64. A DAY FULL OF UNEXPECTED CHALLENGES (YEAR 1996)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 64 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.

That winter evening, I was late in leaving the office. Driving at a high speed, as I entered the South Avenue from Vijay Chowk, I rammed straight into a Delhi Police barricade. Placed in a dark patch under the shadow of a tree, I had not seen it. The road was deserted, and I was, to be honest, driving recklessly. The impact was so forceful that the steel barricade rebounded, encircled my car and hit its rear door. The jolt shook me out of my reverie. I got down and inspected the car: the rear door was jammed. Nobody was hurt. It was only my car which got damaged.

I looked around nervously. The road was deserted, and I decided to drive away. Suddenly, two cops on a motorcycle surfaced from nowhere, their red and blue lights flashing. They waved at me to stop, checked my registration papers and driving licence and directed me to follow them to the Police Station. I had no option but to follow them.

It had been a bad day, and my mind was embroiled in my thoughts. I felt like I was living through a nightmare. The sound of the siren and the flashing of the police lights only served to amplify the anxiety I was already feeling.

We reached the police station. The cops told the Station House Officer what had happened and why I had been brought there. The SHO asked me sternly, “The road was empty, and you still did not see the barricade. Why, Madam?”

“I am sorry, sir. Yes, I did not see the barricade. It was placed under the shadow of a tree, and the place was quite dark, making the barricade almost invisible. There were no blinkers on the barricade. I admit it was my mistake, and I am sorry for what happened,” I said politely.

The Station House Officer was a nice person. He warned me to be careful in future and allowed me to leave the police station without any punishment. I felt relieved, as this was the best thing that happened that day after various factors had taken a toll on me.

                                                           ***  

Back in the car, I did not switch on the music and drove home in silence, reliving what happened that day.

Juggling a demanding job and ever-increasing family responsibilities, I had developed an internal mental switch to maintain my sanity. Every morning, when I stepped out of the house, I switched off the domestic mode and turned the official switch on. In the evening, as I got into my car, I switched off my official mode and turned on my favourite music. The domestic mode would come alive only when I reached home. Thus, the interregnum between leaving the office and reaching home was my “Me Time” when I forgot the world. However, that evening, my worries consumed me, preventing me from relaxing. There was an onslaught of problems from all sides throughout the day.

***

Soon after I reached the office, my son called, “Mom, I have just reached home.”

“Why? What happened?” I was alarmed. He had joined a reputed engineering college for a four-year course just a month ago.

“The physical ragging is atrocious. The seniors are no less than monsters. I cannot take it anymore. I am not going back there,” he sounded upset.

“You relax at home now. We will talk about it in the evening,” I comforted him.

A little later, my mother called up from Lucknow, “Papa is in a critical condition. Can you come over one of these weekends to look him up? It is not urgent, but who knows what happens tomorrow…?” She had left the sentence incomplete for me to infer its meaning. My heart sank as I realized that if I did not go to Lucknow now, I may never see my father again.

Just before lunch, Ronnie Khanna (not his real name), who was earlier in my team, walked into my room. He looked serious and worried. “Madam, if you do not mind, I want to give some personal advice. Please clear the proposals of Faiz Ali Sahab.”

“But none of the proposals for donation to his institutes fulfil the criteria for donation under community services banking.”

“What you are saying is correct technically, but madam, it may not be good for you personally. I have come to caution you because I have worked with you earlier and continue to be your well-wisher,” Ronnie sounded concerned.

“Faiz Ali is sitting in the VIP lobby, raising a stink because you have turned down all the proposals for donations to his institute,” Ronnie’s tone was grim, the lines of worry getting dark on his serious face.

“He is a Local Board member and can be nasty. He is threatening to have you transferred to a difficult place.”

“But I have not turned them down myself. It is with the approval of the big boss,” I said confidently.

“You know our boss is spineless, and this man is saying that he will have you transferred to a place where even potable water may not be available,” he whispered as he looked at the door from the corner of his eyes.

“I do not care. Please tell that fellow I am willing to go even to the North East. I would boil the water before drinking it but shall not do anything against the norms,” I was unruffled. Disappointed at my firm response, Ronnie left the room.

I thought about it for some time and decided to inform the boss. I thought it would be good to forewarn him so that he could counter the undesirable onslaught by the Local Board member. When I apprised him of the situation, he listened attentively and said, “I hope you have not told him that all these notes were declined with my approval.”

“No, sir. Not at all! He does not know anything about that,” I said with pride in my voice, pride in being a disciplined soldier. My loyalties were with my Bank and my boss only.

“Hmmm… Do not tell him about this conversation, and keep these folders in your custody. He should not see them under any circumstances and not even get wind of the fact that I declined them,” he sounded relieved.

I had assessed my boss to be straightforward and strong, but was he? How mistaken I was! This happened before lunchtime, and my transfer orders for Dehra Dun were issued by the evening.

Later in the evening, Ronnie told me that Faiz Ali would not leave the top man’s room until he signed my transfer orders. Not having enough guts to explain the official policies, he preferred to succumb to his pressure and comply with his demands in a cowardly manner. How I missed my previous boss! (See Episode no 63. Two Opposite Leadership Styles (Year 1994) 

https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2024/10/63-two-leadership-styles-year-1994.html 

***

I had reached home. As I parked the car in front of my house, I felt fatigue wash over me. The events of the day, culminating in the car accident and the police encounter, left me feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.

I continued to sit in the car for a few minutes, contemplating which issue to deal with first, break the news of my transfer to Dehra Dun to the family, book my tickets for Lucknow to meet my ailing father or to help my son handle the issue of ragging at the college.
I took a deep breath, gathered myself and stepped out of the car, ready to handle all the unexpected challenges that had suddenly cropped up that day.

(To be continued...)

                                   *****

63. TWO OPPOSITE LEADERSHIP STYLES (YEAR 1994)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 63 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.

It was the annual closing time for the Bank. News of business performances from other circles was coming into the media every day. Our circle had achieved phenomenal growth in business. I was thrilled with our success and envisioned a press conference to showcase our achievements. As the head of Public Relations, it was my duty to capitalize on such opportunities to enhance the image of the Bank.

While I reported directly to the Circle head, administrative matters were routed through one of the General Managers. Eagerly, I approached the General Manager with my idea, but his response was almost lukewarm. With an expressionless face, he merely suggested I consult the Chief.  

I did not allow my spirits to be dampened and sought an audience with the big boss with renewed determination. He was the same person who had interviewed me for this job, as I have previously recounted in Episode 61. He enthusiastically endorsed my proposal and instructed his Personal Secretary to schedule a suitable date.

Excited at the idea, I moved swiftly, booked a prestigious hotel for the press conference, designed invitation cards, selected thoughtful gifts for the media, meticulously prepared an impressive press release and had it duly approved by the General Managers and the Circle head.

The press conference was a resounding success. All our top and senior executives were present at the venue, the media briefing was informative, and questions were addressed by the circle management committee with clarity. The media relished the exquisite wines and thoughtfully curated dinner menu. With the help of my team, I saw off the last guests around 2 am.

In the morning, I was delighted to read extensive coverage of our performance in the newspapers I subscribed to. Eager to see how other papers had reported the event, I arrived at the office earlier than usual. I was thrilled at the success of my first press conference.

As I was immersed in reading the media reports, my phone rang. It was a long-distance call from the head of Public Relations in the Corporate Centre in Mumbai. He rebuked me for a significant blunder: the profit figures of the circle were not to be shared. He emphasized that only the consolidated profit figures of the Bank were to be made public. He apprehended that the Chairman would be furious and may reprimand our Circle head. Before I could respond, he disconnected the line.

I was stunned. My pride and joy evaporated as I slumped in my chair. A mistake had been made, and I could not undo it. I felt compelled to inform our superiors so they could be prepared.

I could not wait for the elevator and took to the stairs to inform the General Manager. He listened impassively and replied curtly, "I never wanted a press conference. It was you who were pushing for it. Now face the consequences! (मैं तो वैसे भी कोई प्रैस कांफ्रेंस वगैरह करना नहीं चाहता था। आप ही को पडी हुई थी। अब नतीजा भुगतिए।)"

"I had only suggested it, and you had agreed. You even approved the press release with the controversial figures. How can you disown it now?" I wanted to protest but was dumbfounded by his attempt to evade the blame. He washed his hands of any responsibility.

Snubbed and humiliated, I came out of his office. But after a moment of hesitation, I decided to inform the Circle head about the lapse. I wanted to forewarn him. Anticipating a potential call from the Chairman, I did not want him to be taken off-guard. As I entered his room, he greeted me warmly and complimented me for arranging a successful press conference. I could not even accept the compliment properly and confessed to the mistake pointed out by the Corporate Centre. I expressed my apprehension about the likely adverse reaction from the Chairman.

He listened attentively, smiled and said reassuringly, "Don't worry. I will handle it."

With his soothing words, a wave of relief washed over me, and I breathed easy. I never heard anything further about the lapse from anyone.  

That day, in the face of adversity, I witnessed two vastly different leadership styles. One was a man who shied away from responsibility and tried to throw back the blame at his junior. The other was a confident leader who stood by his team even in crisis. It was a lesson I would never forget.

(To be continued...)

*****

62. SURVIVING OFFICE POLITICS (YEAR 1993)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 62 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.

My first day after taking charge as head of Public Relations was full of activity. I was summoned by the General Manager to participate in a meeting for arranging the inauguration function of the computerisation of a branch. The event was significant as the Prime Minister was the chief guest. While the Branch Manager was to organise the overall event, the General Manager asked me to coordinate media coverage, ensure the presence of media persons, issue an effective press release, and do everything to ensure good coverage of the event in print as well as in the electronic media.

I knew the concerned Branch Manager from my earlier days. I was aware of his innate skills in office politics. As we were concluding the meeting, he suggested that the photographer be arranged by my department. I noticed his sly look when he said it and immediately sensed a trap.

The inauguration venue was like a fortress with multiple layers of high security. Only those with prior clearance were granted access. I was the only one from my department for whom the Branch Manager got an entry pass issued. He also got an entry pass for the photographer to enter the venue at 9.15 am.

As the big day approached, my team and I meticulously planned everything with the minutest details. As is my wont, I arrived early at the venue to look at the layout. 

To my surprise, the senior officials of the Bank began arriving well before 9.30am, the scheduled arrival time of the chief guest. I looked at my watch. It was only 8.45am. I wondered why they have come so much ahead of the time. The air was thick with anticipation, the hushed murmur of conversation punctuated by an occasional sound here and there.

That is when my colleague, with a smug grin stretching from ear to ear and his right hand waving questioningly at me, asked sarcastically in front of all the seniors in a loud voice, “Madam, where is your photographer? Why has he not reached? PM should be reaching any moment now.” 

I realised that the inauguration schedule had been changed, and the Prime Minister was arriving early. Neither I nor the photographer was informed of the last-minute change. Was it a carefully laid noose to snare me?  

It was the pre-cell phone era. I frantically ran to the branch on the first floor and tried to reach the photographer, but his studio was closed. I called his residence, and his wife informed me he had already left. I rushed back to the venue, my heart pounding against my ribs.

The photographer reached at 9.15 am sharp as per his entry pass. But the VIP motorcade reached the premises simultaneously, and he was stopped at the gate of the building. The net result was that his camera could not capture the moment of our Chairman presenting the bouquet to the Prime Minister.

The next day, the Branch Manager took the album to all the seniors, highlighting at every forum the lapse he had cleverly orchestrated and attributed to me. He repeated to everyone that the most important photograph of the Chairman presenting the bouquet to the Prime Minister could not be captured as the photographer, arranged by the Public Relations Department, was late. Nobody knew that he was the real culprit who had purposely not informed the change in timings either to me or to the photographer. 

Fortunately for me, the journalists covered the story well, and it was published on the first page of all the national dailies with the photo of the Prime Minister addressing the audience. My seniors were pleased with the incredible media coverage, which saved my role reputation from being dented. They did not heed his repeated efforts to project me in bad light. Don't they say in Hindi, "जाको राखे साईंयां, मार सके न कोय l "

I learnt a valuable lesson that day: office politics can be treacherous. It is like a minefield filled with hidden dangers and unexpected twists, and one must navigate it carefully. I also realised that office politics is an integral part of corporate life, and one must master appropriate skills to counter it to survive in the corporate world.

(To be continued...)

*****

61. ANOTHER TRANSFER, ANOTHER TRIAL (YEAR 1993)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 61 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.

The day my next transfer order came, I felt excited but was also filled with trepidation. I had been posted as head of Public Relations for the entire circle, a position higher than my present scale. Enthusiasm surged through me, but so did apprehension. I was due for my next promotion. What if I did not meet the expectations of the seniors? What if I was reassigned to the lower grade if I could not perform and was not promoted?

I thought of the famous lines from Gone with the Wind, “Tomorrow is another day.”  As I awaited my formal relieving orders and the arrival of my successor, I was determined to keep my nerves in check and act like Scarlett O’Hara. I decided to face future challenges with optimism.

The next day, I arrived at the office earlier than usual, only to find it eerily quiet. The cleaning staff was wrapping up as I entered. As I settled in, I noticed from the glass window two men hurrying towards my cabin. Curious, I barely had time to react before the door burst open. The younger man held the door for the senior, announcing with authority, “Ranjana, the CGM is here!”

I was taken off-guard and jumped up from my chair. The men were none other than the newly posted Chief General Manager and his Personal Secretary. An introductory conversation ensued, though I was puzzled by the unexpected visit. Why was the big boss here so early, and why the surprise appearance?

As minutes ticked by, the office began to buzz with staff members arriving, shaking hands vigorously and greeting each other loudly. The banking hall was abuzz with their usual cheerfulness and bonhomie. All the sounds were clearly audible in my cabin. I wanted to tell them to behave decently since the CGM was present, but I had no way to communicate with them. I offered tea to the visitors, which they declined, leaving me unable to summon a messenger to inform the team. The open glass window made it clear that two guests were seated inside. Therefore, no one came in to greet me, a departure from their usual routine.

Time passed. It was already ten o’clock, but I observed nervously that half the counters were still vacant. At 10:10, the CGM suggested a tour of the branch. My heart raced as I noticed the empty counters but there was no choice but to comply. As we stepped out, I made it a point to introduce him to the Accountant sitting outside my room in a louder than usual voice, ensuring everyone could hear. My team quickly sprang into action. Those working on back office desks promptly moved to the front counters, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

After a tour of the branch, the CGM agreed to a cup of tea and posed a series of questions about my ability to handle the upcoming role in Public Relations. “Will you be mobile enough to visit journalists? Are you prepared to stay late for evening events? Can you lead teams on assignments away from headquarters? Will you be able to handle the hot-headed journalists?” With unwavering confidence, I answered each question with a resolute "Yes, of course, sir!" I had not learnt to say "No, I can't."

The CGM and his secretary left around 11 a.m. I couldn't help but wonder why he had taken the time to visit my branch so soon after joining the circle? He had not inspected any records or asked for business figures. So, what was the real purpose of his visit?

The answer came an hour later when the Personal Secretary called to inform me that the CGM had approved my posting. The visit of the CGM was to resolve his underlying concerns as he had doubts about the capability of a woman to lead an important role. He had planned his visit to check whether I could handle the new responsibilities. Concerned about the posting of a woman officer to a high-profile role reporting directly to him, he wanted to ensure that I was capable of addressing the unusual challenges of the role. 

Once again, my gender had been challenged, and my capabilities had been suspected and scrutinized, all perhaps because I was a woman. By demonstrating my confidence and competence, I successfully dispelled his concerns. He was convinced of my mobility and my communication and leadership skills and I thus became the first female officer to handle public relations in the Bank.

The next three years were like going through an Agni Pariksha once again and I continued to prove my worth every day as new challenges cropped up.

(To be continued....)

*****

60. AN UNEXPECTED MONOTONY BREAKER (YEAR 1992)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 60 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.

After a harrowing summer, the monsoon had descended upon Delhi with a vengeance, turning the city into a watery mess. Delhi was virtually in a deluge. The roads were flooded: it was difficult for the traffic to move. Several Ambassador cars were blocking the road with their bonnets up as the rainwater entered the distributor, a common problem during the rainy season. Delhi had come to a virtual standstill.

As Chief Manager of a branch in central Delhi, which I was heading, I looked at the clock. It showed 1.45pm. The business hours of the Bank were from 10am to 2pm. Usually, at this time, several customers would walk in leisurely from the nearby government offices after finishing their lunch, but that day was different. There was no one in the banking hall. The usual bustle of customers had been deterred by the torrential downpour. The life of a banker is boring if there are no customers; the thought crossed my mind as I suppressed a yawn. 

A few minutes later, I was about to close my payment scroll for the day when a frantic elderly gentleman burst into my office. He looked suave despite his grey hair, which was in a mess due to rain.

 “Up to what time would you accept cash?” He demanded in an authoritative tone.

“What a question to ask!” I thought before responding to him.

“Up to 2pm,” I responded calmly.

"I have to deposit Advance Tax! Do you know today is the last day? And it is raining cats and dogs. Are you not going to extend the business hours?" he roared, his voice a mix of urgency and panic.

“I know it, sir. But I am afraid I cannot change the banking hours because of the weather. You can deposit the tax now. We still have ten minutes for the counter to close,” I replied politely.  

“If I had the cash with me, Lady, I would have deposited it straightaway. I certainly would not have come to you. My problem is that I have to bring the cash from home. Today is the last date, and I must deposit the tax today. I do not see any reason why you should not co-operate. As the head of this branch, you are supposed to help a customer.” His face contorted with anger, and his voice raised with a sense of entitlement in his demand.

“Look at the time, sir. It is almost 2pm, the time for us to stop the public dealings. I have no authority to extend the business hours,” I expressed my inability to oblige him.

Observing my firm stance, the fellow immediately softened, “Ma’am, can you please help me given these unusual rains? I have to deposit Advance Tax today itself under any circumstances. Can you please please stretch the timings a wee bit? I would be extremely grateful to you. I will return with cash in no time,” he pleaded extremely politely this time. Seeing him so helpless and descending from the high pedestal, I relented and decided to help him, “Ok. But where do you stay?”

“In GK, I mean Greater Kailash.” As he said this, I started laughing.

“Going to GK and coming back in this rain? I bet my life if you can manage it even in three hours today.”

“What am I going to do now? The tax has to be deposited today.” He sighed dramatically, rubbing his hands nervously.

“Can you ask somebody to bring cash instead of you going and bringing it from home? That way, you can reduce the travel time by half, and I can ask the Cash Officer to keep the books open for some time. But by the time he returns from lunch, your cash should have reached,” I suggested.

The man beamed, “Yes. That is brilliant. I will ring up my wife, and she will send cash through the driver. May I use your phone?”

He settled down in the chair in my cabin and dialled his residence number to talk to his wife. The volume of the other side being high and the room being quiet, I unwittingly became a passive listener to the entire conversation. I heard him explain his predicament, and then the chaos ensued.

"Cash? How much? Why do you need it?" his wife demanded curtly.

"It's for Advance Tax. I need fifty thousand rupees, and I need it now! Is the driver there?”

“Why don’t you come home, have lunch, and take the cash too?”

“No. I cannot come home. It is raining so badly here. It will take me quite some time to reach home. But can you ask the driver…..”

“But why can’t you come home?” she repeated.

“Try to understand, darling. I cannot come home. Just listen to me…..This is urgent. Today is the last date for….”

“I knew that. You always avoid coming home for lunch.”

“Ok…ok. Stop whining and send the driver quickly with cash. Is he there?”

“Yes, he is. But where are you?” His wife asked suspiciously.

"I'm at the bank, of course!" he said, exasperated.

"You're lying! Where are you really?" she accused.

"I'm not lying!  I just told you I'm at the Bank!" he insisted.  

“You liar! Where are you? Tell me the truth,” she growled.

“No. I am not lying. I am at the Bank only,” he frowned.

"But I just heard a woman’s voice. Who are you with?" she demanded.

“Yes. You heard it right. It was a woman’s voice. She is the Chief Manager here…..” he replied softly, struggling to sound calm.

“You are again lying. When will you ever change? How can a woman be the Chief Manager of a Bank?” his wife scoffed. The insinuation was not veiled.

“It is a fact, and I am NOT lying." The man groaned again.

“Hmm...and how does the driver know where the bank is? Do you visit her often?”

“Stop this nonsense and send the cash quickly,” saying so, he banged the phone.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he burst out, “Oh women, women, women! Why are you like this? That was my wife. I am on the wrong side of seventy, and she still suspects me. She heard your voice and started doubting me. She would not believe that a woman could be the Chief Manager. Why are you women like this?” He exploded with frustration and sat down, holding the head in his hands.

I suppressed my smile and pressed the call bell to order a strong cup of coffee. He needed it to soothe his nerves, ruffled by his suspecting wife. As he sipped coffee, he kept lamenting about his wife. Although my lunch got delayed, the incident was an unexpected monotony breaker in the otherwise mundane and lacklustre workday of a banker.

(To be continued....)

*****

59. THINK BEFORE YOU LICK! (YEAR 1991)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 59 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 joined a branch in central Delhi, I was suffering from a relentless cough that refused to abate. This persistent and nagging discomfort robbed me of sleep, peace, and productivity. Despite countless visits to medical professionals, from general practitioners to specialists, no diagnosis could be reached.

One of the staffers, seeing me coughing badly, suggested I see Vaidya ji, who also sat in the same government building where my branch was. I was told that anybody who went to him got cured.

The reputation of Vaidya Ji was impeccable. He was a gold medalist, the personal physician to the President of India, and possessed a legendary healing touch. Countless stories circulated about his ability to cure even the most intractable ailments.

I made an appointment and met with Vaidya Ji. He asked some basic questions, examined my throat, checked my pulse, and assured me that I should not worry. He gave me 60 pudiyas (sachets) of medicine containing a white and grey powder. He advised me to lick it twice daily after mixing it with honey. Desperate for relief, I embarked on the treatment with renewed hope.

The treatment seemed almost magical. Within two days, my cough vanished miraculously. Each passing day brought with it a new wave of energy. I felt rejuvenated and was brimming with energy. I felt my happiness returning and my spirits soaring. The world seemed brighter and less burdened despite the heavy workload at the branch.

I strictly followed the advice of Vaidya Ji that I should not stop the treatment even if I feel totally cured. Two months passed quickly.

Lo and behold, my happiness was short-lived, and one day, my world of delight crashed suddenly. In a get-together, I shared my experience with a doctor friend whose son also suffered from a persistent cough. Upon hearing about my treatment, he expressed doubt about the probable use of steroids.

“I hope he did not give you steroids,” he enquired.

I wanted to hit back, “You allopathic doctors! You cannot appreciate any other stream, be it Ayurveda or Homeopathy.” But I behaved like a decent host and restrained myself from reacting adversely.

Our friend politely asked me if I could spare one pudiya for him. He said he would have it tested in his hospital lab, and in case it is devoid of steroids, he would ask me to fix up an appointment for his son.

Intrigued, I agreed to let him test a sample of the powder. A week later, he called me to confirm what he had suspected. The test result was shocking. The powder that I was merrily licking twice a day contained high levels of unaccounted steroids.

He advised me to reduce the dose gradually and get rid of this harmful treatment. My heart sank and the joy I had felt was replaced by a growing dread as I tapered off the treatment.

Recently, the memory of those days returned in a big way when I read on internet that steroids, when taken in large doses or for extended periods, can interfere with the ability of our body to regulate blood sugar. This can cause insulin resistance, a condition where the cells of our body become less responsive to insulin. When insulin resistance develops, the pancreas may produce more insulin to compensate, but eventually, it may become overwhelmed. This can lead to the development of type 2 diabetes. 

Oh my God! I recalled I had developed type 2 diabetes within a couple of years after discontinuing the treatment, even though I do not have such a history in my lineage. The regret of taking the treatment from Vaidya ji has returned in a big way.  I wish I had not licked that powder so earnestly for so long. But I allowed my desperation to impair my ability to make a rational judgment. 

(To be continued.....)

*****

58. A DICHOTOMY OF EMOTIONS ( YEAR 1991)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 58 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.

The morning at the Branch was as chaotic as usual, a cacophony of ringing phones, shuffling feet, and the occasional customer outburst. As the newly posted Chief Manager, I was still finding my bearings when a shrill male voice cut through the din, announcing a new disturbance.

I came out of my office to find a customer, face flushed with anger, pointing an accusing finger at a beleaguered assistant. The man was demanding immediate closure of his savings account.

The assistant, a young woman named Kanupriya (not her real name), explained the situation with admirable composure. The account was less than a week old but swollen with multiple large deposits received through clearing. Caution demanded scrutiny before allowing the closure of the account. The customer, however, saw this as a personal affront.

I ushered the irate fellow into my office, hoping for a quieter venue for his rising temper. The man launched a tirade about his right as a customer to close the account and the incompetence of bank staff. After some smooth talk and a cup of tea, the storm subsided.

Once he had run out of breath, I calmly asked him about the source of the deposits. A resident of Chhapra (Bihar), he had come to Delhi to perform the engagement ceremony of his son. He shared these details with a smug smile. The deposits in the account were all shagun money, a gift for his son received on his engagement. The amounts ranged from fifty-one thousand to a princely five lac rupees.

Intrigued, I inquired what his son was doing. The answer was swift and decisive: Indian Administrative Service. My eyebrows must have shot up because he misinterpreted my expression as disbelief.

“He is brilliant, you see,” he assured me as if reading my mind. “He has appeared in the prelims. Just waiting for the results.”

I struggled hard to stifle a smile. “Ohk, your son has not joined the IAS yet?”

His face turned red. “No. Not yet. But so what? Not everybody can appear for Prelims. But he has. When he clears the IAS examination, and I am confident he will one day, I will not settle for a measly ten lakhs. It will be at least a crore, I tell you, nothing less than a crore! हमार इकलौता लड़का हमार हुण्डी बा। (My only son is my Promissory Note.) Why should I not encash it?”

It was hard to keep quiet, but I decided discretion was the better part of valour. I focussed on my objective of garnering deposits for the Bank instead of lecturing the customer on the malice of dowry.  I convinced him about our policy about closing a newly opened account soon after opening it. I also persuaded him to keep the amount in a fixed deposit to be used when he comes to Delhi to perform the wedding next year. With a nod, he approved the idea, much to my relief.

As he beamed and exited, I could not shake the feeling that I had just seen a greedy father seeped in the malice of dowry with no qualms to encash his son.

The day passed as a blur of forms and figures. But the image of Mishra ji, his face etched with the certainty of a man who had already counted his chickens even before they hatched, stayed with me.

I was also reminded of what Major Solanki had said in Meerut that I was sitting on a goldmine as I had two sons, hundies to be encashed at the appropriate time.

It was a crude reminder that in professional life, one comes across people whose values differ from yours. Yet you resist indulging in arguments and discussion and keep quiet for the sake of professional behaviour. I was upset the way the customer  unabashedly sought and accepted dowry but was happy that I succeeded in getting a big deposit for the Bank.

A dichotomy of emotions!

(To be continued....)

*****

57. A NARROW ESCAPE ( YEAR 1990)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 57 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.

Along with a junior officer, I was going to a distant village to investigate a robbery case in the branch. The journey was long and tedious. As we started from the headquarters early in the morning, we decided to take a bio-break at a branch in Ghaziabad city at around 8.30am.

As soon as we entered the branch, the junior officer accompanying me disappeared. He was familiar with the branch layout and headed straight to that much-needed facility toilet.

I looked around and asked the Guard on duty where the toilet for women was. The Guard immediately directed the sweeper to escort me to the ladies toilet. The sweeper beckoned me to come and walked out of the branch, and I followed him. We crossed corridor after corridor until I asked him, “Bhai, where are we going?”

“Madam Ji, just a little farther. No ledis tailit in the branch. All the ledis go to this gorment aafis tailet only,” he clarified.

It being a Saturday, the Government offices were all closed, and the place was deserted. He pointed towards a door and said, “Ledis Tailet,” and I walked in.

I was surprised to find two anterooms, one after the other. In the second one, there were four individual toilets. I entered the nearest one, but it would not bolt from inside due to bad alignment. I came out and stepped into the next one. Ugh, it had a broken latch. Out I came and tried the third one. It was leaking badly from the top, and I would have got drenched if I had stepped in. I stepped back to try the last one. It was so dirty that I felt like puking. Why are people so reluctant to flush their excreta? I had tried all four of them, one after the other, but none was usable.

I came out in disgust and bolted the entrance door to the anteroom from inside. The bolt was fixed at a height, but I somehow slid it up. Secure in the knowledge that I was now safe, I used one of the toilets without the latch and came out. The dry tap in the wash basin was a common issue. I was used to such inconveniences. The sanitiser in my bag was good enough, I thought.

My tale of woes had just begun. It started when I tried to come out from the anteroom. The door had slammed into its frame too tightly when I had bolted it from inside. I was shocked when I realised the door had jammed in the frame and would not open. There was no handle on the door for pulling it inwards. I quickly scrutinised the entire door and found that the only fitting on the door was that small bolt (chatkhani) at the topmost end, which I had slid up a few minutes ago. Despite my tall frame, opening the jammed door by pulling that tiny bolt with my index and middle fingers was next to impossible. The bolt was placed at an unusual height, and I had pushed it up hard to bolt the door from inside. Something that was a source of comfort to me a few minutes ago suddenly became my unanticipated stressor.

I bent down to see if I could pull the door from below. Surprisingly, there was not even half an inch of space between the door and the floor. Sitting on my toes, I tried to push my fingers below the door to pull it inwards, but in vain. The stark reality dawned upon me that I was trapped inside the toilet. The weather was hot and humid, and I was sweating profusely.

Realising the door would open only if somebody pushed it from outside, I started knocking at it. And then I thumped it, bashed it loudly and banged it desperately, Alas! There was nobody to evacuate me from this self-created prison.

Many minutes passed, adding to my desperation. The oppressive heat and humidity were also contributing to my discomfort. As I was getting frantic, it occurred to me to explore in my bag. A woman’s bag often carries solutions to many unanticipated problems. Sure enough, the bag came to my rescue as I found a Swiss knife in one of its many pockets. Yes, it will work! With the help of that small but sharp knife, I managed to carve a tiny niche in the door and leveraged the knife to open the door, much to my relief. Sweat was trickling down all over my body, not due to the weather alone but also due to the physical effort of shaving the side of the door.

At last, the door opened, and I stepped into the outer anteroom. The cool breeze outside swept my heavily perspiring face as its door was open. But before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I was dumbfounded to see three lecherous-looking men in that enclosed area. They had lusty expressions on their faces, and one of them had a rope in his hand. Seeing me coming out, one of them swiftly moved towards me and tried to grab my right hand, the hand in which I was still holding the open knife, unintentionally pointed towards him. This took him by surprise. I cannot say with certainty whether the fellow got a cut on his hand in this melee, but I managed to wriggle out of the spot.

Taking long strides, or should I say, almost running in the corridors of the office building, I reached the safe territory of the branch looking most distraught, my short hair dishevelled, some sticking to my face with sweat, and others flying in all directions like an aura. Looking at me in this state, the officer accompanying me asked, “What happened, Madam? All is well?”

I told him how I was locked inside the toilet and managed to come out with the help of the Swiss knife, censoring the potential danger I had encountered on my way out. What he said next was bloodcurdling.

“You should not have gone there alone. Last year, there was an incident of gang rape in these toilets. So these were locked for a long time, but now it seems they have reopened it …….” He was going on, and I was not hearing anything for fear of divulging what was transpiring in my mind. Was there any way to camouflage my shaky voice and pounding heart except by remaining silent? 

It is difficult to say with certainty whether this loo escape was a mere chance or my good luck. But I had to maintain the façade as if nothing had happened. I did not want my colleague to get wind of it lest the news should spread across the Bank like wildfire. It was a stark reminder of how vulnerable a woman can be in seemingly safe environments. If the people in the organisation knew about it, it would have reinforced their views that women are a weaker gender and, therefore, should not be assigned responsible positions. This would have become self-destructive for the career path of every woman in times to come. 

(To be continued...)

*****

56. A TWIST IN THE TALE OR A TWISTED TAIL? ( YEAR 1990)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 56 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.

My tenure in Meerut was marked by numerous challenges, none more demoralizing than the barrage of anonymous complaints that descended upon me. In my entire service span of about 39 years, I never received as many anonymous complaints against me as I did in Meerut.  

These anonymous complaints came with a flurry of accusations typed in Hindi and cyclostyled on official legal-sized paper. Every Monday morning, I would find a neatly folded letter in the top drawer of my office table, finding faults with my functioning or casting a shadow of suspicion over my decisions and making malicious allegations. Initially, I dismissed them as baseless and tried to ignore them. However, my strategy did not work. Soon, the content of the letters escalated from veiled insinuations to malicious attacks, tainting not only my professional reputation but also making personal attacks on me. It became a regular nuisance, which I had to face every Monday morning, their content and regularity turning into a source of anxiety. However, the menacing complaints became so vicious that I could not ignore them anymore, and they started causing me immense stress. Ultimately, I reached a stage when I dreaded opening the table drawer on Monday mornings lest a complaint against me should be waiting there. Apparently, the culprit was succeeding in his mission.

Gradually, I also learnt that these letters were placed on every desk in every section on Monday mornings, and the people read them with interest and discussed them scandalously the whole day. 

Despite my efforts to find out who was behind this menace, I failed to do so, and the perpetrator remained elusive. My superior, seemingly unfazed, advised me to disregard the complaints, claiming it was a "common occurrence" in the region. 

Despite sincere efforts, the source of these attacks remained under a veil of mystery. The accuracy of basic facts convinced me it was the job of some insider. Yet, the accusations were fabricated, leaving me with a frustrating puzzle. Each Monday loomed, a dark cloud threatening to unleash another wave of negativity. The constant stress began to take its toll, adding a permanent layer of anxiety to the already demanding workload.

It was clear that someone was deriving some sadistic pleasure by trying to demoralize me. I was consumed by helplessness and anger but could not locate the source of this weekly nuisance.

After a lot of brain-storming, I could decipher only two clues. All the complaints were sent by the same person as they were typed on the same typewriter, which had a couple of broken keys and did not print a couple of alphabet clearly. But there was no such typewriter in the entire zonal office. The second clue was that the complainant was aware of every action of mine. The needle of suspicion thus pointed towards the Head Clerk, who was in charge of despatch and maintained the master file of all the office copies. However, these were only insinuations without solid evidence for confronting him or initiating any action. 

And then suddenly, a phone call changed everything, and the tide turned.

That weekend, I was in Delhi, where my family stayed. Late on Sunday night, as I was about to sleep, a call from an unknown number shattered the quiet of the night. The caller informed me that he was calling from Meerut and that Mehra ji, the Head Clerk in my department, had met with an accident and had been rushed to the Emergency of the local Medical College. When I asked him how the accident happened, he replied that Mehra ji fell from the local bus while boarding it and was run over by a passing vehicle. He was seriously injured. The caller further told me that Mehra ji wanted to meet me urgently. When I asked him who he was, the caller claimed that he did not know Mehra ji and had only called me out of humanitarian concern as Mehra ji requested him to contact me and gave my phone number to him. The anonymous caller asked me to visit the Emergency Room of the local Medical College the next day morning before going to my office. Saying so, he hung up the phone.

I immediately called back that number to learn more, but it kept giving an engaged tone. When the number was finally connected, I was told it was a PCO, a paid public call booth in Meerut. The PCO operator did not know who the caller was.

I could not sleep after that phone call and kept thinking about it for a long time. I felt sad that the gawky-looking Head Clerk, silently sitting in the corner of the hall opposite my room, had met with a dangerous accident. Suddenly, questions started popping up. Why has he conveyed this news to me? How come he had my Delhi residence number with him? Remember, there were no cell phones in those days. Why did he have to use the services of a stranger to convey this message? Why did he not ask any of his family members to call me? But why does he want me to visit him in the hospital before going to the office? Why? Why? Why? My mind was getting lost in the whirlpool of questions.

It was late at night, and I was about to fall asleep when something struck me suddenly. Wasn't there a familiar hint of stammering in the caller's speech? I got up with a jerk and started thinking again.  The stammer was typically that of the Head Clerk Mehra, but the voice was not his. He sounded different. Could it be Mehra himself masking his voice? Could he be talking after covering the mouthpiece with a cloth or paper? The stammer definitely resonated with his speech pattern. I suspected that he was Mehra himself. The detective in me was now active.

If Mehra had met with an accident, why should he want to see me of all the persons? Why should he ask me to reach the Medical College alone without entering the office building? And if the caller himself was Mehra, why was he playing this game?

Something did not sit right. The secrecy, the urgency, the camouflaged stammer. It all led to suspicion. Was I being led into a trap? Before rushing into this fabricated scenario, I decided to investigate.

The next day, I reached the office with a clear sense of purpose. I did not go to the hospital but sent a trusted colleague there to verify whether any such accident had taken place. Once in the office, I noticed that Mehra was not present, although he was usually the first to reach the office.  The staff attendance register, under his custody, came to my desk during the routine course at 10.15am. A glance at the register revealed Mehra had marked his presence against his name, a curious detail considering no one in the office had seen him. It was apparent he came early, took the attendance register out of the cupboard, marked his presence, and left before anyone else came in. It became crystal clear: this was a deliberate ploy.

An hour later, the officer I had sent to the hospital returned and reported that no such person had been admitted there during the last twenty-four hours. He also informed me that Mehra was hale and hearty and had been sighted by the cleaning staff in the office at around 9 am. The web had unravelled, and the picture was clear. I was specifically asked to come to the hospital before going to the office. Had I done so, I would not have seen the Attendance Register. The confirmation that no such accident took place with Mehra solidified my suspicions. His early arrival at the office, solely to mark attendance, was an attempt to establish an alibi. His intentions remained ambiguous, though the manipulation was undeniable. As he had marked himself present in the office, Mehra could get away even with murder and not get caught: his presence in the office would have ensured his security. What were his intentions towards me? A chill went down my spine.

It was amply clear that Mehra was trying to play some game with me, and his intentions were highly suspicious. By 12 noon, Mehra quietly slipped into the office and started working on his desk as if nothing had happened.

I confronted Mehra, but he refused to engage in any dialogue. I drafted a memo and called for his explanation for his absence from the desk for an unduly long period. He refused to receive the memo and vanished. I sent an officer to paste the memo at the door of his house, which was done.

Meanwhile, my boss was transferred, and a new dynamic officer replaced him. When I apprised him of the case, he gave a practical solution: a transfer to a remote branch. The daily commute, he was sure, would serve as a more severe punishment rather than a mere warning, which a temporary absence from the desk would have attracted. I quickly but discreetly got his transfer orders issued for a distant place and served him the relieving letter.

Mehra promptly marched to the new Regional Manager but was told to go to me. Soon, he stood before me with folded hands, seeking an apology. However, his lack of remorse and refusal to explain his actions left me unconvinced, and I refused to budge. He was asked to go and report to a far-off branch.

With his departure from Meerut, the anonymous letters also ceased, and a semblance of peace returned during my remaining tenure in Meerut.

This experience underscored the importance of being vigilant at every step and trusting one's instincts, particularly in the wake of unseen threats. This incident again confirmed that even a hardened criminal leaves a trail of clues behind. Though the mystery behind the motive for calling me alone to the Hospital Emergency remains unresolved even today, the resolution ended a period of immense stress and uncertainty for me.

As I finally managed to twist his tail, I felt satisfied that I could bring a twist in the tale.

(To be continued...)

*****