84. THE LONELY ROAD OF CHANGE (2009)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: Chapter 84 is the last chapter of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

Leading the BPR (Business Process Re-engineering) Project in the Bank was like navigating a minefield. My team and I had a dual mandate. First, we had to design innovative processes in collaboration with the Consultants. Then came the more challenging part of testing and implementing them. This meant dissecting existing systems, identifying their flaws, and crafting new solutions aligned with global best practices. Getting technical support and testing the initiatives on the ground before rolling them across the Bank was challenging. But doing all this without disruption and without inflating costs was difficult. Imagine trying to steer a behemoth with a team of just forty. Daunting does not even begin to describe it.

This initiative was under intense scrutiny, with progress closely monitored at the highest levels. During performance reviews, circle heads were grilled about implementation delays. They mounted pressure on me to massage the data, to paint a falsely optimistic picture for the Chairman. I refused. Honesty was non-negotiable. Predictably, this did not win me any popularity contests. In fact, it often made me the target of their frustration. BPR initiatives were invariably cited as the root cause of all the issues faced by the Bank, with loss of business being the topmost. BPR was invariably cited as the Blood Pressure Raiser. Accepting change is not easy, and the implementors were no exception. They made BPR the culprit for all their shortcomings. In every meeting, I faced the brickbats and withstood the criticism bravely. 

I began to question myself. Was my approach flawed? Was I clashing with the culture of the Bank? This gnawed at me until I met a veteran BPR implementer from a European bank. He had spent fifteen years on a similar project. His first question was startling: "How many friends are you left with in the Bank after five years in the project?" It was a gut punch but also a validation. He understood. He got it. He knew the isolation that comes with driving change. It was a price I seemed to be paying.

But, honestly, did it matter? My focus was sharp. I would not be swayed by their criticism. The bigger picture was always in my sight.

And now, years later, seeing those initiatives thriving, transforming the Bank into a globally competitive institution is the reward. This is what makes the challenges, the isolation, and the criticism worthwhile.

I faced the fire, and I emerged victorious. I blew away the criticism like bubbles. Today, I can hold my head high and say I worked hard. I worked with dedication. I did not cave in under the pressures. My last assignment in the Bank has become the source of my lifetime satisfaction.

The journey was challenging. The route was tough and lonely. I was left with no friends. In the end, I reached the same place where everyone arrived at the fag end of the journey. But I am proud I did what I was supposed to do. All that the Cheshire Cat had said in my dream way back in the year 1971, had come true*. 

I am happy to say I did it my way!

*****

*To read my dialogue with the Cheshire Cat, please read Chapter 8 of this Blog Book as per the link  https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/08/8-stress-success-and-everything-in.html

 *****

83. THE CALL OF CONSCIENCE (2006)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 83 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

When I got posted to the Corporate Centre, I received a chorus of well-meaning yet slightly ominous advice. My well-wishers, with varying degrees of concern etched on their faces, offered a litany of "dos and don'ts" for navigating the treacherous waters of the Corporate Centre.

"At Corporate Centre," one whispered, "even the walls have ears. Be very careful what you say."

"You never know who is connected to whom," another warned. "Discretion is paramount."

"Refrain from your...er..brutal honesty," a third advised, a touch of nervousness in their voice, "especially when speaking to seniors."

The most common refrain, delivered with an almost religious fervour, was: "Never say no to the boss. Never. They do not take it well."

The day of reckoning arrived sooner than I expected. I was scheduled to present a detailed project update to the top management. My heart pounded as I walked into the imposing boardroom for the first time in my career.

The top man, a figure of absolute power and authority, zeroed in on a specific activity. "How long will this take?" he demanded.

I took a deep breath, determined to be honest. "With the current resources," I replied, "it will take at least three weeks."

His face contorted in anger. "Three weeks!?! I want it done in one!" His voice boomed across the Board Room, making me flinch.

I stood my ground, though my insides were churning. "Sir, given the constraints…"

He cut me off. "Mrs. Bharij! I am disappointed. The spark I saw in you in Chandigarh...it is gone." The words stung, a public humiliation in front of top management. My face burned, and a lump formed in my throat, but I forced it down. I would not let them see tears in my eyes.

He then turned to my senior colleague, his voice suddenly smooth. "You tell me. How long will it take?"

My senior, a master of political manoeuvring, looked smug and offered a vague assurance. "Don't worry, sir. We will get it done. Soon." No timeframe. Only empty words. And the top man beamed, completely satisfied.

The irony was that, due to high dependence on another department, nothing could be accomplished even after three months. The meeting ended, but the humiliation lingered, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Weeks later, I accidentally found myself walking alongside the top man in the corridor. A forced pleasantry was unavoidable.

"How is your project going?" he asked.

Remembering the chorus of warnings, I swallowed my pride and manufactured a glowing report. "Extremely well, sir! I even visited a few branches incognito during my trip to Delhi yesterday and spoke with customers and staff. They are thrilled! They say it's the best thing the bank has ever done."

He beamed, his earlier anger forgotten. "Keep it up!" he said and disappeared into his office.

I had passed the test, but the lie gnawed at my conscience. For days, I seethed with self-disgust.

Finally, I reached a decision. Never again! My conscience was more important than my need for approval, no matter the price. I would rather face the consequences of my honesty than live with the weight of a lie. And I stood by this resolve till the end of my career, not bothering about the consequences I had to face.

(To continue...)

*****

82. DECODING THE CORPORATE JARGON (2005)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 82 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

Upon my next promotion, I was required to work alongside a reputed management consultancy company, which the Bank had engaged to re-engineer the business processes to make them at par with global standards.

Being a hard-core banker for thirty-five years and hands-on with the systems and procedures of the Bank, I knew the principles of Indian banking but nothing about the advanced methods used in other countries to enhance customer satisfaction. I had to bridge the gap between my homegrown wisdom and the global best practices as we had to work together to design and implement the drastic changes the Bank had envisioned.

Though the Consultants were there to guide us, they could not advise us without understanding our existing processes, necessitating constant dialogue between them and our team members.

As a traditional banker, I was totally unaware of the corporate jargon. I knew only the archaic official language used in the Bank, which we humorously called Bank Officialese. On the other hand, the consultants were masters of corporate jargon, spoken with a slight American accent and peppered with modern management phrases. I found their language both amusing and confusing in the beginning.

My first encounter with the consultants was a phone call.

"I wanted to skedule (schedule) a meeting with you, Ms Bharij," one of them called up and said.

Did he say skedule when he wanted to say schedule? Oh, American accent! In our Bank, we just landed up in another office without seeking a formal appointment. If we needed to check availability, it would be a curt, "I want an appointment," not this fancy scheduling a meeting.

The next day, they arrived exactly on time- five of them, all dressed immaculately in black suits and white shirts, though all had different-coloured ties. One of them carried a laptop trolley. I was mighty impressed by their punctuality, mannerism and the Men-in-Black vibe.

"Hi! How are you?" I asked their team leader as they walked in together.

"I am good. I am good. How about you, Ms Bharij?" He replied cheerfully.

Good? Opposite of Bad? But we always said, "I am fine," or "I am ok". Should I also say I am good? I pondered.

They introduced themselves, each presenting a business card, not a visiting card, mind you and that too with both hands. Ouch! So formal! So business-like! The discussions began, and I started juggling two tasks: understanding the new concepts and suggestions for implementation in the Bank and deciphering their baffling jargon. It was like learning a new language on the fly, with phrases like, "You cannot compare apples with oranges." Apparently, one cannot compare them.

When one of them suggested preparing a Laundry List, I looked askance and wondered which laundry they were referring to. Hmm... It meant a complete to-do list and had nothing to do with the pile of dirty linen I had left at home.

What did they mean by repeating a phrase like My take? Why could they not say "Your view" or "My opinion?"

And what was the meaning of ballpark figures? Did they arrive at these figures while playing baseball in the Oval Maidan on Sundays? But do they get time for that? Ok, got it! These were only estimates, which could always be dismissed if they did not work.

The same was the case with back-of-the-envelope calculations. When I heard this expression for the first time, it made me wonder whether they did not have calculators or even proper paper. Why did they have to use the back of an envelope? Hmmm... these figures were the ones they quoted as rough estimates. I asked them when they could provide accurate data. One of them assured me he would do it within a week if he could leverage his bandwidth. Eh? Do humans also have bandwidth? Earlier, I thought bandwidth pertained only to wi-fi or the Internet. I realised during the dialogue that humans also have bandwidth. Why could he not simply say time permitting?

Discussing the initiatives further, one of the consultants suggested we aim at the low-hanging fruits first. The "Apples and Oranges" statement had confused me enough earlier, and the concept of low-hanging fruits compounded it further.

The acronym TAT popped up frequently during the entire discussion. I soon learnt that it meant "Turn Around Time," a concept that became a big pain point for all operatives.

They suggested we try to create Synergy between the branches and the CPCs. Oh my God, could it not be called cooperation?   

The next confusing word was core competencies and the deliverables. Before I could get the hang of these,  there was the suggestion for mystery shopping. I wondered what shopping I was required to do? I frowned, and he clarified it was an incognito visit to a few private banks. Ok! Got it. This shopping was not about buying shoes; it was to gather information about the systems and procedures of competitor banks surreptitiously. Uh oh, it was industrial espionage!

And then there was the constant question: Are we on the same page? Which page? I looked at the document. The presentation was over. It turned out it only meant, "Do you agree?" Why could they not just say that?

By the end of the meeting, someone summarised the takeaways. Now what was that? I had heard of takeaways from a restaurant after dinner, but takeaways after the meeting?

One of the takeaways was that I should engage with the Managing Director and align him with one of the proposals. Are bosses like car wheels now that they need to be aligned? I thought we discussed the proposals in the Bank, but engaging with the boss and aligning him with our idea was the new confusing vocabulary.  

Before leaving, they asked me to keep all those issues on my radar screen. Radar screen? Was I to act like an air traffic controller now? I thought.

Decoding corporate jargon was like learning a new language. It was an enlightening experience. It took some time, but eventually, I succeeded in decoding the corporate jargon.

(To be continued...)

*****

81. THE HEADY SMELL OF POWER (2004)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 81 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

Grappling with hard-core defaulters, two years at RAR Branch passed in a jiffy. Profits started rolling in. Life was good. Then, bam, I got a change of position. I was moved to the position of Circle Development Officer. It was lateral movement, but they perceived it as a 'promotion'. In the new role, I was responsible for everything in the circle except the actual business. Transfers, postings, training, promotions, bills, residences, furniture, and all other resources… basically everyone's happiness or displeasure depended on my decisions.

I was amused to feel the transformation: it was nothing short of dramatic once I was saddled with the new role.

The usually indifferent Security Officer leapt forward to open the car door when my car reached the portico. My usual briefcase was now perceived as too heavy for my delicate hands. It was quickly picked up by the Messenger, who was waiting at the entrance gate. Until the previous day, I carried a much heavier briefcase myself.

At the lift, the liftman, who previously would not even look in my direction when I pressed the button, balancing my briefcase and purse, saluted me with military precision. He rushed to open the lift reserved for the exclusive use of the top triumvirate. 

I reached my new office to find a beautiful bunch of large red roses decorating my table. Soon, the office room started smelling of the sweet scent of sycophancy. Even before I settled down, a never-ending stream of departmental heads walked in to introduce themselves, along with impressive bouquets of fresh flowers. Roses, Lilies, and Orchids in myriad colours filled up my room. In my entire career, I had never been felicitated like that.

There happened to be an already scheduled dinner that evening. I was the centre of attraction, and they vied with each other to take care of me. Trying not to be rude to anyone, I overfilled my tummy with the goodies being forced on me. Finally, the dinner ended, and it was time to leave.

In the departure area of the hotel, I stood behind everyone else as in the past, waiting for my car to come. Invariably, it was the last one, trailing behind all the high and mighty in the carefully orchestrated car procession. But that evening, my car was driven in soon after the top trinity drove away. That evening, I led the parade of peer-level colleagues. The pecking order had changed overnight.

The heady aroma of power, which I had never tasted earlier, came with a vengeance. It was intoxicating. It was dangerous. I knew this game. I had seen glimpses of this played before. The constant stream of flattery and the subtle manipulations could lead to the insidious erosion of judgment. This newfound attention was a new experience. I was fully aware that this respect was for my position, not for me as a person.

Every night, I prayed for strength, humility and wisdom to resist the heady feeling of power. Every morning, I reminded myself that this is not for me. This is about them. This is for my position. It will vanish the day I move from here. It was challenging, easier said than done. I tried to remain grounded, remembering that my role was to serve the institution and the employees and to ensure fair and equitable treatment for everyone. I kept reminding myself to stay humble, focus on my responsibilities, and resist getting intoxicated by power.

The heady smell of power had to be desisted under any circumstances, for it was stealthy, subtle and treacherous and could erode my judgement.

(To continue....)

*****

80.THE TAMBOLA TRAP (2003)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 80 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

On that day, my desk was a battlefield of papers. Twenty thick files, each crowned with a three-page brief, glared at me. Today was the day of reckoning: a crucial videoconference with the Corporate Centre was scheduled that afternoon at 3 pm to discuss the status of non-performing assets handled by my branch. I had to revisit each summary and make notes on the margins based on the likely questions in the video conference. I wanted to have all the details at my fingertips. It was an important videoconference with the Corporate Centre, and I did not want to be caught on the wrong foot. Panic gnawed at me as I looked at the clock.  

"Fifteen minutes per note. Five hours minimum. If I work non-stop, I can finish the revision by 3pm," I muttered, calculating grimly.

I buzzed for my PS, "No interruptions. Absolutely none!"

“Yes, Madam. Will make sure,” he knew the importance of the videoconference. 

An hour later, the cell phone screen flashed Big Boss Res. The call was not from my boss but from his wife. "Hey Ranjana! What are you doing? We are having the Ladies Club meeting at my place today. Come and join in the fun!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but I shook my head. "Sorry, Madam. I am neck-deep with work today."

"Oh, come on! Nobody in the Bank can be that busy. You may be having a site visit due. Right? Tell your boss you are out inspecting some unit," she suggested.

I giggled at her playful suggestion, "Madam, I have a videoconference with the Corporate Centre, which is crucial."

"That is no issue. Ask someone else to attend."

"I cannot, Madam. The meeting is with the Corporate Centre."

"Hmm…Okay, okay. I understand you are actually very busy. But at least come over for lunch."

"Madam, I need to prepare. If I am unable to answer the questions in the meeting, your husband will kill me..." I trailed off, imagining his stern looks if I could not clarify the position.

"Ah! Do not worry about him. I will take care of that. I will tell him not to say anything to you. Do not act pricey now. Just come for lunch. It will take the same time as going to the lunchroom." She was in no mood to relent, but I had to. With the First Lady insisting so much, further resistance would have been too discourteous, and I caved in, albeit reluctantly.

The Bank House was nearby, and I was there at 1.30 pm sharp to find myself amidst a whirlwind of fun, colour and chatter.

“A pair of eight, eighty-eight!” The announcement went.

“Line!” someone yelled, and there was a lot of activity in that corner.

“Bogey! Bogey!! Bogey!!!” Some other women shouted, and the process was resumed.

“One and six. Number sixteen. Sweet sixteen,” a new number was announced.

About thirty fashionably dressed divas were engrossed in a lively game of Tambola. The First Lady greeted me warmly. "Thanks for coming! Here, play on my ticket while I arrange lunch."

The numbers were being announced, but my mind was elsewhere. Loan recovery, one-time settlement, implementation of SARFAESI, status in the Debt Recovery Tribunal, and the next hearing in BIFR were looming before my eyes. I felt a pang of guilt. I should have been at my desk, not here.

In ten minutes, lunch was served. The vivacious ladies wanted to play one more round of Tambola but had to get up much against their wishes. I admired their colourful silk sarees, fine jewellery, nicely done-up hairstyles and well-manicured nails; none of them was less than a diva. They discussed fashion, gossip, cookery and what their husband liked. Had I become a party pooper by coming here?

A lady with a glint in her eyes remarked, "Lucky you! Enjoying the party here while my poor husband is slogging."

She was right, but her words stung. Coming for lunch that day was no enjoyment for me; it was a forced choice. But could I share it with her? The wise say silence is golden. So I smiled and left for my office to finish the remaining preparation.

At 3pm sharp, I was in the Conference Room with the files, folders and notes, ready to face the barrage of queries. As we waited, someone from Corporate Centre conveyed that the videoconference was called off due to unforeseen exigencies.

Once I was back in my office, I wondered what dessert was served at lunch. Did the ladies play a few more rounds of Tambola? A strong feeling of loss suddenly started agitating my mind.  

(To continue....)

*****

79. DEBT, DECEPTION AND DOGS (2003)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 79 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

Arsh Deep Singh, a recalcitrant borrower from my RAR Branch, was a symphony of arrogance and deceit. He owed the bank a fortune but acted like a pauper, his lifestyle a brazen display of wealth.

After much chasing, we finally cornered him, and he agreed to come to the negotiation table for a compromise. Tall, handsome, and clad in a silk shirt and a designer suit, he claimed utter destitution. I could not imagine this. A man who claimed to be destitute, dressed in a shirt that probably cost more than my monthly salary, was condescendingly informing me of his dire financial strait.

"I have no money," he wailed. "I have even sold my wife's jewellery, and nothing is left for her to wear now."

I remained unfazed. "So what? Who bought all that jewellery for her? You did." I countered. "Why don't you sell off the remaining one to repay the bank." He feigned despair. His voice started choking, and he buried his face in his hands. My team members were moved by his crocodile tears. They rushed to comfort him with a glass of water. I, however, suspected a charade. It was a theatrical performance veiled in crocodile tears. But I remained unmoved. This wasn't a tragedy; it was purely a calculated drama.

I insisted on visiting his residence in Ludhiana. I wanted to see this destitute man's lifestyle firsthand. He agreed with some resistance and left. Moments later, from the window of my office room, I watched him drive away in a chauffeur-driven Porsche. A poor man indeed!

His house in Model Town was a palace. The sight that greeted us was a testament to his opulent lifestyle. A sprawling mansion, the gate guarded by two liveried sentries expressed exclusivity. We were kept waiting, a deliberate display of his power and our insignificance. Finally, we were ushered in, not to a drawing room but to a sprawling lush green lawn, where we were expected to bask in the sun on uncomfortable cane chairs.

Fifteen minutes passed. No one came. I inquired again. Then, all of a sudden, two ferocious German Shepherds were unleashed upon us. The duo came barking menacingly. This was no accident; it was a calculated intimidation tactic. This man, who claimed to be bankrupt, dared to unleash his dogs on his creditors.

My colleague, a picture of terror, nearly jumped out of his skin. I quickly told him to remain seated and take deep breaths. However, I remained calm. Having kept a big Labrador as a pet, I knew our fear would only excite the dogs.

Finally, Mr. Destitute appeared, clad in his navy blue silk robe and rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep. "Sorry, late night," he drawled. Late night? While the bank's money funded his lavish lifestyle?

His theatrics continued, but his false claims were exposed. His time was up. We seized his assets, his opulent mansion, symbolising his greed and disregard for the law. Soon, the auctioneer's hammer fell. Three crore one, three crore two... three crore three! The final call!

It was a resounding defeat for the man who thought he could outsmart the system. This was not just a debt recovery battle; it was a battle against arrogance, against those who believed they were above the law. In the end, justice, albeit belatedly, prevailed.

(To continue...)

*****

 

78. THE ACID WELL FUMES (2002)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 78 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

M/s Baddi Chemicals (not the real name), a non-performing asset parked at the branch, owed the bank a large sum. The factory, a skeletal monument of their failed ambition and past indiscretions, lay idle, mocking our attempts to recover the bad debt they had become.  We at the bank were relentless in our pursuit of recovery. But the owners, the masters of evasion, remained elusive, leaving behind a trail of broken promises. After months of relentless follow-up, we succeeded in contacting the owner. He allowed us to inspect the unit. He also grudgingly agreed to meet us there. 

I, along with the concerned officers, reached the defaulter unit at the mutually agreed time. The factory, located in a desolate area about fifty kilometres from the city, seemed to exude an air of defiance. First, the gatekeeper, a harbinger of their contempt, stopped our entry into the unit. The promised meeting with the owner was aborted as he did not turn up, a petty act of defiance. Instead, he sent a representative with a condescending attitude, who arrived an hour late.

Reeking of indifference, he led us through the decaying industrial shed until we reached a precipice – a gaping well. Out of my curiosity to know what it was, I climbed a dozen steps. But my accompanying officers discreetly preferred to stay away. The well was without any railings, its depths shrouded in an ominous mist. The factory representative urged me to have a closer look at it, his eyes gleaming with cold intensity.

The air, thick with the acrid stench of acid, burned my nostrils. I recoiled as the fumes emanating from the well assaulted my senses. But the fellow insisted on explaining the process, oblivious to my distress. His voice was like a silken caress that masked a disturbing ruthlessness. I noticed the flicker of malice in his eyes, a chilling reflection of the fate that awaited those who dared to irritate them.

As we drove back from the factory, my eyes stinging, my companions whispered tales of the sinister usage of the well. It was the final resting place for the dissenters, a frightening testament to the brutality of promoters. They shared that even the human bones will dissolve in it within less than a week.

Fear, cold and insidious, gripped my heart. But it was not fear that fuelled my resolve. It was a burning rage, a vow to ensure that one day, the bank would reclaim every penny from this rogue defaulter.

When the SARFAESI Act came into force, M/s Baddi Chemicals, the embodiment of greed and cruelty, was the first to fall, a poignant reminder that justice, however delayed, would ultimately prevail.

And finally the day, the sale proceeds of M/s Baddi Chemicals were credited to the account, the burning of my eyes and nostrils subsided!

(To continue....)

*****

77. WHEN I WAS IMPRISONED IN THE BANK (2002)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 77 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

Finally, I was promoted to Top Executive Grade when I expected it the least. Before I could respond to innumerable congratulatory messages, I was moved to Chandigarh and thrust into the murky depths of the Recovery and Rehabilitation Branch.

My desk promptly became a dump yard of fat files containing the history and developments of non-performing accounts parked at the branch. Every account had at least two fat files, and my head was perpetually buried in the mountain of these files. Days blurred into a monotonous cycle of studying and understanding the details of each case, and I spent every moment trying to understand them. A week was over in a blink.

On that particular evening, I was engrossed in studying a file when my esteemed boss phoned, “I want a status report on the Lal & Lal Industries. Tomorrow morning at 10am sharp!”

Panic set in. I looked at the clock. It was already past 6 pm. The history of Lal & Lal Industries was spread over three fat files already adorning my desk. Looking at their size, I had kept them aside to be studied last. I stepped out of my cabin only to find that the officer who handled the case had already left. My next in command was on leave. It sent a shiver down my spine. Even if I worked the entire night, I could not have prepared a self-contained note on the account by 10am the next day. Still, I picked up the files and started studying them. I was so engrossed in pasting Post-it slips, putting flags on the relevant notes and studying the files that I lost track of time. 

As I delved deep into this unwarranted abyss, the lights went off. The office room plunged into darkness and an eerie silence, punctuated only by the whirring of my Personal Computer. Assuming the electricity had gone off, I waited for someone to switch on the generator soon. A few minutes passed, but nothing happened. I pressed the call bell, but it did not function. I emerged from my room and was shocked to find the entire floor dark and deserted. Despite it being pitch dark, I managed to reach the main door. It was locked from the outside. The security guard on the evening duty, not finding anyone in the main hall, had locked the gates from outside, switched off the lights, and left. I thumped at the massive wooden door and pounded hard, but the banging echoed through the empty hall. There was no response from anywhere. I had actually become a prisoner on my office floor.

Fumbling through the numerous office tables and chairs, I managed to return to my office room. Searching through various drawers in the dim light of the computer screen, I finally located the phone directory. As my eyes strained to decipher the phone numbers, the tabletop computer, my last beacon of hope, sputtered and died. Its battery back-up had conked off.

Uff! What do I do now? Who do I contact? I looked out of the window of my room on the second floor. All the cars had moved, and the parking lot was empty. I tried to shout loudly and wave frantically at some people I saw on the ground floor, but nobody looked up or heard my voice.

Then, I remembered my cell phone, my new, fancy acquisition post promotion, which I had received that day only. I fumbled for it in my bag, my fingers trembling. Who will I call? I had not fed any numbers in its phone book. Thankfully, there was a call from a colleague who had called me earlier that day to test my phone. He responded quickly. After I recounted my predicament, he laughed loudly, "You must be kidding. Right?" And then came the big surprise. My colleague handed his cell phone to our boss, who roared with a hearty chuckle, "Locked in the Bank, eh? Sounds like a good start to your assignment." They were sharing a drink at his home: I could hear their laughter with the sound of ice cubes clinking in their whisky glasses. Jealousy, raw and bitter, washed over me.

The Security Officer soon arrived with the security guard, and they extended profuse apologies while releasing me from the unintended prison.

I carried all three files relating to the Lal & Lal Industries home, toiled overnight to prepare a note on the case, and took it to the boss at 10 am sharp. His room was empty.

His Personal Secretary informed me, "The boss has left for Delhi this morning to attend a meeting. He will be away for two days. I wonder why he asked you to get this note by 10 am today."

I returned to my room and wondered what the urgency expressed the previous evening was all about. Could it be a sinister ploy to make me burn the midnight oil? Or was it to test the level of my commitment? Or to get vicarious pleasure out of my discomfiture? God alone knows!  

(To continue....)

*****

76. STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF DESTINY! (2001)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 76 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards, link given below:
https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/06/stress-success-and-everything-in.html

Two years passed, and I was transferred to head the Personnel & HR Department in the Head Office. A wave of congratulations and good wishes swept over me. It was the first time a woman officer was posted in this position in the Bank. Suddenly, I became a very popular person. Everyone seemed eager to befriend me, and the number of Diwali and New Year greetings skyrocketed. I knew this newfound popularity was not for me but for my position.

Soon, the time for my third and final promotion attempt to the top executive grade arrived. The memory of my previous two rejections still stung, particularly the explanation given by the Chairman of the first interview board: they could not promote too many women to the top cadre. Despite this setback, I prepared diligently for the upcoming opportunity for promotion. I delved into my notes and books, brushing up on the theoretical aspects of banking, but it was with some scepticism this time.

However, life had other plans. It was early morning. My husband and I had gone for our morning walk in a nearby park. Suddenly, he experienced pain in his upper abdomen. He found it difficult to walk. We rested for ten minutes on a bench in the park, and he felt normal, and we resumed our walk. After another five minutes of walking, the pain reappeared. Rest brought it back to normal. Walk, pain, rest, relief… Walk, pain, rest, relief… with difficulty, we returned home. A cardiac checkup confirmed our worst fears: he had significant arterial blockages. The cardiologist recommended angioplasty, a procedure that would hopefully resolve the issue. A stent or two should take care of the blockages, and he will be discharged from the hospital within a day.

Two days later, he was wheeled into the Catheterization Lab, and I sat outside waiting for the process to be over. Waiting outside, I picked up the newspaper to read the latest Credit Policy the Reserve Bank of India had announced the previous day. I read it three times, but nothing registered. A mix of anxiety and worry was consuming me, and my mind had lost its capability to understand and absorb information. The nuances of how the Reserve Bank of India proposed to handle the money market in the country were of no interest to me. The reality of his health overshadowed everything else. I folded the newspaper and threw it away. Whispering a silent prayer for his well-being, I looked at my son. He appeared tense. I patted his arm, “Let us go and have some coffee. A cup of strong coffee would perhaps soothe our frayed nerves."

An unexpected announcement on the public address system startled me, and I jumped out of the chair in the coffee shop. The cardiologist wanted me to come up and see him urgently. So soon? I was worried and almost ran up to the floor where my husband lay in the operation theatre. The cardiologist informed me they could not perform angioplasty as the blockages were too severe and complex. He explained that there were too many blockages in the arteries and at the points where the arteries branch off into two. It was not possible to insert a stent there. The only solution was bypass surgery. The doctor advised, "If you want a second opinion, we will discharge him by evening. The only word of caution is that you decide fast. His arteries are severely clogged. We cannot wait much.” The doctor was pleasant and explained his view and approach clearly.

I discussed it with my husband, and he decided to undergo the bypass surgery.

That evening, I decided my career ambitions had to take a backseat. Looking after my husband was my priority. I put away my banking books and study material to be given to the kabadi.

The surgery was successful, but the recovery process was arduous. Juggling hospital visits, home care, and attending to visiting friends and relatives was exhausting. It was taking its toll on me, but I was trying to be a superwoman.

Amidst this chaos, the interview dates were announced. My interview was scheduled just ten days after the open heart surgery of my husband. I had decided not to appear for the interview. But my husband urged me to attend the interview.

“I have no intentions of going for the interview. If I go and they promote me, they will definitely transfer me out of Delhi. I cannot leave you here in this condition and move out,” I argued with him.

“I think you must go for the interview. If I find it difficult to live alone in Delhi, I will take leave and stay with you until I recuperate fully. But do not miss this opportunity,” his voice was feeble.

"But I have not even prepared anything. I will feel like a fool in the interview. Try to understand," I was uncomfortable at the thought of facing the interview board in this state of complete unpreparedness.

My son joined him in sermonising me, “Mom, you cannot give up the race even without running it. If you have to lose it, lose it after running. One does not always win in life, but you must try. You never know…” They were both encouraging me not to give up without a fight.

Reluctantly, I reached the venue of the interview. The undertaking I was required to sign before the interview read, “In the event of my getting promoted, I am willing to be posted anywhere in India or abroad.”

My hand trembled as I picked up the pen to sign that undertaking, and I stopped. Then, I thought the Interview Committee would not recommend me in this state of unpreparedness. So I made up my mind and signed the paper, albeit shakily.

I felt neither pressure of performance nor fear of rejection. It was okay if I would not be selected. I no longer craved the promotion. In fact, I secretly hoped I would be rejected.

In the interview, the Chairman of the Board fired the first question, “So you are heading the personnel department here? You must be an expert in personnel matters.” The question from the person who had handled nothing but personnel-related matters for most of his career was intimidating. But my answer was short and crisp, “No, sir. I am not an expert at all. Personnel is such a vast and complex area that even a lifetime of exposure is not enough to master the intricacies of this discipline.”

“Mrs Bharij, Reserve Bank of India recently announced the Busy Season Credit Policy. Can you tell us the salient features of the policy?” Another member asked.

I rolled my eyes, looked at the ceiling and then at the member and replied with a smile, “I do not know.”

“Mrs Bharij, did you not read it to prepare for the interview?” The board member obviously did not like it.

“It is not so, sir. I have read it, but I cannot recall anything right now. Maybe I am nervous.” Making an honest admission, I grinned.

At the end of the interview, I was confident they would not select me, and that is what I wanted. Once again, after twenty-two years, I deliberately tried to erase the career lines from my palm.

A fortnight later, the results were announced and much to my surprise, I was promoted and transferred to a new location. I had sacrificed the stability of my family for a career advancement I did not truly desire.  I did not want any promotion or transfer at this stage of life, but I got both. Once again, a conflict between my domestic life and my career began, and I started packing my bags for Chandigarh.

Aren’t the ways of destiny strange?

(To be continued....)

*****

75. SHATTERED DREAMS, UNBROKEN SPIRIT (2000)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 75 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards, link given below:
https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/06/stress-success-and-everything-in.html

https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/06/stress-success-and-everything-in.html

A year had passed, but the sting of my previous rejection still throbbed. The words of the Chairman of the Interview Board, a cruel indictment of my gender, continued to echo in my mind. It was a wound that had refused to heal.

But hope, a fragile bloom, dared to rise its head again as the Bank summoned me for another interview. Favourable recommendations had paved the way, and anticipation stirred within me. I delved into my studies, though a sense of cynicism clouded my efforts this time.

A chance encounter with a fellow batchmate shattered my optimism. His derisive laughter and cynical advice, steeped in the bitterness of nepotism, cut deep. "Prostrate yourself before the top man. There is no other way to get your promotion," he sneered, his words a stark reflection of the system.

I rejected his proposal, determined to earn my promotion through merit, not by sycophancy. I returned home, my heart heavy with despair. But fueled by a mix of hope and positivity, I once again immersed myself in my studies to update my knowledge of banking.

The interview, a battleground of knowledge, intellect and poise, concluded, and I emerged cautiously optimistic. The day of the result arrived, and a friend's jubilant call from the Corporate Centre filled me with anticipation. "Keep the champagne ready!" He said and I believed him: he was in a position where he would know the result. But fate had other plans. My name was once again missing from the list of promoted candidates. 

Years later, working within the corridors of power, I discovered the harsh reality. At the last moment, my name was removed from the list of successful candidates to accommodate a well-connected candidate. 

The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, a stark reminder of the systemic bias that continues to hinder people like us, the people without a Godfather!

(To be continued...)

*****

74. HOW I WISH I DIDN'T KNOW IT! (1999)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 74 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards, link given below:

https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/06/stress-success-and-everything-in.html

Exactly nine months after I joined the Okhla Industrial Estate branch, the inspection team arrived and checked thoroughly every aspect of banking. I was ecstatic when the rating jumped two steps up. It was an unprecedented feat, especially given the high level of NPAs (Non-Performing Accounts). My superiors praised me endlessly, and I felt a sense of accomplishment.

Soon thereafter, I was due for promotion and was short-listed for an interview. The interview date arrived quickly, and I was sitting outside the room waiting for my turn. It was my first chance for promotion to the top executive grade. Waiting for my turn for the interview, I felt a bit nervous and tense. I had excelled in my assignments, garnered glowing appraisals, and meticulously prepared for the theoretical aspects of banking. Yet, the spectre of performance anxiety was raising its ugly head off and on. 

There was still some time for my turn to come. There was only one candidate between me and the interview board. Vinay Varma (not his real name), who was also one of the candidates but listed at the end, commented from the far end of the room, “Ranjana, do not worry. You will surely make it.”

Sensing his tongue-in-cheek tone, I asked, “And how you are so sure, Vinay?”

“It is because you are a woman. For women candidates, the Interview Board does not see performance. What matters is how you smile at them. You have a charming smile, so you are through. Simple, my dear Dr Watson!”

Vinay burst into laughter, suggesting that my charm, rather than my performance, would ensure my promotion.

His snide comment resonated well with others in the room. It was a stark reminder of the pervasive chauvinism in the workplace. While I was accustomed to such petty remarks, his words stung. Swallowing the affront, I gave the dialogue a light-hearted twist, “Oh really? Had you told me this secret earlier, I would not have worked that hard.”

My turn for the interview had come, and I walked in. The interview went smoothly. I felt confident in my answers and was happy with my performance. The earlier dialogue with other candidates did not affect me: I knew I had cracked it.

A month later, I was surprised to receive an apologetic phone call from a colleague, "I am very sorry. It is so unfortunate."

"Why? What happened?" I asked curiously.

"Oh! You did not know about it? In that case, I should not have called you up," the colleague sounded repentant.

"But what has happened?" I insisted.

"The result has been announced, and I am very sorry you could not make it. Now the rest of your career has gone for a toss," he continued lamenting.

"Never mind, sir. I have two more chances. I am sure I will make it the next time," I tried to put on a brave front.

"No, Madam. A soldier who once falls on the battlefield never gets up. Your career has now reached a dead end," he continued to mourn the death of my career.

Not expecting this failure, I was a little upset. However, I rationalized it by telling myself that the interview was a process of elimination. Those who were promoted must be better than me, but deep in my heart, I knew the capabilities of those who had been promoted. Never mind, I will try next time, I comforted myself. I did not run up to my seniors, seeking their sympathy and the reasons for my rejection. I had faith in the system.

A fortnight later, I had to attend a meeting in the Head Office. It was sheer chance that I came face to face with the Chairman of the Interview Board. Seeing me, he stopped, "I am very sorry, Mrs Bharij. You could not make it. You see, I was quite helpless. We could not promote both the ladies from this area. There were only two of you. I am sure you will understand this limitation."

I was shocked but did not say anything. I had learned well that spontaneous reactions are better avoided in this strongly hierarchical setup, but my blood was boiling. It was straight from the Chairman of the Interview Board. Is there a quota for women? Why could they not promote both women if both were good? What had I not done? I had taken the unions head-on. I had improved customer service manifold. I brought about improvement in every parameter of the functioning of the branch. The Inspection rating of the branch had skyrocketed. Some of the people the Bank had selected for promotion had not performed half as well, but there was no quota for their gender. I had read somewhere that a woman has to work doubly hard to prove half as good as a man. Was it not true? When it was the question of reward as promotion, an unwritten quota had limited my upward movement. I had just hit the glass ceiling and had hit it hard. It was painful.

Until then, I had not felt upset about my non-promotion. But after knowing the real reason for my rejection, my faith in the system was shaken. 

How I wished I was not privy to this inside information! 

(To be continued)

*****