53. THE CHILLING POWER OF GOLDEN MILK (1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 53 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

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

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

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

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

"It was some experience," he muttered.  

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

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

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

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

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

A disquieting silence descended as he paused.

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

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

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

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

I was listening to his frightening experience with bated breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*name changed to protect his identity

(To be continued....)

*****

52. A CLAMPED UP SCREAM (1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

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

CARE: This is Chapter 52 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(To be continued...)

*****

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

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 51 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(To be continued.....)

*****

50. A NEW STREAK OF DEFIANCE (1989)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN 

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

CARE: This is Chapter 50 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book right from Chapter 01 onwards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(To be continued...)

*****

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....)

*****