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It was probably the April of 1974.
Bangalore was getting warm and gulmohars were blooming at the IISc
campus. I was the only girl in my postgraduate department and was
staying at the ladies’ hostel. Other girls were pursuing research in
different departments of Science.
I was looking forward to going abroad to complete a doctorate in
computer science. I had been offered scholarships from Universities in
the US . I had not thought of taking up a job in India.
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One day, while on the way to
my hostel from our lecture-hall complex, I saw an advertisement on
the notice board. It was a standard job-requirement notice from the
famous automobile company Telco (now Tata Motors). It stated that
the company required young, bright engineers, hardworking and with
an excellent academic background, etc.At the bottom was a small line:
“Lady candidates need not apply.”
I read it and was very upset. For
the first time in my life I was up against gender discrimination.
Though I was not keen on taking up
the job, I saw it as a challenge. I had done extremely well in
academics, better than most of my male peers.
Little did I know then that in
real life academic excellence is not enough to be successful.
After reading the notice I went
fuming to my room. I decided to inform the topmost person in Telco’s
management about the injustice the company was perpetrating. I got a
postcard and started to write, but there was a problem: I did not know
who headed Telco.
I thought it must be one of the
Tatas. I knew JRD Tata was the head of the Tata Group; I had seen his
pictures in newspapers (actually, Sumant Moolgaokar was the company’s
chairman then). I took the card, addressed it to JRD and started
writing. To this day I remember clearly what I wrote.
“The great Tatas have always been
pioneers. They are the people who started the basic infrastructure
industries in India , such as iron and steel, chemicals, textiles and
locomotives. They have cared for higher education in India since 1900
and they were responsible for the establishment of the Indian Institute
of Science. Fortunately, I study there. But I am surprised how a company
such as Telco is discriminating on the basis of gender.”
I posted the letter and forgot
about it. Less than 10 days later, I received a telegram stating that I
had to appear for an interview at Telco’s Pune facility at the company’s
expense. I was taken aback by the telegram. My hostel mate told me I
should use the opportunity to go to Pune free of cost and buy them the
famous Pune saris for cheap! I collected Rs 30 each from everyone who
wanted a sari. When I look back, I feel like laughing at the reasons for
my going, but back then they seemed good enough to make the trip.
It was my first visit to Pune and
I immediately fell in love with the city.
To this day it remains dear to me. I feel as much at home in Pune as I
do in Hubli, my hometown. The place changed my life in so many ways. As
directed, I went to Telco’s Pimpri office for the interview.
There were six people on the panel
and I realised then that this was serious business.
“This is the girl who wrote to
JRD,” I heard somebody whisper as soon as I entered the room. By then I
knew for sure that I would not get the job.
The realisation abolished all fear
from my mind, so I was rather cool while the interview was being
conducted.
Even before the interview started,
I reckoned the panel was biased, so I told them, rather impolitely, “I
hope this is only a technical interview.”
They were taken aback by my
rudeness, and even today I am ashamed about my attitude. The panel asked
me technical questions and I answered all of them.
Then an elderly gentleman with an
affectionate voice told me, “Do you know why we said lady candidates
need not apply? The reason is that we have never employed any ladies on
the shop floor. This is not a co-ed college; this is a factory. When it
comes to academics, you are a first ranker throughout. We appreciate
that, but people like you should work in research laboratories.”
I was a young girl from small-town
Hubli. My world had been a limited place.
I did not know the ways of large corporate houses and their
difficulties, so I answered, “But you must start somewhere, otherwise no
woman will ever be able to work in your factories.”
Finally, after a long interview, I
was told I had been successful. So this was what the future had in store
for me. Never had I thought I would take up a job in Pune. I met a shy
young man from Karnataka there, we became good friends and we got
married.
It was only after joining Telco
that I realized who JRD was: the uncrowned king of Indian industry. Now
I was scared, but I did not get to meet him till I was transferred to
Bombay . One day I had to show some reports to Mr Moolgaokar, our
chairman, who we all knew as SM. I was in his office on the first floor
of Bombay House (the Tata headquarters) when, suddenly JRD walked in.
That was the first time I saw “appro JRD”. Appro means “our” in
Gujarati. This was the affectionate term by whichpeople at Bombay House
called him.
I was feeling very nervous,
remembering my postcard episode. SM introduced me nicely, “Jeh (that’s
what his close associates called him), this young woman is an engineer
and that too a postgraduate.
She is the first woman to work on
the Telco shop floor.” JRD looked at me.
I was praying he would not ask me any questions about my interview (or
the postcard that preceded it).
Thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he
remarked. “It is nice that girls are getting into engineering in our
country. By the way, what is your name?”
“When I joined Telco I was Sudha
Kulkarni, Sir,” I replied. “Now I am Sudha Murthy.” He smiled and kindly
smile and started a discussion with SM. As for me, I almost ran out of
the room.
After that I used to see JRD on
and off. He was the Tata Group chairman and I was merely an engineer.
There was nothing that we had in common. I was in awe of him.
One day I was waiting for Murthy, my husband, to pick me up after office
hours. To my surprise I saw JRD standing next to me. I did not know how
to react. Yet again I started worrying about that postcard. Looking
back, I realise JRD had forgotten about it. It must have been a small
incident for him, but not so for me.
“Young lady, why are you here?” he
asked. “Office time is over.” I said, “Sir, I’m waiting for my husband
to come and pick me up.” JRD said, “It is getting dark and there’s no
one in the corridor.
I’ll wait with you till your
husband comes.”
I was quite used to waiting for
Murthy, but having JRD waiting alongside made me extremely
uncomfortable.
I was nervous. Out of the corner
of my eye I looked at him. He wore a simple white pant and shirt. He was
old, yet his face was glowing. There wasn’t any air of superiority about
him. I was thinking, “Look at this person. He is a chairman, a
well-respected man in our country and he is waiting for the sake of an
ordinary employee.”
Then I saw Murthy and I rushed
out. JRD called and said, “Young lady, tell your husband never to make
his wife wait again.” In 1982 I had to resign from my job at Telco. I
was reluctant to go, but I really did not have a choice. I was coming
down the steps of Bombay House after wrapping up my final settlement
when I saw JRD coming up. He was absorbed in thought. I wanted to say
goodbye to him, so I stopped. He saw me and paused.
Gently, he said, “So what are you
doing, Mrs Kulkarni?” (That was the way he always addressed me.) “Sir, I
am leaving Telco.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Pune, Sir. My husband is starting a company called Infosys and I’m
shifting to Pune.”
“Oh! And what will you do when you
are successful.”
“Sir, I don’t know whether we will
be successful.” “Never start with diffidence,” he advised me. “Always
start with confidence. When you are successful you must give back to
society. Society gives us so much; we must reciprocate. I wish you all
the best.”
Then JRD continued walking up the
stairs. I stood there for what seemed like a millennium. That was the
last time I saw him alive. Many years later I met Ratan Tata in the same
Bombay House, occupying the chair JRD once did. I told him of my many
sweet memories of working with Telco.
Later, he wrote to me, “It was
nice hearing about Jeh from you. The sad part is that he’s not alive to
see you today.”
I consider JRD a great man
because, despite being an extremely busy person, he valued one postcard
written by a young girl seeking justice. He must have received thousands
of letters everyday. He could have thrown mine away, but he didn’t do
that. He respected the intentions of that unknown girl, who had neither
influence nor money, and gave her an opportunity in his company. He did
not merely give her a job; he changed her life and mindset forever.
Close to 50 per cent of the
students in today’s engineering colleges are girls. And there are women
on the shop floor in many industry segments. I see these changes and I
think of JRD. If at all time stops and asks me what I want from life, I
would say I wish JRD were alive today to see how the company we started
has grown. He would have enjoyed it wholeheartedly.
My love and respect for the House
of Tata remains undiminished by the passage of time. I always looked up
to JRD. I saw him as a role model for his simplicity, his generosity,
his kindness and the care he took of his employees. Those blue eyes
always reminded me of the sky; they had the same vastness and
magnificence.
Sudha Murthy
is a widely published writer and chairperson of the Infosys Foundation
involved in a number of social development initiatives. Infosys chairman
Narayana Murthy is her husband.
Article sourced from: Lasting
Legacies (Tata Review- Special Commemorative Issue 2004), brought out by
the house of Tatas to commemorate the 100th birth anniversary of JRD
Tata on July 29, 2004.
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