53. THE CHILLING POWER OF GOLDEN MILK (YEAR 1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 53 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.

General Elections were to take place in the country. For booth management and other duties, the local administration required additional workforce. What could be easier than to requisition the services of the bank officers? The official order for election duty deployment arrived as a terse document demanding the presence of all male officers from the Bank. A now-familiar pang of exclusion settled in my mind as I scanned the list, my name and those of the other female officers conspicuously absent. For the first time in my career, I found myself a begrudging beneficiary of gender.

Upon reaching the office the day after the elections, I noticed a shaken Dinesh Singh*  after his return from election duty. His demeanour was subdued. The boisterous laughter I was familiar with, was missing, and his ever-present smile was replaced by seriousness.

"Dinesh, your report on the election duty, please? How was it?" Sensing his seriousness, I tried to put it lightly.

Startled at my voice, he took a long breath and stood up, avoiding eye contact.

"It was some experience," he muttered.  

“Come what may, I will never go for the election duty again.” He was still tense, and his face was pale.

Curiosity gnawed at me. "Why? What happened? Come to my room and tell me everything."

As he settled in the chair in my room, I asked him reassuringly, “What happened there? Tell me everything.”

He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Madam, I have come back alive, and it is a big miracle.”

He stopped for a moment and continued, “When I reached the village where the booth was located, I was ushered to the place where the village Sarpanch (Headman) was sitting on a charpoy (cot) along with his cronies, enjoying his hookah. He seemingly welcomed me and said that their village is known for its hospitality and that they take good care of their guests.

A disquieting silence descended as he paused.

"Two glasses of golden milk were shown to me. I was told one was a traditional glass of milk with almonds, saffron and cardamom. The content of the other..." His voice trailed off, a spark of horror crossing his face.

"The content of the other?" I prompted gently. The gravity of the situation had started to dawn on me.

He drew a deep breath. "The other glass, I was told, contained milk with turmeric. You must be knowing it is used for healing internal injuries."

He shuddered, a flicker of fear crossing his face again. "They made their intentions very clear, Madam. Do as they say and drink the milk with almonds and saffron. Otherwise, face the consequences and be ready to drink the milk with turmeric."

I was listening to his frightening experience with bated breath.

“All this while, half a dozen of his henchmen stood there wielding lathis and staring at me.” His voice trembled with the possibilities clearly hinted at. Anyone who did not abide by their directions would be beaten up after covering with a blanket. And when injured and crying with pain, he would be given turmeric milk.

What he shared was scary. With each word uttered, the picture he painted had grown more horrifying.

"The Sarpanch further warned me it is in my interest to sit in a corner when voting is being done and keep my eyes and ears shut while they do whatever they do."

 “Uff! It must be horrible,” I was shocked.

“The next day, despite these threats, I tried to take charge of the situation but was frozen with fear when they started shooting with desi kattas. I got scared for my life when a bullet whizz-passed a few inches from my ear. I have never felt so helpless in my life in the discharge of my duties. It was the first time in my life, Madam, I could not perform my duty diligently. I am feeling miserable.”

As he finished, his voice was hoarse with emotion. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.  

The air in my office room was heavy with tension. This was not just about a missed duty; it was a chilling glimpse into the underbelly of the hinterland, a disturbing reminder of the dirty power dynamics at play in remote regions.

*name changed to protect his identity

(To be continued....)

*****

52. A CLAMPED UP SCREAM (YEAR 1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 52 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.

As an Administrative Officer of the Region, I had to visit the branches in my span of control. After the mischievous anonymous complaint, I had no option but to venture forth alone in the crime-infested Badlands of western Uttar Pradesh. 

It would be worth sharing that like all other public sector undertakings, the Bank hires services at L1 quotation, the lowest rate quoted by a vendor. The result was invariably a rickety diesel Ambassador car at my disposal when I visited branches located in far-flung rural and semi-urban areas. The reliability of the vehicle at my disposal was always under question.

As I travelled on those unpaved single roads through the agricultural fields, my stomach sometimes churned with anxiety. I often wondered what I would do if the car broke down while travelling on those kaccha bumpy roads carved by the wheels of the bullock carts. The paths were often flanked by tall elephant grass, making them perfect havens for crime.

The visit to a place called Jirauli is forever etched in my memory. On visiting this godforsaken place, the Branch Manager sincerely advised me to leave by afternoon as the area was highly crime-infested and not safe to travel, even by car. A few kilometres down the road, on a desolated path parallel to a canal, the cab started rattling, and its engine started coughing, making funny sounds. The car lurched and swayed along. The driver was struggling to keep it moving. It was moving albeit slowly. The dusk was approaching fast. The area was devoid of any human presence. The landscape was deserted. And an eerie quiet was pressing down on my nerves. If the car breaks down, what will I do? There was no way I could inform anybody. There were no mobile phones in those days.

While the car struggled to move on the unpaved track parallel to the canal, gushing with water, my mind started straying and conjuring up nightmares. What if the car stalls! What if I become a victim of a crime! What if I vanish here and my body is dumped silently into the murky water of the canal? No one would ever find my body.

And then I saw it. It was a splash of pink amidst the green waters. It was a bloated dead body, arms and legs stretched out, looking most grotesque, bobbing in the canal. My stomach lurched, and a primal scream was trapped in my throat, which suddenly dried up. The cab driver was focussed on driving and did not see it, and the car continued to rattle at an abysmally slow speed.

It was a great relief when I finally reached Meerut past midnight. After opening the lock when I entered the dark house, I did not feel like cooking and went to bed without any dinner. Tossing and turning in bed, sleep was nowhere near me. The entire night, I had visions of that body looking like a pink plastic doll, floating in the swirling waters of the canal.

I could not even share these scary moments with anyone. If I had told my husband about it, he would have been unduly stressed.  If I had shared it with my colleagues, they would have judged me due to my gender and made fun of me behind my back. I would have given the entire Zonal Office fodder for gossip. Fear of whispers and innuendo forced me to keep this horrid experience buried deep into my heart and I continued to tour the territory that felt anything but safe.

Decades later, even today, the memories of that evening bring a wave of nausea crashing over me. 

(To be continued...)

*****

51. THE SKEWED THINKING OF A PERVERT MIND (YEAR 1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 51 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. 

My area of command in the Meerut Zone was the largest of the four such regions, having as many as 48 branches spread mostly over rural and semi-urban centres. It was considered the most challenging Region as there were backlogs galore in every branch, with innumerable grey areas crying for attention.

Soon after I got posted there, the zonal head issued a written order that my boss and I must jointly visit the branches and spend at least 20 nights a month out of headquarters to set the branches in order. I could not comprehend the rationale behind this order as we could comfortably return home after inspection, the farthest branch being just about 125 kilometres away. None of my predecessors had ever stayed anywhere overnight but the expectations from me were different. The irony was that there was no decent hotel to stay overnight in those places. But the big boss had a sadistic streak, and there was no point discussing the rationale of this administrative order with him. My boss tried to talk to him, but would he budge? We had no option but to comply with the instructions, which were totally irrational in my view.

Immediately, a branch visit was planned, and the Branch Manager was told to arrange an overnight stay for the visiting officers including me. Bewildered, he rang me up to ask where I would prefer to stay. His whisper on the phone sounded so strange, as if it was some hush-hush affair. Having spent all my childhood staying in the PWD Inspection Houses, thanks to my father’s government job, I felt an Inspection House was a safer option vis-à-vis a private shady hotel. I requested him to book one, if possible. 

The morning after our first overnight visit to the branches, the bouncer came by way of an anonymous letter placed on every table in the Zonal Office before we reached the office. The letter alleged, “Ever since a lady officer has been posted as Administrative Officer, the Regional Manager has started dyeing his hair black to look young. In the past, he always returned home after inspecting the branches. But this time, he decided to stay back and spend the night with her at the Inspection Bungalow on the banks of river Ganga..….”

Going through the cyclostyled copy of the complaint placed clandestinely on my table, initially my face flushed with embarrassment. The writer’s insinuations were outright malicious. I was shocked and read it again and again and once again, and then could not help laughing at the absurdity of the imaginary contents. But my boss, who was on the verge of retirement, felt much too embarrassed. Flustered and humiliated, he rushed to the big boss along with the anonymous complaint.

He never told me what transpired there, but this led to the end of our joint branch visits. Then on, the Regional Manager refused to take me along on branch visits. Alas, my chances to learn from a seasoned officer vanished before my eyes, sacrificed at the altar of the skewed thinking of a pervert mind.

Whatever happened, the mandatory visits to the branches had to be performed, and I was now left to fend for myself. More about it later!

(To be continued.....)

*****

50. A NEW STREAK OF DEFIANCE (YEAR 1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 50 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. 

My boss and I were required to do a lot of touring to closely monitor the functioning of the branches in the area of our control. With this objective, my boss planned a visit to Hapur Branch where I and a junior official accompanied him. I was excited and looked forward to the branch visit as a great learning opportunity.

As the Branch Manager lamented the transfer of a star performer employee, who happened to be a woman, my boss scoffed, "But Mister, we gave you a man as her replacement. Even if useless, he must be working double than that woman. Am I wrong?" 

With his sweeping statement, my boss had not only pre-judged that clerk but had cast aspersions on the efficiency of all female workers. This was not just an insult to that woman; it was a dismissal of all women employees. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and I could not even look up.  I had read somewhere that a woman has to work doubly hard to prove half as good as her male colleagues. The gender-bias in his comment proved it beyond doubt.

Then, I noticed a sudden spark of defiance in the Branch Manager, who hesitatingly differed from him, "No Sir, that lady was different. She was an excellent worker. She was worth four men. This new guy, her replacement, does barely half his job, and that too with a lot of difficulty." 

A sliver of hope pierced the darkness, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Not every man shared the chauvinistic views of my boss. I sat up straight and breathed easier. 

Discussions over, the Branch Manager arranged tea and biscuits for us. But the boss was fasting that day and asked for some fruits. Soon, a few apples were brought in a plate along with a knife and placed in front of him. He quickly shoved the plate towards me, "Madam, cut them. A woman can handle a knife better than a man. She uses it all the time in the kitchen." He laughed loudly. 

Yeah, really? He thinks a woman's place is only in the kitchen. 

Ignoring his instructions, I impulsively slid the plate of apples to the male officer seated on the next chair. The boss was indignant and looked at me quizzically.  Looking away from him, I replied, "I am sure, whatever a woman can do, a man can also do. Let him cut the apples while I have my tea." 

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed the officer trying clumsily to cut the apples but I looked away and took a long sip of tea. The sweetness of tea was in stark contrast to the bitter taste of prejudice. 

One may perceive it as a small act of newfound defiance by a woman slighted, but it was a source of great solace for my hurt self-esteem.

(To be continued...)

*****