In philanthropy, you have to take the attitude of a mother... You

Host: The morning sun filtered through the high windows of a corporate boardroom in Chennai, turning the polished mahogany table into a mirror of soft gold. Outside, the city was already awake — the sound of auto-rickshaws, the distant cries of street vendors, the hum of life rising like a tide.

Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that belongs only to rooms where money makes decisions.

Jack sat near the end of the long table, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the spreadsheet glowing before him. His expression was hard — the kind of hardness carved not by cruelty, but by necessity.

Jeeny entered carrying two cups of tea, her hair loosely tied, her eyes reflecting both fatigue and fire. She placed one cup in front of Jack, glancing at the numbers on the screen.

On the large monitor, a video played — an interview with Shiv Nadar, the Indian industrialist and philanthropist. His calm voice filled the room:

"In philanthropy, you have to take the attitude of a mother... You have to be patient, and we have been very patient for a long time."

The video ended. The room held the echo.

Jack: “A mother’s attitude. That’s poetic. But business doesn’t work on poetry.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about business, Jack. It’s about giving.”

Jack: “Giving is easy when you have billions to spare.”

Jeeny: “You think money makes generosity simple? It makes it heavier. Every rupee has to mean something. That’s what he meant by patience.”

Jack: “Or control. Philanthropy’s just capitalism trying to feel human again.”

Host: The air between them thickened. Jeeny pulled a chair closer, her fingers circling the warm cup like she was holding onto something sacred.

Outside the window, sunlight spilled over the skyline — temples and tech towers standing side by side, the old and the new India breathing the same morning.

Jeeny: “You think Nadar’s patient because he can afford to be. But look at what he’s built — a foundation for education, for rural development, for children who’d never even seen a classroom. That’s not capitalism, Jack. That’s compassion stretched over decades.”

Jack: “Decades, yes. But how much change has it really made? There are still kids starving. Schools without teachers. Isn’t philanthropy just a drop in a desert?”

Jeeny: “Then it’s still a drop of life. Do you know what a drop means to someone dying of thirst?”

Jack: “A cruel reminder there isn’t enough water.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s proof there can be.”

Host: The sunlight brightened — too bright for the hour. Dust motes shimmered in the air like tiny truths refusing to settle. Jack leaned back, running his hand through his hair, his tone softening but not surrendering.

Jack: “You really think patience can fix poverty? That waiting and nurturing will make people rise?”

Jeeny: “It’s not waiting. It’s tending. A mother doesn’t give up on her child just because he stumbles. She keeps feeding, teaching, hoping. That’s philanthropy at its purest.”

Jack: “But what if the child never learns? What if the world keeps failing no matter how much you pour into it?”

Jeeny: “Then you pour anyway. Because love is not a transaction.”

Jack: “But philanthropy is. It’s budgets and grants and deadlines. It’s PR and metrics.”

Jeeny: “That’s what you see because you’ve forgotten what patience looks like.”

Host: A small pause. Outside, a sparrow landed on the window ledge — a fragile visitor to this fortress of glass and power. Its beak tapped against the pane, once, twice. Jeeny smiled faintly.

Jeeny: “You see that bird? She’s built her nest three times this month. Rain knocked it down twice. Still, she comes back with the same twigs. That’s what philanthropy is. Not perfection — persistence.”

Jack: “Persistence without progress is madness.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s faith.”

Host: The sound of city horns drifted faintly into the room. Somewhere below, children’s laughter rose from a nearby schoolyard — high, bright, unrestrained. It cut through the heaviness like a small miracle.

Jack turned toward the window, listening.

Jack: “You hear that?”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s what patience sounds like when it finally blooms.”

Jack: “You think philanthropy made that laughter?”

Jeeny: “Indirectly, maybe. But so what if it did? Every act of good, no matter how structured, still comes from someone’s choice to care.”

Jack: “And yet for every child laughing, a thousand still cry. That’s what I can’t stomach — the imbalance. The endlessness of need.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the point isn’t to finish. Maybe it’s to never stop trying.”

Host: Jeeny stood now, her hands resting on the back of the chair, her voice steady, her eyes alight with quiet conviction.

Jeeny: “A mother doesn’t feed a child once and call it done. She feeds him every day — for years — knowing hunger will come back. That’s patience. That’s the lesson.”

Jack: “You’re saying philanthropy isn’t about fixing the world. It’s about mothering it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You don’t fix your children. You raise them.”

Jack: “But raising takes time. And money. And heart. Not everyone has all three.”

Jeeny: “Then the ones who do must have the courage to give. Because patience without generosity is just resignation.”

Host: The light dimmed slightly as clouds drifted across the sun. For a moment, the room felt cooler — calmer, as if even the city outside had leaned closer to listen.

Jack exhaled, long and slow.

Jack: “When I was younger, my mother used to save her salary for months to donate to the village school. I asked her once why she didn’t just buy herself a better stove instead. She said, ‘Because someone else’s future burns brighter than my kitchen.’”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s the same wisdom. The same patience. You just didn’t recognize it then.”

Jack: “Maybe I still don’t.”

Jeeny: “You just did. You remembered.”

Host: The two sat in silence. The screensaver on the monitor changed — a photo of a group of children in uniforms, smiling, waving at the camera. The Shiv Nadar Foundation logo appeared faintly in the corner.

Jeeny pointed at the screen.

Jeeny: “See them? That’s what patience looks like in human form. That’s a thousand tiny eternities growing under one philosophy — that care doesn’t demand applause, only endurance.”

Jack: “You really believe philanthropy can change the world?”

Jeeny: “I believe it can teach the world how to love beyond itself.”

Jack: “And if it fails?”

Jeeny: “Then it fails beautifully — because at least someone tried to nurture, not just to fix.”

Host: The light returned — brighter now, golden, whole. The city glowed in its after-rain clarity.

Jack looked at Jeeny, something in his expression softening, like a rigid structure finally bending toward grace.

Jack: “You know… maybe patience is the most radical form of faith. Everyone wants results. No one wants to wait.”

Jeeny: “That’s because waiting looks like doing nothing. But sometimes waiting is planting.”

Jack: “And philanthropy is the gardener.”

Jeeny: “And the mother.”

Jack: “And the child.”

Jeeny: “And the hope.”

Host: Outside, the sparrow flew off — its small wings slicing the sunlight. Below, a group of children ran past the building’s gate, their laughter climbing upward like a song the world couldn’t silence.

Jack closed his laptop. The spreadsheet went dark.

He looked at Jeeny.

Jack: “Let’s start something real. Something slow. Something patient.”

Jeeny: “Something that grows.”

Host: They stepped to the window together, watching the city pulse beneath them — crowded, imperfect, alive.

In that quiet moment, the world didn’t seem broken. It seemed becoming.

And somewhere beyond the noise, beyond the headlines and the hunger and the haste, Shiv Nadar’s words seemed to whisper again through the sunlight:

"You have to take the attitude of a mother… You have to be patient."

And the light — soft, forgiving, endless — stayed.