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