Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of I Came Upon a Lighthouse by Shantanu Naidu
- Sameer Gudhate
- 3 hours ago
- 4 min read

There are some books you don’t just read — you inhabit them. They unfold like an old photograph album, where every page carries a scent, a story, a heartbeat. I Came Upon a Lighthouse by Shantanu Naidu, with illustrations by Sanjana Desai, is one such book. It’s not a biography, not exactly a memoir, but a feeling — warm, humane, and quietly luminous — much like the man at its center: Ratan Tata.
I still remember the first time I turned its pages on a quiet Sunday morning, a cup of black coffee cooling beside me. By the end of the first chapter, I realized I wasn’t reading about Ratan Tata; I was meeting him. Not the business tycoon or the industrial icon we’ve all admired from afar, but the man who hums softly while walking his dogs, who worries if someone got home safe, who keeps his promises even when no one’s watching.
Shantanu Naidu — a millennial, an engineer, and the founder of Motopaws — writes with a simplicity that disarms you. There’s no attempt to impress, no polished rhetoric. His sentences carry the ease of late-night conversations and the sincerity of journal entries written with trembling hands. His friendship with Mr. Tata began with a shared love for stray dogs, and from that small act of empathy bloomed a mentorship, a bond, and a rare friendship between two souls separated by generations but united by compassion.
The book moves like a gentle tide — calm, rhythmic, and deeply introspective. From their first email exchange to Shantanu’s Cornell days in Ithaca, from the whimsical naming of his Nano “Lily” to their turmeric milk–filled lockdown chats, each story feels like a small window into a larger truth: greatness is not loud; it is kind, attentive, and quietly consistent.
The chapter “Lily” completely changed the way I viewed the Tata Nano. For years, many of us snickered at its “Common Man’s Car” tag, without ever pausing to understand the heart behind it. Shantanu reminds us that Nano wasn’t just a car — it was empathy on wheels, an honest attempt to give dignity to mobility. Since finishing the book, every time I spot a Nano on the road, I see it differently — as a symbol of care, a promise kept by a man who truly believed business could have a soul.
And here’s something personal — I actually owned a Nano myself, one from the very first production batch. Back then, I bought it out of sheer curiosity and admiration for the idea. But after reading this chapter, I look at it with new eyes. It’s no longer just a car parked in my driveway; it’s a piece of history, a quiet emblem of compassion on four wheels. Since finishing the book, every time I spot a Nano on the road, I see it differently — as a symbol of care, a promise kept by a man who truly believed business could have a soul.
Sanjana Desai’s illustrations deserve a standing ovation. They’re not mere drawings; they’re emotional brushstrokes that breathe life into moments — from Mr. Tata’s quiet smile to Winter the dog’s warm eyes. The visuals cradle Shantanu’s words, making the entire experience feel like leafing through a heartfelt scrapbook.
There’s something extraordinary about how Shantanu captures ordinary kindness. He doesn’t romanticize Mr. Tata. Instead, he humanizes him — a mentor who laughs at jokes, a boss who listens, a friend who shows up. There are moments that made me laugh out loud, others that quietly broke me, and a few that made me set the book down just to think — about empathy, mentorship, and the small ways we can be better humans.
If I have a gentle critique, it’s only this — I wished the book were longer. It ends too soon, leaving behind a lingering silence, the kind that follows after a meaningful conversation you didn’t want to end. But perhaps that’s its beauty — to leave us wanting to live more thoughtfully, love more gently, and promise more sincerely.
For me, I Came Upon a Lighthouse wasn’t just about Ratan Tata and Shantanu Naidu; it was about all of us — about how unlikely friendships can become guiding lights, how empathy can build bridges across ages and worlds. In a time when success often overshadows goodness, this book restores faith in the quiet, enduring power of being kind.
When I closed the last page, I caught myself smiling — the way one does after watching the sun dip behind the sea. A little wistful. A little grateful.
If you ever find yourself losing faith in humanity, or in need of a reminder that goodness still exists — pick up this book. Let it sit beside your bed, or on your heart. It’s not just a memoir; it’s a gentle lighthouse in print. ✨
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