Ayudha Puja was performed at my office on 19 Oct. 2026, with my Father leading the rituals, as it has been in our family for decades. Observed on the ninth day of Navratri, it is gratitude to the instruments that give us income, dignity and purpose.
So I wiped my MacBook clean and placed it with my iPad, iPhone, a pen, my notebook, the charging cable and plug, alongside photos and idols of Gods.
This year brought a new addition: Claude App. I kept its window open on my device as a quiet thank you for its support over the last few months.
For me, the tradition is inseparable from retail. My first tool was an ice-cream scoop at Baskin Robbins, Chennai, in 1997, between classes. It taught me consumer behaviour, because I watched who walked in, what they chose and why.
Later, the tools kept changing. At Foodworld, Benetton and Indian Terrain, it was the shelves that held the SKUs. At Bengaluru International Airport, where I pioneered India's Travel Retail industry, it was every square inch of the passenger areas, because each one fed the business.
At Cafe Coffee Day and Levista, it was the coffee machine and the stacks of packaged coffee.
Every retail morning begins with a tool being switched on. A billing machine beeps. A packaging line hums. A shutter rolls up. A showroom floor is polished, and a motorcycle is wiped by someone who treats it like family.
Whether it is coffee powder, rice or atta, the journey begins hundreds, sometimes thousands, of kilometres away. So the entire supply chain worships its tools.
Fuel pump owners garland their tanks and mark the nozzles with turmeric or sandal paste. Truck drivers and quick commerce riders pray over their beloved vehicles.
But the person who taught me this never gave a lecture on it.
My Father worked on the factory floor at ITC Ltd for 33 years, and he simply loved his tools. His spanner, pliers, screwdriver, hammer and files were treated like colleagues. He rode one bicycle for over two decades, polished and cleaned every weekend.
He wore one classic pair of Aviators for three decades, until they finally gave up. And one fine day, 20 years ago, he lost his beloved early 1980s Favre-Leuba watch.
He never taught me how to maintain tools. He simply lived it, and I watched. Today, when someone wonders why my car still looks new, or why my watches do not look 10, 12 or 18 years old, I think of Dad and smile.
Call it genes, if you like. That is how we take care of our tools, because we are nothing without them.
