10 Things I Learned from My Dad

I first wrote this as a tribute on my father’s 80th birthday. I’d flown from New York to Chennai to surprise him — gave him a big hug, handed him a pop-up card handcrafted by his six-year-old grandson, and still felt like it wasn’t enough. So I sat down and wrote.

Sixteen years later, my dad is 96. Still sharp as a knife. My mom, battling Parkinson’s with a strength she never knew she had, is a trooper in every sense of the word. They’re both great-grandparents now.

The lessons haven’t changed. If anything, they’ve only deepened with time.

This is a tribute to a simple man with a remarkable journey — a man who went from rags to riches, back to rags, and then back to riches again. Along the way, he taught me things that shaped who I am. These are ten of them — nine I wrote then, and one I only understood later.

Ramachandra Srinivasa Prabhu

Better known to the world as R.S. Prabhu, my dad was the 9th of 10 children, born and raised in a family that depended on rice fields and coconut trees for their livelihood. Family planning hadn’t been invented yet. Gender equality was decades away. Girls were married off before they were ten. Boys studied until the 10th grade, then helped manage the fields.

1. Empathy will be rewarding

Being in a joint family meant dad was one of 24 kids — along with his first and second cousins — living under the same roof. As the family’s income stagnated during the World War II economy, my grandfather was forced to sell off land just to put food on the table.

You can’t expect a teenager to understand the weight a father carries. But my dad, displaying a maturity that far exceeded his 14 years, decided the best way to help was to relieve his father of the burden of feeding and clothing at least one child.

So, right after completing his 10th grade, he left home with nothing more than the equivalent of ten cents in his pocket.

He took up every odd job he could find — bus boy, delivery boy, clearing agent, hotel manager. The empathy that compelled him to leave home gave him skills that would serve him for the rest of his life. Who knows who my dad would have become if he hadn’t walked out that door?

2. Go against the grain

Just before he left, at the age of 13, dad snuck a few miles out of the way to a movie theater to watch Battle of Leningrad. When word got back to the household, my grandfather was waiting with a cane in hand.

Anything to do with the “dirty” industry of movies — even watching one — was taboo and punishable. If you were part of the family, you pursued a career befitting the Prabhu name. The movies? Fuhgeddaboudit.

That kind of moment could break a kid. Force them into the direction their parents want. Crush whatever spark they carry. But for my dad, it only fueled his desire to join the very industry he was forbidden from.

3. Dream big, and pursue it

Despite his father’s wrath, from the moment he saw his first film, dad was captivated by cinema. It didn’t matter where the movie was made — Hollywood, Bollywood, or local — he wouldn’t pass up a chance to see it.

It became clear to him that this was his calling. Armed with nothing more than good looks and a burning desire, he knocked on doors looking for a role to play. What he landed instead was a job as a production manager, handling the day-to-day operations of a film shoot. He did get to act in a few scenes, but the movie’s poor showing at the box office put an end to his acting career.

His acting career, that is. Not his film career. The experience of making movies — the production, the logistics, the business — that would make him a fortune in the years to come.

4. Never judge a book by its cover

Word got back to the family that dad was entrenched in the movie industry. My grandfather disowned his son. The belief was that movies made bad people out of good ones. You couldn’t entirely fault a father for thinking his boy had gone to the dark side.

But as dad worked through production schedules, he built a reputation as a hard-working, honest, sincere people’s person. His boss, Mr. T.K. Pareekutty, saw the true value my dad brought to the table. He took him under his wing, treated him like his own son, and gave him the reins and the freedom to run productions as he saw fit.

Pareekutty was so impressed that he drove all the way to my grandfather’s home, sat him down, and explained that the movie industry was not what he thought it was — and that he should be proud to have a son like mine.

My grandfather welcomed his son back with open arms.

5. Fortune favors the brave

For fifteen years, dad ran one of the most successful production units in the South Indian film industry, producing ten movies. Four of them won the National Award, including the first National Award winner ever from the Malayalam language.

Then, in 1969, his godfather Pareekutty passed away. The new owners had no interest in the movie business and shuttered the operation. Dad was left stranded — owed months of salary and benefits from 15 years of service.

He had two choices. Find a job at another production house, or start his own.

At 40, with a wife and two kids to take care of, the first option would have been safer, saner, and easier. The second was fraught with risk — but it also meant being his own boss, blazing his own trail, backed by 15 years of hard-earned experience.

He chose the risk. And for the next 15 years, he saw great success.

6. Failure teaches us more than success

The first movie dad produced on his own — Aabhijathyam — was a runaway hit. Favorable reviews, four awards including the prestigious Filmfare, and box-office success. With it came fame, the high life, cars, and bungalows. I remember thinking that this was the good life.

He went on to make more films. Some did well enough. None quite matched the first.

Then came 1982 and a film called Adhikaram — the story of a woman who rules her household with an iron fist until a daughter-in-law arrives and wrests control away. Loosely based on a family relative, it won awards and raked in money. I watched it in a packed theater, one among the crowd, and saw the audience break into applause as the credits rolled. I had never been more proud of being the son of a movie maker.

I had no idea that life as I knew it was about to change.

Unlike Hollywood, where the studio bears most of the risk, in this world, you might as well be playing Russian roulette. A bad hand can wipe out everything.

The next few movies were duds. Dad didn’t just lose what he’d earned — he was left in deep debt, unable to pay it back. Our family learned one of the hardest lessons there is: life is not always a bed of roses.

7. Family is the true wealth

I knew things were bad, but I didn’t understand how bad until I came home from school one day to find my usually unflappable father completely broken down. He said he’d lost everything.

That day left a mark on my life that I remember as vividly as if it happened yesterday.

The irony wasn’t lost on me, even then. Here I was, a 14-year-old witnessing my father’s anguish — much like my dad had witnessed his own father’s struggles at the very same age. But unlike my dad, leaving home wouldn’t help. It would’ve made things worse.

My brother, 21 at the time — a chip off the old block — stepped in. He consoled the family. Assured us things would be okay. And for years to come, he pulled the weight of the family’s burden — helping my father pay off debts, putting food on the table, and getting me through college.

It is no understatement to say that as a family, we owe my brother everything.

8. Don’t let emotions cloud your thinking

Although my brother helped settle some debts, the financial situation remained grim. Loan sharks circled, sensing blood in the water.

I remember the day one of them showed up with a gun. My dad calmly explained that the man stood to lose more by pulling the trigger than by walking away. He walked away.

Advisors and lawyers urged dad to file for bankruptcy — the only way out, they said. But in our culture, bankruptcy might as well have been a death sentence, with consequences that would follow the family and the Prabhu name for generations.

Dad refused. Instead, he sold nearly everything — the house, the car, my mother’s jewelry — and paid off what he could. He negotiated with loan sharks, settling debts for pennies on the dollar. They were happy to get something.

But here’s the smartest thing he did: he held on to his intellectual property — his films. Against every piece of advice he received, he kept the rights. To this day, they continue to generate royalties from television, streaming, and distribution.

In a moment when emotion could have consumed him, he thought clearly. That single decision changed the trajectory of our family.

9. Learn from your life

We moved to a rental house. Took public transport. Tightened our belts and survived.

This wasn’t new to my parents. But for me — having lived the high life — it was a rude awakening. And a necessary one. I realized that this was how most of the world lived. I had simply been lucky.

That experience has kept me and my family grounded ever since. I tell my kids to savor and respect what we have, because not everyone is so fortunate.

Dad pursued a few entrepreneurial ventures after the last debt was paid. None took off. But his reputation in the industry attracted a wealthy investor who wanted to make films. Fifty years since his first foray into cinema, my father remains one of the most respected figures in the Southern Indian film industry.

Every life has its triumphs, challenges, and failures. In every situation, there are lessons. It’s how we carry those lessons forward that defines us.

10. The apple finds its own tree

I never followed my father into the movie industry — though I had my chances. I went off the beaten path, marched to my own drumbeat, and landed in technology. Not exactly Bollywood.

But the further I got in my career, the more I realized how much of him I’d taken with me. The entrepreneurial spirit that made him start his own production house at 40 with a wife and two kids? I carry that. The appetite for risk — betting on startups when a safer paycheck was always an option? That’s him. The instinct to go against the grain, to trust your own judgment when the conventional wisdom says otherwise? Pure dad.

The path is different. The DNA is the same.

And from my mom — though I didn’t fully appreciate it until much later — I got the quiet resolve. The ability to absorb a blow, steady yourself, and keep moving without making a spectacle of it. She never had to tell me how to be resilient. She just was. She still is.

On his 80th birthday, his six-year-old grandson said, “I want to be like you, Aabu.” That grandson is now 22.

If you met my dad on the street today, you’d see a 96-year-old man, weathered by life. Don’t be fooled. There is nothing frail about the inner strength of this man.

And next to him, you’d find my mom — fighting Parkinson’s with a quiet ferocity that takes everyone by surprise, including herself. They’ve spent a lifetime learning that strength isn’t the absence of hardship. It’s what you become because of it.

They are, and always will be, my greatest teachers.