Remembering Ratan Tata, the man who built India's most trusted brand

On 9 October 2024, India Inc. stopped for a moment. From factory floors in Jamshedpur to boardrooms in Mumbai and campuses across the world, tributes poured in for Ratan Naval Tata, who died at 86. A year later, the void remains—that of a man who built not just India's most reputed conglomerate, but belief in India Inc. globally.

Ratan Tata, 28 December 1937 - 9 October 2024. (Tata Trusts)

The eldest son of Naval Tata and Sonoo Commissariat, Ratan Tata was raised by his grandmother, Lady Navajbai Tata, in Mumbai. Educated at Cornell University in architecture and later at Harvard Business School, he was—by most accounts—reserved and thoughtful rather than ambitious.

When he joined Tata Steel Ltd., then TISCO, in Jamshedpur in 1962, he started where few heirs did—on the shop floor. He worked alongside mill workers, sometimes during night shifts, and once refused to leave a flooded site until all workers were safely evacuated. Those early years shaped his empathy for employees and his deep understanding of the Tata ethos—that enterprise must always serve a purpose larger than profit.

The Tata Group then resembled a federation of 80-odd companies run almost autonomously by powerful satraps. Few thought the quiet, unassuming Ratan Tata would have the authority to unite them.

He proved them wrong.

Within a decade, he transformed Tata Group into a cohesive, professionally governed entity. He introduced group-level branding, leadership codes, and an ethics charter that remains the backbone of Tata companies today. He pushed for global standards in corporate governance and encouraged risk-taking in a group once defined by caution.

“You don’t inherit a legacy—you have to deserve it,” he once said. By the early 2000s, he had done exactly that.

In 2000, Tata Tea acquired Tetley, a 160-year-old British brand—the first major foreign takeover by an Indian firm. Four years later came Corus Steel, a $12-billion acquisition that stunned global markets. And in 2008, Tata Motors bought Jaguar Land Rover from Ford for $2.3 billion—a move widely seen as audacious, even reckless.

But history vindicated him.

Within a few years, JLR turned profitable under Ratan Tata's stewardship, while the group’s global reputation soared. The Tata name became synonymous not just with trust, but ambition.

The globalisation drive had mixed results—Corus proved to be a drag for years—but it signalled a psychological shift in Indian business. Ratan Tata had shown that Indian capital could buy and build beyond borders.

He often said: “What good is technology if it doesn’t touch the lives of ordinary people?” That belief echoed across Tata companies—from affordable housing and water filters to salt and software. In a business culture often defined by quarterly profits, Ratan Tata thought in decades.

His leadership during the 26/11 terror attacks at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel remains a case study in compassion. He personally met the families of all employees affected, continued their salaries for months, and ensured their children’s education. There were no press releases, no photo ops—just quiet humanity.

He believed a company’s greatest asset was its moral compass. “I don’t believe in taking the right decisions,” he once said. “I take decisions and make them right.”

Under his guidance, the Trusts became more proactive, supporting initiatives in clean drinking water, sanitation, and digital education. During the covid pandemic, they pledged ₹1,500 crore—one of India’s largest private relief efforts.

In later years, he personally invested in over a dozen Indian startups—from Ola and Lenskart to Snapdeal and Paytm—often becoming a mentor rather than an investor. Founders recall receiving short, handwritten notes of encouragement. His office didn’t have a gatekeeper; his inbox was open.

Even during controversies—including the public feud with former Tata Sons Chairman the late Cyrus Mistry—he made few public statements, preferring the law and the group’s institutions to speak for themselves.

When the Tata Group turned 150 in 2018, he declined a grand public celebration. “The work speaks for itself,” he said.

Under his stewardship, the Tata Group’s market value grew more than tenfold. Yet he never appeared on billionaire lists, because most of that wealth was not his—it belonged to Tata Trusts.

“We didn’t just lose a leader. We lost our north star,” Tata Sons Chairman N. Chandrasekaran had said in an obituary to his mentor.

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In a corporate world obsessed with valuation, Ratan Tata valued decency. His life is a reminder that capitalism, when rooted in conscience, can be a force for good. “None can destroy iron, but its own rust can. Likewise, none can destroy a person, but their own mindset can,” he once said.

A year after his passing, those words ring truer than ever—not just for the Tata Group, but for India itself.