22. A NERVOUS BRIDE (YEAR 1973)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 22 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

The training programme at Hyderabad was over on the 3rd of February 1973, and I was back in Faizabad to resume the on-the-job training on the 5th of February.

The wedding venue was ready.

Meanwhile, my parents had  fixed the date of my wedding. Only 17 days were left before the wedding day, and a lot had to be done, including the grant of leave. I found it quite challenging as the Branch Manager was known to be very strict about sanctioning leave to anyone, even for a day. I could appreciate his compulsions subsequently when I myself became a Branch head. But at that time, it was simply terrifying to approach him for sanction of leave.

The D-day was approaching fast, and my mother would call me daily to confirm whether I had applied for leave. However, I could not write the leave application, as I found it embarrassing to mention marriage as the reason for my leave.

Finally, I started writing, “As I am getting married, I shall be grateful if you kindly grant me leave for three weeks with effect from....” 

Oh no! It is so embarrassing. Will they make tongue-in-cheek comments if they knew that I was getting married? Will they tease me? They all appear to be so conscious of my gender. I was always uncomfortable feeling their gaze on my back: I had even started covering my back with the saree while in the office. How can I let everyone know 

I tore the half-written application, and threw it in the dustbin.

Unable to withstand the continuous pressure from my mother, I finally wrote an application, "I have some urgent domestic commitments to fulfil and shall, therefore, be grateful if you kindly grant me leave for 20 days with effect from...," and quietly handed it over in the Secretariat of the Branch Manager.

Within a few minutes, the Head Messenger of the Branch, in his crisp white uniform and red and gold turban, was at my desk, saying courteously, "Bade sahib is requesting your presence".

  

As I entered his room, the Branch Manager growled, “You want leave for three weeks? Why?” 

“I have some urgent work at home. It is important,” I replied with a straight face. 

“Urgent work? What urgent work? Huh! You are still in your probation period. You are not to even dream of taking leave. Why do you need such a long leave?” His voice was loud and brusque, and my heart sank.

“Sir, It is some important work at home. My parents want me there,” I said as I looked at the floor. 

“Hmmm… I cannot recommend leave for you for more than a week. You bring another application for six days only.” He threw away the application, and I caught it mid-air before it fell on the floor. 

He was furious that an officer, a mere probationer, had applied for leave for some vague reason like an urgent piece of work, and that too even without discussing it in advance. Frustrated that the ploy which had worked with the Principal of the DWT College in Dehra Dun in July 1970, did not work in the Bank and humiliated at his rude behaviour, I left the room to write down another application requesting leave for only six days, starting from the wedding date. On his recommendations, the Head Office sanctioned me leave for six days for urgent personal work.

The sanction came after ten days. The Branch Manager again called me, “Head Office has sanctioned your leave. But you dare not extend it after it is over. You have to come back immediately after the leave. Otherwise…” He gave me a nasty look with a veiled threat. 

“Yes, sir,” I nodded compliantly and left the room.

 

Two days before I was to proceed on leave, my mother sent me a packet containing a few wedding invitation cards for distribution to my colleagues and friends in the office. Well, it was a tough job for me. How could I go around telling people, “Hey guys? Here is some great news! I am soon going to get married. Do come to my wedding and see me standing there in a red saree with my head covered and eyes downcast.” 

My mother called me again the next day, “I had sent you a few invitation cards. Have you distributed them? How many of your colleagues are likely to attend the wedding? Any stay arrangements required for them?”

“No, Mummy. I have not done it so far. But I will do it today. I do not think anybody will come to Lucknow,” I replied. Although I told my mother that I would distribute the cards, I knew I would not do so. Mulling over it overnight, I found a solution. I tore off all the invitation cards and quietly consigned them to the dustbin. 

I reached Lucknow on the morning of the wedding day. There was nobody to receive me at the railway station as the family had gone to Charbagh railway station to receive the baraat (the wedding party) since their train was scheduled to reach Lucknow around the same time as mine but at another railway station.

 

I hailed a rickshaw and reached home. The household was bustling with activity. The call bell was ringing every two minutes. Relatives, lugging their suitcases, were arriving one after the other. The menfolk mostly sat outside on the chairs on the lawn. They were basking in the sun, sipping tea and discussing politics. Inside, women were singing wedding songs on the beats of the dholak. 

 

Seeing me, my mother instructed me to change immediately from jeans and a shirt to an ethnic salwar kameez. Seven married women were ready with Haldi and Chandan Ubtan. They were to apply this paste on my face and limbs within the auspicious time. I shrank at the idea: I never liked the strong smell of mustard oil, one of the ingredients in the paste. The womenfolk seemed to enjoy the ritual and took their own sweet time leisurely rubbing the paste on my limbs, singing auspicious songs. 

Amidst all the holy confusion, my father walked into the room. He looked grim and waved at me a pink paper. I could see it was a telegram. But why did he want to show it to me? So many congratulatory messages were pouring in from friends and relatives. What was so special about this telegram? Seeing him, the women stopped applying ubtan. Without uttering a word, he handed over the telegram to me with a straight face. Reading it, I was shocked. 

“IN VIEW OF THE CALL FOR STRIKE GIVEN BY THE ALL-INDIA EMPLOYEES UNION IT HAS BEEN DECIDED TO CANCEL THE LEAVE SANCTIONED TO YOU FROM 23RD FEB TO 28TH FEB 1973 (STOP) PLEASE REPORT FOR DUTY FORTHWITH REPEAT FORTHWITH (STOP) PERSONNEL MANAGER (STOP).” 

 

I looked at my father helplessly, “What do I do now?”

“You tell me. It is your bank.” He sounded grim.

“Do I have to return to Faizabad now?” I asked in a voice so edgy and nervous that my father could not continue with the poker face he was trying to maintain.

He smiled reassuringly, "Do not worry! I have already spoken to the Secretary and Treasurer of your bank in Kanpur. He apologised for this and said there must be some misunderstanding somewhere. Let her proceed with her marriage plans as scheduled. Yes, one more thing. He has asked me to convey his good wishes to you. He has also sanctioned you leave for one month. He will inform the branch. Did you not mention marriage as the reason when asking for leave?"

 

I lowered my eyes. I knew I was responsible for the mess. My father was busy and moved on without waiting for my response.

 

The women resumed singing the auspicious songs and applying the sandalwood-turmeric paste on my arms.

(To be continued....)

*****

21. ON HOLDING HANDS OF A COLLEAGUE (YEAR 1973)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

      CARE: This is Chapter 21 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

During the Intermediate Training Programme, a Senior Faculty member was leading a post-lunch session on Cash Handling Procedures in the branch. Unfortunately, the subject was mundane and unexciting. It was compounded by the participants' drowsiness after a hearty lunch.

After the session, during the question-and-answer session, an enthusiastic participant posed an intriguing query. He asked, "In the Strong Room, when all the cash is spread out on the table before the joint custodians, and a sudden power outage occurs, how does one ensure that the other custodian hasn't surreptitiously pocketed a few packets of notes?"

The seasoned faculty member was probably used to such questions. He responded with a confident smile, "Good question! According to the Bank's Book of Instructions, in the event of a blackout, the joint custodians are expected to immediately hold each other's hands and maintain this contact until the power is restored or a lamp is brought in."

Not fully satisfied, the inquisitive learner again inquired, "What if one of the joint custodians happens to be a woman?"           

This jolted all the lethargic sleepyheads into alertness. The confident faculty member was momentarily taken aback. He mulled over the question and admitted that the Bank's historic Book of Instructions offered no guidance for such an eventuality. As these instructions were written more than two centuries ago, with no female presence in the Bank, such a scenario had not been envisaged. He promised to contact the Central Office to request the necessary clarification for addressing such a situation.

It was evident that the Bank would now need to adapt and change some of its rules and regulations with the entry of female officers.

(To be continued....)

*****

20. YAY! WE ARE ACCEPTED (YEAR 1973)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World  

CARE: This is Chapter 20 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

As the number of women in the bank increased, the need for developing dedicated infrastructure and support systems became increasingly apparent. The seeds of this change were sown in January 1973 when five of us, the women officers from Kanpur Circle, were sent to Hyderabad to attend the Intermediate Programme at the Staff College. Upon our arrival, we were pleasantly surprised to meet five more women officers from different parts of the country, taking our number to ten. Our visibility in the set-up suddenly increased.

It was a momentous occasion, and our arrival at the Staff College at Hyderabad marked the beginning of an era of transformation. The ten of us collectively became change agents for the bank.

In Hyderabad, the college authorities recognized the significance of this development and took a step forward. They erected a distinct partition that physically separated the women's rooms from the rest of the hostel area. Today, when having mixed hostels is a trend, one can raise eyebrows and express divergent views about the need for having a separate wing for women officers. But this simple gesture symbolized the need for a supportive environment to cater to the unique requirements of women in the workforce.

What began as a temporary arrangement in the form of the Women's Wing in 1973 has endured for over fifty years. This is a testament to the lasting commitment of the bank towards gender diversity and inclusivity.

INTERMEDIATE PROG. FOR PROBATIONARY OFFICERS (3rd Jan to 3rd Feb 1973)

   As time moved and the number of women within the organization increased, the infrastructure and facilities created for them began to reflect the broader cultural shift within the organization. And this was a great sign indicating acceptance of women as a workforce in the bank. And this continues to date. 

     (To be continued.....)

*****

19. SHHH... A SECRET ACHIEVEMENT (YEAR 1973)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 19 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

In the early part of 1973, I landed up at the Faizabad Branch of the Bank, which was housed in an old sprawling building constructed in quintessential British style with grand arches and a façade painted in a typical shade of biscuit-yellow.

When I met the Branch Manager, he directed an officer from his secretariat to introduce me to the rest of the employees. Moving around the multiple rooms in the branch and getting introduced to the staff members, I noticed there was not a single female employee in the office. I was not surprised: this is what I had expected.

As soon as the introductions were over, I was assigned to the Savings Bank section of the Bank. All of a sudden, it hit me that I was the solitary woman in an otherwise male-dominated banking hall where all the colleagues, as well as the customers, were men - men at the counter, men across the counter, men behind me, men on the left and men on the right. I became aware that all eyes were glued to me. This was the first time in the long history of the branch that a woman had been posted there. I felt highly conscious of the glaring eyes and spontaneously pulled the pallu of my saree over my back and wrapped it tightly over my right shoulder as if to save myself from their unabashed stares.

It was a cold winter morning, and without thinking of its repercussions, I kept gulping cup after cup of hot tea, maybe to relieve my anxiety in a new place. In no time, my primal need compelled me to look around for the basic necessity called the washroom. Soon, the urge became stronger. I recalled while taking the round of the branch in the morning, I had not spotted any such facility.

I was the only female employee in the branch: who should I ask, I wondered. It was embarrassing to ask a male colleague about the location of the toilet. Had this happened today, I would have walked up to anyone and enquired about it. But in those days, it was considered a big taboo. Thinking about it for some time, I decided to ask AC, a fellow Probationary Officer who had been posted there longer than me and was familiar with the layout of the branch.

I gathered courage, walked up to his table with desperation writ large on my face, and asked him hesitatingly, “Umm…uh...Any idea which way is the toilet for women?”

“Uh…umm…,” he was obviously unsure. “I do not know, but I will find out and let you know.”

I returned to my desk and again started passing vouchers, lifting a heavy ledger each time, side-initialling the entry and then dumping it on the nearby tripod.

In a few minutes, which felt like an eternity, AC came to me on the pretext of handing over some vouchers and, while doing so, whispered softly, “There is no toilet for women here in the branch.” I felt highly desperate, but he offered a brilliant solution. "The residence of the Branch Manager is located at the back of the building. At lunchtime, you could go there, introduce yourself to his wife and use their toilet. The boss does not go home before 2.30."

I felt so relieved to hear this. Fifty years have passed since this, but even today, I am grateful to AC for his out-of-the-box thinking and for providing a solution when I needed it the most.

As the clock in the banking hall struck two and the public dealings got over, teetering on the brink of physical discomfort, I headed straight to the residence of the Branch Manager, introduced myself to his wife, used her toilet and breezed out merrily, well before her husband arrived for lunch at 2:30pm.

This routine continued for a few weeks until the lady decided to visit her parents to attend the wedding of her brother. I was once again in the throes of loo blues.

By this time, I had become more adventurous and decided to hunt for a toilet in the building. Having lived during my childhood in huge British-style bungalows, I was confident that there had to be some toilet hidden somewhere in this sprawling property.

I decided to undertake a discreet survey of the labyrinthine layout of the building and started scouring every recess of the building during lunchtime when most employees were away. If somebody ever asked me what I was doing, I told them I was trying to familiarise myself with the premises. The search yielded no results in the first few rounds, adding to my disappointment.

The departure date of the first lady was inching closer, and the frustration level within me was mounting up speedily. The issue here was I had not learnt to share my problems with anybody and always thought I had to resolve them myself.

Just as I was about to give up, Lady Fortune smiled at me, and what I found was indeed nothing short of a pot of gold.

Having explored every nook and cranny of the premises, I reached a secluded part behind the building. Lifting my saree up with both hands, I treaded over piles of dry leaves and rat holes, peering at the ground, scared of encountering a snake at every step. One day, I reached the farthest end of the building, where I saw a hidden alcove and a seemingly abandoned door beckoned me. I pushed it gingerly. Its hinges creaked and sang an eerie tune. One more push and the door opened.

When my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, I could figure out that it was perhaps an abandoned bathroom, a sort of small cubicle with a round hole for a drain. And the door could be latched from the inside, providing much-needed privacy. As my eyes got used to the darkness, I stared harder. I also noticed two bricks placed side by side and a small tap.Voila! I jumped with joy: it was an eureka moment for me. I found what I was searching for... my very own private toilet.

My new toilet was unkempt but I did not care. It was dirty but I could not be bothered. It did stink, but I could not care less. It was pitch dark except for a thin streak of light from above the door. The huge comfort was that it had four walls around it, which provided me a modicum of privacy. It was the only reality that mattered at that moment. During the next five months, that crude, dark, mostly waterless and stench-ridden room became my instant luxury toilet. It was my fortress of solitude. I never felt so happy even while staying in Hotel Conrad, a five-star luxury hotel in Tokyo and using its most sophisticated toilet as I did on finding this amazing discovery in the remotest abandoned corner of Faizabad branch premises.

Loo blues were plenty in future postings also, but finding this personal toilet after days of tireless exploration in the wilderness was one of my most cherished secret achievements.

(To be continued...)

*****

18. A CHOICELESS CHOICE (YEAR 1972)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 18 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

I was going to complete my second branch training when there was a telephone call from the Personnel Department asking me to come over to discuss my next posting. 

 

“So considerate of them,” I thought as I kick-started my Vespa scooter. Soon, I was in the Head Office, sitting in front of the concerned officer who explained grimly, “Personnel Manager Saheb is a very kind-hearted person, and he feels that it would be a good idea if I check up on your preference for the city for your third branch training.”

 

I did not notice his wry tone. Instead, I was impressed with this concern and instantly started dreaming of a stay in the lush green Himalayan mountains under a blue sky. I quickly suggested some of my favourite places like Dehra Dun, Mussoorie, and Nainital. 

“No, no, no. These are not identified branches for third-branch training. Please suggest some other places,” the officer had broken my reverie.

“Okay, Sir. Allahabad, Varanasi, and Bareilly are equally suitable as far as I am concerned.”  

“I am sorry, but these centres are not available. You can suggest some other places.” 

"How about Meerut or maybe Agra, sir?"

He made a face and shook his head sideways, indicating that this was also not viable. 

 

I suddenly realised that I was perhaps falling into a trap. The officer was obviously not serious and was only deriving sadistic pleasure in this interaction.

“Okay, sir. In that case, can you please tell me the options available?” 

“Anywhere you say, Madam. Please tell me some more centres which may be convenient to you,” he uttered with a poker face.

“Sir, I have no choice,” I suddenly became uninterested. 

“Normally, we do not ask anyone about their posting, but the big boss is very kind to you. You may choose out of Faizabad, Lakhimpur Kheri or Sultanpur…any of these branches, and you will get it.” 

 

His anger against the decision of the Personnel Manager to give the young female officers the choice of selecting a safe and convenient place in the badlands of Uttar Pradesh was perhaps the reason behind this discussion.

 

I did not want to make any choice as all these three places, located in the notorious crime-infested Terai Bhabar area of Uttar Pradesh, were extremely backward and insecure for a single woman to stay alone. 

By this time, I had realised the game he was playing and said with a straight face, “Sir, it is your decision. Please post me wherever you feel like. I have no choice.” 

 

“These are all district headquarters branches. What better can you ask for? You are so lucky you are not being posted to a rural branch as most young officers are. Also, you should be happy you are being consulted before posting.” The shades of sarcasm resonated in his tone. 

 

I had understood his malice and told him plainly, “You decide yourself, sir. As all are equally good places, please take a call yourself. I will go wherever you post me.” I picked up my helmet and the bag and got up to leave. It was not possible for me to beg and plead for a better place.

“Please do not feel bad, Madam. Why not sit for some time more? Let us explore some more options. Maybe we can settle down at a mutually agreeable place.” 

Was he deriving some vicarious pleasure at my cost, or did he expect I would come down on my knees and beg for posting at a better place? Can you decipher his intent in asking me repeatedly for my choice and then saying no to every suggestion?

“No, sir. You decide yourself. I have nothing to say.” Saying this, I walked out of the room, thinking I would cross the bridge when it came.

 

A few days later, I was not surprised when I got my transfer orders for Faizabad. I thought of the dream that had changed the course of my life. Had the Cheshire Cat not illustrated the difficulties that would come my way if I opted for the challenging path? Thinking of the dream and the poker face of the Cheshire Cat brought a smile to my lips. Had I not myself chosen the difficult path? And I started packing my bags for Faizabad. 

The journey on the rough road had just begun. 

(To be continued.....)

*****

17. DECODING A RUMOUR (YEAR 1972)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

CARE: This is Chapter 17 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

One fine morning at the Swaroop Nagar Branch, I arrived early to prepare my desk for the day. While engrossed in these preparations, I observed the Branch Manager entering the room. He approached my table and plonked himself on the chair in front. With an inscrutable expression, he put his hand in his coat pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes and extended it to me casually, "Have a cigarette, Miss Sharma?"

Caught off guard by this unexpected proposition, I replied, "I do not smoke, sir." My voice was filled with a feeling of outrage. It is common now to see a woman smoking. But in those days, a woman smoking a cigarette was considered almost akin to her having questionable morals.

Unperturbed, he continued, offering me the cigarette again and urging, "Oh, come on now and do not pretend. Have a smoke."

Frustration filled me up as I reiterated, "But I actually do not smoke."

Wearing a wily grin, he leaned in closer, the cigarette dangling from his hand, and whispered, "You need not lie so early in the morning. I am quite certain you are a smoker. Why keep it a secret? I will not breathe a word of it to anyone, I promise."

I had never in my life so much as handled a cigarette, let alone indulged in smoking. The suddenness of this peculiar conversation left me in shock. My discomfort was deepening by the second. He continued persistently in his cajoling while I tensely tried to wriggle out of this increasingly awkward situation.

"No, sir. Honestly, I do not smoke," I repeated umpteenth time with unmistakable exasperation.

Finally, he revealed the source of his information, "You see, I was at the Head Office yesterday, and during a conversation among some officers, they mentioned that the new lady officer in your branch is a chain smoker." I was bewildered.

Unable to suppress a retort, I shot, "I have been working in this office for the past two months. Have you ever seen me smoking?"

"No, I have not. But I thought you might be discreetly smoking in the restroom, away from the public eye. That is why I thought it best to ask you directly. We could enjoy a smoke together," he explained, with an unapologetic demeanour.

I held my ground with a resolute response: "No. I do not smoke, and I have never smoked." I uttered each word slowly and firmly.

 Disappointment evident, he finally got up from the chair and returned to his desk, and I heaved a sigh of relief. But the question continued to haunt me. I kept wondering why people were saying such imaginary things about me. I could not sleep at night until the wee hours of the morning when I had a sudden flash, and the entire sequence of events became crystal clear.

The roots of the rumour perhaps lay in a battle of wits I had with a senior officer in my previous posting in Lucknow. The Head of the Circle was visiting the city, and a gathering had been arranged for local officers to meet him over tea. Nearly a hundred officers had assembled for the interaction. I was also standing there in the crowd. A comparatively senior officer standing next to me had an urge to smoke before the arrival of the big boss. He pulled a pack of Charminar cigarettes from his pocket. He was about to light it when he decided to pull my leg and extend the pack to me, with his eyes twinkling with mischief, “Miss Sharma! Cigarette?”

Half a dozen of his cronies who stood around him enjoyed the act thoroughly and broke into raucous laughter.

Refusing to feel embarrassed and get cowed down, I retorted tongue in cheek, “This is not my brand.”

For the uninitiated, let me share that Charminar was considered the cheapest brand of cigarettes, and I had taken a potshot at that.

At my response, his face fell. Pouting his lips, he asked, “Oh, uh, er! So, which is your brand?”

Those days, I was fond of reading Life magazine, which used to have a full-page advertisement for Rothman cigarettes with chic ladies smoking Rothman Lite with style.

I shrugged shoulders and quipped, “If it were Rothman, I would have taken it.”

The face of the senior person fell further. His effort to pull my leg had back-fired. The onlookers, who thus far had relished our banter, discreetly distanced themselves from the scene.

As far as I was concerned, the exchange had concluded then and there. Little did I realize that it had sparked a chain reaction, setting ablaze a wildfire of gossip that had reached Kanpur even before my arrival.

In my effort to unravel the origin of this rumour, I had learnt firsthand the process of genesis of a rumour.Top of Form

 

(To be continued.....)

*****

16. LAWLESSNESS GALORE (YEAR 1972)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 16 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 from Chapter 01 onwards.

Soon, it was time to move over to the next branch for on-the-job training, and I landed up at a Branch located in a posh residential colony in Kanpur, where I had the first-hand experience of the lawlessness of the employees. 

As soon as I reported there, the Branch Manager instructed the messenger to set up a table and a chair in his chamber for my use. I objected to this decision, saying I needed to do on-the-job training by working at the counters like everyone else. He then told me seriously that Head Office had made a mistake in posting me in that branch as this branch was not the right choice for a female employee. He further added I was the only woman in the set-up, and the environment in the banking hall wasn't congenial for me. He assured me that everything I was to learn would come to my table in his room. It was yet another reminder that women were weak and needed special treatment. Unfortunately, this branch also had a reputation for extremely poor industrial relations.

I wasn't happy with this patronising but was compelled to accept his decision. Like the Lucknow branch staff, employees here also had the habit of leaving work incomplete in the evening, and no officer dared to confront them. They would hold on to the registers and the ledgers till 5pm, gossip and sip tea, but would not complete the work. And then at 5pm sharp, they left the office citing work to rule. It is then that all the half-written account books were piled on my table for completion. It seemed I was there to do all the work maliciously left  unfinished. The positive side was that I got to write all the books, ledgers and registers of the Bank and learnt a lot in the process.

At the beginning of the next month, the Charges Clerk at the branch prepared overtime payments for all the employees despite explicit instructions from the Head Office for not making any overtime payments. The Branch Manager refused to pass the voucher. It was already 2 p.m., the time to stop transactions. Suddenly, all the employees stormed into the Branch Manager's room, surrounded him and tried to pressurise him to sign the Overtime Register and pass the payment, which he declined. He locked his arms on the chest and sat tight, firmly refusing to budge. They tried to bully him and used abusive language. While some kept thumping his desk threateningly, others sat atop the table. Two of them even settled on the arms of his chair. There were three more officers in the branch but nobody came to the rescue of the poor man. I noticed they were stealthily peeping in from the side of the curtain.

The tension escalated and the staff wouldn't allow the poor Branch Manager to even use the restroom. Desperate, he wanted to call the Head Office, but they had already disconnected the phone lines. As evening approached, all the incomplete books and ledgers were dumped on my desk for completion. After finishing this unexpectedly heavy workload, I got up from my desk around 9 p.m., ready to leave. But they stopped me, stating that the room was still under siege. I reluctantly sat back, and the chaos continued. They prevented me from leaving until 10.30 p.m. 

At 10.30 p.m., when I was finally allowed to go, I immediately drove to the Head Office. To my dismay, the guards on duty couldn't provide me with the contact information of any senior officer.

The following morning, I received an anonymous phone call in a threatening tone, conveying that I should not come to the office that day and should keep my mouth shut about the Branch Manager's gherao. But I paid no heed to it and landed up at the Branch as usual. By 11am, a high-level team from the Head Office arrived at the branch to investigate the shameful incident of the previous day.

To my utter astonishment, there were no witnesses to the gherao that took place the previous day. Even the officers were unwilling to recount what had transpired in the bank. I was shocked as they feigned complete ignorance of the incident, although I had noticed them peeking into the room from behind the curtains. With straight faces, they informed the Regional Manager that they were not aware of any such incident to have taken place in the branch. They also added that I was the sole eye-witness to it, if something had occurred as I sat in that very room. Consequently, it was left to me to provide to the investigating team, a detailed account of this horrible episode. 

When the Investigating Officer asked me whether I was willing to document the event in writing, I promptly agreed to do so. Now the officers who were watching this ugly drama from behind the curtains the previous day, and had denied any knowledge of the gherao, started prodding me to add in the statement that I had been verbally abused by the staff and even physically molested by some of them, as this would strengthen the Bank's case against the rogue employees.  I refused to add what had not happened, signed the statement, and handed it over to the Investigating Officer. 

The result of my refusal was that the Branch Manager and the officers were upset with me that I did not listen to their wise counsel and did not make the false allegations, as suggested by them. The Branch Manager and the officers started to cold-shoulder me. The clerical staff was angry with me because I had given a written statement against them. This action of reporting the incident in writing led to retaliation by the staff in the form of the tyres of my Vespa two-wheeler being punctured frequently.  

All this  caused immense stress to me and I kept wondering if I had done something wrong. The fear of finding a flat tyre in the late hours and pushing the two-wheeler on foot was a fear which haunted me every day. I wondered whether I should I have given a false statement? Was I tactless in this entire episode? I thought and thought and finally decided that I had done the right thing and all this mental torture was a small price to pay for being upright. 

This incident helped me understand why the interview board had asked me how I would tackle a batch of goons in the branch, not willing to work. 

 (To be continued....)

                         *****