39. WILL I BE KIDNAPPED? (YEAR 1980)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 39 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.

The day I took charge as the Branch Manager at the MN branch, my predecessor, Babu Lal Hirani*, introduced me to one Surender Pal Dabbas* as the most important client of the branch. He was dark-complexioned and had a stocky build. Moreover, his ego appeared to be bigger than his hideous paunch. 

After Dabbas left the office, Hirani shared more details about him, including how he had risen from the ranks of a lowly clerk in the government to amass questionable wealth through dubious means and started the Export House. 

As this was the only export unit in that otherwise personal segment business-oriented branch, he had acquired the importance of being a VIP client. 

After a couple of days, Dabbas dropped in at my office, settled in the chair and placed a large key in the centre of my office table.

“What is it? A car key?” I asked. 

“Yes, I bought this car today only. It is a BMW, and it is parked outside. Come and have a look.” I stepped out to see his new acquisition and congratulated him.

“Let us go for a ride and have coffee somewhere,” he suggested promptly. 

I had no intentions of going anywhere with him, especially after I had noticed the lewd looks on his face. 

"Sorry, I cannot leave the branch and go anywhere during business hours.” 

The next day was Saturday, and Dabbas turned up soon after business hours, “The business hours are over now. Let us go for lunch today?” 

I did not want to go and quickly fabricated another story to wriggle out of the situation. 

With each passing day, his attempts to coax me into private outings were met with polite deflections on my part. Soon, the demeanour of Dabbas changed from gentle to aggressive.

A few weeks later, I received instructions from the Reserve Bank of India to recover a substantial amount from his business account for certain irregularities in dealing with his overseas buyers. As soon as I informed him of the demand, he exploded, “Try deducting the amount from my account, and you will face the consequences. You do not know what I am capable of, you xxxxx!” 

The volley of abuses in his high-pitched voice was audible across the entire branch. After yelling and screaming at me for a long time, Dabbas stomped out of the Bank premises, seething in anger. 

I looked out of the partition window of my cabin. The staff members in the banking hall sat with their heads bent down on the account books. They never appeared so busy. I could not decipher whether they were actually engrossed in work or pretended to be busy. 

The next day, Dabbas came again and enacted the same drama. With his face contorted with anger, he shouted, “The day you execute this order, I will have you kidnapped along with your children. I know where you reside. You come to the Bank in that blue car only. No?” He pointed towards my car parked outside the office. I was shocked to hear this blatant threat. 

After he left, I got up to see where my staff was. I had a team of thirteen. I asked the Assistant, who sat just outside my cabin, “Where were you when Dabbas threatened me?” 

“Oh! Did he threaten you? I did not hear anything as I had stepped out for a cup of tea as someone from my village had come.” His reply was unacceptable. I had seen him on his desk when Dabbas was shouting at me. 

I walked up to the table of the Accountant, my second in command. His desk touched the wooden wall of my cabin, and he was usually all ears. But he was absent from his desk. I had seen him from the glass window partition, arguing with a customer, a few minutes ago when Dabbas had stepped into the branch. I walked up to the cash section. The Cash Officer was also missing. Both were huddled in the Cash Room sorting out old currency notes, a job they would not do despite my repeated reminders. I was surprised they decided to do it at the peak of business hours. They had roped in the only male cashier also to assist them. The sole messenger was busy arranging old vouchers in the record room. 

Could I expect any help from these colleagues in case of a need? Their elusive attitude made me insecure. I recalled how many years ago, the officer colleagues in a branch in Kanpur had refused to give any evidence against the clerks when the Branch Manager was gheraoed. Will history repeat itself? 

I was alarmed at the malicious intentions of Dabbas. Was he capable of executing his threat? No guard was posted at the branch, and I often sat there alone late in the evening. I immediately stopped that practice despite knowing that the curtailed timings might affect my efficiency adversely. 

The next day, Dabbas came again and reiterated his threat in the same tone.

At this juncture, I decided to go to Head Office to apprise my immediate bosses of what had transpired and seek their permission to report the matter to the police. The Regional Manager listened to me patiently but did not comment. He asked me to accompany him to the Chief Regional Manager. Hearing my tale of woes, the CRM was amused and laughed loudly. Dismissing my fears as baseless, he sermonised, “You are unnecessarily agitated. He will not do any such thing.” 

“You do not know him, Sir. He is a wicked fellow, capable of doing anything. What will I do if he actually gets me kidnapped?” I shared my worst fears with my seniors. 

“This is the problem with you women. You react too much and without reason. Look at Kiran Bedi. I am so impressed with her. She has the nerves of steel,” he drew a parallel between me and a senior police officer. Was he trying to motivate me?

Laughing loudly at my discomfort, he tossed a spoonful of paan masala in his mouth. 

“Sir, Kiran Bedi has the backing of the police force, and she carries her revolver with her. If I were in the police, I would have had even stronger nerves than her,” I said in exasperation. 

“Please permit me to close his account or report the matter to the police. I assure you I will bring in much more business than what he is giving us now,” I pleaded again, but my request fell on deaf ears.

“Expel these baseless fears out of your mind. Go back and do your work, and do not waste your or our time.” 

The dismissive response from my superiors at the head office only added to my sense of insecurity. I came out upset, frustrated and scared. Their casual disregard for the gravity of the situation left me grappling with the reality of being a vulnerable woman facing the wrath of a rogue with nefarious intent.

The deadline for executing the orders of the Reserve Bank was approaching fast, and I had already received a couple of reminders from the central bank. Despite the explicit threats from the borrower, I mustered enough courage to execute the instructions to recover money from his account. I gave the debit voucher to the counter clerk for posting it in the business account of Dabbas. I was sure the ledger keeper would inform Dabbas before raising the debit in his account. 

That evening, I could sense that the staff members were in a hurry to leave. I was keeping my ears to the ground and eyes fixed outside. I had removed the curtain from the partition window of my cabin for a better view of the banking hall. Or was it to make myself more visible from the outside? I am not sure. As the last employee left the branch, I also made it a point to mark an exit. My sixth sense warned me against sitting in the office alone. I hurriedly locked the main door of the building. Locking the wicket gate at the boundary wall, I briskly walked towards my car parked alongside the building. It was at least an hour before my usual departure time, but I was too scared to stay there alone. Getting into the car, as I adjusted the rear-view mirror, I noticed a fully covered Willys Jeep stopping in front of the gate of the Bank, which I had locked barely two minutes ago. Two suspicious-looking characters sprang out of the jeep. The hulk driving the jeep had thick moustaches and wore black headgear. His companion was another burly fellow in a red collarless T-shirt with grease stains and a hanky around his neck. He also carried a bag on his shoulder. Surprised at finding the gate locked, they looked at each other questioningly. Next, they glanced towards my car. 

The suspicious presence of the unfamiliar vehicle signalled the impending danger, and my natural instinct warned me that all was not well. I had already started the car and quickly took to the road. I could see in the rear-view mirror that both the fellows had hopped back into the jeep and moved in my direction. With nerves frayed and instincts screaming loud, I made a harrowing escape, pursued by the shady figures whose intentions were suspect.

The distance of about a kilometre and a half from the branch to the main road was lonely and, therefore, more vulnerable. I pressed on the accelerator, but the jeep also speeded up. My heart was racing. Obviously, they were coming after me. Struggling to remain balanced, I mentally mapped the area. There were usually no police posts on the way where I could stop for any help. Driving to a police station without proof also did not appear to be a good idea. Even if I take a detour and reach a police post, the purpose will not be served, I thought. These goons may drive away, and the police will dismiss my fears as baseless, just as my bosses had done the previous day. The faces of my two innocent kids flashed in front of me, and I wondered whether they were safe. The only thing I could think of at that time was to somehow reach home and ensure their security. It was a busy hour, and the traffic on the road was at its peak. I continued to press the accelerator and drive the car as fast as possible to keep that suspicious jeep at bay, but it was becoming increasingly challenging. 

Halfway through the reckless drive, I noticed another vehicle, a black Ambassador car with heavily tinted glasses, which also appeared to be following me. Noticing that there were two of them following me, my heart sank. Driving at break-neck speed, I could not decipher how many persons were seated in that car. But the way they were after me, I was convinced that this car carried their accomplices in it. I continued to dodge both vehicles to the best of my driving skills. With the faces of my two small sons floating constantly in front of my eyes, I knew I had to reach home at any cost. Praying for their safety, I started chanting Gayatri Mantra, my anchor in distress. 

As I approached my flat, I had become a nervous wreck. My mind was going numb with fear, my heartbeat had increased manifold, and I had no idea of what lay ahead of me. Both the vehicles, the jeep with two obnoxious occupants and the black Ambassador with tinted glasses, were close on my heels. What will I do if they kidnap me as soon as I stop the car in front of my flat? Will I get time to run up and bolt my flat from inside? Will I be able to ring up the police before they break open the door of my flat? Are my children safe with the young caretaker at home? My husband might not have reached home; he had a meeting to attend in the evening. I did not expect my neighbours to risk their lives for me, but someone may inform the police if they see me being dragged into a jeep. At least, they will do this much, I hoped. 

When I turned towards my colony, I could not locate the jeep in the rear-view mirror. Probably, they could not jump the previous traffic light due to the presence of a cop there. I pressed on the accelerator pedal, determined to reach home before the goons caught up again. 

The sun had already set, and it was getting dark, but I had managed to reach home. 

As I stopped my car, the black Ambassador screeched behind me. My heart was thudding hard, and I broke into a cold sweat. From the car stepped out a tall, muscular man. Moving swiftly towards my car, he opened the door with a jerk: I closed my eyes with fear. 

“Ranju Di, you really drive like a maniac. I have been chasing you for almost five kilometres now, but you would not let me overtake you.” My cousin in khaki uniform was grinning at me. “Ohhh… Tammy! You rascal! How come? What are you doing here?” I wiped the sweat from my brow. 

“Chasing you, Di. Ha.. ha.. ha! I was transferred to Delhi a month ago. I am now in charge of this area. I wanted to surprise you, but what a Formula One driver you are! Will you quickly give me a hot cup of tea? I will come up for two minutes only.” He was happy and oozing with self-confidence. 

I saw from the crook of my eyes. The Willys Jeep had also reached my apartment complex. It had stopped and was idling. Noticing the man in the khaki I was talking to, they sped away. 

Climbing the stairs to my first-floor flat, I heaved a sigh of relief and quietly wiped my tears, the tears of relief. I was once again secure in the knowledge that my cousin was there to take care of me in the wake of any untoward happening. 

The timely arrival of my cousin on the scene saved me from a potentially dangerous situation. Is it not the family who always stands by us when we reach a dead end in life?

(*All names here have been changed to protect their identities.)

(To  be continued...)

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