every part
of the big room without loss. Vishram recalls that he has never heard
it raised.
"I am sixty-eight years old, three years past what Westerners
consider in their business ethos the end of economically useful life.
In India it is a time for reflection, for the contemplation of other
paths that might have been taken, that yet might be taken." A
sip of water.
"In the final year of my engineering degree at the Hindu
University of Varanasi I realised that the laws of economics are
subject to the laws of physics. The physical processes that govern
this planet and the continued life upon it place as stringent an
upper limit on economic growth as the speed of light does on our
knowledge of the universe. I realised that I was not just an
engineer, I was a Hindu engineer. From these understandings I
concluded that if I was to use my abilities to help India become a
strong and respected nation, I must do it in an Indian way. I must do
it in a Hindu way."
He looks at his wife and sons.
"My family has heard this many times, I trust they'll forgive
one more. I went on a year of pilgrimage. I followed bhakti and did
puja at the seven sacred cities, I bathed in the holy rivers and
sought the councils of swamis and sadhus. And of each of them, at
each temple and holy site, I asked this same question."
How may this engineer lead the right life? Vishram says to himself.
He has indeed heard this homily more times than he cares to remember:
how this Hindu engineer used a crore of rupees from a micro-credit
union to build a low-cost, no-maintenance domestic-scale carbon
nanotube solar power generator. Fifty million units later, plus
alcohol fuel refineries, biomass plants, wind farms, ocean current
thermal generators, and an R&D division pushing Indian— Hindu — minds into the void of zero-point energy, Ray
Power is one of Bharat's—India's—leading companies. One
that has done it the Indian way, sustainably, treading lightly on the
earth, obeying the wheel. A company that steers resolutely around the
maelstrom of the international markets. A company that commissions
exciting new Indian architectural talent to build a corporate
headquarters from sustainable wood and glass and still welcomes
Dalits into its boardroom. It is a great and inspiring story, but
Vishram's attention is wandering all over Marianna Fusco's
stretch-brocaded breasts. A message appears cross them in cheeky
lilac. PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR FATHER!
BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP he thumbs back.
PUNS ARE THE LOWEST FORM OF COMEDY, she returns.
WELL EXCUSE ME, I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS SARCASM, he emblazons in
quick-riposte blue across the lapels of his really fast suit. Which
is how he almost misses the punch line.
"That is why I have decided it is time to once again take up
that inquiry into how the right life may be lived."
Vishram Ray looks up, nerves electric.
"At midnight tonight, I will resign my directorship of Ray
Power. I will give up my wealth and influence, my prestige and
responsibilities. I will leave my house and family and once again
take up the sadhu's staff and bowl."
The boardroom of Ray Power could not be any more quiet or still if it
had been nerve gassed. Ranjit Ray smiles, trying to reassure. It
doesn't work.
"Please understand that this is not a decision I undertake
lightly. I have discussed this at length with my wife and she is in
agreement with me. Shastri, my aide and help of more years than I
care to remember, will be joining me on this journey, not as a
servant, for all such distinctions end tonight, but as a fellow
seeker after right life."
The shareholders are on their feet, shouting, demanding. A Dalit
woman bellows in Vishram's ear about her clients, her sisters, but
Vishram finds himself cool, detached, anchored to his seat by sense
of inevitability. It is as if he knew from the moment the ticket
arrived on his Glasgow doorstep this would happen. Ranjit Ray quiets
the board.
"My friends, please do not think I have
of the big room without loss. Vishram recalls that he has never heard
it raised.
"I am sixty-eight years old, three years past what Westerners
consider in their business ethos the end of economically useful life.
In India it is a time for reflection, for the contemplation of other
paths that might have been taken, that yet might be taken." A
sip of water.
"In the final year of my engineering degree at the Hindu
University of Varanasi I realised that the laws of economics are
subject to the laws of physics. The physical processes that govern
this planet and the continued life upon it place as stringent an
upper limit on economic growth as the speed of light does on our
knowledge of the universe. I realised that I was not just an
engineer, I was a Hindu engineer. From these understandings I
concluded that if I was to use my abilities to help India become a
strong and respected nation, I must do it in an Indian way. I must do
it in a Hindu way."
He looks at his wife and sons.
"My family has heard this many times, I trust they'll forgive
one more. I went on a year of pilgrimage. I followed bhakti and did
puja at the seven sacred cities, I bathed in the holy rivers and
sought the councils of swamis and sadhus. And of each of them, at
each temple and holy site, I asked this same question."
How may this engineer lead the right life? Vishram says to himself.
He has indeed heard this homily more times than he cares to remember:
how this Hindu engineer used a crore of rupees from a micro-credit
union to build a low-cost, no-maintenance domestic-scale carbon
nanotube solar power generator. Fifty million units later, plus
alcohol fuel refineries, biomass plants, wind farms, ocean current
thermal generators, and an R&D division pushing Indian— Hindu — minds into the void of zero-point energy, Ray
Power is one of Bharat's—India's—leading companies. One
that has done it the Indian way, sustainably, treading lightly on the
earth, obeying the wheel. A company that steers resolutely around the
maelstrom of the international markets. A company that commissions
exciting new Indian architectural talent to build a corporate
headquarters from sustainable wood and glass and still welcomes
Dalits into its boardroom. It is a great and inspiring story, but
Vishram's attention is wandering all over Marianna Fusco's
stretch-brocaded breasts. A message appears cross them in cheeky
lilac. PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR FATHER!
BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP he thumbs back.
PUNS ARE THE LOWEST FORM OF COMEDY, she returns.
WELL EXCUSE ME, I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS SARCASM, he emblazons in
quick-riposte blue across the lapels of his really fast suit. Which
is how he almost misses the punch line.
"That is why I have decided it is time to once again take up
that inquiry into how the right life may be lived."
Vishram Ray looks up, nerves electric.
"At midnight tonight, I will resign my directorship of Ray
Power. I will give up my wealth and influence, my prestige and
responsibilities. I will leave my house and family and once again
take up the sadhu's staff and bowl."
The boardroom of Ray Power could not be any more quiet or still if it
had been nerve gassed. Ranjit Ray smiles, trying to reassure. It
doesn't work.
"Please understand that this is not a decision I undertake
lightly. I have discussed this at length with my wife and she is in
agreement with me. Shastri, my aide and help of more years than I
care to remember, will be joining me on this journey, not as a
servant, for all such distinctions end tonight, but as a fellow
seeker after right life."
The shareholders are on their feet, shouting, demanding. A Dalit
woman bellows in Vishram's ear about her clients, her sisters, but
Vishram finds himself cool, detached, anchored to his seat by sense
of inevitability. It is as if he knew from the moment the ticket
arrived on his Glasgow doorstep this would happen. Ranjit Ray quiets
the board.
"My friends, please do not think I have
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