26. A LESSON IN CORPORATE DRESSING (YEAR 1975)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

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....)

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