79. DEBT, DECEPTION AND DOGS (2003)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 79 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.

Arsh Deep Singh, a recalcitrant borrower from my RAR Branch, was a symphony of arrogance and deceit. He owed the bank a fortune but acted like a pauper, his lifestyle a brazen display of wealth.

After much chasing, we finally cornered him, and he agreed to come to the negotiation table for a compromise. Tall, handsome, and clad in a silk shirt and a designer suit, he claimed utter destitution. I could not imagine this. A man who claimed to be destitute, dressed in a shirt that probably cost more than my monthly salary, was condescendingly informing me of his dire financial strait.

"I have no money," he wailed. "I have even sold my wife's jewellery, and nothing is left for her to wear now."

I remained unfazed. "So what? Who bought all that jewellery for her? You did." I countered. "Why don't you sell off the remaining one to repay the bank." He feigned despair. His voice started choking, and he buried his face in his hands. My team members were moved by his crocodile tears. They rushed to comfort him with a glass of water. I, however, suspected a charade. It was a theatrical performance veiled in crocodile tears. But I remained unmoved. This wasn't a tragedy; it was purely a calculated drama.

I insisted on visiting his residence in Ludhiana. I wanted to see this destitute man's lifestyle firsthand. He agreed with some resistance and left. Moments later, from the window of my office room, I watched him drive away in a chauffeur-driven Porsche. A poor man indeed!

His house in Model Town was a palace. The sight that greeted us was a testament to his opulent lifestyle. A sprawling mansion, the gate guarded by two liveried sentries expressed exclusivity. We were kept waiting, a deliberate display of his power and our insignificance. Finally, we were ushered in, not to a drawing room but to a sprawling lush green lawn, where we were expected to bask in the sun on uncomfortable cane chairs.

Fifteen minutes passed. No one came. I inquired again. Then, all of a sudden, two ferocious German Shepherds were unleashed upon us. The duo came barking menacingly. This was no accident; it was a calculated intimidation tactic. This man, who claimed to be bankrupt, dared to unleash his dogs on his creditors.

My colleague, a picture of terror, nearly jumped out of his skin. I quickly told him to remain seated and take deep breaths. However, I remained calm. Having kept a big Labrador as a pet, I knew our fear would only excite the dogs.

Finally, Mr. Destitute appeared, clad in his navy blue silk robe and rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep. "Sorry, late night," he drawled. Late night? While the bank's money funded his lavish lifestyle?

His theatrics continued, but his false claims were exposed. His time was up. We seized his assets, his opulent mansion, symbolising his greed and disregard for the law. Soon, the auctioneer's hammer fell. Three crore one, three crore two... three crore three! The final call!

It was a resounding defeat for the man who thought he could outsmart the system. This was not just a debt recovery battle; it was a battle against arrogance, against those who believed they were above the law. In the end, justice, albeit belatedly, prevailed.

(To continue...)

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78. THE ACID WELL FUMES (2002)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 78 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.

M/s Baddi Chemicals (not the real name), a non-performing asset parked at the branch, owed the bank a large sum. The factory, a skeletal monument of their failed ambition and past indiscretions, lay idle, mocking our attempts to recover the bad debt they had become.  We at the bank were relentless in our pursuit of recovery. But the owners, the masters of evasion, remained elusive, leaving behind a trail of broken promises. After months of relentless follow-up, we succeeded in contacting the owner. He allowed us to inspect the unit. He also grudgingly agreed to meet us there. 

I, along with the concerned officers, reached the defaulter unit at the mutually agreed time. The factory, located in a desolate area about fifty kilometres from the city, seemed to exude an air of defiance. First, the gatekeeper, a harbinger of their contempt, stopped our entry into the unit. The promised meeting with the owner was aborted as he did not turn up, a petty act of defiance. Instead, he sent a representative with a condescending attitude, who arrived an hour late.

Reeking of indifference, he led us through the decaying industrial shed until we reached a precipice – a gaping well. Out of my curiosity to know what it was, I climbed a dozen steps. But my accompanying officers discreetly preferred to stay away. The well was without any railings, its depths shrouded in an ominous mist. The factory representative urged me to have a closer look at it, his eyes gleaming with cold intensity.

The air, thick with the acrid stench of acid, burned my nostrils. I recoiled as the fumes emanating from the well assaulted my senses. But the fellow insisted on explaining the process, oblivious to my distress. His voice was like a silken caress that masked a disturbing ruthlessness. I noticed the flicker of malice in his eyes, a chilling reflection of the fate that awaited those who dared to irritate them.

As we drove back from the factory, my eyes stinging, my companions whispered tales of the sinister usage of the well. It was the final resting place for the dissenters, a frightening testament to the brutality of promoters. They shared that even the human bones will dissolve in it within less than a week.

Fear, cold and insidious, gripped my heart. But it was not fear that fuelled my resolve. It was a burning rage, a vow to ensure that one day, the bank would reclaim every penny from this rogue defaulter.

When the SARFAESI Act came into force, M/s Baddi Chemicals, the embodiment of greed and cruelty, was the first to fall, a poignant reminder that justice, however delayed, would ultimately prevail.

And finally the day, the sale proceeds of M/s Baddi Chemicals were credited to the account, the burning of my eyes and nostrils subsided!

(To continue....)

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77. WHEN I WAS IMPRISONED IN THE BANK (2002)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 77 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.

Finally, I was promoted to Top Executive Grade when I expected it the least. Before I could respond to innumerable congratulatory messages, I was moved to Chandigarh and thrust into the murky depths of the Recovery and Rehabilitation Branch.

My desk promptly became a dump yard of fat files containing the history and developments of non-performing accounts parked at the branch. Every account had at least two fat files, and my head was perpetually buried in the mountain of these files. Days blurred into a monotonous cycle of studying and understanding the details of each case, and I spent every moment trying to understand them. A week was over in a blink.

On that particular evening, I was engrossed in studying a file when my esteemed boss phoned, “I want a status report on the Lal & Lal Industries. Tomorrow morning at 10am sharp!”

Panic set in. I looked at the clock. It was already past 6 pm. The history of Lal & Lal Industries was spread over three fat files already adorning my desk. Looking at their size, I had kept them aside to be studied last. I stepped out of my cabin only to find that the officer who handled the case had already left. My next in command was on leave. It sent a shiver down my spine. Even if I worked the entire night, I could not have prepared a self-contained note on the account by 10am the next day. Still, I picked up the files and started studying them. I was so engrossed in pasting Post-it slips, putting flags on the relevant notes and studying the files that I lost track of time. 

As I delved deep into this unwarranted abyss, the lights went off. The office room plunged into darkness and an eerie silence, punctuated only by the whirring of my Personal Computer. Assuming the electricity had gone off, I waited for someone to switch on the generator soon. A few minutes passed, but nothing happened. I pressed the call bell, but it did not function. I emerged from my room and was shocked to find the entire floor dark and deserted. Despite it being pitch dark, I managed to reach the main door. It was locked from the outside. The security guard on the evening duty, not finding anyone in the main hall, had locked the gates from outside, switched off the lights, and left. I thumped at the massive wooden door and pounded hard, but the banging echoed through the empty hall. There was no response from anywhere. I had actually become a prisoner on my office floor.

Fumbling through the numerous office tables and chairs, I managed to return to my office room. Searching through various drawers in the dim light of the computer screen, I finally located the phone directory. As my eyes strained to decipher the phone numbers, the tabletop computer, my last beacon of hope, sputtered and died. Its battery back-up had conked off.

Uff! What do I do now? Who do I contact? I looked out of the window of my room on the second floor. All the cars had moved, and the parking lot was empty. I tried to shout loudly and wave frantically at some people I saw on the ground floor, but nobody looked up or heard my voice.

Then, I remembered my cell phone, my new, fancy acquisition post promotion, which I had received that day only. I fumbled for it in my bag, my fingers trembling. Who will I call? I had not fed any numbers in its phone book. Thankfully, there was a call from a colleague who had called me earlier that day to test my phone. He responded quickly. After I recounted my predicament, he laughed loudly, "You must be kidding. Right?" And then came the big surprise. My colleague handed his cell phone to our boss, who roared with a hearty chuckle, "Locked in the Bank, eh? Sounds like a good start to your assignment." They were sharing a drink at his home: I could hear their laughter with the sound of ice cubes clinking in their whisky glasses. Jealousy, raw and bitter, washed over me.

The Security Officer soon arrived with the security guard, and they extended profuse apologies while releasing me from the unintended prison.

I carried all three files relating to the Lal & Lal Industries home, toiled overnight to prepare a note on the case, and took it to the boss at 10 am sharp. His room was empty.

His Personal Secretary informed me, "The boss has left for Delhi this morning to attend a meeting. He will be away for two days. I wonder why he asked you to get this note by 10 am today."

I returned to my room and wondered what the urgency expressed the previous evening was all about. Could it be a sinister ploy to make me burn the midnight oil? Or was it to test the level of my commitment? Or to get vicarious pleasure out of my discomfiture? God alone knows!  

(To continue....)

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76. STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF DESTINY! (2001)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 76 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, link given below:
https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/06/stress-success-and-everything-in.html

Two years passed, and I was transferred to head the Personnel & HR Department in the Head Office. A wave of congratulations and good wishes swept over me. It was the first time a woman officer was posted in this position in the Bank. Suddenly, I became a very popular person. Everyone seemed eager to befriend me, and the number of Diwali and New Year greetings skyrocketed. I knew this newfound popularity was not for me but for my position.

Soon, the time for my third and final promotion attempt to the top executive grade arrived. The memory of my previous two rejections still stung, particularly the explanation given by the Chairman of the first interview board: they could not promote too many women to the top cadre. Despite this setback, I prepared diligently for the upcoming opportunity for promotion. I delved into my notes and books, brushing up on the theoretical aspects of banking, but it was with some scepticism this time.

However, life had other plans. It was early morning. My husband and I had gone for our morning walk in a nearby park. Suddenly, he experienced pain in his upper abdomen. He found it difficult to walk. We rested for ten minutes on a bench in the park, and he felt normal, and we resumed our walk. After another five minutes of walking, the pain reappeared. Rest brought it back to normal. Walk, pain, rest, relief… Walk, pain, rest, relief… with difficulty, we returned home. A cardiac checkup confirmed our worst fears: he had significant arterial blockages. The cardiologist recommended angioplasty, a procedure that would hopefully resolve the issue. A stent or two should take care of the blockages, and he will be discharged from the hospital within a day.

Two days later, he was wheeled into the Catheterization Lab, and I sat outside waiting for the process to be over. Waiting outside, I picked up the newspaper to read the latest Credit Policy the Reserve Bank of India had announced the previous day. I read it three times, but nothing registered. A mix of anxiety and worry was consuming me, and my mind had lost its capability to understand and absorb information. The nuances of how the Reserve Bank of India proposed to handle the money market in the country were of no interest to me. The reality of his health overshadowed everything else. I folded the newspaper and threw it away. Whispering a silent prayer for his well-being, I looked at my son. He appeared tense. I patted his arm, “Let us go and have some coffee. A cup of strong coffee would perhaps soothe our frayed nerves."

An unexpected announcement on the public address system startled me, and I jumped out of the chair in the coffee shop. The cardiologist wanted me to come up and see him urgently. So soon? I was worried and almost ran up to the floor where my husband lay in the operation theatre. The cardiologist informed me they could not perform angioplasty as the blockages were too severe and complex. He explained that there were too many blockages in the arteries and at the points where the arteries branch off into two. It was not possible to insert a stent there. The only solution was bypass surgery. The doctor advised, "If you want a second opinion, we will discharge him by evening. The only word of caution is that you decide fast. His arteries are severely clogged. We cannot wait much.” The doctor was pleasant and explained his view and approach clearly.

I discussed it with my husband, and he decided to undergo the bypass surgery.

That evening, I decided my career ambitions had to take a backseat. Looking after my husband was my priority. I put away my banking books and study material to be given to the kabadi.

The surgery was successful, but the recovery process was arduous. Juggling hospital visits, home care, and attending to visiting friends and relatives was exhausting. It was taking its toll on me, but I was trying to be a superwoman.

Amidst this chaos, the interview dates were announced. My interview was scheduled just ten days after the open heart surgery of my husband. I had decided not to appear for the interview. But my husband urged me to attend the interview.

“I have no intentions of going for the interview. If I go and they promote me, they will definitely transfer me out of Delhi. I cannot leave you here in this condition and move out,” I argued with him.

“I think you must go for the interview. If I find it difficult to live alone in Delhi, I will take leave and stay with you until I recuperate fully. But do not miss this opportunity,” his voice was feeble.

"But I have not even prepared anything. I will feel like a fool in the interview. Try to understand," I was uncomfortable at the thought of facing the interview board in this state of complete unpreparedness.

My son joined him in sermonising me, “Mom, you cannot give up the race even without running it. If you have to lose it, lose it after running. One does not always win in life, but you must try. You never know…” They were both encouraging me not to give up without a fight.

Reluctantly, I reached the venue of the interview. The undertaking I was required to sign before the interview read, “In the event of my getting promoted, I am willing to be posted anywhere in India or abroad.”

My hand trembled as I picked up the pen to sign that undertaking, and I stopped. Then, I thought the Interview Committee would not recommend me in this state of unpreparedness. So I made up my mind and signed the paper, albeit shakily.

I felt neither pressure of performance nor fear of rejection. It was okay if I would not be selected. I no longer craved the promotion. In fact, I secretly hoped I would be rejected.

In the interview, the Chairman of the Board fired the first question, “So you are heading the personnel department here? You must be an expert in personnel matters.” The question from the person who had handled nothing but personnel-related matters for most of his career was intimidating. But my answer was short and crisp, “No, sir. I am not an expert at all. Personnel is such a vast and complex area that even a lifetime of exposure is not enough to master the intricacies of this discipline.”

“Mrs Bharij, Reserve Bank of India recently announced the Busy Season Credit Policy. Can you tell us the salient features of the policy?” Another member asked.

I rolled my eyes, looked at the ceiling and then at the member and replied with a smile, “I do not know.”

“Mrs Bharij, did you not read it to prepare for the interview?” The board member obviously did not like it.

“It is not so, sir. I have read it, but I cannot recall anything right now. Maybe I am nervous.” Making an honest admission, I grinned.

At the end of the interview, I was confident they would not select me, and that is what I wanted. Once again, after twenty-two years, I deliberately tried to erase the career lines from my palm.

A fortnight later, the results were announced and much to my surprise, I was promoted and transferred to a new location. I had sacrificed the stability of my family for a career advancement I did not truly desire.  I did not want any promotion or transfer at this stage of life, but I got both. Once again, a conflict between my domestic life and my career began, and I started packing my bags for Chandigarh.

Aren’t the ways of destiny strange?

(To be continued....)

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