When I first read Corporate Chanakya, I admired it like thousands of other readers do. The clarity, the simplicity, and the way complex management lessons were explained through Chanakya’s wisdom stayed with me for a long time. At that point, Dr. Radhakrishnan Pillai was a respected author to me — someone whose books I was reading, underlining, and learning from.
And
then one day, Dr. Rajan Welukar Sir suggested his name for a session.
The
session was planned May 2018. Karthiga Thevar of Chanakya Aanvikshiki Pvt Ltd was coordinating all the arrangements,
and gradually my conversations with sir started happening over phone calls. But
the most beautiful part was this — from the very first conversation, he never
made me feel I was talking to a nationally celebrated personality. There was no
distance, no formality, no weight of fame in his tone.
Instead,
it felt like an elder brother speaking.
And
slowly, without any formal declaration, he became a mentor.
“Tu
kashi aahes aadhi te sang… mag pudhe bolu.”
(First
tell me how you are… then we will talk further.)
And
somehow, that one sentence itself used to calm half the chaos inside me.
I
still remember that first session we organised with him on 30th May 2018. The
weather was terrible that day. His flight got delayed. The hall was packed with
people waiting, arrangements were under pressure, timings were collapsing, and
I was completely anxious. While everything felt chaotic around me, he was the
one calming me from the other side of the phone.
“Relax…
don’t worry… things will settle.”
And
when he finally arrived, he came directly from the airport to the session venue
without any complaint, without any irritation, without carrying the stress of
travel on his face. In fact, he was the one reassuring us.
That
simplicity stayed with him always.
Most
of the time, I used to call him exactly like a confused school student calls a
teacher before exams. I would tell him, “Sir, it may take a little longer…
things are difficult right now.” And he would calmly reply, “Okay… then let us
catch up at this time.”
But
the surprising part was — he himself would call back before time.
And
then I would simply start pouring out every tension, every confusion, every
difficulty in front of him. He would quietly listen to everything without
interrupting. No hurry. No judgment. Just complete attention.
And
after listening patiently, he would softly say:
“Okay…
tu relax ho aadhi…”
(First,
you relax.)
And
then he would begin speaking in such a way that solutions felt like they were
pouring out through every word. Not motivational speeches. Not complicated
management jargon. Just practical clarity, emotional steadiness, and wisdom
that could untangle the cluttered mind.
But
what made his guidance even more real was this — when needed, he could also
scold with complete authority.
And
strangely, even that carried care.
If
he felt you were overthinking unnecessarily, delaying something important,
exhausting yourself emotionally, or making a wrong decision, he would not
simply comfort you for the sake of sounding nice. He would firmly make you
understand.
There
was affection in his warmth, but there was honesty in his mentorship too.
That
is why his words carried weight.
That
is why people trusted him.
That
is why for me, he was never only “Chanakya Pillai.”
When
we started envisioning the Orange City Literature Festival in 2019, he was
among the very first people we wanted with us. And from day one, he stood like
a pillar beside the festival. In fact, he made sure that he would be present in
every edition of the festival. Even before the festival, during planning
meetings, he would actively participate with ideas, suggestions, solutions, and
clarity.
His
involvement was never symbolic.
He
genuinely cared.
Even
during the 6th edition, when his health did not permit him to travel and attend
physically, he was still there for us emotionally. I still remember him calming
me over the phone:
“Mrunal…
relax. You can do it all.”
And
what motivation those words carried.
Sometimes,
while the festival was going on, I would look around and realise he was not
sitting in the guest room meant for dignitaries. Instead, he would be somewhere
among students, talking to young minds, listening to them, encouraging them,
attending sessions of other authors, or simply interacting with people like an
ordinary participant enjoying the atmosphere.
And
when I would call and ask,
“Sir,
where are you? Why are you not in the guest room?”
He
would laugh softly and say, “Tu relax… मी एकदम fine आहे.
Enjoy करत आहे. काही काम असेल तर सांग, मी येतो.”
(You
relax… I am completely fine. I am enjoying. If there is any work, just tell me,
I will come.)
That
humility is rare.
In
a world where people often carry their designation before themselves, he
carried warmth before recognition.
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I
still remember the smile on his face while cutting the cake.
It
was not the smile of a celebrity enjoying attention.
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“Why was there a need to do all this for me?”
That
innocence in such a celebrated personality is something very rare to witness.
Another
beautiful thing about him was that he genuinely wanted people to grow. He used
to see possibilities in people before they themselves could see it. His
recommendations, introductions, and guidance were always completely selfless.
And
those moments are unforgettable.
I
still remember one particular moment — he, me, and Purnima Ramakrishnan were
sitting quietly at one corner discussing a few matters. The way he was
suggesting things, recommending ideas, and connecting perspectives was not
transactional at all. He spoke with genuine concern, as if he was emotionally
invested in seeing people move ahead in life.
There
was no insecurity in him.
No
need to dominate conversations.
No
need to prove superiority.
Just
clarity, kindness, and an honest desire to help.
Today,
while writing this, the loss feels deeply personal.
Some
people do not just guide projects or organisations. They become emotional
anchors in people’s lives.
And
the truth is — it is very difficult to accept that his reassuring voice, his
calmness, his warmth, and those simple Marathi conversations will no longer
come through the phone again.
For
the guidance.
For
the warmth.
For
the calmness you brought into chaos.
For
every “Tu relax ho aadhi…” that healed more than advice ever could.
Some mentors teach from stages.
You taught through presence, simplicity,
and humanity.
A
very deep void has been created.
You
will always remain far more than an author or speaker to me. And it will take
time to even understand how much your presence truly meant.
Om
Shanti 🙏
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