they are with. They are also traditional in their own way and for an outsider to come understand and balance both, is a tall order. My children have a life of their own, and I certainly won’t be the one to write their future.

I sit back and realize the only three things that matter in life are- cricket, business and war. Understand one and you will understand all .This past week, has provided a peek into all three.

With our union still on strike against yet another price hike, I shall spend the present week thinking about my gains and loss.

One cannot read loss, only feel it. So, here I am, a lonely Lala, penning thoughts in a diary that will never be read.’