49. SECURITY BIZ OR A PERSONAL QUIZ? (1989)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 49 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. 

Major Rajinder Solanki (not his real name) looked after the security of the branches in the administrative office where I was posted. Most of the branches in my Region needed immediate redressal of one or the other security issue. So I decided to discuss the solutions with him personally and called him on the intercom, “Major Solanki, I want to discuss a few security issues of my branches. When may I come?”

The loud voice of Major Solanki pierced through the handset, "Security issues in your Region? Come right now. I am free."

I dropped all the work, picked up the related folders and marched to his office. I had never met him before. So, I introduced myself when I reached his office. Major Solanki was a burly fellow with his moustache twirled up. Soon, I realised he was less interested in discussing security issues and more in exploring my personal details.

”When did you join the service?" He boomed with a glint in his eyes.

"In 1971.” (What is he trying to gauge? My experience in the bank or my age?)

“Are you from Delhi Circle?” (Is he trying to explore my roots?)

“No, I am originally from Lucknow Circle.”

“Then why did you move to Delhi Circle?” (What has it got to do with the security of the branches?)

“My husband works in Delhi. So, I sought an inter-circle transfer,” I squirmed.

“Ohk! So, you are married?” (Why? Are you looking for a bride for someone?)

“Yes, of course! Shall we discuss the security issues now?” I intently looked at the clock on the wall behind him.

He ignored my statement and blurted out, “We will discuss all the official matters, but before that, we must know each other well. Is your husband also in the bank?”

“No, he is not.” Disgusted, I took a deep breath.

“Where does he work?”

“With the Government of India,” my reply was cut and dried.

“Which Department in the Government of India?” Uff…. I pursed my lips as I again took a long breath.

“Ministry of Heavy Industry.” 

“Do you have children?” (What else are you going to ask next, Major?}

“Yes, I have.” 

“How many?” (How does that matter?)

I showed two fingers without uttering a word. I was struggling with myself to maintain a polite façade. After all, I needed professional help for my branches today and also in future.

“Boys or girls?”

“Boys.”

“Both boys?”

“Yes, both boys,” my patience was wearing out.

“Lucky you! You have two big pots of gold at your disposal. Or shall I say two Hundis?”

“Sorry, Major Solanki! That is too much. My sons are neither pots of gold nor Hundis. Please!” I could not help snapping.

“Where do you belong to?” He was testing the limit of my patience.

“India.”

“You are now joking.” Taking it to be a big joke, he laughed loudly.

“No, I am serious. My father is from Uttar Pradesh, my mother was born in Madhya Pradesh and brought up in Rajasthan, and my husband is from Punjab. Who can be more Indian than me?”

Not knowing what to say, he chuckled loudly.

"Anything else you want to know about me and my family?" I asked my voice on the verge of sarcasm.

He leaned back, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. "No, madam. Tell me now, what can I do for you?"

He was now comfortable as he was privy to all my personal details, established my identity and knew everything he wanted to learn about me and my family. I was feeling miserable all along at this unwarranted disclosure of personal information to a person I had met for the first time. But the pressing need to keep official relationships well-oiled stopped me from being rude.

His interrogation was finally over, but I had an irrepressible urge to vent my irritation. Taking a deep breath, I decided to pay him in the same coin by mirroring the just concluded dialogue.

"Major Solanki! May I also know about your background?" I could not have been more composed.

Not expecting this, he looked embarrassed and smiled awkwardly, "Oh, yes. Sure, sure!"

“Where do you belong?”

“What did your father do?”               

“What is your academic background?” 

“When did you join the army?”

“Which regiment were you in?”

“Did you ever go to the battlefield?”

“Why did you leave the army?”

“Why did you join the bank?”

“Which year did you get married?”

Uninterested in the answers, I bombarded him with the same salvo he had fired at me. With each question, I saw his discomfort growing, and I could see him squirming. Honestly, I derived sadistic pleasure from his discomfort.

And finally, I asked him, "Does your wife also work?"

Hearing this, a flicker of shock flashed on his face. "No, no, no! She is a simple, God-fearing lady." He recoiled at the very idea of his wife working.

“Oh! Do you mean to say working women are not God-fearing?" I maintained a deadpan expression on my face.

He stammered, backtracking furiously, "No, no, no! I did not mean this. I meant my wife is just…. just a simple and innocent lady."

"Aha! Do you mean working women are not innocent?" I pressed, my voice still devoid of emotion.

“No, no, of course not. It is not so. I mean... I mean they too are." Major Solanki was flustered. "I respect working women. But please tell me why you are asking so many personal questions?”

Major Solanki was happy as long as he was hurling questions but became out rightly uncomfortable when the roles reversed. In response, I only smiled. My silence was more vocal than any words.  He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. The aggressive bluster was gone, replaced by a sheepish grin. The air crackled with unspoken apology, and we finally delved into security issues.

Later, I asked myself whether there was any need for me to do this unnecessary counter-interrogation. Perhaps not, though this was my subtle way to ensure that the personal quiz did not become a one way process before we discussed security biz of the branches!  

  (To be continued...)

*****

48. BAPTISM BY FIRE (1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN    

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

CARE: This is Chapter 48 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 the 1980s, Gurgaon was quite an isolated city. It was not part of Delhi NCR. No autos or taxis went there, and there was no direct telephone connectivity. One had to use an STD to call Delhi. The exile to Gurgaon was finally over, and I returned to Delhi Circle. 

Having spent more than six years out of Delhi, I was hopeful for a posting nearer home. But the Personnel Department crushed all my hopes. Their revised transfer policy did not recognise Gurgaon as out of Delhi anymore, and I got posted to Meerut as an Administrative Officer in a Region. 

My initial anxiety about the new place and the challenging role came down considerably when my colleagues assured me that my new boss was very supportive. They said he was thoughtful and mentored his juniors well. All this talk convinced me that it would be fun working with him. Hoping this opportunity would be a Godsend for grooming my professional skills, I proceeded to Meerut. 

My boss was out of the country on a personal visit for two weeks. When he returned, I rushed to his office to introduce myself, “Good morning, Sir! I reported here while you were away. It will be my privilege to work with you and I am.....”

My enthusiasm turned into total frustration when he stared hard at me and did not even let me finish the sentence, interrupting, "I have never met you before, and I do not know your capabilities. I only know that I do not want a woman here. This region is tough and demanding, and a woman cannot handle it. If I were here, I would not have allowed you to join at any cost, but I cannot do anything now that you have already joined. I will ensure you move out of here as soon as possible. Be ready to be relieved from here any day." 

I was shocked and deeply hurt but held back my emotions. Ignoring the humiliation and swallowing my pride, I said confidently, "Sir, I should not be saying so myself, but I am a hardworking officer. You will not be disappointed."

He dismissed me with a wave of his left hand and turned to his files.

Stung with insult in the maiden interaction with my new boss, my enthusiasm for excelling in the challenging assignment suddenly dampened. I was stuck with a daunting reality: a vast region in the notorious crime-ridden districts, heaps of backlog and a boss who believed I was unfit for the job. The challenges that came my way felt like tests designed to expose my so-called limitations. I could never go to him to seek his guidance when faced with a dicey issue, lest it should be perceived as my weakness. The pressure on me was immense. 

Fuelled by determination, I doubled my efforts. Failure was not an option; it would only validate the preconceived notions my boss and many others held. The work pressure kept me constantly on the edge. Every day was a nightmare, and every night brought visions of failure. It was a constant battle to prove my worth and to resist the INCOMPETENT WOMAN label from being tagged on me.  

I mobilised all my energies to ensure that being a woman did not portray me as an inferior officer. It would not be an exaggeration to say it was like walking barefoot on a bed of hot embers, a real baptism by fire. 

(To be continued...)

*****

47. AN AMICABLE CONFLICT RESOLUTION (1988)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 47 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.

Divisions simmer beneath the surface of our vast nation. North and South, sometimes defined by ancestry, language, or even food, can be points of contention. Yet, within our institute, a microcosm of India, harmony prevailed. Staff and trainees hailed from every corner, united by a common purpose.

One incident, however, threatened to ignite the North-South divide. We were to host a group of American dignitaries, taking them for sightseeing around Delhi by day and treating them to a celebratory dinner in the evening.

The Principal, a seasoned officer who had spent a few years in Washington DC and was quite aware of the American palate, proposed dinner in some five-star hotel. The Vice Principal, a proud son of Tamil Nadu, vehemently disagreed.

"Five-star hotels are their everyday reality. Let them experience the taste of India. Why not treat them to South Indian cuisine for a change?" He stated emphatically.

A clash appeared inevitable as all the faculty members observed the conflict in silence. They were at their wit's end, holding back their views diplomatically and seriously observing what was being discussed by the two top men. The fiery flavours and vegetarian delicacies of the Dasaprakasa, the Vice Principal's choice, were a stark contrast to the Principal's vision.

Before tensions could flare up, the Principal came out with a solution with a smug smile. The dinner will be arranged at the Dasaprakasa, a restaurant well known for its vegetarian South Indian food, as suggested by the Vice Principal. But he would host pre-dinner drinks at his residence. The Vice Principal, a teetotaller and vegetarian, happily agreed, and the Faculty Members nodded happily, breathing a sigh of relief. Thank God they did not have to express their views openly!

That evening, the Principal's residence was transformed into a scene out of a Bollywood movie. Fairy lights twinkled, a skilled bartender concocted exotic cocktails, and a live barbecue sizzled with an array of delectable kebabs, tikkas and vegetarian delights.

The guests, captivated by the vibrant atmosphere, enjoyed the evening much beyond expectations. Our teetotaller, vegetarian Vice Principal, though constantly checking his watch, could not help but be swept up in the soothing environment.

Finally, at dinner time, the guests were escorted to the Dasaprakasa. The waft of the incense, which greeted the guests, was met with polite curiosity. But as the South Indian delicacies were served, the excitement waned. The unfamiliar spicy flavours, a stark contrast to the earlier appetizers, saw most plates of the guests with leftovers. However, the hosts happily savoured both cuisines.

For me, it was a great learning process. The Vice Principal, basking in the satisfaction of showcasing the South Indian cuisine, seemingly won the battle. But the true victory belonged to the Principal. His tactful diplomacy ensured a memorable evening, leaving the guests and the hosts happy without ruffling any feathers.

As a novice, I observed all the developments astutely and learnt a lot from the conflict and its amicable resolution. 

(To be continued....)

*****

46. THE DUELLING DUO AND THE FLYING CHICKEN (1987)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 46 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.

Krishna Kishore and Pawan Prakash, both faculty members, were like oil and water. Their cabins were separated only by a thin wooden wall. Yet professionally, they were sworn enemies. The monthly staff meetings were the arena where they tried to rip each other apart, with smiles masking their attempts.

One day at the lunch table, fate intervened with the help of a chicken leg. Krishna Kishore, as always, was teasing Pawan Prakash for his Brown Sahib ways, his neatly knotted tie, the well-fitting coat and his perceived dislike for chapatis as it was a messy hand food. Pawan Prakash had served himself rice and chicken curry and was concentrating on dissecting a piece of chicken leg with a fork and knife. The verbal jabs of Krishna Kishore were not registering with him. 

Suddenly, with a flick of the wrist, the chicken leg on his plate did a spectacular airborne manoeuvre and launched itself from the plate of Pawan Prakash. It straightaway landed with a splat on the pristine white shirt of Krishna Kishore. Turmeric and spices, mixed with oil, made an awesome abstract design on the white background.

A flustered Krishna Kishore needed a solution and needed it fast! He rushed to the wash basin, but no amount of rubbing the stain with water helped. His lecture was in fifteen minutes, and a stained, damp shirt would not look professional.

Pawan Prakash invariably wore a coat and a tie. Guilt-stricken, he quickly brought the coat from his room and suggested that he wear it to cover the stain on his shirt. The coat was a tad oversized on Krishna Kishore, but was a good camouflage for the stain. Seeing no other option, Krishna Kishore accepted the offer, sported the coat of Pawan Prakash and marched off to his lecture, a silent testament to the reality that sometimes, the best solutions come from your sworn enemies.

Thus the unanticipated flight of the chicken from the plate, managed to end the icy rivalry between the two. And the two competitors, usually at the throat of each other, became good friends.

Who could imagine that a flying chicken could help thaw a long standing cold war?    

(To be continued...)

*****

45. PUSHING WOMEN'S ISSUES - AN UPHILL TASK (YEAR 1986)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 45 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. 

A training programme for women managers of PSUs and banks, conducted by the sprightly Dr Indira Parikh at IIM-Ahmedabad, was quite an eye-opener. A week of interaction with the female participants and the academic inputs brought a heightened awareness of the gender-related issues I was grappling with.

The programme was a live example of how targeted training could help women perform better in the workplace. This invaluable exposure ignited a passion to replicate this empowering experience for my female colleagues grappling alone with gender-related issues.

Riding on the wave of optimism, I pitched in the next Faculty meeting for conducting a similar training programme for women officers. My enthusiasm was shattered when it met an unexpected wall of indifference, and the proposal was dismissed ab initio.

The concept of empowerment of women in the workforce was unheard of in the 1980s and had to meet with skepticism. The prevailing attitude was that women were already a privileged lot, as they were taking home a fat second salary. "Double Engine ki gaadi" is what they called women enviously. What is so special about women? A woman does not require special training as she is not serious about her career. The chances of the training capacity going unused are high as not many would come to attend a training programme, leaving the family and children behind for a week.

Let me confess my inner feminist was hurt by this dismissive response, but it helped to fuel my determination. I became a persistent advocate, tirelessly raising the issue at every forum, highlighting the need for targeted training to address the unique challenges faced by women in the bank. I had become a broken record, playing the same old "Women Need Training" tune at every opportunity, be it in a dyad or in a forum.

One afternoon, there was a sudden flicker of hope. A faculty member who conducted the marketing programme practically burst into my office brimming with glee.

"Yay! I have convinced them to have a special programme for women! Look at this," he declared, brandishing an approved note and beaming like he had just discovered a cure for old age. My excitement fizzled faster than expected as it turned out this programme was actually a marketing programme for women branch managers. It had the same objectives, the same sessions, the same content and the same training inputs. The old wine was to be served to a new target group. I had a strong urge to pull my hair out. Was it mine or his?

This token effort left me deeply frustrated, and I tried my best to get this programme knocked off, but it was not be. Who would listen to a junior official when the approval had already been given by highly senior people? Much to my chagrin, the programme was slated in the calendar as approved.

The day of the Special Marketing Programme for Women Managers arrived. In the introductory session, the course coordinator enthusiastically announced that this was a unique programme, the first of its kind, curated especially for female participants.  In response, the women managers, a formidable bunch, had questions, actually lots of questions. Being a group of astute professionals, they quickly identified the limiting factors of the programme. They voiced their concern, questioning the rationale behind gender-segregated training and articulated the benefits of a more collaborative approach in having a mixed group.

Under the withering barrage of these eloquent participants, the poor course coordinator quickly passed on the blame to me, stating that it was all my idea. As many of the women were known to me, they surrounded me during lunchtime, asking me the rationale for propagating such a mindless concept.

As I had also felt the same way, I fanned their feelings, sharing my frustrations with them and how and why this programme was encapsulated. But they all agreed that having an exclusive programme for women officers to deal with gender-related issues was a great idea. I slyly goaded them on to give this feedback to the top management on the last day and also mention it in their feedback forms.

This resulted in a forceful dialogue between the top management and the vociferous participants during the valedictory session on the last day.

Lo and behold! The marketing programme for women itself became a catalyst for change. The collective voice of the participants, amplified by my unwavering support, resonated with the top leadership of the institute.

The next day, after perusing the Reaction Sheets, the Principal and the Vice Principal called me to design a comprehensive training programme specifically for women officers, a training programme to address the specific needs and challenges faced by women officers in the bank.

Armed with the collective feedback of women managers and a renewed sense of sisterhood, I successfully designed and launched a programme that addressed the gender-related needs of women in the bank.

The series of programmes conducted by the institute was the culmination of my tireless efforts, as they became immensely successful. Exposing nearly all the women officers of the bank to this programme and seeing them benefitting from this initiative remains a source of immense satisfaction for me even today.

Over a period, I became the conductor of this empowering orchestra. We rolled out a series of role-specific programmes, and almost every woman in the bank was exposed to these inputs. It was, without any doubt, the highlight of my training stint and my most satisfying experience in the training system.

This experience underscored the importance of perseverance and collective action in achieving positive change within the organization. The saying, "United we stand, divided we fall," was not merely a clichéd saying for me. It had become a reality.

United, we not only stood, but we also learned to raise our voices and succeed.

(To continue...)

*****

44. THE ART OF KEEPING THE BOSSES HAPPY (YEAR 1985)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 44 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. 

At Gurgaon, with a sufficiently large number of employees of all shades posted in a single outfit, I started observing and understanding office politics for the first time in my career.

The dining room in the institute was initially a haven of culinary delight for a foodie like me. For a few months, I lived the life of a gourmand, enjoying the symphony of clinking silverware against bone china crockery, artistically decorated with crisp white napkins and the atmosphere filled with the soothing tones of instrumental music playing in the background.

But then the inevitable happened. The participants, God bless their culturally diverse souls, decided the background music was not diverse enough. Why only North Indian instrumental music was played as background music? Why can they not play Carnatic music? Why does the caterer serve Butter Chicken, Mutton Biryani, Rajma and Chhole? Why do they not serve Rasam, Sambar, Chicken Chettinad and Curd Rice? 

As the demand persisted, the menu saw a sea change. I also left the membership of the Dining Room as I could not tolerate the high chilly quotient in the food. Homemade lunch became my new norm until one fateful day when I could not bring my lunch from home and was at the mercy of the Dining Room, which basically catered to the participants. 

I had reached there slightly late, and the participants had all left. I saw the Officer-in-charge having his lunch alone and joined him. 

He asked me tongue in cheek whether I would like to try the Khichdi, which was cooked especially for the top bosses? I love Khichdi in any form. As it was not a standard dish in the Dining Room, I could not help asking why Khichdi was prepared. He confided in a hushed tone that the top management had decided to go on a crash diet and had, therefore, desired that only simple Khichdi, papad and curd be served to them for lunch. Thus, the humble Khichdi had reached the dining table of the top five. 

My bowl of Khichdi had arrived. One spoonful in my mouth and hmmm… I realised it was not the ordinary Khichdi I was familiar with. It was absolutely delicious, a Khichdi fit for a king. 

"This is heavenly!" I exclaimed. "How do they cook it?" I asked. His eyes glinting, he leaned forward and whispered, "Oh, it is simple. I asked the cook to add loads of..er..butter or ghee in it.” 

“Ghee? But you said that the bosses were dieting. Right?” The Officer could not care less, “It is their choice to have Khichdi. My job is to keep their taste buds happy. Otherwise, they will not eat it. Managing their sugar levels and high cholesterol is not part of my role. I ensure that melted ghee is also served on the table. If they want, they can pour some on top of the Khichdi. And most of them do it.” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed, his eyes dancing.

“Do they never ask you how much butter or ghee is added in preparing this?” My curiosity was getting the better of me.

“Of course, they do. But do you think I tell them? I deny it point-blank, Madam. My job is to organise their lunch, as per their directions. You see, the bosses must be kept happy and satisfied!”

The top officials with cholesterol-lined arteries and sugar-loaded blood considered Khichdi a healthy option. Little did they realise that their wily assistant, always ready to please the bosses, would not let their discerning palates suffer. And when the inevitable question was asked about the oil content, he denied it with a poker face. He was a champion bluffer. After all, he believed that a well-fed boss was a happy boss, dietary restrictions be damned. 

That day, I observed somebody actually using the art of keeping the bosses happy, even if it meant turning a humble dish into a heart attack on the platter.

(To be continued...)

*****

43. WHAT IS IN A DESIGNATION? (YEAR 1984)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 43 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. 

Life at the Bank's Staff College in Gurgaon was in total contrast to my earlier fast-paced life at the branches. The college was newly opened, and all the roles had not been clearly defined. While others were busy, I floundered, unsure of my role and responsibilities. My initial thrill of exploring the library soon faded. How long could books hold my attention?

Determined to contribute, I approached every faculty member, eager to undertake any task they could delegate to me. I edited study material, created OHP (Over-Head Projector) slides and even wrote welcome messages in the lecture halls – anything to make myself useful. This willingness helped me understand the training system: it also provided me time for writing, leading to published articles – a source of immense satisfaction.

One suggestion gave me a new direction, researching the level and sources of stress in the lives of bank executives. Months later, after I presented my findings, the Principal proposed Stress Management sessions in the programme for the Regional Managers, who were all senior Scale V officers. A faculty member was assigned the job of taking two sessions on stress and its management. He approached me for the reference material on the subject, and I happily extended all cooperation to him, handed over the study material and prepared all the OHP slides for his lecture.

On the day of the session, the faculty member who was to lead the sessions panicked at the last moment. He felt he could not handle it and asked me to substitute him at the eleventh hour. He also told me that he had already taken the permission of the Principal. Before doing so, he had not even shared his intentions with me. The session was to start at 2pm, and he asked me to fill up for him at 1 pm, just before I was leaving for lunch. 

Initially, overcome with self-doubt, I refused. It meant two sessions of ninety minutes each, and I was not mentally prepared for it. I had not even prepared the structure of the two sessions. The participants were far more senior than me. They were all in Grade V, and I was in the lowly Middle Management Grade II. Also, I had never conducted a session for the Bank officers before. But he continued to beg and plead. I struggled with myself for a few minutes, but saying I can't has never been my wont. And I agreed. 

Skipping lunch, I frantically prepared notes and entered the lecture hall with a nervous smile, masking my inner apprehensions. To my utter surprise, the Principal, Vice-Principal, and all the faculty members walked in to be present as observers. Were they there to learn stress management or to evaluate my performance? Was it because it was the first time that inputs on Stress Management were introduced in a training programme at the institute? Whatever the reason, their presence intensified my stress.

As I started speaking, my heart pounded. I quickly recalled the "Chalk and Talk" method from my earlier lecturer-ship days and picked a chalk to write on the board. When I rested my left hand on the board to write something, the palm left a moist impression there, a clear manifestation of my anxiety. Quickly removing my hand from the board, I consciously took charge of my mind and regained composure. Suddenly, I started addressing participants very confidently. The words flowed smoothly for the next hour and a half. The time flew by: the participants listened to me spellbound, and the session overran its time.

The tea break was a whirlwind of questions, eager requests for solutions, and genuine compliments. Deriving confidence from the success of the first session, I handled the second session effortlessly.

The evaluation of the programme on the last day revealed my sessions on Stress Management were rated the best and were given perfect scores. From then on, these sessions became my domain, giving me a new role and a renewed sense of purpose. Although my designation remained Research Officer, I often started working as a faculty member, even for officials in the top executive grade. This incident helped me to get in touch with my innate strength and grow my self-confidence.

To me, the designation mattered less than the role I performed. After all, what is in a designation? 

                                                                                                               (To be continued....)

*****

42. THE POWER OF NETWORKING (YEAR 1982)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 42 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 our Bank, one is always scared of the Personnel Department as they can make or mar your life, personal as also the official.

One fine morning, I received a telephone call from the Personnel Department to come urgently to Head Office and meet the Personnel Manager. As the information became public, my colleagues in the branch started speculating why I had been summoned without any agenda. They forewarned me that the Personnel Manager was a rude and heartless guy. All this talk was enough to give me jitters, and I ensured to be at his office before the designated time. As there was no place for waiting, I stood outside his room, rubbing my hands anxiously. I wondered what could be the purpose of this meeting. Why was I personally called? Is it possible that the rogue borrower of my previous branch had lodged a complaint against me? Or maybe because I had retorted rudely to my senior the other day in front of everybody, and he might have complained against me. My mind was going into a tizzy.   

I was finally called in. The Personnel Manager stared hard at me from top to toe and blurted out brusquely that I was at the top of the list of officers with overstay in Delhi. He added it was time for me to move out of Delhi and condescended to inform me that he planned to transfer me to Roorkee. It was like a bolt from the blue. How would I stay alone at Roorkee with two small kids aged 8 and 4 years and perform effectively as a Branch Head? My experience as Branch Manager in the two previous branches had not been too happy. I pleaded if I could be accommodated in a nearby city instead of posting in a far-off place, some 200 km away. A cynical expression on the face and a quick wave of the hand conveyed that it was not an option. I knew what the transfer policy for my grade was. It had a provision for posting an officer in a nearby town like Gurgaon, Faridabad or Ghaziabad, and one had to stay there for five years before becoming eligible to come back to Delhi. But would he listen? Maybe it was my weakness, as I did not know how to sound helpless and beg and plead. 

I came out of his cabin with a long face, wondering how to handle this new problem in my personal life. With great effort, we had admitted our children to the prestigious Modern School. What would be the plight of their education if they had to go to Roorkee with me? Will they start pronouncing "Boss" as "Bose" and "God" as "Goad" as most locals did? How am I going to handle them alone? 

I was restless and could not wait for the lift to arrive. I started walking down the stairs. In the stairwell, I thought of stopping at the 11th floor to say hi to a colleague I had befriended during my Head office days. She was the Personal Secretary to the top boss, the Chief General Manager. When she learnt of my worries, she shared that the Bank had decided to open a training institute for the officers in Gurgaon. They were looking for an officer for the post of a Research Officer, who was good in English and had completed the mandatory line assignment. My face lit up with a smile on hearing this. I could manage to write in English and had completed the ordeal of working as a Branch Manager for over three years. I quickly wrote down my bio-data and handed it over to her.  

The next few days were full of uncertainty and tension as I did not know when I would be ordered to leave for Roorkee. A few weeks passed, but no communication for my next posting came. I was tense and worried. The uncertainty about my future was nibbling my mental peace away. 

Finally, one day, I received a call from the Administrative Officer of the Academy asking me why I had not reported there so far. I told him my branch had not received any transfer orders for me. He confirmed that the orders had indeed been issued a few weeks ago and that he had already received its copy. 

About half an hour passed before I was called by my Branch Head. He was furious, “What strings have you pulled? The Personnel Manager is very angry and has asked me to relieve you immediately. Please hand over the Locker Keys to Ms AB and leave for Staff College immediately. Understand?” 

The staff wanted to arrange a farewell for me, but they were told not to. I picked up the relieving letter and left. But I was on top of the world. "Yeah yeah, yippee yippee, yeah yeah yeah...!" I had escaped a posting to Roorkee. This was the first time that I tasted the power of networking in the Bank. 

***

PS
As I started my car and came onto the main road leading to Gurgaon, a genuinely serious thought came to my mind, “Why not meet the Personnel Manager and thank him for changing my posting from Roorkee to Gurgaon!” 

I turned the car towards the Head Office, reached the 13th floor and waited to meet him. Upon seeing me, the Personnel Manager snarled, “What brings you here?” 

"I have been relieved today. Thought of informing you and thanking you for changing my orders from Roorkee to Gurgaon." I tried to be as polite as possible.

He stared at me and growled, “Why thank me? I had nothing to do with it. You know it very well.”  Wondering why he sounded so irritated and not knowing what to say, I just smiled, “No sir, the credit goes to you only. I was ignorant about my long stay. You only made me aware of it and told me about the transfer to Roorkee. Therefore, thanks are due to you only.”  He gave me a dirty look and walked away.  

In the subsequent years, whenever he saw me in the precincts of the Staff College, he did not respond to my greeting and looked away when I wished him.

Looking back, I understand nothing could have been more foolish than my attempt to thank the Personnel Manager. It was a naïve move to mend fences, but it was my lack of understanding of office politics. Honestly, I had not gone there to tease him. I genuinely wanted to thank him but perhaps he took it as an insult.  In due course, I understood the mechanisms and undercurrents of hierarchies better, and this incident became a valuable lesson for me in navigating the corporate world.

(To be continued...)

*****

41. PAYING BACK IN THE SAME COIN (YEAR 1982)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 41 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 day, the air crackled with anticipation. It was not a usual workday for the Bank. It was closed to the public, but the banking hall buzzed with activity. Today was the half-yearly closing, and amidst the bonhomie of a working but non-working day, there was another reason for celebration for me. The news of my promotion had just reached the branch, and the staff, with whom I had shared countless hours of trials and tribulations, were ecstatic. "Party time!" they chorussed, their enthusiasm warming the otherwise mundane banking hall.

Till recently, I had revelled in the freedom bestowed by my previous boss, a delegator extraordinaire. It had been an exhilarating experience in branch management and a confidence booster, especially after the unfortunate incident at the last posting.

Things were different now. The new Branch Manager was the polar opposite of his predecessor. He was a micro-managing tyrant who was prone to frequent fiery outbursts. He would bellow at officers while cowering before the clerical staff, creating tension for us, the officers. We somehow tolerated him, but today, with the exhilaration of my promotion fresh, a silent defiance had started simmering within me.

As the party preparations were on, the essential task of balancing the ledgers was in progress. Back then, in the era of manual banking, this meant meticulous hand-balancing of every account. The night before, I had burned the midnight oil, ensuring the Progressive Book was ready with figures, giving my team no reason to delay their task.

Around 11:30 am, I was moving from one desk to another in the bustling hall, checking on each one's progress with a smile. Suddenly, the Branch Manager's loud voice shattered the hum. From a distance, he bellowed a question about a minor issue. Before I could respond, his face contorted, and his lips twisted with despair. His voice echoed through the hushed banking hall as he screamed, "Oh, come on. What is the Bank up to? Promoting people like you? (आए हाए, ये बैंक भी क्या करता है....आपके जैसों को प्रमोट कर देता है।) "

A collective gasp was heard through the hall. The vibrant chatter died, replaced by a deafening silence. Even the flickering fluorescent lights seemed to dim in shock.

My own temper flared. "If the bank can elevate someone like you," I retorted, voice laced with barely contained anger, "then what on earth makes me less qualified?(अगर बैंक आप जैसों को प्रमोट कर देता है, तो मुझ में क्या कमी है?) "

The manager's face contorted into a mixture of fury and humiliation, and he stormed back into his office, red-faced and sputtering something unintelligible.

Moments later, I was summoned to his room, where he complained in a mumbled tone, about my inappropriate retort in front of the staff.

"And your outburst in front of the entire team was acceptable?" I shot back, not letting him finish. With that, I turned on my heel and marched out, leaving him speechless in his chair.

He had received the message loud and clear. From that day onward, the bullying stopped. It was a small victory, but I had learnt my lesson of not tolerating bullying from anyone, even if he was my boss and was going to write my annual appraisal report shortly.

(To be continued....)

*****

AN ODE TO MY FATHER ON HIS 98th BIRTH ANNIVERSARY

 AN ODE TO MY FATHER ON HIS 98th BIRTH ANNIVERSARY 

Located amidst stretched fields in a village backward and old, 

Youngest of three, your spirit was cast in a different mould. 

Poverty's grip was tight, yet your dreams refused to wane, 

By kerosene's faint glow, knowledge became your gain.

 

No velvet cushion, no books laden on a shelf, 

Street lamps were your tutors, the night your only pelf. 

Fire in your eyes, a vision etched so clear,

To lift your family, chase away every tear.

 

Years blurred in a torrent, ambition your only guide, 

A promise you whispered, forever by your side. 

Then came the sweet triumph, a smile that lit the way, 

For your family's struggle, you finally paved the way.

 

With tireless endeavour, success you did embrace,

Medals of merit, testaments to grace. 

You were a beacon of honesty in the civil domain, 

You served with fierce honour, a shield from every strain.

 

When floods devoured villages, a hero rose to stand, 

Rescue operations, led by a steady hand. 

Your duty called you to treacherous terrain, 

Hunting for outlaws, erasing their wicked reign.

 

In the seat of judgment, your scales held ever true, 

Justice for all, a promise that forever grew. 

The corrupt and cunning felt your righteous might, 

Their misdeeds exposed, they bathed in punishing light.

 

Fear gripped the wicked, your roar a thunder's call, 

Their crimes laid bare, how they trembled, one and all. 

Bribery's whispers met a withering scorn, 

For the downtrodden public, a champion was born.

 

Before I graced this world, a wish bloomed in your heart, 

A daughter, to be the reason for a brand new start. 

Your soaring expectations, a wind beneath my wings, 

To reach for the heavens, the joy that your spirit brings.

 

A father's firm hand, guiding us with care, 

Honesty as our compass, hard work a burden we'd share. 

No favours for anyone the path you followed was full of fight, 

Your values we hold close, a legacy that is always right.

 

Though you've walked on, your spirit forever remains, 

A guiding light, whispering through life's joyous strains. 

Papa, our hearts brim with pride, a love that knows no end, 

For the man you were, the values you gave us will never bend.

                            *****