34. SAVED BY THE DIVINE SHIELD (YEAR 1977)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 34 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.

That evening, I was alone in the office, winding up my desk after a hectic day. I was surprised to receive a phone call from the reception. Manjari (not her real name) was on the phone. 

“Madam, are you alone? Do not speak. Just listen to me. They have decided to transfer you from this branch,” Manjari whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Transfer? Why? What happened suddenly?” 

“I understand there are some telephonic instructions from the Central Office to transfer you immediately. You have that woman Reena (not her real name) in your office? Her husband has complained to the Chairman that the customer service at the branch is poor. So they have decided to transfer you immediately from here.”

“What the heck! Why her hubby of all the persons?” I was agitated by the news. 

“Reena is annoyed with you. She whined before her husband, a clerk in the Ministry of Finance in the Government. And he complained to the Chairman when the latter called on the Finance Minister yesterday. As this is an all-women branch, the management is trying to find a woman officer to succeed you. There are not many women officers. Therefore, it is taking some time. Somebody will come to take charge from you in a day or two,” she spoke breathlessly in a hushed tone. 

“During the day, my department kept a close vigil on me. So I could not inform you. On my way home, I have stopped here to let you know. I am calling from the reception but have no guts to come to the branch. If somebody sees me talking to you, I will be in trouble. Take care. Bye.” The phone disconnected, leaving me numb.

 

Manjari, who had worked with me earlier, was one of my most trusted lieutenants. She was also fond of me. She had risked leaking the top-secret information to me, but the news left me heartbroken. Was this the reward for taking good care of the customers in the branch? I knew her husband worked in the Government of India, but did it give Reena the license to misbehave with the customers? And her husband? I never expected him to stoop so low. He walked up to the Chairman, who was waiting outside the office of the Minister and provided him with some fictitious feedback about my misbehaviour with the customers and asked that I be transferred from there immediately. I was also upset with the circle management for their unquestioned compliance without verifying the facts of the matter. 

 

I was crestfallen but did not know what to do or who to talk to. At home, when I shared this with my husband. He listened stoically and gave me practical advice, “Never mind. A transfer is a part of life in the career. Just take it in your stride, and do not brood over it. Such occasions will come in future again. Do not take them personally. Shall I fix up a daiquiri for you to soothe your nerves?”

 

His advice was sensible, but my mind was agitated. At night, I lay awake in bed, reliving every single moment of pain that Reena had inflicted on me during the last six months. 

 

The customers of this branch were only Government officials who did not like to wait for payment by holding a token. They used to complain to me every day about the absence of a Teller in the branch. I met my seniors and apprised them of the public expectations. I recommended to head office for posting at least one Teller, but my recommendations fell on deaf ears. I persistently verbalised my need at all the fora. Finally, the head office heeded and decided to post a Teller at the branch.

 

I remembered the morning when I saw a tall woman walking nonchalantly into my cabin. She was wearing dark maroon lipstick on her dusky complexion, along with a disgruntled expression on her face. Walking into the room casually, she plunged into one of the visitor chairs without introducing herself. Opening her branded big bag without even looking at me, she started searching for something in it, opening pocket after pocket, as I looked on, wondering who she was.

 

Though irritated at her behaviour, I did notice her expensive tanchhoi silk saree. Finally, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her stylish bag and threw it in front of me without uttering a word.

 

Reading the letter, I realised the visitor was Reena Sarna (not her real name), who was posted to the branch as a Teller. Despite her uncivilised etiquettes, I felt jubilant that head office had finally heeded my request. Now, we will definitely be able to improve the quality of service to our elite clientele. 

I personally went with her and introduced her to every staff member. Everybody was happy to have one more person in this heavy workload branch. Little did I realise then that Reena Sarna was an inauspicious omen for all of us.

 

On the first day, she had an altercation with a customer on the way he handed her the cheque for encashment. Hearing her shouting at the customer in a high-pitched voice, I walked up to the counter only to find Reena screaming, “You have given this cheque to me like this. Who will unfold it? Your father?”

 

I was shocked. I had never heard anyone, let alone a woman, using such foul language. The only fault of the customer was that he had handed her over a folded cheque instead of opening it before presenting it to her. Perhaps it was too much effort for her to unfold the cheque and make payment!

 

Reena had a sense of entitlement about her and looked down upon all other team members. Nobody seemed to like her and her brusque behaviour. The cohesiveness of the team was under the threat of cracking down.

 

Next week, Reena was late by half an hour. There were customers lined up at the counter, and other staff would not handle her work on the plea that these were self-payments and the Teller should pay them. Their logic made sense. If she received a hefty Teller Allowance, she should be at her desk on time to do her work. 

 

I put a cross against her name on the attendance register and gave the powers of Teller to the next senior clerk. Reena reached late, yelled, screamed, and created a ruckus like a spoilt brat. Her shrill voice was audible across the entire VIP floor of that building, which usually was serene with pin-drop silence.  

 

Come another day, although Reena was on time, after opening her counter, she barged into my cabin, picked up the phone, and started instructing her servant loudly, “Ramu, give bath to Bunty. See that the water is not too hot or cold. Make him wear a white printed shirt. Yes, the same one on which brown cats are printed. After that, give him milk. Wash the bottle properly and see that you hold the bottle well. Do not start watching TV while feeding the baby.” The instructions went on.

 

Her high-pitched voice was shattering the silence of that prestigious floor. Meanwhile, some customers who waited at the counter were getting restless. I told Reena to return to her desk and attend to the customers first, which irked her no end. “Let them wait. They can stand for some time. Heavens will not fall if they wait there for a few minutes. As it is, they do not do much work in their office.”

 

“No. You attend to the customers first,” I was polite and firm, but Reena thought I was being rude and siding with the worthless customers at the cost of Bank staff. 

 

Having a daily altercation with Reena had become a routine. 

 

Last evening, when Manjari conveyed the news of my punishment transfer, it became one of the most memorable experiences of my life. 

 

“Ding…dong,” the call bell rang, and I realised it was morning, and the milkman was at the door. I had been awake the entire night. I was not upset about the transfer but about how it was being done. I felt humiliated to the core. 

 

Resigned to my fate and feeling down in the dumps, I reached the office early that day and started clearing the table. I had to remove my personal belongings from the drawers and prepare myself to get relieved. Manjari had forewarned me, and I could do little about it.

 

 "The Divine Shield" as envisaged by the author

At 9.15am in my office, I heard the tick-tack sound of a walking stick. I knew these were the footsteps of Mr Bijoy Banerji (not his real name), a top-ranking government official.

“Good morning! I see you come to office quite early. Good to find you here. Now, I can empty my pockets. Here is a cheque. Please put it in my savings account. And…eh… here is some cash. Please deposit it in my PPF account. You know the account numbers. No? Will you please fill out the forms on my behalf? Keep the receipts with you. I am going abroad for two weeks and will collect the receipts on my return,” Mr Banerji was giving instructions about his accounts. As the topmost official in that building, he was used to personalised service from me. 

 

As Mr Banerji turned around to leave, I politely mentioned, “Sir, I will do all this but may not be here to hand over these receipts to you on your return as I am being transferred from here.” 

 

He stopped, looked at me in disbelief, and said, “Transferred? Why? You have not completed even two years here. Is it a routine transfer?”

“I understand somebody from the Ministry of Finance has complained against me that I am not extending good customer service,” I uttered and shrugged shoulders. 

“Who says so? You are doing a wonderful job. I know it for sure.” He turned around, pulled a chair and sat down. Picking up the phone, he dialled a number from memory and started talking to someone in Bangla. I could not understand a word of it. 

 

Ending the phone call, he told me not to worry and to continue working as usual. Half an hour later, I received a phone call from the Ministry of Finance, “Where exactly is your branch? Which floor? Which side? The Finance Minister will visit your office in the afternoon at about 2.30pm.” 

 

At 2.30pm, my heartbeats increased as the Minister of Finance walked into the branch, “I did not know there was a bank here. How long have you been here? What is the business like? How many accounts?” He made some general enquiries and was gone. 

***

 

The next day, my successor landed up at the branch, “I have been sent here to take over charge from you and relieve you today itself,” she informed me. Before I could react, the phone rang, “Has Ms Kampani (not her real name) reported at the branch?” This was my boss, the Regional Manager.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmmm. Do not let her know that I had called, but do not hand over the charge till further instructions."

“Yes, sir,” I said and looked at Ms Kampani. She was busy looking around, admiring the interior of the branch. 

 

A few minutes later, she said, “Let us start with Branch Documents.”

“Let us go and have some tea and samosas,” I evaded the suggestion, and we walked to the cafeteria in the building. 

 

By afternoon, it was difficult to resist her pressure on me. She had been instructed to relieve me on the same day. Obviously, she was pressing for that. Ignoring what the boss had said, I shared the truth with her. She was quite a sport, and we mutually agreed to sit and enjoy the company of each other until the bosses took the final call. 

 

Three days passed like this. The mystery about the way forward was intensifying. Meanwhile, I had an attack of the flu and developed a high fever. I rang my boss, “Sir, I am down with flu and want to go on leave. May I hand over the charge of the branch to Ms Kampani? She is already here.” 

 

Without thinking for a second, he responded, “No. I am deputing Ms Varma (not her real name) to take charge.” This was the usual arrangement. When Ms Varma came to take charge, Ms Kampani could not stomach it and left for head office, never to return. At head office, they asked her to join there itself.

 

I won the battle and had immense satisfaction that I could not be dislodged in a devious manner. The way fate protected me, I felt strong enough to take on Reena Sarna head-on during my remaining tenure. 

 

Reena Sarna continued to work in the same office, and so did I, though the daily confrontation continued. She had tried to use the official powers of her husband to kick me out, but a divine shield saved me from her evil designs. 

 

Don’t they say, “Jako raakhe saainya, maar sake na koye.”

 

***

 

PS: A week after Ms Kampani went back, the Personal Secretary to the top boss of the circle phoned me. He wanted to know how my transfer was stalled. 

"I cannot understand this puzzle at all. One day, the Chairman wants you to be transferred from the branch immediately. Two days later, he instructs the transfer to be cancelled." 

"How would I know? Why not ask the Chairman?" 

"The boss tried to, but the Chairman is also zapped," he confided in me. He hoped I would divulge some clue to the mystery of my transfer and its reversal.

 

I had grasped he was trying to explore what connection I had wielded to stop my transfer. He continued to interrogate me for half an hour, but butter would not melt in my mouth. I had learnt to be discreet. 

 

                                                                                                                                                        (To be continued....)

*****