On the 56th Floor

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High above the city, where a simple thought begins to take shape.

When my friend on the 56th floor called, at first I thought he was inviting me over for a drink, as he usually does. But when I answered, he said solemnly, “Come if you are free. No agenda.” Which, in his case, usually meant there was one.

We sat on the balcony. Tea arrived, as it always did, without being asked for. After some routine talk, he came to the point.

“I have been hearing this term—family constitution—these days. I have been mulling over it, and I think it makes sense.”

I had a feeling he had already made up his mind and was merely airing his ‘loud thinking’, seeking confirmation more than discussion. He knew I was a writer of sorts, as I used to send him my articles. He claimed he read them; I strongly suspect he didn’t. But the point is, he knew he had in me a patient listener, and someone who could help give shape to his thoughts.

He is the patriarch of a large and well-known family, with its members spread across the world. He was conscious that the family he had closely held together through traditional, unspoken norms was gradually loosening. He was aware that in the newer generations, individualism is stronger, and felt that what was once implicitly understood now needed to be gently articulated.

There was no complaint in his tone. Just observation.

“You know how it was earlier,” he said. “Things were understood. Nobody explained values. They were just… there.”

“Now,” he continued, “children are in different cities. Sometimes different countries. Even when they come together, everyone is carrying their own world in their pocket.”

Half expecting what was coming next, I waited.

“They have their own ideas of how life should be lived,” he said. “So I was wondering whether something needs to be written down. Not rules,” he added quickly, “I am too old to start policing anyone. But something… that holds.”

I said, “Maybe what was once lived… now needs to be said.”

He nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“So we begin with the thought that a family exists beyond just being related, and ask—what kind of life do we want to lead collectively?”

“Yes, that’s the point,” he said. “I am looking for something that articulates the core values of our family. Integrity, respect, generosity—these have always mattered to us. They have guided behaviour and decisions.”

“Yes,” I said, “and what ties in beautifully with that is how you celebrate festivals, what habits or rituals matter, and how you stay connected across generations. That is where the emotional texture of the family comes alive.”

“Very true,” he agreed. “But we should also give it a broader scope. For example, how do we resolve conflicts, which are inevitable? We need to take a practical view. That includes guidelines for shared assets, inheritance, and our attitude to money—spending, saving, and of course, philanthropy.”

He paused, then added, “And continuity. With each new generation, the family dynamics will change. That is natural. But what should remain unchanged is the intent—to remain a family in more than name. How values, responsibilities, and even leadership pass on.”

I could see the clarity of his thought. He was not trying to control the future, only to steady it.

We seemed close to defining the structure, and yet something felt incomplete. It was he who filled that gap.

“The family comes together when it has a shared cause,” he said quietly. “It is what the family gives back to society.”

The weight of that stayed with me.

After a pause, he said, “This is going to be good. But I suspect nobody will follow it perfectly.”

“That is not the idea,” I said.

“Yes,” he smiled, “if even one or two lines are remembered at the right time, it is enough.”

He paused, then added with a hint of mischief, “Also, this will be much more concise than I expected. I thought you would make it like a government policy document.”

“There was a temptation,” I said, “but I remembered your warning about nobody reading it.”

As I left—perhaps for the first time without a drink, but with plenty to think about—it struck me that every family already has such a constitution, only unwritten. Some are lived well, some less so. What is new is only the attempt to give it words.


You may also want to read my piece on:  Weekend Musings: The Making of a Father to Daughters


Rodevra Republic unfolds through many pathways. You may begin here and find your path.

 

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