9. A CAREER ON THE HORIZON (1971)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

A CAREER ON THE HORIZON (1971)

CARE: This is Chapter 9 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.

It was the first week of July 1971, and I was packing my bag for returning to Delhi after spending two months of summer vacation with my parents in Lucknow. My father stepped into the room and asked me casually, “I recall you had appeared for an interview at some Bank? Has the result come?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and continued folding the clothes to pack my suitcase.

“Which Bank was that?” He inquired.

“I had appeared for an interview for the Reserve Bank of India in Delhi and a public sector bank in Kanpur. I might not have qualified for the interview.” I sounded casual. Our conversation had to stop as I was getting late, and my brother was already waiting in the car to drive me down to the railway station. 

 

Come October, I was back in Lucknow to enjoy the two-week-long Dushehra vacation, which whizzed past, and soon it was time for me to return to Delhi. But just before that, one fine morning, the postman delivered two registered letters at the same time, one from the Reserve Bank of India asking me to report at their Delhi office to join as Staff Officer Grade I, and the other from a public sector bank, appointing me as a Probationary Officer and asking me to report at the Bank’s Staff Training Centre at Mahanagar in Lucknow on the 22nd of November 1971. 

 

Suddenly, there was a problem of plenty, and I had to choose between the two banks. My father was inclined toward my joining the Reserve Bank of India as it was a government organisation. But I, with my new-found wisdom, argued that RBI was a flat and stagnant organisation, and it may not provide me much scope for upward movement. In contrast, the public sector bank was in an expansion overdrive, opening new branches wherever they could find a 10’X10’ space. This would mean faster upward movement. This bank was also a global entity, and there could be opportunities to see various parts of the world. My mother agreed with me as she silently thought that this bank had branches in every centre and that I could always be posted with my husband when I get married, whichever service he may be in. The dye was cast in favour of the public sector bank.   

*****

In Search of My Identity

As soon as I returned to Delhi, I handed over my resignation to the Administrative Officer of the college. The news of my submitting the resignation spread like wildfire, and everyone in the college was stunned. Dr Raj Wadhwa, the Principal, summoned me and expressed concern over my hasty and mindless decision. She counselled me earnestly, “Look, Ranjana. For a woman, the teaching profession, and that too in a college, is the best job ever. It will provide you ample free time for your family. Multiple vacations coinciding with children’s holidays are what every woman wants, and you will get them here. You are not married now, but you will be married and have a family one day. In this job, there will not be any separation from the family as there are no transfers to far-off places, and life is really comfortable. Even the working hours are limited, and you will have all the time in the world for your family when you have one.” 

For two hours, she tried to persuade me to take my resignation back. I listened to all the well-meaning advice, mulled over it and realised that I had started feeling guilty about receiving a princely sum of Rs 865 per month without doing much work, for eating samosas and shopping and watching movies. I was fresh from college and had been a hard-working student. I knew the subject like the back of my palm. Be it the political thoughts of Hobbes, Locke or Rousseau or the Fundamental Rights and Duties of the Citizens under the Indian Constitution, everything flowed effortlessly from my mouth. I never had to prepare for the lectures. Checking tutorials and assignments was a breeze. But I dreaded the idea of teaching the same subjects year after year repeatedly for the next 40 years. I was only 20 years old then and certainly needed more challenges in life. Lack of challenge, and fear of impending stagnation, combined with a powerful yearning to explore newer pastures, prodded me to move forward. Despite Dr Wadhwa’s well-meaning advice, I did not budge an inch. I had already made up my mind. 

Finally, she gave up, “You will repent your decision when you get married one day and have a family.” I paid no heed to her: I was overpowered by a strong desire to do something big, not just a job. 
Needless to add, I recalled her words many a time later in life whenever there was a conflict between my domestic responsibilities and the call of duty. 

The students also approached me in groups and individually, pleading with me not to leave. They perhaps liked my simple style and appeared to be fond of me. The students had tears in their eyes. Yet my heart would not melt.

My friend Neeta too was deeply concerned for me. She tried to persuade me to continue my teaching career and explained all the drawbacks of working in a bank. As usual, she was well-informed. Her fiancé worked in the same bank and often told her all the gory details of daily confrontations the staff in the branch had with the manager. She told me that the trade unions in the bank were simply belligerent. They would not miss any opportunity to humiliate the officers on the flimsiest grounds. But would I heed any well-intentioned advice? What is life if it is bereft of challenges, I thought.

I had realised that I was in search of my identity. I also understood that my potential might not be fully realised through my role as a college lecturer. A strange restlessness was compelling me to move ahead. And I was struggling like a butterfly trying to break free from its cocoon. Hard work never deterred me. And I was yearning to move forward as a careerist. Brimming with energy, I was confident that no challenge could ever cow me down. 

I felt unshackled to embark on a new journey - into the enigmatic and uncharted realms of the corporate world. With sixteen-months’ teaching experience under my belt, I jumped off the board, taking a plunge straight into the deep dark depths of the unfamiliar sea. I thus landed in an all-male bastion, the corporate world of a public sector bank, a domain hitherto dominated by men.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    (To be continued.....)

*****

 

8. TIME TO JUMP OFF THE BOARD (1971)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

TIME TO JUMP OFF THE BOARD (1971)

CARE: This is Chapter 8 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.

During this period in Delhi, life was sheer fun. A fat salary cheque with limited working hours and no responsibility was a dream come true for a twenty-year-old who had stepped out of the overprotected life for the first time.

Initial excitement with my first job as a lecturer died sooner than I had expected. I realised that something was amiss. What was it? I could not place my finger on it. Am I going to teach the same subject, year after year, routinely for the next forty years of my life? 

Amidst this restlessness, one night, I had a dream. ….. I, as Alice in Wonderland, was lost in the jungle. Standing at a fork, I was wondering which way to go when I saw the Cheshire Cat perched on the branch of a big tree. I asked, "Would you please tell me which way I should go from here?"

“It does not matter much which way you go: both paths will take you to the same destination,” the Cheshire Cat grinned.

The Cheshire Cat in my dream

“But what is the difference between the two paths?” I wanted to be sure before choosing my way forward.

“The way to the right has a smooth road all along. It has resting places on the way as well as good restaurants. There are hotels too, and you may take a break and stay there as long as you want. If you require any help at any stage, it is available.”

“And the way to the left?” I asked again.

“It is an extremely narrow trek with dense forest on one side and a deep gorge on the other. In many places, you may have to carve your way. You may encounter wild animals and sometimes ferocious beasts too. There are no resting places on the way. If you survive all this hardship and reach your destination, you will enjoy the satisfaction of having created and treaded a new way. You will have tales of adventure to share with your grandchildren in your old age.” 

Saying so, the Cheshire Cat grinned again and vanished.

I woke up with a jolt. My eyes had opened. The dream was going to change the course of my life. Once again, I started exploring available options and resumed the daily routine of scanning newspapers in search of new horizons. 

I came across an advertisement for the post of Management Trainee at DCM and applied for it. The interview call came quickly. After multiple group discussions and a personal interview, I received an appointment letter for Management Trainee in the DCM group. But my father said a point-blank no to my joining the private sector. 

On a Sunday in the latter part of 1970, I saw a full-page advertisement by the biggest bank of India for recruiting direct officers through an all-India competitive examination. As the terms and conditions of the service looked fascinating and the salary and perquisites quite lucrative, I promptly applied for it.

Time flew, and when I had forgotten about it, I received a letter asking me to appear for a written examination in Lucknow. It was a one-day examination, and the applicants were required to appear for two papers only, General Knowledge and General English. I made no preparations for the written examinations except filling my two pens with ink. The test was on a Sunday. I undertook the overnight journey to Lucknow on Friday night and returned to Delhi on Monday morning. 

A few months later, in March 1971, I received a letter asking me to appear for an interview at Kanpur. The bank had offered to pay train fare also. I immediately booked my ticket for Lucknow Express, an overnight train from Delhi, which reached Kanpur early in the morning. 

Am I supposed to prepare for the interview? I asked myself but decided that it was not necessary. I knew whatever I knew. I could not possibly add anything to my knowledge at this stage, I convinced myself.

At the old Delhi railway station, I stopped by an AH Wheeler book stall to grab a Perry Mason novel by Erle Stanley Gardner, my favourite author at that point in life. Once in the train compartment, I hopped onto the upper berth, placed the bag under my head and started reading my new acquisition. As the murder mystery resolved and I reached the last page, I looked at my wristwatch. It was already past 6 am, and the train was about to touch the platform at Kanpur. I realised I was so busy reading the novel that I did not sleep a wink that night. I got down from the train and went to the Waiting Room. There was no provision to take a bath in there. So, I brushed my hair and tidied up the saree. I stepped into Upahar Grih, the Railway Canteen and had some breakfast. I hailed a cycle rickshaw from the railway station and reached the interview venue on time. It was 9 am sharp.

I placed my suitcase in the corner of the waiting lounge before reporting to the Reception Desk. I noticed with amusement the look of the other candidates. They all had turned up for the interview in formal suits, white shirts, and sober ties with well-polished black leather shoes. In contrast, clad in an ordinary lemon-coloured saree with chocolate brown ambi prints in which I had travelled overnight, strangely did not give me any complex. Wearing Patra, my favourite perfume and walking in high heels, which added at least three inches to my already tall frame, were enough to keep my confidence intact. This interview was so different from my earlier interview for the post of lecturer less than a year ago when I was extremely nervous.

I observed the young officer behind the counter, who was managing the candidates. He appeared tall and fair, with handsome looks. He was wearing a shiny steel grey suit with a maroon-coloured tie. But as he stood up, I changed my opinion about him. He would have looked dashing if he did not have such a big belly. Noticing his big paunch tickled my funny bone no end. But I managed to suppress my giggle and silently named him Mr Adiposer. It was the effect of Neeta on my personality!

Lost in my thoughts of what he ate to develop such a big belly at this young age, I startled as I heard Mr Adiposer calling my name. My turn for the interview had come. I walked in with confidence, which had gone up manifold during the last few months. 

The interview board grilled me for over thirty minutes. But the last question that stuck in my memory forever was, “Young Lady! If you are posted as a Branch Manager in a far-off village branch with a batch of goons as your clerks, how would you handle them?”

“With tact, sir,” was my spontaneous response. 

The members of the interview board appeared highly impressed with my answer. Nodding their heads in agreement, they exchanged approving glances with each other. 

I did not know that trade unionism in the Banks was at its worst in the early seventies. And little did I realise then that this elusive concept of TACT would haunt me at every stage of my career for the next four decades. 

(To be continued.....)

*****

7. THE COCOON STARTS BREAKING (1970)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

THE COCOON STARTS BREAKING (1970)

CARE: This is Chapter 7 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.

Travelling by a UPSRTC bus, I reached Delhi from Dehra Dun on a hot and muggy afternoon to start the next chapter of my work life. My uncle was waiting for me at the Kashmiri Gate Bus Stand to pick me up, as I was new to Delhi. He stood there for hours, waiting patiently for my bus to arrive. By the way, there were no cell phones then, and no information about the arrival time of the bus was available. Looking back, I salute his patience and concern for me. 

In the evening at their RK Puram flat, their first-floor neighbour stuck her neck out from her window and called my aunt loudly, “Aunty, there is a phone call for Ranjana Di.” I ran upstairs to receive the call. Such courtesies for the neighbours were common and taken for granted in those days.  

After checking my safe arrival, my parents wished me well for the second job. However, my father added, “Good achievement! But do remember that teaching cannot be a career. It can only be a jumping board for a challenging profession in future. Apply for the All-India Administrative Service when the advertisement appears in the newspapers. You are only twenty. So, you will be eligible for the examination next year only. You may start preparing for the exams.”

I listened to him attentively but wondered whether I wanted to study further. I looked out of the window and watched a bird soaring freely in the clear blue sky, and an enigmatic smile hugged my lips.

****

The next day, clutching the appointment letter, I reported at Vivekanand Mahila College to join as a lecturer in Political Science. Sitting in front of the Administrative Officer of the college, as I completed the mandatory formalities, I noticed a tall and slim girl walking into the office. Oh yes, she was the same bubbly girl who had declared me successful even before my interview took place the other day.  

Seeing me, she flashed a thousand-watt smile and hurried towards me, “See! Did I not tell you that day that you are through, although I was unsure of myself? Hi! I am Neeta.” 

Introducing herself, she stretched her arms wide to hug me. She and I struck an instant chord and became friends instantly.

I stayed with my uncle and aunt and had no responsibility at home. My aunt loved to cook and prepared my favourite dishes every day. Not having any children of their own, she pampered me in contrast to the strict discipline my parents had imposed on me. In college, I was to take not more than ten lectures of forty minutes each per week, which meant less than even two lectures per day on average. Life had suddenly changed for me: I had never been so relaxed in the first two decades of my life.

Vivekananda College (Delhi University)

The classes in the college commenced at 8.30 am. But those married and saddled with their innumerable domestic responsibilities found it inconvenient to reach college so early. Therefore, the principal thoughtfully assigned them lectures starting later in the day. Neeta and I happily volunteered to take the classes scheduled at 8.30 am. Neither of us had any family responsibilities and had no problem reaching early.

Handling the early morning classes had its advantages. The students were fresh in the morning and listened attentively to the lectures. The parents of the girls did not allow them late nights those days. They also did not allow them to spend endless hours talking to their friends on the phone. There was no internet and no mobile phones. They did not have to stay awake for live chats with friends or update their status on Facebook. The parents usually would not allow them to watch television for long durations. Anyway, most households did not have a television in those days. Even if they had one, the only channel available was the black and white of Door Darshan. It would usually telecast some lacklustre regional dance performance or Krishi Darshan. Naturally, the youngsters slept early, got up early and came to college with a sense of freedom and excitement.

The classes in the college commenced at 8.30 am. But those married and saddled with their innumerable domestic responsibilities found it inconvenient to reach college so early. Therefore, the principal thoughtfully assigned them lectures starting later in the day. Neeta and I happily volunteered to take the classes scheduled at 8.30 am. Neither of us had any family responsibilities and had no problem reaching early.

Handling the early morning classes had its advantages. The students were fresh in the morning and listened attentively to the lectures. The parents of the girls did not allow them late nights those days. They also did not allow them to spend endless hours talking to their friends on the phone. There was no internet and no mobile phones. They did not have to stay awake for live chats with friends or update their status on Facebook. The parents usually would not allow them to watch television for long durations. Anyway, most households did not have a television in those days. Even if they had one, the only channel available was the black and white of Door Darshan. It would usually telecast some lacklustre regional dance performance or Krishi Darshan. Naturally, the youngsters slept early, got up early and came to college with a sense of freedom and excitement.

Life for me had changed dramatically. For the first time in my life, I realised that there existed a life beyond books, a life that was different from what I had experienced until then. I, who had never received even seven Rupees as pocket money, now received more than seven hundred Rupees every month. And the best part was that I could blow it away the way I liked. I could also spend my time as I desired. I could even come home late without explaining to anyone where I had been after my classes were over. The new lifestyle was a total contrast to my earlier life in Lucknow, where my mother would be standing at the gate if I got delayed by ten minutes from my usual time. If a lecturer ever extended the lecture by five minutes, or if I had to wait in the queue in the library to get a book issued, or if I had to get the air pumped in the cycle tyre, I owed an explanation to my mother. In Delhi, for the first time, I started learning the meaning of freedom, and it tasted sweet.

Having moved from the conventional Lucknow, I was quite a plain Jane untouched by the ways of the contemporary girls in the hip and happening Delhi, the capital of India. On the other hand, Neeta, an alumnus of the elite Lady Sri Ram College of Delhi, was highly independent. Well-acquainted with the ways of Delhiites and also full of life, Neeta knew her way around Delhi.

She discussed the latest fashion trends and did not hesitate to make fun of the crumpled saree of Mrs Iyer. She would also smirk at the cracked heels of Mrs Sinha. Analysing the college politics in detail, she would explain to me lucidly the nuances of the flattery skills of Mrs Bedi. When the executive committee members of the college attended the staff meeting, she would nudge me with her elbow to point out how the expression of our principal changed while talking to them. All this was new and exciting for the meek and modest me. I carefully listened to every word of Neeta, like a keen and enthusiastic learner.

"Finish the lectures and go home" was the working principle followed at the college. Neeta and I would leave the college as soon as our classes were over, but never before devouring two hot samosas with a cup of rich ginger-flavoured tea brought by the canteen boy.

The tea and samosa session at the college had to be consciously extended up to 11 am because the markets in Delhi did not open before 11.30 am, the time for both of us to head off for our unplanned exploits of shopping wherever we wanted, in the narrow lanes of Chandni Chowk, in the crowded alleys of Karol Bagh or in the fashionable Connaught Place.

Moving from one shop to another and bargaining for the prices of sarees in Karol Bagh was a pleasure I had never experienced in the twenty years of my highly protected existence. Vigorous haggling in the shops invariably helped us to get the quoted price reduced to almost half, which thrilled both of us no end. After the shopping, we would end up at some eating joint to celebrate our success. With starters of aloo tikki at the Gyanee’s in Chandni Chowk, to lunch of Chhole Bhature in the Kwality’s in Connaught Place, followed by a delectable kulfi at Roshan-di-Hatti in Karol Bagh, there was no limit to our escapades in Delhi.

Watching a movie in Connaught Place was always an option when the weather was hot. Once inside, our expertise in eating aloo parathas with mango pickles from our lunch boxes was at its best. Bringing food in was not allowed in most picture halls. Neeta told me that rules are meant for breaking. She also showed me how to hide the lunch box in the bag and ensure that the mouth stopped moving as soon as the hall attendant came flashing his torch after the strong smell of mango pickle. These practical tutorials were so thrilling that we would giggle for hours talking about them.

Neeta and I had all-route bus passes, and gallivanting across Delhi, the whole day was exhilarating. One day, when we noticed a signboard of the newly started electric crematorium near the river Yamuna, our curiosity was aroused, and we decided to explore how it worked. We walked straight in. But the moment we saw a dead body, we were miserable. We did a right-about turn and quickly retreated to the comfort of the crowded Ring Road.

While on our unplanned exploits, the two of us would frequently land up in some sticky situation. But we invariably managed to ease ourselves out unscathed, all thanks to her ingenuity and quick wit.

Taking head on to the passengers, who were found sitting on the "Ladies Only" seats in the DTU bus and forcing them to vacate it, sent us on a high.

A simple girl from the hinterland of Uttar Pradesh was transforming quickly.

The cocoon had started breaking.

                                                                            (To be continued......)

*****

6. A JOB HOP WITHIN NINE DAYS (1970)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

A JOB HOP WITHIN NINE DAYS (1970)

CARE: This is Chapter 6 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.

Nine days in the new job passed like a dream, and I had already started enjoying the wonderful time in Dehra Dun. At this time, I received another interview call. It was from a college proposed to be opened by the Delhi Administration under Delhi University. The salary offered was more than double of what I was to get at the College in Dehra Dun. While in Uttar Pradesh, the salary of a lecturer was a mere Rs 300, in Delhi University, it was the University Grants Commission grade ensuring Rs 760 per month to a degree college lecturer.

Fortunately for me, the interview was on a date when it was a holiday in Dehra Dun but a working day in Delhi. After my lecture, I took a bus in the afternoon and reached Delhi by night to attend the interview the next day.

In Delhi, at the interview venue, the atmosphere was tense. About two dozen young women, clutching their degrees and certificates, sat with anxious demeanours, waiting for their turn to come for the interview.

One of the candidates, who clearly stood out amongst all the candidates, was a tall, slim girl with a dusky complexion and a charming smile. Wearing a gorgeous red and black tie-and-dye georgette saree and her hair tied in a massive bouffant, she had adorned her forehead with a huge matching bindi. Restless as she was, it was perhaps impossible for her to sit still in one place. Suddenly, she stood up and, addressing no one in particular, asked loudly, “How many of you present here have got first division in MA?” I was the only one who raised her hand hesitatingly.

“Then you are through,” her broad grin exuded confidence.

“I wish you were the Chairman of the interview board,” I felt like saying, but only a vague smile appeared on my lips.

The interview process started on time. All the candidates were being called one after the other, but my name was not announced. After the girl in the red saree also went in, I was left alone in the waiting area. I was scheduled as the last candidate. Perhaps the Interview Board wanted to meet all the candidates who had passed out from Delhi University before interviewing me, the only outsider. I wondered whether their unstated preference was for selecting someone from the local university: the thought made me a little edgier than I already was.

Finally, it was my turn. Walking into the interview room, I could feel my mouth drying and my legs shaky. I was aware that I was the most qualified candidate academically. But the long wait on a hot and humid afternoon, coupled with the fear of failure, had started working on me. I had a pressing need to excel in whatever I undertook, and failures scared me to no end.

My interview lasted much longer than that of any other candidate. The members of the interview board bombarded me with questions from each and every area of my discipline. From the political thoughts of Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau to the Constitution of India and Britain, from International Relations to various forms of democracy, nothing was left out. I was surprised that I could respond to every question clearly, precisely and without hesitation. As the interview took off, my heartbeat returned to normal, and my voice became confident. After an hour of intensive grilling, the Chairman of the Interview board smiled, thanked me and asked me to leave.

I walked out of the room and left. The same afternoon, I took the bus to Dehra Dun, reached there by night and was teaching my students the next day as if nothing had happened.

To my utter surprise, the appointment letter reached my Delhi address in two days, and my uncle in Delhi immediately informed me about the selection.

The college had appointed three lecturers in Political Science, and I was given the special designation of Lecturer-in-Charge, akin to the Head of the Department. Thrilled to the core, I rang up my parents in Lucknow to share the great news of my second job in less than a fortnight. My parents were delighted to hear of my success. They asked me to resign immediately and join the college at Delhi University. But there was an issue here. I had not applied through the proper channel. I was already employed and legally could not leave the job unless they accepted my resignation. And why would they relieve me just because I had got a better job? How am I going to handle it? Should I tell them the truth and leave the decision to the college management or take control of the situation in my hand? It was a tricky situation I had to handle. But how?

The next day, I wrote my resignation letter and went to the Principal to submit it. She was stunned, “Hey, you joined just about ten days back. Why are you resigning so soon?”

I knew that if I told her I had got another job, she might not relieve me, which was not an option. I played my cards cleverly and said, “I do not know why, but my mother called me up last night and asked me to resign and come back immediately."

She tried to explore further, but I stuck to my statement with a straight face. Finally, she gave up and smiled, “Aha, I got it now. They must have finalised your wedding and want you back quickly, and you are too shy to share it with us.” The other two senior lecturers in the room also agreed with her wholeheartedly. I looked coy and did not respond and thus managed to wriggle out of the sticky situation. My resignation was accepted, and a Discharge Certificate was handed over to me the same afternoon.

I knew I was not being honest with her. But could not think of any other option to come out of the mess? Whenever I think of this episode, I feel bad that I was not straight with my first boss, who was too simple to decipher my poker face. This was my first step towards survival in the big vile world.

The next day, I boarded the bus to Delhi to start a next chapter of my life.

(To be continued....)

*****