27. THE INTRICATE WEB OF DESTINY (1975)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

THE INTRICATE WEB OF DESTINY (1975)

CARE: This is Chapter 27 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 a routine day, with business as usual in the branch. I glanced out through the transparent glass window of my cabin. The banking hall was bustling with activity and resonating with a cacophony of voices. The thought of getting up from the chair to take a round of the hall crossed my mind, but before I got up, the messenger walked in with a thick envelope from the Head Office. He took out a bunch of letters and put them on my table. As I started going through those letters, the door opened abruptly, and a dozen disgruntled customers barged in. 

“There is no one at the drafts issue counter for almost half an hour. How long are we supposed to wait?” One of them demanded in an agitated tone. Others joined him in the commotion. They definitely had reason to be upset. 

I left the letters from the Head Office on my table and came out of my cabin to check the position personally. Noticing that Anil Wadhawan (name changed to protect his identity), the clerk on the draft issue desk, was missing from there, I promptly asked Lakshmi (name changed to protect her identity), my personal assistant, to leave whatever she was doing and attend to the customers on the Draft Issue counter. The next step was to check the whereabouts of Anil. 

“Where is Anil?” I asked loudly, addressing no one in particular. 

Jugmani Thapa (name changed to protect his identity), the messenger, instantly shared in a hushed tone, “Anil Shaab is in the bashement.” 

“What is he doing there at this time?” I was irritated. 

Jugmani again whispered, “Madam ji, he is shleeping.” 

I was worked up to learn of this unbecoming act of Anil and resolutely walked down the stairs to confront him. As the head of the Bank branch, I could not accept outright neglect of duty by a staff member. As I approached the basement, I was furious seeing Anil sprawled on the sofa meant for the customers waiting to operate their lockers. He had folded his left arm and placed it on his forehead. 

“Anil! What is going on? You are lying here, and the poor customers are waiting in the hall. What the heck is your problem?” I could not control my temper. 

Image Courtesy Bing AI

Listening to my angry voice, he sat up but looked quite distraught. In my desperation to get him back to his desk, I had not noticed the agony on his face and almost shouted, “Anil! Has the Bank kept this sofa here for you to sleep? Did you not sleep last night that you are sleeping in the office? Go immediately to your seat and start working. Customers are so agitated.” 

He continued staring into oblivion. After a few minutes of watching the floor and struggling to step out of his stupor, he slowly uttered, “No, Madam. I was not sleeping. I am unable to sleep. I actually did not sleep the whole of last night. Why last night alone, I have not been able to sleep for several nights.” 

It suddenly flashed that there was something wrong with this otherwise sincere and hard-working employee. What could be bothering him so badly? My tone softened, and I asked him gently, “What has happened, Anil?” 

“Madam, I do not know what to say and what to do. My head is spinning, and I am confused,” he sat down, holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor. Was he crying? 

“I do not know if it can help, but would you like to share your burden with me, Anil?”

“My parents are forcing me to get married,” he said trying to hide the tears in his glistening eyes. 

“So? What is wrong with that? Why do you look so upset about it? Is it not nice?” I could not contain my smile. 

“I am not against marriage. But my parents are asking me to…. to get married to …to my sister-in-law.” He uttered, halting between the words. 

“Marry your sister-in-law? Big joke! But why with your sister-in-law of all the women in the world?” 

“You may perhaps not know, Madam. A few months before you came here, my elder brother became a victim of an unfortunate accident and passed away. He has left behind his widow and two small children. My parents have so far not been able to recover from the shock. They are concerned about her future as well as for the children. Now, my parents want me to get married to her so that she continues to be a part of our family and the children get a father in me. My parents love the kids and want them to stay within the family. I also adore the children. The only person they love like their father, is me. They call me Chachu with great affection. I respect my sister-in-law. She is the wife of my elder brother. Accepting her as my wife is unimaginable. I am totally devastated at the thought of getting married to her,” he took a long breath as he narrated his dilemma, sobbing in between while I listened patiently. 

I was shocked. Suddenly, there were fluctuations in the electric current, and the voltage went down. The lights became dim, making the basement dark and dingy. 

I had heard that such a practice was prevalent in Indian society many decades ago, but how could anyone even suggest it in the twentieth century? I could feel his pain and nodded understandingly. “It is definitely a tough call for you, Anil. Your parents must be more concerned about the small kids who have lost their father, but I do understand your reluctance to accept your sister-in-law as your wife. It sure is tough. What would happen if you do not agree to this?” 

I too was young and immature and was confused, wondering how to help him.

“Madam, in case I do not agree, her parents will take her away. They are already contemplating to marry her off to a widower who is fifteen years older than her and has three children of his own. And he refuses to accept these children in his family.” 

“Ohh! What happens to the children then? Who will look after them?” I could not help asking. 

“I really do not know. The kids may be shifted to their maternal grandparents. My parents are too old to look after these small kids alone. There is no other woman in our house. Obviously, they are insisting on my marriage with her. If I agree, all problems are solved. The children will continue to stay with their mother and grandparents. I also love them and cannot think of parting with them. I am not sure how her new husband will treat them. After all, he will be their stepfather.” The pain in his voice was deafening. He continued to speak, and I listened with rapt attention, making full efforts to understand his dilemma. As I empathised with him, I forgot about the complaining customers; I forgot that I was the boss, the head of the branch where we worked and that he was my junior official. We were just two human beings trying to resolve his predicament and feeling his pain, my eyes were also filled with tears.

“Under these circumstances, what your parents have suggested appears to be the only workable option, even if it is tough on you.” 

“Madam, there is one more aspect to this complicated situation. I have a girlfriend, and I have committed to marry her. What will I tell her?” He added a new perspective to his unfortunate circumstances. 

“Oh no! In that case, how can you ditch her? After all, you have a life of your own and a lot of responsibility towards her. What will you tell her?” I was also confused.

Holding his bent head in both his hands, he kept quiet for a few minutes and  spoke with renewed confidence. “But Ma'am, we are not married yet. Suppose I meet with an accident while going back home, what would she do? Cry for a few days and then get on with life. Maybe she would get married to someone one day,” his voice was slowly returning to normalcy. Articulating his old parents' concerns and the children’s needs and disclosing his personal relationship at length, he suddenly stood up. 

“Talking aloud of my predicament to you, I have better clarity now. I think I will follow my parent’s advice. After all, my brother’s children are my flesh and blood also. If he is not in this world now, it is my responsibility to take care of his children and give them the same love and comfort they would have gotten from him. It would be cruel and heartless to deprive them of the love of their mother at this tender age. Thanks for listening to me, ma’am; I am grateful to you. Talking to you has given me a clearer perspective of everyone’s life, and I feel much lighter now.” 

He sniffed his nose and wiped his eyes. He was ready to return to his work. Climbing up the stairs, two at a time, he was at his desk in no time. The fluctuations in the voltage had stabilised, and the dark and dingy basement had turned bright and cheerful once again. 

 

As I reflected upon his plight, I imbibed his pain. I continued to sit there for some more time, thinking about the two women in his life. His narrative had extended beyond his individual struggle, prompting contemplation of the unvoiced perspectives of the women involved. What must be transpiring in the mind of his sister-in-law? Did anybody bother to ask her what she wanted to do? Her parents wanted her to get married to an elderly widower, and her parents-in-law wanted her to settle down with her own brother-in-law. Questions lingered in my mind about the unwitting girlfriend, who was oblivious to the impending upheaval in her life. She must be dreaming of marrying the love of her life. How will she reconcile when she learns that the man she had trusted for so many years, dreaming of spending her lifetime with him, has backed out? Will she be emotionally shattered? Will she develop a lifelong hatred for men, in general? Either way, for poor Anil, it was not easy. This is what life is all about. I felt I had internalised his pain.

As I slowly ascended the stairs, I wondered about the complex interplay of human lives and the intricate web that destiny weaves for them. 

I took a deep breath and returned to my room where Head Office letters awaited me. 

(To be continued...)

*****

26. A LESSON IN CORPORATE DRESSING(1975)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

A LESSON IN CORPORATE DRESSING (1975)

CARE: This is Chapter 26 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.

In 2002, when I had gone to an official dinner straight from the office, a colleague’s wife asked me how I managed to look spick and span in a saree even after a whole day in the office.  I could not help smiling. It was the smile of one who knows. Reflecting on my tomboyish teenage years, when I had total disdain for jewellery and make-up, the memory of how I underwent a transformation suddenly flooded back. Yes, I vividly remember that day even now.

 

In 1975, I was posted as an Accountant at the South Extension Part II Branch. This was the number two position in the branch and was vacant for over a year. As a result, the poor Branch Manager, holding simultaneous charge of cash too, was not allowed to take a single day’s leave during the past two years. 

 

Soon after I reported at the branch, he jumped at the opportunity and requested a month’s leave. Within a fortnight, the Head Office sanctioned his leave, and he left for his hometown in Kerala. I was the next in command and was required to work in his place. It was a big responsibility. But I was excited about occupying the Branch Manager’s chamber, sidelining all the problems it brought in its wake.

It was a morning branch and opened for the public at 8.30am. I was the joint custodian of cash, and had to reach the office before 8 am. On a cold Delhi winter morning, when I parked my scooter and entered the branch, I was surprised to find a stranger sitting in my cabin and reading the newspaper. 

“Good morning! I am Sunder Raman (name changed to protect his identity). I am inspecting the branch across the road. Since your branch opens early, I took the liberty of sitting in your room and reading the newspapers,” he explained his presence in my office as I took my helmet off. 

“Welcome, Sir. Nice to meet you. It is quite cold here in Delhi. Would you like to have a cup of tea?” I offered politely.

“No. I do not take tea. But I would love it if you could get me some strong hot coffee.” He replied.

A few minutes later, as he sipped coffee, he asked me without lifting his eyes from the newspaper, “What time do you start from home?”

“At about 7.15 am, Sir. There is hardly any traffic in the morning, and I invariably reach here before 8 am,” I shared, taking pride in my punctual arrival at the workplace.

“Hmmm…” he said.

Again, a few minutes later, “Madam, do you get time to take your bath before leaving for the office?”

“Yes, of course. I am very particular about it even if it is freezing cold in the worst of winter,” I replied instantaneously.

Why is he asking this? Do I look dirty? I wanted to ask him but restrained myself. But his words lingered on in my mind. 

The conversation continued, and what he said next confused me even more, “You see, when you are heading an office, you represent your institution. Sitting in this room, you are not yourself. You are representing this great institution for which we all work.” 

I nodded politely in agreement as he continued, “How you look matters a lot to the customers who come to meet you. You project the image of the organisation.”

 I nodded again, still not understanding why he was saying so. 

 “Thanks for the coffee. I will take your leave now.” He folded the newspaper neatly and left. I also went to open the Cash Room, as the time for the public to walk in was approaching fast. But his words continued to haunt me.

 

Soon after taking the cash out of the vault, I rushed to the washroom to look at myself in the mirror. What the senior officer had said so seriously was still ringing in my ears. Was he trying to convey something? If so, what was it? I was not too sure. 

Looking at myself in an old mirror in a dimly lit toilet fitted with a 25-watt bulb, I understood what the senior had conveyed so diplomatically about the importance of appearance as a representative of the institution. 

My face was dry with white scaly patches, as I had not bothered to apply any cold cream or moisturiser after my hot water bath. My lips, bereft of any lipstick, looked colourless. My eyes looked sleepy. My hair was messy, as I had not brushed it after removing the tightly fitted helmet. 

My reflection said it all, and it was enlightening. Why did I never look at myself seriously? Why did a stranger have to point it out to me? I cursed myself.

When a nearby shop opened at 9 o’clock, I was there to buy a hairbrush, a bottle of moisturiser and a pale shade of lipstick to revamp my look.

  

Later that day, after the Bank closed, I did not go home. Instead, I landed up at Tina’s Beauty Parlour for a haircut. A smart haircut, with eyebrows shaped and a facial, was suggested by the beautician, and I willingly accepted the changes, understanding the positive impact it would have on the image of my organisation.

The entire exercise took over two hours, and by the time I reached home, it was much beyond my usual time of coming home. My husband was waiting anxiously at the gate, worried to the bones and wondering about the unusual delay in my return from the office. Telephone calls to my office phone were going unattended, and that added to his fears. But he was pleasantly surprised to see my new look, which saved me from his wrath that evening.

Thanks to Mr Sundar Raman, this transformation marked a turning point in my life. It reinforced the profound impact of personal appearance and professional look in the corporate world. 

(To be continued....)

*****

25. AH! THE SWEET TASTE OF REVENGE

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

AH! THE SWEET TASTE OF REVENGE

CARE: This is Chapter 25 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. 

Many years after my transfer from the IIT Branch, I had accompanied my husband to a party. The gathering comprised the elite of the society - senior bureaucrats, industrialists, entrepreneurs and technocrats, all clinking glasses and rubbing shoulders with each other. As we moved through the gathering, we joined a group where a young man was busy boasting his extraordinary talent and high moral conduct. 

When the host introduced us and the young man learned of my professional background of working in a bank, he did not wait for a minute before launching a tirade against the Bank in general. He played the lead role of the arrogant customer, and others in the group nodded in agreement, making me uncomfortable all along. He continued to boast about his achievements despite non-cooperation from his bank and would not stop criticising them. 

All this while, I was feeling miserable but my brain was in overdrive. Earlier, I was never good at recognising faces but a few years in the banking industry had already turned me into a human database of faces, names and account numbers. Although I had left the IIT Delhi branch a decade ago, his face looked familiar. I was trying to recall where I had met him before but my memory was playing hide-and-seek with me. Desperate to end the agony I was suffering due to his unwarranted criticism, I asked him straightaway, "Where did you do your studies from?"

With an arrogant smile, he declared, "I am a graduate of IIT, Delhi. I was the first to…...."

"Chemical Engineering? 1975 batch?" I suddenly interjected.

He was taken aback. "Yes, that is right, but how do you know?"

“A banker never forgets his account-holders. I was the Savings Bank Incharge when you were a student and had an account there. Remember? You had once come there with your father.” I got my chance to make a tongue-in-cheek statement.

His face went off-colour and he stammered, "Uh, eh ... Excuse me, please! I will fill up my glass and come back..." Saying so, he vanished from the scene.

This young man had a tainted past. As a student, he had stolen a cheque leaf from the chequebook of his roommate, forged his signature and collected cash from the Teller counter. Hours after he had left the Bank with cash, Khurmi at the Savings Bank counter, while posting the cheque in the ledger, caught the mismatch in account number and signature. He immediately raised an alarm.

We could have reported the matter to the IIT authorities. But we acted discreetly, partly because the career of a young student would be ruined and mainly because we wanted to recover the cash taken away by him fraudulently. Nobody in the branch wanted to report a fraud. Looking at his account opening form, we found the phone number of his father, who worked as Chief Engineer in PWD in Delhi  Govt. 

I rang up his father and asked him to reach the Bank with his son immediately. He came but initially tried to intimidate us. He looked stern, spoke curtly, and flaunted his status. But we stood our ground, threatened to report the matter to the Dean of IIT, recovered our money and spared the expulsion of his son from the IIT, in exchange for a written apology from him.

Taking the alibi of refilling his glass, the young man had already  vanished from the party, leaving me amused. Later, I wondered whether he had his dinner that night. If he did not, well, I have no regrets. I am sure he learnt his lesson that one should not mess with a banker, at least publicly.

 

I felt that the revenge acted as the best sweet dish for me after a dinner of undue bitter criticism in public.  

(To be continued...)

*****

24. IIT-D: AN EMOTIONAL CONNECT (1975)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

IIT-D: AN EMOTIONAL CONNECT (1975)

CARE: This is Chapter 24 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 the first day of joining the IIT Branch in March 1974, I was assigned checking of the Current Account Day Book. While checking the Day Book in the afternoon, I started confirming the balances of the accounts in the ledger by doing summations of debit and credit entries separately. 

One of my counter clerks, who had done a company secretary course, noticed it and chuckled at my inability to work on debit and credit entries in parallel, which only seasoned accountants could do. 

“What a pity! These days, officers do not even know how to arrive at the balance without doing summations,” he said aloud to no one in particular. Obviously, he was ridiculing me. I heard the remark and squirmed inside. But instead of taking offence, I asked him, “How else would you do it?” He happily obliged and taught me the method of criss-cross calculation and quickly reaching the balance when there were multiple debit and credit entries. What began as an initial ridicule swiftly transformed into the warmth and bonhomie of a team.

As our interactions increased, my team of three, Harcharan, Satta and Khurmi, started enquiring about my personal details. When they learnt that my husband was from Punjab, they tried talking to me in Punjabi and insisted that I respond in Punjabi, which I could not as I was still trying to learn the language. But they truly enjoyed engaging in animated conversation with my husband in Punjabi when he came to pick me up in the evening and patiently waited for me to finish the Day Book checking. My husband also happily shared with them his experiences of studying at IIT-D as a student.

 

The bonhomie strengthened to the extent that if I needed to leave early on a particular day, they would write the Day Book simultaneously while posting the vouchers and give me everything ready and totalled as soon as I closed my scroll at 2.00pm. I could conveniently leave before 2.30pm after finishing my work for the day,

 

One memorable day, I was merrily driving down to the branch on my two-wheeler, a Vespa scooter, when unbeknown to me, the oil seal leaked, and the brake failed. I loved to drive fast, and on that day, I was actually driving recklessly. As I approached the IIT crossing where Mehrauli Road (now called Shri Aurobindo Marg) and Outer Ring Road crossed each other, the traffic lights turned red. I quickly applied the brake, but to my utter dismay, it did not work. I hurriedly pressed and released the pedal multiple times, but the brake did not work. Yes, it had failed. At that fast speed and in the thick of heavy traffic, it was impossible to bring the scooter to a halt by shifting gears.

It was peak office time. The bumper-to-bumper traffic of cars and two-wheelers was heading towards me from both sides. I had no control over my scooter as the vehicles whizzed past me. I could visualize what lay in store for me. Anticipating the worst that could happen, my mouth dried up with stress. I had no choice but to continue riding my uncontrolled scooter, which had barged into the speeding traffic. Governed by my survival instinct, I tried to take control, manoeuvring my Vespa in a zig-zag manner, ducking a car here and a motorcycle there. I heard many a screeching of brakes and saw some two-wheelers moving in a whiplash manner to save me. 

 

My heart raced, but luck was on my side. In less than a minute, which felt like an eternity, I had narrowly avoided a catastrophic collision. It was perhaps the combined luck of my one-year-old son and husband and the blessings of my parents that saved me from an inevitable fatal accident. 

Having moved away from the busy crossing safe and sound, I relaxed, loosened my grip on the accelerator and tried to reduce the speed. Once I entered the safe and virtually no-traffic zone of IIT-D unscathed, I breathed easy. 

Soon, I reached the branch. The scooter had slowed down considerably but would not stop. I consciously turned it towards the building, housing our branch and managed to stop by hitting it gently against the wall.

Hearing the thud, all the staff members quickly ran toward me. All were worried and thought that I had lost control of my scooter. I was touched by their genuine concern and explained to them what had happened and that I had consciously hit the wall. All wanted me to confirm that I was not hurt in any way. One of them called a mechanic to get my scooter repaired. Their actions mirrored the unity of a family genuinely worried for one of their own. I felt overwhelmed by their care and concern. 

 

A year passed, and I was transferred to the South Extension Part II branch as an Accountant. The Branch Manager did not want to relieve me. But a few days later, the Regional Manager reprimanded the poor man for non-compliance with instructions. Pissed off on being fired, he quickly handed me the relieving letter in the forenoon instead of waiting until the end of the day. The staff had no time to arrange a farewell for me. 

As I wound up my desk and got up to leave, my team of three, Harcharan, Khurmi and Satta, said they would not let me go without a farewell. As it was business hours and the branch was bustling with activity, the counters could not be left unattended. They asked Monga ji to attend the counters and asked me to quickly come to the tiny canteen room where we used to have lunch. The four of us sat there silently, ate samosas and gulab-jamuns and gulped tea. Nobody uttered a word, but our tear-filled eyes conveyed the depth of our emotions. 

After quickly finishing tea, we walked to where my scooter was parked.  Harcharan kick-started my scooter. With the parting weighing heavy on my heart and a lump in my throat, I rode towards a new chapter of my professional life, and the trio silently returned to their desks, wiping their tears. 

Marked by simple gestures and unspoken words, this was perhaps the most emotional farewell in my career spanning nearly four decades.

(To be continued......)

*****

23. A LADDU TREAT GOES WASTE (1974)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

A LADDU TREAT GOES WASTE (1974)

CARE: This is Chapter 23 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

 

After my confirmation as an officer, I was assigned to the IIT-Delhi branch of the Bank. Eager to assume my new responsibilities as a confirmed officer, I arrived well ahead of schedule. Little did I know that the Branch Manager, an ex-National Bank of Lahore staffer, habitually arrived late, never before 11 am.

 

Seated in the Branch Manager's chamber, awaiting his arrival, a curious employee approached me and inquired about the purpose of my visit. My simple response was that I was there to join the branch. No further questions were asked, and I did not consider it necessary to provide additional details. I continued to wait from 9.15am onwards while many came in on one or the other pretext to look at me. 

 

The Branch Manager, as expected, arrived after 11.30am. He saw my transfer letter and instructed me to take charge of the Savings Bank Section. He called Arora Ji, the current account in charge, and asked him to introduce me to all the staff members. Coming out of the Branch Manager's room, I noticed a messenger distributing laddus to the staff.

Arora Ji, a very decent gentleman, escorted me to my desk, a sizable table in the middle of the banking hall and advised me to leave my bag there before introducing me to all the employees. 

 

As I was escorted toward my desk, I experienced a sudden hushed silence in the hall. The messenger, who was distributing sweets to the employees, halted abruptly. Those who had taken a bite of the laddu stopped moving their jaw. The three Savings Bank ledger keepers - Harcharan, Satta, and Khurmi - turned their heads 180 degrees, fixating their gaze on me as if their heads had become permanently affixed in that position. As I placed my bag on the side table, I observed that the spell suddenly broke. 

I realized that attention had now shifted from me, and the atmosphere turned relaxed. The banking hall buzz resumed instantly. All looked amused, and the eyes turned to Monga Ji, who looked embarrassed. I looked around and was met with grins and smiles. The messenger restarted distributing laddoos, and those with half-eaten treats finished them and resumed their jobs. The messenger even placed a laddu on a piece of paper on my table. When I inquired, "What's the occasion?" he just smiled and moved on, leaving me intrigued.

 

By lunchtime, Harcharan, Satta, and Khurmi had become my pals, and they invited me to join them in the canteen for lunch. Thapa, the canteen boy, heated everyone's lunch, and four of us sat on a makeshift dining table. Lunch was devoured in two minutes. Meanwhile, Thapa prepared delightful ginger tea, and we continued sipping the hot beverage, recharging ourselves for the latter half of the day. Once we were at ease with each other, I asked why sweets were being distributed in the branch.

 

They exchanged meaningful glances and burst out laughing. After regaining composure, they explained that they all assumed the woman waiting in the Branch Manager's room, who had come to join the branch, must be a clerk. It never crossed their minds that she could be an officer. Consequently, the threesome persuaded Monga ji to distribute sweets as he would now be relieved of the dispatch seat. Monga ji, the junior clerk, was responsible for dispatching letters, a duty typically assigned to the most junior clerk in all branches. Anticipating liberation from dispatch duties, Monga ji was made to celebrate the occasion, who happily complied with their request.

 

The preconceived notion of the staff that a woman waiting to join must be from the clerical cadre was shattered that day. But they were happy to have an early morning treat of laddus!

( To be continued .....)

*****

22. A NERVOUS BRIDE (1973)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

A NERVOUS BRIDE (1973)

CARE: This is Chapter 22 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

The training programme at Hyderabad was over on the 3rd of February 1973, and I was back in Faizabad to resume the on-the-job training on the 5th of February.

The wedding venue was ready.

Meanwhile, my parents had  fixed the date of my wedding. Only 17 days were left before the wedding day, and a lot had to be done, including the grant of leave. I found it quite challenging as the Branch Manager was known to be very strict about sanctioning leave to anyone, even for a day. I could appreciate his compulsions subsequently when I myself became a Branch head. But at that time, it was simply terrifying to approach him for sanction of leave.

The D-day was approaching fast, and my mother would call me daily to confirm whether I had applied for leave. However, I could not write the leave application, as I found it embarrassing to mention marriage as the reason for my leave.

Finally, I started writing, “As I am getting married, I shall be grateful if you kindly grant me leave for three weeks with effect from....” 

Oh no! It is so embarrassing. Will they make tongue-in-cheek comments if they knew that I was getting married? Will they tease me? They all appear to be so conscious of my gender. I was always uncomfortable feeling their gaze on my back: I had even started covering my back with the saree while in the office. How can I let everyone know 

I tore the half-written application, and threw it in the dustbin.

Unable to withstand the continuous pressure from my mother, I finally wrote an application, "I have some urgent domestic commitments to fulfil and shall, therefore, be grateful if you kindly grant me leave for 20 days with effect from...," and quietly handed it over in the Secretariat of the Branch Manager.

Within a few minutes, the Head Messenger of the Branch, in his crisp white uniform and red and gold turban, was at my desk, saying courteously, "Bade sahib is requesting your presence".

  

As I entered his room, the Branch Manager growled, “You want leave for three weeks? Why?” 

“I have some urgent work at home. It is important,” I replied with a straight face. 

“Urgent work? What urgent work? Huh! You are still in your probation period. You are not to even dream of taking leave. Why do you need such a long leave?” His voice was loud and brusque, and my heart sank.

“Sir, It is some important work at home. My parents want me there,” I said as I looked at the floor. 

“Hmmm… I cannot recommend leave for you for more than a week. You bring another application for six days only.” He threw away the application, and I caught it mid-air before it fell on the floor. 

He was furious that an officer, a mere probationer, had applied for leave for some vague reason like an urgent piece of work, and that too even without discussing it in advance. Frustrated that the ploy which had worked with the Principal of the DWT College in Dehra Dun in July 1970, did not work in the Bank and humiliated at his rude behaviour, I left the room to write down another application requesting leave for only six days, starting from the wedding date. On his recommendations, the Head Office sanctioned me leave for six days for urgent personal work.

The sanction came after ten days. The Branch Manager again called me, “Head Office has sanctioned your leave. But you dare not extend it after it is over. You have to come back immediately after the leave. Otherwise…” He gave me a nasty look with a veiled threat. 

“Yes, sir,” I nodded compliantly and left the room.

 

Two days before I was to proceed on leave, my mother sent me a packet containing a few wedding invitation cards for distribution to my colleagues and friends in the office. Well, it was a tough job for me. How could I go around telling people, “Hey guys? Here is some great news! I am soon going to get married. Do come to my wedding and see me standing there in a red saree with my head covered and eyes downcast.” 

My mother called me again the next day, “I had sent you a few invitation cards. Have you distributed them? How many of your colleagues are likely to attend the wedding? Any stay arrangements required for them?”

“No, Mummy. I have not done it so far. But I will do it today. I do not think anybody will come to Lucknow,” I replied. Although I told my mother that I would distribute the cards, I knew I would not do so. Mulling over it overnight, I found a solution. I tore off all the invitation cards and quietly consigned them to the dustbin. 

I reached Lucknow on the morning of the wedding day. There was nobody to receive me at the railway station as the family had gone to Charbagh railway station to receive the baraat (the wedding party) since their train was scheduled to reach Lucknow around the same time as mine but at another railway station.

 

I hailed a rickshaw and reached home. The household was bustling with activity. The call bell was ringing every two minutes. Relatives, lugging their suitcases, were arriving one after the other. The menfolk mostly sat outside on the chairs on the lawn. They were basking in the sun, sipping tea and discussing politics. Inside, women were singing wedding songs on the beats of the dholak. 

 

Seeing me, my mother instructed me to change immediately from jeans and a shirt to an ethnic salwar kameez. Seven married women were ready with Haldi and Chandan Ubtan. They were to apply this paste on my face and limbs within the auspicious time. I shrank at the idea: I never liked the strong smell of mustard oil, one of the ingredients in the paste. The womenfolk seemed to enjoy the ritual and took their own sweet time leisurely rubbing the paste on my limbs, singing auspicious songs. 

Amidst all the holy confusion, my father walked into the room. He looked grim and waved at me a pink paper. I could see it was a telegram. But why did he want to show it to me? So many congratulatory messages were pouring in from friends and relatives. What was so special about this telegram? Seeing him, the women stopped applying ubtan. Without uttering a word, he handed over the telegram to me with a straight face. Reading it, I was shocked. 

“IN VIEW OF THE CALL FOR STRIKE GIVEN BY THE ALL-INDIA EMPLOYEES UNION IT HAS BEEN DECIDED TO CANCEL THE LEAVE SANCTIONED TO YOU FROM 23RD FEB TO 28TH FEB 1973 (STOP) PLEASE REPORT FOR DUTY FORTHWITH REPEAT FORTHWITH (STOP) PERSONNEL MANAGER (STOP).” 

 

I looked at my father helplessly, “What do I do now?”

“You tell me. It is your bank.” He sounded grim.

“Do I have to return to Faizabad now?” I asked in a voice so edgy and nervous that my father could not continue with the poker face he was trying to maintain.

He smiled reassuringly, "Do not worry! I have already spoken to the Secretary and Treasurer of your bank in Kanpur. He apologised for this and said there must be some misunderstanding somewhere. Let her proceed with her marriage plans as scheduled. Yes, one more thing. He has asked me to convey his good wishes to you. He has also sanctioned you leave for one month. He will inform the branch. Did you not mention marriage as the reason when asking for leave?"

 

I lowered my eyes. I knew I was responsible for the mess. My father was busy and moved on without waiting for my response.

 

The women resumed singing the auspicious songs and applying the sandalwood-turmeric paste on my arms.

(To be continued....)

*****