35. ACHLA SETHI-STRONG AS STEEL (YEAR 1978)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 35 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.

In April 1978, when I was posted to Head Office as a Desk Officer, I met a few women officers with whom I formed strong and lasting friendship. These bonds proved invaluable as we together navigated the challenges ahead in our careers. The sense of isolation I had experienced all along in an all-male world began to fade as we leaned on each other for support and fostered enduring relationships.

One such woman was Achla Sethi. Her confidence and determination left a lasting impression on me. Tragically, her husband, who was a Bank officer, had died in a road accident, while on duty, leaving Achla to take care of their two young sons. She was less than thirty at the time of this tragic incident in her life but she demonstrated remarkable fortitude.

Soon after the unfortunate death of her husband, the Bank appointed her directly as an officer on compassionate grounds. Within a month, she had joined a local branch and was assigned a job on the sixth floor. 

While Achla joined the Bank and showed up for work, the emotional toll of her loss remained palpable. But she bravely managed to put on a strong facade, Unfortunately, many around her seemed oblivious to her suffering and their interactions with her were often marked with insensitivity and callousness. Achla, however, was determined to learn the work and procedures as well as to navigate through the rough waters.

One incident, in particular, demonstrated her defiance against the insensitivity of the colleagues. After experiencing many days of thoughtless comments and queries from her colleagues, she had reached a breaking point. It was as if she had decided to virtually roll up her sleeves, ready to confront the insensitivity head-on.

The turning point in her life came when Achla received a cheque of a sizable amount from LIC. Coincidentally, the funds from the Provident Fund account of her husband were also released the same day. A male officer, checking the credits to her account, callously remarked, "Madam, you are so lucky! You have such a huge balance in your account at this young age."

His words hurt her deeply, igniting rage within Achla. Her response was a mix of pain and anger which had been simmering at the insensitivity of some people for so many days.

"Your wife can also become lucky," she retorted sharply.

Insensitive to her sharp tone, the officer, still engrossed in his ledger, probed further, "How?"

Achla's reply was quick and sharp and her voice a mix of defiance and resentment. She looked at the window on the sixth floor where they were seated and replied, "Do you see that window? Go and jump from there. Your wife will also become lucky." 

The sting of her rebuke reflected the pain and hurt she had endured till then.

The room experienced pin drop silence, the weight of Achla's words hanging heavy in the air. From that moment on, that officer never spoke with her but could she be bothered?

A soft and sophisticated young woman had turned into a ferocious tigress that day! And she never looked back. 

(To be continued....)

*****

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....)

*****

33. A SNEAK PEEK INTO MY PERSONAL LIFE (YEAR 1976)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 33 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.

“Trng…..Trng….Trng..…Trng…..” The piercing sound of the alarm clock shatters my peaceful morning slumber. With a deep sense of unhappiness, I stretch my arm to stop the persistent alarm. My mind begs for a few extra minutes of sleep, but the looming reality of the day ahead does not allow for any such luxury.

It is already 6 am. The water supply would stop at 6.30am. If I do not get up immediately, there will be no drinking water for the next twenty-four hours. The evening supply is invariably over before we return from the office. The thought of not having access to drinking water for the next twenty-four hours jolts me out of my sleepy haze.

I rub my eyes and reluctantly force myself out of bed. There is a list of things to be done on priority before I leave for the office at 8.30am. I turn on the tap in the bathroom and adjust the plastic pipe leading to the big water storage drum to fill up the water. Coming to the kitchen, I quickly light the gas stove to boil water for morning tea. Side by side, I place a large vessel under the tap and turn it on. All the drinking water bottles are empty and have to be filled up. The water on the burner has started boiling. My husband also wakes up and walks into the kitchen.

“Hey! I can see from here. No queue at the Mother Dairy! Will you bring milk? Meanwhile, I will prepare the tea.” There is urgency in my tone.

Fortunately, the Mother Dairy booth is just behind our flat and is visible from the kitchen window. Picking up the milk vessel with one hand and counting change from another, he goes out to fetch milk. 

I fill the water bottles, place them in the fridge, and pour tea into the mugs. As I put a cup of tea on the dining table, I hear water overflowing from the drum in the bathroom. I dart towards the bathroom to turn the tap off. 

He has now come back with milk and the newspaper. I pour the milk into a vessel and keep it on the gas burner for boiling. Sipping tea, I simultaneously start chopping vegetables. Veggies will take longer to cook as these have to be cooked in less oil lest the oil leaks and stains his briefcase.

I keep a few eggs for boiling. It is now time to knead dough for chapatis. The tea is getting cold, but making chapatis is more urgent. I roll dough and make six chapatis, three each. The vegetable is ready.

I deftly pack two lunch boxes and call out to my husband. “I am laying the breakfast on the table. Please stop reading the newspaper and wake up the baby. Give him milk. Meanwhile, I will take my bath and get ready.”

Five minutes later, I am out of the bathroom, only to find my husband holding our three-year-old son in his arms. "He appears to be having a high temperature. Where is the thermometer?" There is a worried expression on his face.

I quickly bring the thermometer to check the temperature, and my heart sinks as it reads 104.5 F. Panic sets in as we know we could not leave our child in the daycare centre in this condition.

“Oh no! What do we do now?”

“You will have to take leave,” hubby says.

“Not possible. You know very well that I cannot take leave without prior permission. I am the joint custodian of the cash and hold the strong room keys.”

“Give me the keys. I will hand them over to someone in your branch on my way to the office,” he suggests.

“It does not happen like this in the Bank. These are strong room keys. These cannot be given to just anybody. And there is no officer in my branch apart from me.” I was feeling absolutely helpless.

"I cannot take leave either. I have an urgent meeting with the Secretary today," my husband says helplessly.

"Is there any other option? Can you take half a day off? What time is the meeting?" I am trying to find a solution.

“It is at 3pm. That means I have to leave home by 2.30pm.” He replies, looking as worried as I do.

My mind was racing as I tried to come up with a solution.

"Okay. If everything goes well at the branch, I will try to leave the office by 3 pm after closing the Strong Room. But I may not be able to reach home before 3.30 pm. How do we fill up this gap of one hour?"

Tense and worried, we were unsure of what to do.

To seek help, I decided to ring up my uncle, who lives nearby. Hearing my desperate description of the situation, he suggests that they both will come home after lunch and take care of the child until one of us returns. We heave a sigh of relief. Later in the day, his meeting gets postponed, and hubby could take the day off.

That evening, tears rolled down my eyes out of sheer guilt and frustration, and I decided to resign. But my husband said, “Either of us can resign. I suggest I resign and you continue to work. I would love to be a house-husband. Anyway, we will see about it later. I have taken two days of casual leave and will look after the child. Come on, cook dinner now. I am famished.”

As I look back on that day, my heart is filled with gratitude for my husband, his unwavering support and the timely help offered by my uncle. Despite the recurring challenges we faced during our work life, we persevered and found a way to make it through. And although there were times when I felt like giving up, the reassuring words of my husband gave me the strength to carry on. Our journey may have been challenging, but it was filled with love, resilience, and unwavering determination to support each other. And as we continued to face new challenges every second day, I knew we would accept them with courage and mutual understanding.

Similar situations cropped up in my life many times in future. But life moved on, and I managed to work for over 38 years until superannuation.

(To be continued...)

*****

 

 

“T

32. A LESSON IN BOSS MANAGEMENT (YEAR 1976)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 32 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.

In 1976, heading an ultra-sensitive branch in a government building in central Delhi and being the only officer, I invariably had an incessantly busy daily schedule and a complete lack of mobility.

On one such busy afternoon, the phone rang. “Hello! I am calling from the Protocol Section of the Government. A two-day International Conference of Commonwealth country heads will be held in your building this Monday and Tuesday. Approximately 100 international delegates are expected to participate in the event. They may visit your Bank to encash Foreign Travellers Cheques or to exchange currency. Bank staff should be ready for all transactions with new currency notes of all denominations and exchange rates. We want speed, accuracy, and efficiency. Please also note that they will be busy during the day and may approach you only during lunch between 1.30pm and 2.00pm in groups. They should not be made to wait at the counter. You may open additional counters by getting extra staff from your Head Office. It is a question of the prestige of our country. We cannot afford to have any complaints whatsoever. Am I clear, Madam? No complaints whatsoever!”

Foreign Exchange transactions? New notes? Extra staff? Extra counters? Prompt service? No wait? My head reeled: it seemed impossible. My team consisted of an officiating Cash Officer, a Clerk, and a Cashier apart from myself. I talked to them, but all of them threw their hands up. No one in my team knew how to handle a foreign exchange transaction, its formalities, the forms required and the reporting mechanism. Incidentally, the Banking system in those days was one hundred per cent manual. We did not have any calculator or even a manual Facit adding machine. We did not have the necessary forms, books and registers. Above all, even the basic knowledge for handling such transactions was absent. 

While I could arrange forms and registers, the question remained: how to manage extra staff and the necessary skills? The conference was to start on Monday, and it was already Thursday afternoon. Only Friday and Saturday were available to put all the arrangements in place. The urgency for action was palpable.

My immediate reaction was to visit the controller and seek his help to get at least one experienced hand for two days from some branch. I quickly drove to Head Office, but the Regional Manager had no time for me. He was sitting with a few of his cronies and gossiping over tea. Loud laughter and jokes were audible even outside the door. Getting impatient, I tried to barge in, but he stopped me by raising his hand with irritation writ-large on his wrinkled face. 

After a long wait of over an hour, when his friends left, he called me in and yelled, “Why are you gallivanting here? Why are you not in your office?”

My attempt to convey the high expectations of the government from us during the conference and my constraints were met with another rebuke, "It is your job, and you have to handle it. What is the big deal in paying Traveller cheques and exchanging currency? Go back and, if needed, get one of your staff members trained in Main Branch for a day. If you cannot handle it, be ready to get transferred to Rajasthan. Do not ever bring these  petty problems to me!"

I came out of his room with a long face and went straight to a nearby big branch dealing with foreign exchange to seek their help to train my staff. Not a single soul was available there. At 5 pm, it was a deserted place. The security guard was locking up the floors. I returned to my branch, thinking how to go about it.

The next day morning, I took out extra cash for the cash counter and told the girls to make payments without my authorisation. I also assured them that I would pass all the vouchers on my return. 

I again went to the big branch dealing with foreign exchange and met officers at various levels. Their reply was even worse. “No. Not possible. We are already short of staff. Many of our people are on leave. We are barely managing our work. Sorry, we cannot even train your people. We have no time,” said the Chief Manager (Forex). 

I tried to meet the head of the branch, a senior person of the same seniority as my Regional Manager. After making me wait outside his room for over an hour, his response was even worse, ”Your Region has many branches dealing in forex. Why does your boss not depute someone from there? Go and ask him. Do not expect any help from us.” He was curt and rude.

Sick with anxiety, I again went to my boss, but his office wore a deserted look.  He had left to visit a branch with his next in command and the Area Superintendent. No other official was in a position to render any help or advice.

An intense feeling of utter helplessness started gripping me. Tense to the extent of being distraught, I drove back to my branch. Being the joint custodian of cash and the only officer, I could not be away for long. I had to pass the cheques already paid in good faith by my staff and close the cash.

 At the office, a team of Conference protocol personnel was already waiting in my room, “Please brief us on the arrangements you have made for dealing with the delegates? How many additional counters are you going to open? What is their level of expertise? Where are they going to sit?”

“Er.. I am trying, er.. but today also I could not succeed. I will again go tomorrow and try,” my voice trembled as I gave this false assurance. They looked at each other and left.

The Saturday morning before the commencement of business, as I was planning to go to the Head Office again, a team of three, comprising two clerks and an officer, landed at my branch. They were armed with a big electronic calculator, a rarity those days, currency rate lists, multiple sets of forms, books, and registers. I was shocked. Were they sent by God? They had come from the branch where the Chief had refused to train my staff the previous day and had rudely asked me to leave.

I was startled when one of them introduced the team politely, “Madam, we are from the Forex Section of Main branch and have come here to handle the forex transactions of the delegates. We have brought everything with us. Where should we sit, Madam?”

Suddenly, I understood everything. It was the magic of the Protocol Team of the GOI.  I breathed a sigh of relief, but a gnawing awareness of my inability to handle the issue filled me with frustration.

“The Conference is to start on Monday, and there still is some time in between. Can you please train my staff today?” I was not shaky or nervous anymore.

I learnt later that the Protocol Committee had perceived my helplessness and had instantly made a phone call to the Chairman of the Bank, who assured them that the Bank would arrange everything for the Conference to go smoothly.

Thanks to that team of experienced staff from the Main Branch and their one-day training to my staff, we handled the massive workload very efficiently.

The Conference concluded and made big headlines in all the newspapers. Upon reading the media reports, my boss called me, “The other day, you mentioned a conference was to take place in your building. When is it scheduled?”

“It got over yesterday,” was my wry answer.

“Did you arrange everything as required by them? I hope the delegates did not face any difficulty.” 

“No. No one had any problem. All were happy and satisfied,” I said in a bitter tone.

“You see! This is how a threat for transfer to Rajasthan works. You came to me seeking help. From where could I arrange extra staff for you? Eh? And you managed yourself quite well. You have to remember that you have to handle every challenge yourself. Do you understand?” He sermonised, and  I listened with anger raging within me.

I could not tell him that it was not my resourcefulness but the magic of a single phone call from the people who wielded power! I still wonder whether he actually did not know how the challenge was met. Anyway, I had learnt my first lesson in  Boss Management. 

(To be continued....)

*****

31. A BATTLE FOR WOMEN'S RIGHTS BEGINS (YEAR 1976)

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

CARE: This is Chapter 31 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.

When I underwent a major surgery in 1976, a female officer from another local branch was deputed to take care of the branch in my absence. Despite having two brothers, one settled in Germany and the other in Delhi, her elderly parents opted to reside with her as she was single and had sufficiently big accommodation and a better living arrangement. Naturally, she assumed responsibility for attending to their health and medical needs.

When she submitted the bills for reimbursement of the medical expenses incurred for the treatment of her parents, the Head Office rejected it, stating that the parents cannot become dependents on their daughter. While there was no official instruction to support this, the concerned officer refused to pay her claim on the alibi that a woman officer is not entitled to reimbursement of medical expenses incurred for her parents if they had a son. 

To my mind, this was impingement of a woman's right to take care of her parents. So I decided to take up cudgels on her behalf. I personally visited the Head Office, met the concerned officer and demanded to see the instructions justifying the denial of payment of medical bills, if submitted by the daughter. He insisted that a social norm did not require any laid-down instructions. He argued that everything is not written in black and white. “If you submit your neighbour’s medical bill, will you find instructions anywhere whether to pay it or not?” He stated mocking me. 

Undeterred, I met his senior and argued at various levels of the hierarchy. Finally, after a prolonged battle and numerous discussions, they agreed to refer the case to the Central Office. 

It took a few months before the Central Office finally responded and clarified that the medical bills relating to the parents of a female employee could be reimbursed if they were residing with her, irrespective of whether they had sons. I felt satisfied I could get clarity on this important benefit for women employees.

If this had happened today, it would have made media headlines. But the social mindset was different fifty years ago. Any benefit claimed by women employees was seen with envy as male colleagues labelled them as double-engine couples. It was the common belief that by taking up a job, a woman had deprived a man of employment and thus ruined a family. The institution was full of people with such gender bias. 

This experience confirmed my belief that in navigating a world where women had never ventured earlier, one would stumble upon recurrent roadblocks and require a persistent fight for every inch of the space. 

Do you remember what the Cheshire Cat had told me in my dream when I embarked on my journey in the corporate world? In case you do not remember the advice of the Cheshire Cat, please visit my earlier blog titled TIME TO JUMP OFF THE BOARD (1971)

https://ranjanabharij.blogspot.com/2023/08/8-stress-success-and-everything-in.html

  (To be continued.....)

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30. A TIGHT-ROPE WALK FOR ALL (YEAR 1975)

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

CARE: This is Chapter 30 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 initial team at the all-women branch was young, enthusiastic and well-armed with the ambition to make the new venture a success. Unfortunately, all of us had very little knowledge of branch operations. There was no guidance from the controllers and no visit by the Area Superintendent. We did not even have the luxury of falling back on the age-old system of "Peechhe Dekh, aage chal." Still, we waded through the maze of the system and procedures, handled heavy workloads without getting stressed, and faced a demanding and sensitive clientele with a smile. 

The Branch staff with Lok Sabha Speaker Shri GS Dhillon in 1975

Looking back today, running a branch of that profile feels like child's play. But at that time, it was a big challenge for us, as we all were green-horns. Heading an all-women branch had its quota of unique issues that every working woman of our generation experienced. We had to prove our worth at the workplace and also at home. However heavy the workload was, we worked hard and efficiently and finished it within office hours, as staying beyond office hours was not an option for anyone. 

The average age of the team was 26, and at 25, I was the youngest of the lot. We ate together, laughed together and discussed freely our personal issues. We were a strong team, cohesive and close-knit.

 

Each team member faced unique domestic pressures. From rigid family schedules to familial expectations, we found ways to manage both our personal and professional lives. 

Shivangi* (not her real name) had to reach home by 5.45pm because her mother-in-law had to leave for her evening Kirtan and refused to look after her one-year-old son even for a minute more. If Shivangi was late even as much as five minutes because she could not get onto a crowded DTC bus despite pushing and jostling, the mother-in-law would drop the child with some neighbour and push off for her evening satsang. 

 

The problem of Kritika* (not her real name) was even worse. Her husband picked her up at 4.50 pm sharp. She was expected to wait for him at the roadside when he reached. If she was late even for a minute, she faced his wrath. She was also required to hand over the entire salary to her husband with the updated passbook on the salary day. He also kept her under total surveillance. He used to ring her up at least twice daily, and if she was not found on the desk, she owed him an explanation. Despite his close monitoring, she was keen to undertake all outside jobs because it entailed payment of travelling bills, money which she needed to financially help her widowed mother and spastic teenage sister as they had no source of income. She took all her travelling expenses in cash and secretly passed them on to her mother. If her hubby learnt that she was out on official duty, he would take away that money also from her. So she never shared with him about these jobs. She would also request me to cover up for her when she went for outdoor jobs, and I did so diligently without any qualms. None of us would mind telling a harmless lie to help our colleague in need: the mutual trust was very high. 

 

Once, her mother fell ill, and Kritika needed to be with her. But her husband and mother-in-law would not allow her to visit her mother. Listening to her woes, I granted her leave despite an acute staff shortage. During the next three days, she entered the branch as usual after her husband dropped her at the gate, said Hi to all and left immediately to look after her mother. She accompanied her to the doctor, got her medicines, and cooked her meals. During the day, she would call me a couple of times from a nearby PCO to check whether her husband had called and if so, at what time. She would then call him back from there and pretend she was calling from the office. In the evening, she would rush back to the branch and then walk out leisurely with others to meet her husband. Kritika was fortunate that entry to the building was totally restricted, and there was no way her husband could come inside snooping on her. Thank God there were no cell phones those days. Otherwise, he would have tracked her location or asked her to talk to him on video call. The tension of disappearing from the workplace and maintaining the façade as if everything was normal was quite demanding, and she always lived in a shadow of fear. 

I had a year-and-a-half-old son whom I used to drop in a creche in All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS), very well-managed by the wives of the doctors. My child was happy there, but we had to pick him up by 6pm. So I also could not stay beyond 5.40 pm.

 

Celebrating festivals is the responsibility of women in our society. First of all, came the Navratras, followed by Durga Ashtami. All the girls had the domestic pressure to take leave or at least go to work late so they could perform Devi Poojan and feed the Kanjakas (little girls). In their previous branches, the women were allowed to come late on this occasion, and the male staff usually filled up for them. If all were to come late, how would this branch function, I asked them. It was suggested that I request the Head Office to depute some male employees for that day. I knew it was not possible. I persuaded them and gave them some tips for quick cooking. It worked, and they also appreciated the issue. All of them managed to reach the branch on time after completing the religious ritual at home. 

 

Next came Karwa Chauth, a festival when all married women observe fast for the welfare of their husbands. All were to observe a fast that day and wanted to avail of leave. How could I allow that? I persuaded them to come in the morning and assured them that I would allow them to leave early, well in time to perform the afternoon pooja. I also explained that the day would pass without hassles if they were busy. They agreed to come, but all started looking wilted and pale by afternoon. One of them felt giddy. I went to the banking hall and announced that I was ordering some tea for myself. “Anyone interested?” I asked.

They looked at each other in shock and asked me, “How can you do that? Will it not break your fast?” 

“No. Definitely not. By doing a full-time job, am I not helping my husband by adding to the family income? So, there should not be any problem in tweaking the rules for the sake of our job. God also understands that.” I replied, but they were not convinced. 

I returned to my room, called the Canteen and spoke loudly, “Two cups of ginger tea. And please make it thick, half water, half milk.” Before I hung the phone down, the Head Cashier, the eldest of all in age, walked in, “Two cups for me too.” As I revised the order, others also walked in and chanted almost in unison, “Me too, me too.”

Everyone was rejuvenated after drinking two cups of hot ginger tea each. It was agreed that we should not mention this to anyone. After all, what happens in Vegas must stay in Vegas. 

 

I have not yet told you about Simran*, the messenger, who had joined in the subordinate cadre on compassionate ground as her husband, a messenger, met with an accident while on duty and died. Simran* was young and full of joy de vivre. The first time, when I saw her walking into the branch draped smartly in a bright yellow 644 made in Japan saree, which was the craze those days, a matching blouse and matching yellow high-heeled sandals with a leather clutch bag tucked under her arm, I could not believe that she was a messenger. Fair and buxom with her head held high and hair tightly pulled back in a bun, she could make anyone turn his head to have a second look at her.

Simran* was entitled to the uniform and asked cash advance for it. In the past, no one had ever asked her for a receipt for such mundane things in the big branch where she worked earlier. But I, as a text-book Branch Manager, started asking her why she was not coming in the prescribed uniform, which was a white khadi saree and white khadi blouse. My daily reminders forced her to admit that she did not buy a khadi saree and would not wear one as it was cumbersome. I understood her point and allowed her to buy two 644 Japanese sarees, provided they were white as per the norms for the uniform for subordinate staff. The difference in the cost will have to be borne by her. The problem was resolved, and she continued to sizzle in her well-draped synthetic georgette sarees, albeit white in colour now. She also bought white sandals to match her white uniform. This change did not dent her glamour quotient even a wee bit. 

 

We worked hard and mobilised the salary accounts of all the staff working in the building. Thousands of accounts were opened in a week. This led to an unprecedented increase in our workload. It became increasingly difficult to cope, but the controlling office was not cooperating. I sought help from a nearby Branch Manager who agreed to depute a Clerk for three days to help me. 

The clerk deputed to our branch was a handsome fellow, tall and fair and with a good physique. Aware of his good looks, he walked into my room the next day with much elan. Covering his eyes with stylish Ray-Ban glasses and wearing fashionable pointed toe shoes and denim jeans, he entered the branch like a hero. I had already arranged a separate table for him away from the main banking hall and explained everything to him. He sat down and started working. 

During lunchtime, the girls asked him to join them for lunch. Being the only man amidst half a dozen beautiful young women, all asking him personal questions, he became very conscious of himself. After lunch, when I went to check on the progress of his work, his cheeks looked vermillion. The plight of the only man in an all-women branch was worse than that of a single woman in an all-male outfit. He did not come the next day. I called his Branch Manager to check, but he laughed and said he could not survive in an all-women branch. I asked the girls but they only looked at each other and giggled. I knew instantly that it was the reverse of eve-teasing. Should we call it Adam teasing?

 

After the deputed clerk refused to come, the challenge of clearing those arrears fell on me. At 4.45pm, after my staff left, the sprawling floor used to be deserted, making the place absolutely eerie. I usually used to sit alone to check the books, but how long could I sit there alone? I also had to pick up my son from the daycare centre, which closed at 6pm. So, I would carry the Day Books and the Master Progressive home, and after our only kid went off to sleep, hubby and I would sit down and balance the books till midnight. This could not go on for long as one day, while driving back home, our car started emitting smoke. As hubby stopped the car, I jumped out, picked up our son with one arm and with the other, pulled out the ledger and the balance book.  

 

All of us were struggling to balance our official and domestic lives and responsibilities. The family of everyone expected them to discharge their household duties efficiently. But at the workplace, all eyes were glued on our performance without providing any help or guidance. It was a tight-rope walk for all of us.

 

We fought all odds together, standing by each other with utmost sincerity until some evil eye fell on us and a disruptive element was added to our team. More about her later!

 (*All names have been changed and faces masked to protect their identities.)

(To be continued....)

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