It was December 1975. I was sitting on the steps of Cozy Corner, Aunty Mohini and Uncle Raj’s home, lost in grief. Grief that is fresh to this day, 50 years later. Aunty Mohini passed away on December 22. She had had cancer which she didn’t tell anyone about, apart from her doctor, my father, sworn to secrecy. She didn’t take any treatment, if there was such a thing in India then. And she passed away with the tremendous dignity and courage that she lived her whole life. An inspiration in death as she was in life. The last scene I remember was the day she died. She was in terrible pain. She asked for me and I went in to see her. There were many people in the room. Uncle Yadgar Chinoy was standing at the foot of the bed. My father (he was her physician) was in attendance. She looked at me and smiled, through that pain. She said, “Yawar Baba, take care of yourself.” I can still feel the pain in my heart. But I dared not cry. I can still see her lying there, her hair combed and dressed properly in a classy gown with a sheet covering her; in pain, but in control of herself with dignity and pride. No self-pity, anger, or frustration. No sign of any weakness. No sign of any fear. What a memory to have alive with me all these decades. What a woman!! How fortunate I was. It was an honor to have known her. To this day as I write this, my tears flow freely. After the funeral was over, I remember sitting on a low wall under the tamarind tree at the bottom of the garden of Cozy Corner with Uncle Rama (her brother and my dearest friend and mentor), knowing that life would never be the same, ever again. It wasn’t. But I hope that if Aunty Mohini could have seen me today, she would be pleased with what she helped to build.

I started with this story because that is where Aunty Ronnie came into my life. I had heard her name because she co-authored the book, ‘The Days of the Beloved’, with Aunty Mohini. I am a Hyderabadi and deeply interested in the history of my people. One of the heroes of that history was Asaf Jah VI, Nizam Mir Mehboob Ali Khan (Mehboob Ali Pasha) about whom the book was – Mehboob means, ‘Beloved’, which he was very much. But I had never met Harriet Ronken (Ronnie) Lynton. Aunty Mohini had told me that Ronnie Lynton was planning to come to Hyderabad, but she was not able to come while Aunty Mohini was still alive. But she arrived a few days later and was staying in Cozy Corner. That morning, I was sitting on the steps leading up to the front door, lost in my grief that I would never see Aunty Mohini ever again, when someone came up behind me and said, ‘Yawar, I think I know what Mohini meant to you. Will you allow me to take her place?’ I looked up to see Ronnie. I deeply appreciated that she understood my grief and so I smiled. That friendship grew and lasted for nearly 50 years.

An interesting side-note. One day several years after this first meeting, Aunty Ronnie and I were talking about the time that Uncle Rolf and Aunty Ronnie had first come to Hyderabad and said that they lived in a house in Masab Tank on the hill from the terrace of which they could see leopards on the rocks of Banjara Hills. When we joined the dots, I recalled going to that house when I was in St. George’s Primary School to attend the birthday party of my classmate and friend, their daughter Maya. I didn’t recall meeting Aunty Ronnie at that time, but obviously I must have done. Life is indeed strange and time flies. In the ensuing years I helped Aunty Ronnie with researching material for her book, ‘My dear Nawab Saheb’, about the life of Nawab Sir Salar Jung I, who was the Regent of the Nizam Mehboob Ali Khan. It was very interesting work, reading documents in the State Archives, meeting people and translating for Aunty Ronnie from Urdu to English. I would drive her around in Aunty Mohini’s iconic Indian black Ambassador car. Today as I write this, remembering Uncle Rolf and Aunty Ronnie, I am most grateful for having had the pleasure and privilege of their wonderful friendships.

In 1979 I went off to Guyana where I worked for Guymine Berbice Operations, for 5 years. I lived in a small mining town at the edge of the River Berbice, called Kwakwani, which the Amazonian rain-forest threatened to push into the river in an unwary moment. Five wonderful years running a whole town at age 24 and hunting and fishing on the weekends. Aunty Ronnie and I remained in touch through letters which took about a month one way but gave us each other’s news. They invited me to visit them but the US Consulate in Georgetown wouldn’t agree and so I couldn’t go. I finally got a visa, thanks to the intervention of my dear friend, Rev. Thurston Reihl, with his friend, Dennis Goodman, who was Assistant Consul General when I was returning to India in 1983.

Back in India I entered the tea plantation industry, a childhood dream come true, as Assistant Manager on Sheikalmudi Estate. I was a bachelor and lived alone but had a very good cook/butler called Bastian. Aunty Ronnie visited me there and Bastian did a decent job of ensuring that she was comfortable, and we had some wonderful meals. Bastian was a magician, especially with souffles and he plied his art with great gusto. I would see Aunty Ronnie after returning from work and we would eat dinner together and sit on the veranda in the night and talk about life.

On the weekend, I took Aunty Ronnie to the Anamallai Club. As you drive to Valaparai town from Sheikalmudi along the road passing through Uralikal Estate where the border of Valparai Coffee starts, on your left is a deep ravine. On the other side of the ravine in the scrub secondary forest, was a herd of elephants. I stopped the car and pointed them out to Aunty Ronnie. But for the life of me, she couldn’t see them. Until the herd bull decided to push over a tree because he was trying to get the succulent leaves in its crown. When the tree fell suddenly the herd became visible to Aunty Ronnie and we both marveled at the incredible camouflage of this enormous animal which can disappear at will into the bush, hiding in plain sight. We reached the club and a couple of hours later, after dinner, headed back the 30 kilometers in the night on windy estate roads. On the way we passed the ravine where we had seen the elephants and saw the most incredible sight. A synchronic flash of fireflies. Fireflies gather on vegetation in the forest and each one makes a tiny flash to attract a mate or to warn off predators. But when there are enough of them, in this case maybe a couple of million, and their individual flashes synchronize, the forest suddenly lights up as if in a flash of silent lightening. It was the most marvelous sight you could ask for. This is a rare occurrence and in the 7 years that I spent in the Anamallais, I think I must have seen the phenomenon only two or three times.

Later that year, I wanted to attend the ISABS Behavioral Science Lab in Jaipur and Uncle Rolf spoke to his friend Dr. Udai Pareek, who was the President of ISABS to allow me to attend the AHP Lab at a subsidized fee, thanks to my poverty-stricken state at the time. Udai was kindness itself and two years later was also my teacher when I was at the IIM Ahmedabad. I spent two weeks in the Clarks Amer Hotel and among the highlights was that I met Aroon Joshi who became another mentor. That experience set the course for my career and launched me on my journey to become a leadership trainer. It took me 13 years of working in a full-time job and spending every weekend and all holidays and every spare penny to acquire the experience and training necessary to be a leadership trainer. It took my wife’s total support and willingness to take the hardship to let me pursue my dream and in 1994, I launched ‘Yawar Baig & Associates’ in Bangalore.

In 1985 we got married. Aunty Ronnie gave me the best marriage advice in the world which I want to share with you, and you are welcome to share it with the world. The proof is that 40 years later we are still happily married. Aunty Ronnie told me two things. She said, “Your biggest challenge will be communication because you are strangers. So, develop your own special language that only the two of you will understand. That is a sign of love and intimacy and unique to you.”

“Secondly”, she said, “keep a notebook on a table which is accessible to you both and which you pass by many times a day. In that notebook, write all that you appreciate about one another and express your gratitude. And do it every day.”

“What about complaints?” I asked.

“You can write that also, but complaints are best spoken face to face. And only if it is at the level of a house on fire.”

Believe me, we had that notebook on a table in the hallway for many years. We don’t have it now because we don’t need it. But it was a lifesaver. As I said, 40 years is evidence.

What was remarkable about Uncle Rolf and Aunty Ronnie is how they treated each other. He treated her like his queen, and she looked at him with such honor, respect and love, that I can see that gaze to this day. In all the years I knew them and the many times they stayed with us, sometimes for long periods, I never saw them quarrel or mock one another or treat one another except with great caring and respect. They joked and laughed. They were two of the happiest people we knew. And the most dignified in every way. That is the secret of a happy marriage. Respect for each other, expressing love in every action, showing gratitude and laughing together.

Aunty Ronnie and Uncle Rolf visited us in Ambadi Estate, where I was managing a very large rubber estate and factory with militant communist labor unions. That is a whole different story which I have written about in my book, ‘In a Teacup’. The Lyntons visited us in Bangalore also and one of our beautiful memories is going to Cubbon Park in spring, when it is full of flowers. Over the years we remained in touch though not as frequently as I would have wished. I visited them in Fearrington, N.C when they moved into their home there. A lovely house with excellent light and an open airy design.

I learned many things from Aunty Ronnie and Uncle Rolf but perhaps one of the most valuable was the importance of documentation. Uncle Rolf was very particular about keeping detailed notes about his work and experiences. Their book about their experiences in ALOKA in Sri Lanka is a classic read which illustrates the value of documentation. Thanks to that I was able to write my books, The Business of Family Business, From India to the Indies, and In a Teacup. Another even more important learning was kindness. I can’t think of two other people who were kinder than they were.

The years passed and my last memory of meeting Uncle Rolf and Aunty Ronnie was when we had lunch at the Secundrabad Club. I got very busy after that with international travel and consulting assignments, and we lost touch, but of course they remained in our hearts. On March 18, 2018, Aunty Ronnie passed away, but we had no idea. I can’t imagine how this could have happened given the many common friends we have but there you are. We didn’t know. It was only when Uncle Rolf passed away in December 2024 and I asked how Aunty Ronnie was that I learned that she had passed away in 2018 at age 97. Uncle Rolf and even more Aunty Ronnie were my lifelong mentors from 1975.

Their friendship is a privilege that I will always cherish.

Finally, a piece of advice to you, the reader. As I wrote this, I wished that I had written this while they were alive and told them all these things. I can’t change that now, but if you have people in your life who you love and appreciate, don’t wait for them to die before saying it. Go and tell them now. And tell them that I sent you.