18. A CHOICELESS CHOICE (1972)

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

A CHOICELESS CHOICE (1972)

CARE: This is Chapter 18 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.

I was going to complete my second branch training when there was a telephone call from the Personnel Department asking me to come over to discuss my next posting. 

 

“So considerate of them,” I thought as I kick-started my Vespa scooter. Soon, I was in the Head Office, sitting in front of the concerned officer who explained grimly, “Personnel Manager Saheb is a very kind-hearted person, and he feels that it would be a good idea if I check up on your preference for the city for your third branch training.”

 

I did not notice his wry tone. Instead, I was impressed with this concern and instantly started dreaming of a stay in the lush green Himalayan mountains under a blue sky. I quickly suggested some of my favourite places like Dehra Dun, Mussoorie, and Nainital. 

“No, no, no. These are not identified branches for third-branch training. Please suggest some other places,” the officer had broken my reverie.

“Okay, Sir. Allahabad, Varanasi, and Bareilly are equally suitable as far as I am concerned.”  

“I am sorry, but these centres are not available. You can suggest some other places.” 

"How about Meerut or maybe Agra, sir?"

He made a face and shook his head sideways, indicating that this was also not viable. 

 

I suddenly realised that I was perhaps falling into a trap. The officer was obviously not serious and was only deriving sadistic pleasure in this interaction.

“Okay, sir. In that case, can you please tell me the options available?” 

“Anywhere you say, Madam. Please tell me some more centres which may be convenient to you,” he uttered with a poker face.

“Sir, I have no choice,” I suddenly became uninterested. 

“Normally, we do not ask anyone about their posting, but the big boss is very kind to you. You may choose out of Faizabad, Lakhimpur Kheri or Sultanpur…any of these branches, and you will get it.” 

 

His anger against the decision of the Personnel Manager to give the young female officers the choice of selecting a safe and convenient place in the badlands of Uttar Pradesh was perhaps the reason behind this discussion.

 

I did not want to make any choice as all these three places, located in the notorious crime-infested Terai Bhabar area of Uttar Pradesh, were extremely backward and insecure for a single woman to stay alone. 

By this time, I had realised the game he was playing and said with a straight face, “Sir, it is your decision. Please post me wherever you feel like. I have no choice.” 

 

“These are all district headquarters branches. What better can you ask for? You are so lucky you are not being posted to a rural branch as most young officers are. Also, you should be happy you are being consulted before posting.” The shades of sarcasm resonated in his tone. 

 

I had understood his malice and told him plainly, “You decide yourself, sir. As all are equally good places, please take a call yourself. I will go wherever you post me.” I picked up my helmet and the bag and got up to leave. It was not possible for me to beg and plead for a better place.

“Please do not feel bad, Madam. Why not sit for some time more? Let us explore some more options. Maybe we can settle down at a mutually agreeable place.” 

Was he deriving some vicarious pleasure at my cost, or did he expect I would come down on my knees and beg for posting at a better place? Can you decipher his intent in asking me repeatedly for my choice and then saying no to every suggestion?

“No, sir. You decide yourself. I have nothing to say.” Saying this, I walked out of the room, thinking I would cross the bridge when it came.

 

A few days later, I was not surprised when I got my transfer orders for Faizabad. I thought of the dream that had changed the course of my life. Had the Cheshire Cat not illustrated the difficulties that would come my way if I opted for the challenging path? Thinking of the dream and the poker face of the Cheshire Cat brought a smile to my lips. Had I not myself chosen the difficult path? And I started packing my bags for Faizabad. 

The journey on the rough road had just begun. 

(To be continued.....)

*****

17. DECODING A RUMOUR (1972)

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

DECODING A RUMOUR (1972)

CARE: This is Chapter 17 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.

One fine morning at the Swaroop Nagar Branch, I arrived early to prepare my desk for the day. While engrossed in these preparations, I observed the Branch Manager entering the room. He approached my table and plonked himself on the chair in front. With an inscrutable expression, he put his hand in his coat pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes and extended it to me casually, "Have a cigarette, Miss Sharma?"

Caught off guard by this unexpected proposition, I replied, "I do not smoke, sir." My voice was filled with a feeling of outrage. It is common now to see a woman smoking. But in those days, a woman smoking a cigarette was considered almost akin to her having questionable morals.

Unperturbed, he continued, offering me the cigarette again and urging, "Oh, come on now and do not pretend. Have a smoke."

Frustration filled me up as I reiterated, "But I actually do not smoke."

Wearing a wily grin, he leaned in closer, the cigarette dangling from his hand, and whispered, "You need not lie so early in the morning. I am quite certain you are a smoker. Why keep it a secret? I will not breathe a word of it to anyone, I promise."

I had never in my life so much as handled a cigarette, let alone indulged in smoking. The suddenness of this peculiar conversation left me in shock. My discomfort was deepening by the second. He continued persistently in his cajoling while I tensely tried to wriggle out of this increasingly awkward situation.

"No, sir. Honestly, I do not smoke," I repeated umpteenth time with unmistakable exasperation.

Finally, he revealed the source of his information, "You see, I was at the Head Office yesterday, and during a conversation among some officers, they mentioned that the new lady officer in your branch is a chain smoker." I was bewildered.

Unable to suppress a retort, I shot, "I have been working in this office for the past two months. Have you ever seen me smoking?"

"No, I have not. But I thought you might be discreetly smoking in the restroom, away from the public eye. That is why I thought it best to ask you directly. We could enjoy a smoke together," he explained, with an unapologetic demeanour.

I held my ground with a resolute response: "No. I do not smoke, and I have never smoked." I uttered each word slowly and firmly.

 Disappointment evident, he finally got up from the chair and returned to his desk, and I heaved a sigh of relief. But the question continued to haunt me. I kept wondering why people were saying such imaginary things about me. I could not sleep at night until the wee hours of the morning when I had a sudden flash, and the entire sequence of events became crystal clear.

The roots of the rumour perhaps lay in a battle of wits I had with a senior officer in my previous posting in Lucknow. The Head of the Circle was visiting the city, and a gathering had been arranged for local officers to meet him over tea. Nearly a hundred officers had assembled for the interaction. I was also standing there in the crowd. A comparatively senior officer standing next to me had an urge to smoke before the arrival of the big boss. He pulled a pack of Charminar cigarettes from his pocket. He was about to light it when he decided to pull my leg and extend the pack to me, with his eyes twinkling with mischief, “Miss Sharma! Cigarette?”

Half a dozen of his cronies who stood around him enjoyed the act thoroughly and broke into raucous laughter.

Refusing to feel embarrassed and get cowed down, I retorted tongue in cheek, “This is not my brand.”

For the uninitiated, let me share that Charminar was considered the cheapest brand of cigarettes, and I had taken a potshot at that.

At my response, his face fell. Pouting his lips, he asked, “Oh, uh, er! So, which is your brand?”

Those days, I was fond of reading Life magazine, which used to have a full-page advertisement for Rothman cigarettes with chic ladies smoking Rothman Lite with style.

I shrugged shoulders and quipped, “If it were Rothman, I would have taken it.”

The face of the senior person fell further. His effort to pull my leg had back-fired. The onlookers, who thus far had relished our banter, discreetly distanced themselves from the scene.

As far as I was concerned, the exchange had concluded then and there. Little did I realize that it had sparked a chain reaction, setting ablaze a wildfire of gossip that had reached Kanpur even before my arrival.

In my effort to unravel the origin of this rumour, I had learnt firsthand the process of genesis of a rumour.Top of Form

 

(To be continued.....)

*****

16. LAWLESSNESS GALORE (1972)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

LAWLESSNESS GALORE (1972)

CARE: This is Chapter 16 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.

Soon, it was time to move over to the next branch for on-the-job training, and I landed up at a Branch located in a posh residential colony in Kanpur, where I had the first-hand experience of the lawlessness of the employees. 

As soon as I reported there, the Branch Manager instructed the messenger to set up a table and a chair in his chamber for my use. I objected to this decision, saying I needed to do on-the-job training by working at the counters like everyone else. He then told me seriously that Head Office had made a mistake in posting me in that branch as this branch was not the right choice for a female employee. He further added I was the only woman in the set-up, and the environment in the banking hall wasn't congenial for me. He assured me that everything I was to learn would come to my table in his room. It was yet another reminder that women were weak and needed special treatment. Unfortunately, this branch also had a reputation for extremely poor industrial relations.

I wasn't happy with this patronising but was compelled to accept his decision. Like the Lucknow branch staff, employees here also had the habit of leaving work incomplete in the evening, and no officer dared to confront them. They would hold on to the registers and the ledgers till 5pm, gossip and sip tea, but would not complete the work. And then at 5pm sharp, they left the office citing work to rule. It is then that all the half-written account books were piled on my table for completion. It seemed I was there to do all the work maliciously left  unfinished. The positive side was that I got to write all the books, ledgers and registers of the Bank and learnt a lot in the process.

At the beginning of the next month, the Charges Clerk at the branch prepared overtime payments for all the employees despite explicit instructions from the Head Office for not making any overtime payments. The Branch Manager refused to pass the voucher. It was already 2 p.m., the time to stop transactions. Suddenly, all the employees stormed into the Branch Manager's room, surrounded him and tried to pressurise him to sign the Overtime Register and pass the payment, which he declined. He locked his arms on the chest and sat tight, firmly refusing to budge. They tried to bully him and used abusive language. While some kept thumping his desk threateningly, others sat atop the table. Two of them even settled on the arms of his chair. There were three more officers in the branch but nobody came to the rescue of the poor man. I noticed they were stealthily peeping in from the side of the curtain.

The tension escalated and the staff wouldn't allow the poor Branch Manager to even use the restroom. Desperate, he wanted to call the Head Office, but they had already disconnected the phone lines. As evening approached, all the incomplete books and ledgers were dumped on my desk for completion. After finishing this unexpectedly heavy workload, I got up from my desk around 9 p.m., ready to leave. But they stopped me, stating that the room was still under siege. I reluctantly sat back, and the chaos continued. They prevented me from leaving until 10.30 p.m. 

At 10.30 p.m., when I was finally allowed to go, I immediately drove to the Head Office. To my dismay, the guards on duty couldn't provide me with the contact information of any senior officer.

The following morning, I received an anonymous phone call in a threatening tone, conveying that I should not come to the office that day and should keep my mouth shut about the Branch Manager's gherao. But I paid no heed to it and landed up at the Branch as usual. By 11am, a high-level team from the Head Office arrived at the branch to investigate the shameful incident of the previous day.

To my utter astonishment, there were no witnesses to the gherao that took place the previous day. Even the officers were unwilling to recount what had transpired in the bank. I was shocked as they feigned complete ignorance of the incident, although I had noticed them peeking into the room from behind the curtains. With straight faces, they informed the Regional Manager that they were not aware of any such incident to have taken place in the branch. They also added that I was the sole eye-witness to it, if something had occurred as I sat in that very room. Consequently, it was left to me to provide to the investigating team, a detailed account of this horrible episode. 

When the Investigating Officer asked me whether I was willing to document the event in writing, I promptly agreed to do so. Now the officers who were watching this ugly drama from behind the curtains the previous day, and had denied any knowledge of the gherao, started prodding me to add in the statement that I had been verbally abused by the staff and even physically molested by some of them, as this would strengthen the Bank's case against the rogue employees.  I refused to add what had not happened, signed the statement, and handed it over to the Investigating Officer. 

The result of my refusal was that the Branch Manager and the officers were upset with me that I did not listen to their wise counsel and did not make the false allegations, as suggested by them. The Branch Manager and the officers started to cold-shoulder me. The clerical staff was angry with me because I had given a written statement against them. This action of reporting the incident in writing led to retaliation by the staff in the form of the tyres of my Vespa two-wheeler being punctured frequently.  

All this  caused immense stress to me and I kept wondering if I had done something wrong. The fear of finding a flat tyre in the late hours and pushing the two-wheeler on foot was a fear which haunted me every day. I wondered whether I should I have given a false statement? Was I tactless in this entire episode? I thought and thought and finally decided that I had done the right thing and all this mental torture was a small price to pay for being upright. 

This incident helped me understand why the interview board had asked me how I would tackle a batch of goons in the branch, not willing to work. 

 (To be continued....)

                         *****

14. A BLEND OF BEAUTY AND BRAINS (1972)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

A BLEND OF BEAUTY AND BRAINS (1972)

CARE: This is Chapter 14 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.

Enough of mundane banking! Let me share some interesting trivia from my work life.

In November 1971, Bank's Lucknow Circle welcomed five women to its fold. Having known all of them from close quarters, I can say with surety that they (except myself) were remarkable women. These highly talented women had impeccable academic credentials as well as impressive personalities. They embodied a rare combination of beauty and brains and left a lasting impression on anyone they met.

During that era, the esteemed Miss Femina India Beauty Pageant had begun to organise its regional rounds before culminating in the grand finale in either Delhi or Bombay (now Mumbai). Lucknow was one such regional centre for this prestigious event. Two of our batchmates, posted in a different branch in the city for their on-the-job training, secretly decided to participate in this beauty contest.

Their decision remained a closely guarded secret until the local newspapers covered the event and reported the results of the prestigious beauty contest. We were utterly surprised to read in the morning paper that two of them had taken to the glamorous ramp. Typically, the pageant would crown Miss Femina Lucknow and the First and Second Runners-up after judging their beauty brain quotients. Yet, in this particular instance, the jury found itself in a unique predicament as they could not decide between our two beautiful batch mates. Consequently, both were awarded the joint runner-up title. This was a delightful surprise highlighted in the pages of the local newspapers.

As the competition moved to the national level in Delhi, speculation ran high among us in Lucknow. We placed bets on which of the two would emerge as Miss Femina India. However, in a twist of fate, both were eliminated in the penultimate round. The judges could not rank-order them. Their beauty and talent remained evenly matched during multiple rounds of the contest.

To this day, I ponder whether any subsequent batches of women officers ever dared to venture into the world of beauty contests. In hindsight, it is evident that our 1971 batch was unique in many respects, including participation in a beauty contest.

(To be continued.....)

*****

15. THE FAN-MAIL GATE (1972)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

THE FAN-MAIL GATE (1972)

 

CARE: This is Chapter 15 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.

Before I share some stressful hard core banking episodes from my professional life, here is some more trivia. 

On 17^th March 1972, when my father returned home in the evening, he handed me a copy of Femina, a popular magazine for women. I looked at him inquisitively, but he asked me to go through it. He had an enigmatic smile on his face. 

 

Femina 17th March 1972

 My happiness knew no bounds when I saw my photograph under the Young World Column in the magazine.

“How has it appeared here?” I asked my father excitedly, but he shrugged his shoulders and feigned ignorance. I suspected he could be behind it, but who was really interested in knowing that. The exciting part to my young mind was that my photo had appeared in Femina with a write-up. It read as follows:

MULTI-LINGUAL BANKER Pretty Ranjana Sharma has recently joined the Xxxxx Xxxx xx Xxxxx as a Probationary Officer at Lucknow. She has also been selected as Staff Officer in the Reserve Bank of India. She took her Master’s degree in Political Science from Lucknow University in 1970, in first division, securing first position among the successful candidates, and won two gold medals. She also topped the list of successful candidates for Proficiency in French in Lucknow University in 1969. She is also well-versed in Sanskrit, Bengali, Urdu and English. Ranjana is a forceful debater and a confident speaker. As leader of the opposition in the University Parliament, she toppled the ‘Government’ in the 1969-70 session and herself became the ‘Prime Minister’. For about a year and a half before taking up her current assignment, she worked as Head of Department of Political Science in Vivekanand College for Women, University of Delhi. Ranjana has a zest for life and is keenly interested in shooting and badminton, carrom and bridge, painting and pop music.

Three days later, the messenger in the bank unexpectedly dumped a dozen letters on my desk and said, “Your letters!” All the letters were from strangers, the readers of Femina.

The inflow of letters increased as the days passed, adding to my fan-mail collection. In a short while, it swelled into a big bundle of about 100 letters from different young men and their parents, appreciating my achievements and asking me to pass on the letter to my parents for matrimonial alliance purposes. For a week or so, it had become our daily practice at home to read them in the evening and laugh. It did not matter to anybody as I was already engaged to be married shortly.

One particular letter was quite unique. It was the only one which had come from abroad in an “Air Mail” envelope, with red and navy-blue stripes. It was on crisp rice paper and written in a unique style. The handwriting of the sender was pure calligraphy. He had also attached his visiting card, a folded visiting card that had all his 7-8 businesses mentioned inside. He was of Indian origin, was educated in England and owned several business organisations in Kenya. What he wrote was interesting, “ …Browsing through Femina at a friend’s place last Sunday, I came across your photo and instantly knew that I have known you from my previous birth. I want to meet you and would like to visit India as soon as possible. Please tell me when I should come to Lucknow to meet you….”

We were all amused, but I did not respond to his letter. When I shared it with my fiancé, we laughed at the prospect of his landing in Lucknow and finding the two of us getting married.

He sent me a few more letters but I still did not respond. And lo and behold! One day, a messenger came running to the Lunch Room and announced in a breathless voice, “Madam, International call for you! Please come quickly.” Getting an international call created a ripple in the office, and everyone wanted to know who had called and whether I had relatives abroad.

After several daily calls in subsequent days, I somehow managed to dissuade him from calling me up, and his plans to visit Lucknow fizzled out. But I still remember the excitement and the curiosity it ignited amongst the colleagues in the branch about Miss Sharma receiving international calls.

Fast Forward to 1973: I was married and brought my fan mail to my nuptial home in Delhi. One day, hubby saw them and was agitated that the bundle of letters was occupying precious space in the cupboard. I tried to explain that these letters were priceless as they pandered to my ego. But he insisted I destroy them and create space in the small almirah that we shared. I did not want to create a marital discord and hence shredded them with a heavy heart. 

Fortunately for me, my mother had retained a copy of the Femina, which had led to this massive inflow of fan-mail. I have shared the cutting from that magazine in this blog. 

 

Looking back, I feel bad that I destroyed those letters. Had I not done so, I would have shared them with you all, my readers today.

(To be continued.....)

*****