The Play Factory
The Father
“Shyam! Drink lao… aur mera dukaan ka ledger”
Today’s sales from the shop have been good. As a businessman I have seen good times and bad. But that is part and parcel of being your own boss.
If a man tells you, there is more to life than money, then he has clearly not succeeded in life. Money is security, money is status and without it if you think you can be happy then you are a fool. There is a famous saying in hindi – and it is what I have lived by my entire life – jaisi karni, waisi bharni – as you sow, so you shall reap. It wasn’t easy for me when I started. My father had a small sweet (mithai) shop and we were barely making enough to get by. I grew up seeing my father loved by everyone around him. He loaned money to anyone who needed it and even went out of his way to help them. From workers in his shop to our gardener, security guard, the mason and even the carpenter! They would ask him for money and he would willingly give it. I could never understand this and it made me really furious.
“Gupta ji, kuch paise mil jaate toh…..” and Gupta ji’s wallet would willingly open. Or some days it was “Gupta ji meri beti ki shaadi hai. Apke pass kuch extra laddoo dene ke liya hai?” and 100 freshly made motichoor laddoos would be delivered. It was ridiculous.
My father had so much love for all these poor people who came to him for help, but never for me. He reserved his kindness and affection for strangers and when he came home he was always too tired or too busy to give his son any attention. If I wanted to go out for anything our security guard, Bahadur would be sent with me. My father did not even know if I passed or failed in school. None of my achievements mattered – no matter how hard I tried. I was always so angry with him.
One day I asked him, “Baba why do you give money to anyone who walks through these doors? There are banks and other institutions that exist for them. Are you a money lender? And that too one who charges no interest? Why is their financial problem your responsibility?” My father tried to justify himself by saying, “Beta, money isn’t everything in life. It feeds us and give us shelter, but kindness is what makes us human.”
“Kindness!… What nonsense!” My father had some strange philosophy in life. His kindness was towards strangers, but not once did he stop to think of me. Because of my father’s generous lending hand, we never had enough money at home. And I didn’t have enough book, toys, clothes or whatever else it was that I wanted. So I decided that when I would make money, it would be mine. And for those who couldn’t make ends meet – bad luck. Life is not fair.
The world is not kind to those who give. To succeed, you have to learn to take. And I wanted to succeed. I did not want to work alongside baba and watch him get fleeced day in and day out. When I graduated, I decided to branch out and start my own shop. I approached potential investors and convinced them to put in money – baba had a good name in the business circle and I used it to my advantage. After all those years of being deprived as a child – I felt that he owed it to me.
I found a great place, prime property, got a new team together and opened shop in 1946. I called it Gupta Sweets & Confectioners. Today, I am 73 years old and I have never regretted my decision. I opened and closed many shops, catered in London, am known and respected in the industry and have lived well. Even today, I know how much money my shop makes. The cash is handed to me on closing and I still handle all the accounts, the salaries and the payments. And as I said, today was a good day.
There is nothing that gives me more happiness than money. You may think that love will bring you happiness but it won’t. Love will cripple you. If I ever had to give anyone one piece of advice it would be to make as much money as you can – because money is security and money is respect – two things every man needs to succeed in life.
Love on the other hand eludes me. My wife and I were put together by our families, two completely different people – expected to live together. She’s a good woman and runs the house with an iron fist. I give her enough money to be comfortable at home and she makes sure the women of the house answer to her. But she doesn’t understand how to run a business (even though her father is a businessman!) and we don’t have anything in common. Our conversations are about the house, the children, the grandchildren and other petty affairs – none of which interest me. I have done my duty – had 6 children, provided for my family (I still do) and have looked after all their expenses. But my sons could never see that. All they see is an old man who does not want to retire.
Age is a figment of our imagination – you are as old as you think you are. I am still young and have a long way to go. This is my life – this is what I know and this is what I want to do.
I have made sure that my family understands this – and those who don’t are free to leave. I prefer that they follow a strict routine – It works for me and it works for them.
Every member of the family has a role to play – like cogs in a wheel. That’s how large families live together. Structure is important and without roles, no one would know what to do. As the man who brings home the money, I decide these roles. I expect food to be served hot and fresh. I expect my family to wait till I am at the dinner table to eat. And I demand respect. There are days when I get home late and my sons are already relaxing in their rooms. My daughter in laws are watching TV together or gossiping. And my wife is usually asleep. What kind of man would tolerate such behaviour? Am I expected to sit and eat my meals alone? No one gets up when I walk into the room. No one greets me or asks how my day was. They just scurry away into their holes – like rats.
Today, I am invited to every musical event, theatre festival, shop openings and shows. I have cut more ribbons in my life than any man I know. That is because I am respected. And I am respected because I make money. And I haven’t become successful by luck. I have worked hard and made tough decisions to reach where I am. So when my children tell me something can’t be done, it makes my blood boil. In my generation – “no” was not an option. What had to be done, had to done. I found ways and means to get things done – and there is no businessman who will tell you that success is easy.
My sons don’t know how to run a business. They come to me with ridiculous ideas of expansion, have the audacity to question my decisions and a few times have even dared to defy me.
“Baba, we should redo the interiors in a modern design” or “Baba why not consider a franchise model?” or even worse “Baba we should relook at our sweet menu and add new items!” What nonsense!
They have no idea what reputation means. My shop is known for quality not quantity. I know what my customers like and I still make good money. I have built my life from nothing and these kids today think they can teach me how to run a business. As long as I live, I am the head of the house and my word should be respected as final. Next thing I know they will be asking me if I have made a will – like hungry wolves waiting for me to die.
Today I am tight fisted because I fear that my sons will destroy what I have built. I hold their salaries back because they need to respect money and appreciate where it comes from. They need to learn live within their means – the way I learned. My daughter-in-laws are not allowed to work because I need the house to run smoothly and efficiently. Women are better suited to run the house than a business anyway – I know this from experience. I have certain rules with my grandchildren too – as discipline starts from a very young age. They can’t see it now but they will thank me for it one day.
I’ll give you an example. I take a one hour nap in the afternoon every day. I am an old man and I need that rest to work well. On one of these afternoons, one of my granddaughters called her friends over (without my permission) and created a ruckus! I wasn’t able to sleep at all so I reprimanded her. I am her grandfather after all and I have a right to yell at her. The next thing I know is that my son has packed up his bags and decided to leave the house. He didn’t have the decency or courage to come and talk to me first. There was no farewell. And he has never called to check on me or even his mother. After everything I’ve done for him – all the sacrifices I made for him – it was so easy for him to just leave.
You see, when my father died, hundreds of people showed up at our house to pay their respects. Some wanted to ensure that our business ties were still strong and others just wanted to tell me how sorry they were. The stream of people went on for days. When his will was read out, it was as bad as I had expected. He had left our house for my mother, his loss making sweet shop for me and massive debts from all the defaulters who never managed to pay him back. I spent the next 5 years hounding his defaulters and ensured that no matter what their situation – they paid back. So tell me now – what did his kindness get him? He left us with no money, no security and a mountain of expenses.
Forget kindness. It is for the weak. Leave that to the women. Strive to make yourself ruthless and I guarantee you – you will succeed.
The Son
How do you measure success? Is it by the size of your house? The number of cars you own? The amount of money in your bank? Your reputation? Or is success a measure of how well you have lived your life? And how happy you are?
I grew up watching my father work day in and day out to earn money. No matter how much he made, it was never enough. For the 10 newspapers that wrote about him, one magazine would not have and that would become his next goal. He wanted to be ‘the man’ about town. That’s his strength, his driving force and his weakness.
I am the middle son. I have two brothers older than me and three sisters younger than me. My birth was neither celebrated nor dismissed. I was a child that was meant to happen to add a respectable number of children to the family. I was sent to boarding school when I was 8 years old and only returned home when I turned 18. I didn’t know my father growing up. My parents never visited me. I never asked them why they didn’t come to my school like all other parents. I didn’t expect to be hugged or kissed or cuddled. My parents together were stately, elegant and poised – and poised people did not bend down to hug children. That was the nanny’s job. Our shop manager, Prashant uncle, would be sent to pick me up from boarding school and bring me back home during the holidays. As I grew older, I was expected to make it back home on my own.
I accepted this as my way of life and took pride in the fact that I had a big house and my father was an important person with important things to do. He was either at his sweet shop or attending some function or the other with my mother.
My brothers were much older than me and my sisters too young so I ended up playing alone most of the times. No matter how rich you are, middle children never get anything new – there is enough in the house that can be recycled. So I lived on hand me down toys, clothes, shoes and books. Perhaps for this reason I have no fond memories of childhood. I was quite invisible and unwanted; the child born out of societal pressure.
I went through college in a haze of drugs, disco and alcohol. No one cared if I was home or not and I made the most of it. I made a great set of friends who became my family and slowly I started seeing my father for who he really was – a self-obsessed maniac.
When I met my wife and my world changed. I had a companion, a partner and a friend. We have two children – a girl and a boy – who I love with all my heart. I don’t want my children to ever feel as neglected as I did growing up. I wanted them to have everything they wanted. I wanted to spend time with them and not be away on business all the time. And I needed them to know that I would always be there for them. Maybe my family was my obsession and keeping them safe and happy – my goal in life. Of course this did not go down well with my father. I could irk him by just walking into the room.
No… It was not easy to work under my father – because with a patriarch there can only be one boss. I am not as aggressive as him. I don’t have the ambition or the drive to own multiple cars and a big house. And I don’t want to be famous. But that does not make me a bad businessman – just one with different goals. I want a life beyond work. And I want to be comfortable.
I made the mistake of trying to explain this to him once and he almost fired me from the shop – my own shop! He told me, “Incompetent, useless and lazy men talk like this. If you want to work and live in this house then you will follow my instructions or else get out. There is no place in this world for a man whose goal is to be ‘comfortable’.”
I have lived my life stuck between an egotistical father and a jealous mother. And in between I have tried to find happiness with my own family. I could have left the house. I could have started a business of my own. But I decided to stay and fight because I knew the business and I knew I could be good at it if I was given a chance.
I wanted to start a catering business – expand the shop and have a niche of my own. I had studied the market, met potential clients and knew that we would break even within a year. I had a plan of action and had prepared a detailed file on it. I didn’t want a fight so I just placed the file on my father’s desk one morning hoping he would read it quietly and see that it was a good idea. But it found its way to the dustbin by evening and we never spoke about it again.
Life became very difficult after that. My own salary was held back every month. My father wanted me to work longer hours in my own shop. My mother started asking my wife to spend extra hours in the kitchen. My children were given curfews and couldn’t go out without his permission. My wife and I had to sneak out of the house after my father was asleep to meet our friends. Our kids were being brought up by a maid because we were too busy pleasing my parents.
In spite of the backlash, we were hoping that things would eventually settle down. Then one day my daughter came howling to us. My father had hit her on the hand and screamed at her for making a lot of noise in the afternoon when he was sleeping. She had been practicing for a school play with her friends.
I had admired my father as a child. I wanted to be just like him with his expensive suits and fancy cars. But when I watched him hurt my daughter, I lost all respect for him. Every man has a limit and he had crossed a line.
I made the decision to move of the house. My wife tried to persuade me to talk to my father but I had made up my mind and there was no going back. We left two weeks later. There were no farewells. No one cried when we left. No one called us to ask if we were okay. My brothers and sisters acted like I didn’t exist. And my parents pretended like it was the most normal thing to happen to a family.
We started a small catering business from home. My wife was a fantastic cook and I knew the business well. I left the cooking to her and spent my time finding clients, doing the accounts and figuring out the menu. It was a great partnership.
It took us many years to get back on our feet. We struggled and lived had to mouth for very long. We worked hard through the week and even weekends. But those were happy years. The decisions were mine and not my father’s – and that made all the difference. I saw my children open up. I saw them laugh and scream and be noisy – as children should. I saw them grow into intelligent adults with empathy. I saw my wife humming and singing and smiling and laughing. And I saw a family that loved each other and looked out for each other. I’ve always let my children follow their heart. My daughter is a strong girl pursuing her dreams – but my son has no idea what he wants to do – and that’s okay. He is a good kid and I’m sure he will figure it out.
I have no hate for my father – nor do I pity him. Only we can decide how we want to live and how we want to be remembered. And at the end of our life, we have only ourselves to face.
The Grandson
“When you have a tough decision to make, ask yourself if you can live with it. If the answer is yes, then it’s not a tough decision.” This is the advice my father gives me every time I am at a crossroad and don’t know which direction to take. It may not make sense to you but I know what he means. Tough decisions are those which haunt you – and you will always bear that burden. They are a test of your character, your integrity and maybe even your soul.
I was very young when parents moved of our joint family house into our own place. They made it into an adventure, for my sister and me, telling us that we would finally have our own room and that we could have friends over all the time and make as much noise as we wanted. We went shopping and selected our own curtains and bed sheets. We even had a cupboard each! It was exciting for us since we had lived in a single room all our life. I could see the happiness on my mother’s face. My parents had stopped fighting. I remember it all so clearly. We spent the first night watching TV and fell asleep on the drawing room sofa. The next day we didn’t go to school and spent the whole day unpacking and setting up our new house. My dad played his LP’s through the day and even bought a cake.
That was a really fun period in our lives. But eventually, like all good things – this too came to an end. I grew up watching my parents struggle with house expenses and there were months when we couldn’t make ends meet. They never told us about it but we could see it in the small things. I don’t remember my mother ever spending any money on herself – no new clothes, jewelry or even make-up. We entertained at home instead of going out. We took road trips instead of taking a flight somewhere. I’m not complaining… we were never unhappy – just strained under the burden of piling up expenses. My parents started a small catering business from home and worked all the time. We spent most of our childhood in the kitchen helping my mother while my father was doing accounts or meeting clients.
We were a tight family – we still are and I think we will always be. We have gone through so much together and we have a bond that can’t be defined. I have seen my father age under the weight of his decision to leave his family. No one called us and no one came over. It was almost like we didn’t exist anymore. We made a new family with our friends and even though we never looked back – the door to the past has always remained somewhere between us – challenging us to open it. I wonder what it would be like to go there after all these years. Will my old room still be like it was? Is bahadur still working there? What are my cousins like now? Would we get along? Should I even try to reconnect?
I was 9 years old when I left. I’ve just graduated with a double major in philosophy and literature. My parents never once questioned my decision, nor did they ask if this would make me any money. All they asked was if this made me happy. To be honest, I had no game plan. I was interested in these subjects and I can write decently, so I decided to pursue it. I know my grandfather would balk at the idea of a man studying arts and would definitely have thrown me out of the house. He was a disciplinarian and we were all scared of him as kids. I remember him hitting my sister once and she had cried for hours.
But my father – on the other hand – was something else. He made sure he bought every book on philosophy and rare editions of novels while I was studying. He would go to the second hand book stores every Sunday morning to search for collectibles and my library is all thanks to his effort.
I’m moving out of our house tomorrow. It was not an easy decision but I have a girlfriend, and we want to live together for a while. My sister is working in Delhi and visits when she can. She will eventually get married and move away – and as their only son, I have a responsibility towards them. So when my girlfriend and I made the decision to live together, I had one condition – that we live close to my parents. It’s better to set some ground rules – to avoid unnecessary fights in the future.
I know this will not be easy for mom and dad. But they have been so supportive. There was no fight, no discussion, no argument. Only a list of things I should buy to set up the house. The ease with which my parents let me go surprised me. I was expecting a little resistance, if not a full blown argument. Maybe they want me to move out? Or maybe it’s just my guilt. After everything they have gone through – do they deserve to have their children leave them as well? Will they manage on their own? This will be my burden to bear – and like I said, it was not an easy decision.
I have a few interviews lined up next week and am hoping something clicks. I am not sure what I want to do now – copyrighting at an ad agency or working for a magazine or maybe even journalism.
But I do know that one day I will write my father’s story.
ABOUT THE PLAY: Performance by Mohit Mukherjee Music by Ashim Berry
