Lessons from Gita - Decision Taking

A 25 years old man joined the Hindi film industry as a hero. Within a couple of years, his movies started earning good money. His romantic image became a style statement. For almost 30 years, his name was enough to draw people to the silver screen. The man fell a victim to his best screen aura. Even in old age, he insisted upon playing lead roles in films in the belief that his charm would remain evergreen. Unfortunately, that was not to be. The films started bombing one after the other with the man not giving up. Even film enthusiasts would find it difficult to recall much about the movies ‘Chargesheet’, ‘Love at Times Square’, ‘Censor’, ‘Pyaar Ka Tarana’, etc.

Allow me to talk about another illustrious person. The second-youngest cricketer to score a test century, he amassed 15,921 runs with 51 centuries in that format of the game, and scored 18,426 runs with 49 centuries in one day international games. However, his batting average started diminishing over the years, and his 100^th century came after a gap of an year after the 99^th. The opponents? Bangladesh, one of the weakest teams of that time. By the time he retired, he was a shadow of his past self.

There was a guy in a small town in Bavaria, who cobbled shoes in a laundry room. He couldn’t have aspired for much due to his humble status, limited resources, and the presence of many established shoemakers in the market. But the boy was made of a different stuff. He didn’t look at his shoes only from his point of view, nor did he blindly copy what others were making. He contacted athletes, understood their complaints about shoes, learnt about their expectations, and worked on his products. He continued to gather feedback to bring improvements. Gradually, his shoes gained recognition and started being preferred by the customers, leading to the registration of Adi Dassler Adidas Sportschuhfabrik. Adidas, a household name, doesn’t need an introduction today.

And then, there is this woman who thought she could write even when she was a young girl. Before she could share her major work, her mother died. Two years later, she got married, had a daughter, but got divorced in about a year. Her limited means, absence of a typewriter or computer, and lack of space forced her to write in a café with her daughter, Jessica, in a pram next to her chair. She could ill-afford the photocopying expenditure but still kept submitting the manuscript to publishers, 12 of whom rejected it over time. Finally, an eight years old girl, Alice, read the manuscript of the novel, liked it, and told her father Nigel about it. The wheel of fortune turned. Nigel Newton, the CEO of Bloomsbury, called the writer and thus was laid the foundation of the famous Harry Potter series. More than 500 million copies of JK Rowling’s books have been sold worldwide.

According to the Vedanta, reality can be of three types—Pratibhasika (personal or subjective), Vyavaharika (collective or objective), and Paramarthika (universal or complete). Mundane matters of everyday life can be handled efficiently with the awareness of Pratibhasika Satya. However, one should be equipped with higher knowledge to deal with larger issues. Such matters must be handled in a detached manner. Too much focus on oneself or on one point often leads to exaggerated or deficient attention on other relevant people or situations, incorrect judgement of threats and opportunities, irrational decisions, and failures. Substantial resources of time and money would have been saved had the hero of the yesteryears in the above example accepted the public opinion in time. Same with the sportsman. The key to the success of Adi Dassler lay in the fact that rather than focusing on his limitations, he concentrated on the collective feedback of the target users. While 12 publishers dismissed the Harry Potter manuscript as useless, the 13^th minted money because he gave precedence to the opinion of the target reader.

To arrive at the correct decision, the situation must be analysed in a foolproof, calm, patient, and aloof manner. Personal prejudices, dogmas, likes, and dislikes corrupt the decision. It’s easy to say but difficult to practice because of our ego. How can we ignore our status, power, strengths, etc., while getting involved with a problem? How can it be sane to treat a scholar at par with an illiterate, a billionaire with a pauper, or, a body builder with an unfit person? Aren’t we different from the others? Don’t we have unique personalities? Are we not distinctly different individuals?

As long as complex situations are concerned, we are not! A pope’s peon and the pope know more than the pope. The lowly ant is capable of making the mighty elephant very uncomfortable. Geese have guarded military establishments better than dogs in some cases. If it sounds too much of a general statement, just look at the headlines involving a major event: “126 Die in Plane Crash,” “56% Girls Clear Exams,” and, “Cabinet to have 30 Ministers.” Where is the individual here?

An often misunderstood shloka from the 9^th chapter of Gita reads as below:

पिताहमस्य जगतो माता धाता पितामह: |
वेद्यं पवित्रमोङ्कार ऋक्साम यजुरेव च || 17||

If we go by the literal meaning, Lord Krishna describes his might to Arjuna through these words by stating that he is the father, the mother, the sustainer, and the grandsire of the universe. He is also the purifier, the goal of knowledge, the sacred syllable ‘Om’, the Ṛig Veda, the Sāma Veda, and the Yajur Veda.

The implied, much deeper, meaning addresses one of the greatest errors in human consciousness because of which we consider ourselves as different individuals. There is nothing individual about us. Our body is not of our creation; it was created by our parents and their parents in an endless chain. We didn’t decide about our birth, diseases, or features, and have little control over our thoughts, romances, fights, and other events around us. The principles governing us are not our creation. Our knowledge is also not ours. We didn’t invent the alphabets, the numbers, or the subjects. We are just a part of the creation. We owe our existence to the cosmos. ‘I’ is an illusion, ‘individual’ is a myth. Once we accept that reality, it becomes easier to acquire the larger perspective essential for impeccable decision-making.

            Step down from that high pedestal, start including the lowest common denominator in the scheme of things, and enjoy the pleasure of taking correct decisions in complex situations.

Gita for Managers (Part 3) – Personal Excellence

Gita, an epic from the Hindu religion, is not about Hinduism. I have not found the word ‘Hindu’ anywhere in it. It doesn’t prescribe methods to worship a certain deity, doesn’t dictate the colour one must wear, the food one must eat, and, the prayers one must recite.

As you must already be aware of, Gita essentially contains a discussion between the warrior Arjuna and his chariot driver, Krishna. Just before the start of the war, Arjuna got overwhelmed with grief over the thought of killing his family members. He cast aside his bow and arrows, and sank into the seat of his chariot.

एवमुक्त्वार्जुन: सङ्ख्ये रथोपस्थ उपाविशत् |
विसृज्य सशरं चापं शोकसंविग्नमानस: || (Gita Part 1, shloka 47)

Interestingly, Krishna didn’t drive the chariot away to a calm and quiet place to enlighten Arjuna. He spoke right at the battlefield, a far cry from meetings conducted in an environment usually totally indifferent to the topic under debate.

Spread into several chapters, Gita deals with many concepts that confuse the common man and the modern manager.

Let us take the concept of the basic business activity of welcoming the client, making them feel important, and comfortable. What is the purpose of this activity? Obviously, it is to make the customer feel good and comfortable enough to conduct business with the organization. A retail chain, Big Bazaar (now run by Reliance as Smart Bazaar), was established by Kishore Biyani in 2001 to cater to the middle class. The spacious stores of Big Bazaar were designed to offer wonderful convenience by selling moderately priced crockery to footwear, linen to stationery, jewellery to cookware, furniture to foodgrains, electronic gadgets to cosmetics, all under one roof. Naturally, the stores were quite large when compared to ordinary shops. Many were spread over multiple floors. The imposing gates of the stores were manned by and two or more hefty guards in ceremonial attire, complete with ear-to-ear moustaches. After the introductory excitement ebbed out, it was felt that the sale was below expectations. There was nothing wrong with the publicity, the location of the stores, or the range of the stock. Further analysis revealed that the targeted middle class customers, intimidated by the presence of the well-groomed guards, were presuming the merchandise to be expensive beyond their reach and therefore not entering the stores. The rich, in any case, didn’t have much of interest there. Sales improved immediately after the ceremonial guards were replaced with ones in more common uniforms.

Whether it is HR, finance, logistics, design, marketing, sourcing, or some other function, failures are bound to happen if the activities don’t synchronise with the essence of the action plan. Expense control measures are known to have increased the cost of acquiring business, quicker delivery has resulted in imperfect execution, efficiency improvement projects have caused loss of intellectual property, and attractive designs have attracted accidents. Ritualistic activities cannot yield perfect results. Neither leaders nor their followers can achieve goals with preoccupied minds. Krishna didn’t offer a readymade advice to Arjuna; he awakened the conscience of Arjuna to examine facts without prejudice.

प्रसादे सर्वदु:खानां हानिरस्योपजायते |
प्रसन्नचेतसो ह्याशु बुद्धि: पर्यवतिष्ठते || (Gita Part 2, shloka 65)

Often, the hurry to derive more and more gainful results makes one overlook details and appreciate them. When I joined the sales force of an HVAC (heating, ventilation and air-conditioning) product manufacturer, the managing director proudly declared that their products enjoyed more than 70% market share. Impressed, I asked him the reason behind the success. He laughed and said that no one could really explain that. The words automatically came out of my mouth, “In that case you would also not know the reason behind the loss of market share.” The company faced some tough times within years and a new managing director was appointed. Whether the scale is large or small, the experience of life changes with change in perception. Excess focus on smaller details makes one oblivious of the complete picture. One must become free of ego and false pretenses to understand a situation in its entirety.

प्रकृते: क्रियमाणानि गुणै: कर्माणि सर्वश: |
अहङ्कारविमूढात्मा कर्ताहमिति मन्यते || (Gita part 3, shloka 27)

Eagerness to claim success often leaves one with egg on face. Those caught in the petty boundaries of designation, hierarchy, department, jurisdictions, etc., can never experience spectacular success. On the other hand, managers with open mind, due to naturally greater interactions, vision, and awareness, are able to convert seemingly non-existent opportunities into roaring successes. They are more stable, they don’t indulge in self-denial, and don’t look for scapegoats in adverse conditions. Like seasoned players, they enjoy a long run.

ज्ञेय: स नित्यसंन्यासी यो न द्वेष्टि न काङ् क्षति |
निर्द्वन्द्वो हि महाबाहो सुखं बन्धात्प्रमुच्यते || (Gita part 5, shloka 3)

To sum up, don’t be conditioned by what you want. Have the courage to accept the reality even if it is not exactly as per your desire. That sincerity is the starting point for fruitful action.

            य: सर्वत्रानभिस्नेहस्तत्तत्प्राप्य शुभाशुभम् |
            नाभिनन्दति न द्वेष्टि तस्य प्रज्ञा प्रतिष्ठिता || (Gita part 2, shloka 57)

Adolescence

If you are close to a growing child 8 to 15 years in age, you would perhaps be accustomed to certain disturbing behavioral patterns. Long spells of silence, ignoring the presence of close family members, bursts of anger for no apparent reason, lame excuses behind failed commitments and duties, denial of shortcomings, lying, bullying the weak persons, lack of manners, overindulgence, manipulating elders against each-other, poor etiquettes, etc., are the hallmark of many pre- and early-teen children, says my firsthand experience.

I don’t blame the kids entirely. I have seen many such children shedding their negative traits and growing into excellent individuals. Secondly, several adolescents are permitted negative conduct by their parents in the hope that their unrestrained children would accomplish everything that they have failed to achieve. They force the reluctant child to play lawn tennis and football, excel in gymnastics, be an excellent swimmer, hold a karate belt, sketch and paint like a professional artist, sing and dance in myriad styles, and, of course, do well in studies. Having overburdened the child, they secretly admit the fact, shower the kid with gifts, and cover up all wrongdoings as natural. Often, instead of becoming a strength, the child turns out to be their weakness. The fall from pride to embarrassment is too obscure to be experienced.

A much talked about Netflix serial, Adolescence, shakes audience to the core by revealing a 13-years-old boy, Jamie, as a murderer. The innocent-looking boy has a loving family. His father, Eddie Miller, doesn’t believe in beating children, having been subjected to severe thrashings by his father in the childhood. Eddie, a plumber, ensures that Jamie has expensive shoes, track suits, computer, and everything else that a child of his age requires. Mother Manda and sister Lisa complete his small and beautiful family.

While Eddie accepts Jamie’s reluctance to play football or other sports, Manda doesn’t object when the class 8 student frequently remains awake till the morning, doing something on his computer. Their world comes crashing down when police raid their house one morning and arrest Jamie for the murder of a classmate.

Hours stretch into days and days into months, and Jamie finally decides to own up responsibility for the murder. It transpires that the baby-faced Jamie was bullied in the school and over the social media. He desired the company of girls but didn’t have a friend from the opposite sex in a school where girls shared intimate pictures with boys. Jamie was labelled as an ‘incel’. To be fair, Lisa has a close friend, a boy. When Manda wants to know something about the relationship, her daughter cuts the conversation short with a “none of your business” remark.

I will not be a spoilsport by revealing more details about the circumstances that lead to the murder, but let me add that the serial is based on a real-life incident.

What is making the children go so astray that they kill on impulse? The social media, the government, the society, the education system, the parents, or someone else? The desire to be affluent and lead a life of luxury, the lack of concentration, the inability to think judiciously, the impatience—what is the source of these? 

Doesn’t the old saying, “it takes a village to raise a child,” hold merit? Not only the emotional shock absorber and relief valves provided through the presence of grandparents and other relatives are vanishing, the token presence of the parents for a limited period is adding on to improper upbringing. Children openly equate love with the price of the gift, and don’t mind ridiculing the poor.

Allow me to quote from Gita (chapter 2, shlokas 62 and 63):

ध्यायतो विषयान्पुंस: सङ्गस्तेषुपजायते |
सङ्गत्सञ्जायते कामः कामात्क्रोधोऽभिजायते ||

क्रोधाद्भवति सम्मोह: सम्मोहात्स्मृतिविभ्रम: |
स्मृतिभ्रंशाद् बुद्धिनाशो बुद्धिनाशात्प्रणश्यति ||

           It doesn’t matter whether one is really affluent and leads a luxurious life. Even thinking about these generates desire, which leads to anger, then to loss of wisdom, and finally, to human degradation. In Jamie’s case, it was the desire for positive self-image that let him down. You will have several examples where the desire for lifestyle, wealth, fame, recognition, etc., ended with tragic results.

Lord Krishna says (Gita chapter 3, shloka 21):

यद्यदाचरति श्रेष्ठस्तत्तदेवेतरो जन: |
स यत्प्रमाणं कुरुते लोकस्तदनुवर्तते ||

People try to imitate the actions of their ideals. These ideals can be parents, relatives, teachers, classmates, or social media personalities.  You know what I mean.

           I am not proving a readymade answer. If you have read thus far, I thank you and urge you to think. It’s a question of saving your future.

The Blunderers We Bank Upon

It was a family get-together far away from home. Free from the daily grind, I was enjoying some friendly banter over a second cup of tea that very pleasant April morning in 2017 when a beep on the phone distracted me. It was an SMS from my bank, warning that I had made two invalid attempts to log into my account and the same would be blocked on a third such attempt.

Two log in attempts? But I had not tried any such adventure! Obviously, someone had mischievously tried to break into my account twice with a correct username but incorrect passwords. What if the third attempt were successful? Anxiety replaced happiness.

“Lest that scoundrel try again, why don’t you get your account blocked for a day by deliberately filling in a wrong password? You can seek help from the bank manager before the account gets unblocked tomorrow.” A wise guy suggested.

I reacted at breakneck speed, praying that the criminal shouldn’t succeed in submitting the correct password before I fill in a wrong one. A beep, followed by an SMS, confirmed that my account had been blocked for a day following three invalid log in attempts. To this day I don’t know whether the third attempt was my creation or the intruder’s.

The bank manager answered my call—no, she had no idea about the IP address or the location from where the fraudulent log in attempt was made; she didn’t have the authority to change my log in username; she couldn’t help me; but I could surely lodge a complaint.

“But what if the imposter successfully logs in before the authorities take preventive action?” I asked.

“Why don’t you change your password?” She shot back.

“It’s the username that has been leaked, the password has so far not been guessed correctly,” I pleaded.

“Please lodge a complaint on our helpline, on our ‘Happy Room’, and on the site,” she barked.

I called up the helpline. It had several options for lodging complaints under various categories but there was no category for reporting fraudulent log in attempts. I pressed the option for speaking to an executive. Bad luck! All executives were busy, and remained occupied throughout the day. No one ever came on the line, which invariably kept getting disconnected after multiple proclamations about the bank’s commitment to serve customers in a fantastic manner.

I tried lodging a complaint on the bank’s website but the page was malfunctioning. The ‘Submit’ link always pointed out that the details were missing regardless of whatever I had typed in.

I sent an SMS to the ‘Happy Room’ and was happy to receive an index number with an assurance that I would be contacted shortly. The happiness ended there. No one ever contacted me then or in the seven years that have since elapsed.

I abandoned my already spoilt holiday, returned home, and submitted a formal letter to the bank manager the next day. She reiterated her inability to investigate into the matter while accepting that it was possible for the branch personnel to ascertain my username.

I escalated my complaint to the next higher authority and received an acknowledgment. Submission of complaints became a daily routine that ended with my approaching the bank chairman and the Centralized Public Grievance Redress And Monitoring System (CPGRAMS) by the end of the fortnight, hosting a video on YouTube about my predicament, and seeking attention over Twitter.

CPGRAMS deserves credit for communicating within a month: “Your Grievance with Registration No. … has been disposed. Logon to … for further details.” I logged on to find that my complaint had been “satisfactorily closed as the account holder has sufficient balance in the account.”

I was aghast! Not only that large public sector bank had failed to prevent the leakage of an internet banking secret but had also displayed scant concern in resolving the depositor’s problems.

The same bank was vigorously promoting its health insurance scheme from February that year. It looked attractive. I had filled up the proposal form and deposited the premium in March. The amount was debited immediately, though the policy booklet was supplied almost after a month. It left me stunned! The form in the booklet was not the one that I had submitted—the name of a beneficiary was wrongly spelled, the relationship with the nominee was shown as “mother” in place of “son”, many vital details had been left blank, and the signature on it was not mine! Evidently, my proposal form had been replaced with a forged one.

I shot a letter and the details were corrected, but the bank remained mum on how a forged form could find a place in the policy document and why the bank could not check it. I decided not to renew the policy and intimated the relevant authority. However, applicable premium was debited from my account the next year without authorization from my end. I protested, the amount was refunded, and the renewal was cancelled.

I assumed that the story was over, but no! Premium was deducted again the next year towards renewal of the policy that had lapsed a year ago! I shot an angry missive to the agency and received the following response: “As per process Removal of Auto renewal facility needs to be intimated 15 days prior to expiry date of the policy … In case the premium is already debited, help us with the Journal no., date of debit, scan copy of bank account statement reflecting the premium debit against … and the reason for discontinuation to process the refund.”

The fault clearly lay with me! I learnt a lesson and informed the bank on two subsequent years to not to renew the policy that had lapsed many years ago, exactly fifteen days prior to the date when the policy would have lapsed if taken.

The year 2019 was nearing its end. It so happened that I held a credit card of that bank. The card was due for renewal on December 20, but I was scheduled to be on an overseas trip from December 5 till March 1 the next year. Usually replacement cards are received at least a month before the expiry of the valid card, but my case was proving to be an exception. Afraid of its falling in wrong hands and being misused, I sent an email to the bank with a request to despatch the replacement card only in March next year. I received a prompt reply from one Sanjeet Mandal as under:

We wish to inform you that your … card account will be automatically renewed and same will be dispatch at your mailing address updated before 90 days of the card expiry.

If you do not receive the card, kindly rewrite us when cardholder is available to receive the card.

If you are not satisfied with the response, you can write to Nodal Officer, Customer Service by clicking here or use the Escalate Button on the webpage. You will receive a response within 5 days.

I wrote back immediately, explaining that my house would be totally locked during my absence and there would be no point in despatching the card during my absence. This time one Ashmita Sandhu replied:

We wish to inform you that in case any card is getting expired the renewed card is dispatched 90 days prior to card expiry further in absence of primary card holder the same can be handed over to a family member(blood relation) post showing a valid id proof and if there is no one the card shall return back to us undelivered.

My overseas trip started and so did a chain of SMS from the post and telegraph department informing about failed delivery attempts for the card, the date when the next attempt would be made, and a final warning that no attempt would be made a fourth time.

I brought the matter to the attention of the principal nodal officer and was provided with an interaction ID. Meanwhile, a second chain of post and telegraph SMS about abortive delivery attempts began with instructions to call up a certain number.

Another wise guy suggested that I should seek help from the bank’s Twitter handle. I did so and sent fresh communications in accordance with the advice received.

A third chain of SMS followed shortly afterwards and then there was complete silence. I spent the remaining two months of my foreign visit in bliss, satisfied that everybody in the banking system was not apathetic to customer needs and that a sincere executive had finally taken action on my SOS.

Barely a week would have passed after my return when a guard of the apartment block approached me, “The postman gave it!”

The envelop, bearing a despatch stamp of December 2019, had my replacement credit card in it.

Those conversant with the credit card intricacies would have guessed that my replacement card must be due for renewal next month. Absolutely right! It falls due for renewal in December 2024, when I am scheduled to be on another longish foreign trip. Seriously wounded after my previous experience, I decided to get it cancelled in November end. But while one may still guess God’s ways, it is impossible to forecast the next move of that bank. They sent me an SMS in mid-September, informing that my card had been renewed with the original particulars.

“Wonderful! So I wouldn’t need to get the card cancelled,” I thought.

“Fine, so the number remains the same, but how will I use it without knowing the fresh expiry date?” The worry nagged.

The bank card site has no provision for seeking such information. I sought it from their Twitter handle, who assigned a complaint number with an assurance that an executive would call me within five days.

But how would I use the card till then?

I called up the helpline. An executive informed that a fresh card, with a fresh number, had been despatched to my address.

The wait for the SMS began. Neither the bank nor the post and telegraph department informed about the despatch of a fresh card. Almost a week passed. I started getting jittery as another trip was to follow in a fortnight. I called the helpline everyday but the option of speaking with an executive had been removed! I reported the matter again on the Twitter handle to receive a response: “Hi, Your complaint is already been highlighted to our concern department and the same shall get the resolved by 23/9/2024. Request you to please wait till the estimated time.”

And then, without a warning, the replacement card was delivered! Within fifteen minutes a brook of SMS started gushing: My card had been despatched vide consignment number blah blah blah; my card had been delivered; where should I complain if I had not received the card; how to use the card; etc., etc., etc. The next day I received a mail confirming that my complaint had been satisfactorily resolved.

That bank never ceases to spring a surprise. It has submitted duplicate information to the income tax department about an investment made by a colleague, who continues to defend himself for ten months now.

You may feel that the particular bank mentioned so far is rank bad and others may be much better. Perhaps, but my experience with another public sector bank is also not very good. That bank threatened to “stop” my account for want of KYC (know your customer) documents. I was surprised, because the KYC drill is not an annual affair to the best of my knowledge. A visit to the bank confirmed my belief—they require KYC from my type of accounts only once in five years. When I pointed out that I had submitted the documents only the previous year, they suggested that I should check a bundle of pending documents on a shelf in their office. I combed through a pile of about 200 KYC documents of customers, retrieved my documents, sat there to ensure that the details were fed into the system, and got the problem solved. Incidentally, this second bank mentions a wrong name on my internet banking account, maintaining that incorrect names don’t hamper banking if the account number is mentioned correctly!

Of course, they can’t be more correct. I purchased bonds from a third, a private, upcoming, and promising bank seven years ago. Few months before the maturity, the bank informed that the proceeds would be deposited in my account, providing details. It also added: “If there is any mismatch/change in your Name, Address or Bank account, you are requested to update the requisite information, by following the instructions mentioned below. This will help the Bank to pay the Maturity proceeds to you on time.”

I immediately informed that due to a change in the branch the IFSC code should be corrected as blah blah blah. The bank reverted with a repeat of the original information, and continued to do the same regardless of my communications to various officials. Thankfully, the money was deposited in my account in spite of the incorrect IFSC code.

As a parting shot, consider this case of a very large private bank in India which has been unable to change the phone number of the secondary account holder in three months despite several requests by the account holders and efforts by the local branch officials.

Woundn’t it be appropriate if the word ‘Bank’ is replaced with ‘Blunderers’? The consumers will then know what to expect and there will hardly be any surprises.

Sudden Silence

A very powerful vice-president in a company suddenly received an office order: He would no longer look after corporate affairs and finance but manage the library, the canteen, and staff welfare and sit in a cabin located near the two facilities. In accordance with the change in the nature of the job, his staff and office equipment would be suitably reassigned.

Corporate downsizing is fairly common and, unfortunately, unavoidable. The vice-president in the above-mentioned case gracefully accepted the predicament, but managed to bounce back to the original position in two years.

All may not be so lucky. Ordinarily, key personnel are asked to put in their papers immediately after a showdown: The victim, feeling cheated, sad, and angry, is left with little options other than walking out of the office.

Should the corporates be blamed for throwing away resources in a jiffy, or should the employees be held accountable for not seeing the writing on the wall? Is it possible that they were insensitive to the silent treatment being meted out to them?

Silent treatment, or sudden silence, is a favorite recourse of people who, while staying clear of ugly confrontations, wield power, manipulate, and punish their targets. To be fair, some people also become silent because of poor communication skills or a habit of receiving similar treatment from their parents.

Apart from loss of precious livelihood or partnerships in extreme cases, sudden silence is an emotional abuse that leaves the recipients with serious psychic repercussions. Hurt with the unfair and unkind conduct, they can harm themselves or the individual responsible for their misery.

The signs of silent treatment can be picked up easily. Often, the bystanders catch them with even greater ease. Eye-contact is shunned, messages are left unanswered, conversations end abruptly, the victim is ignored while conversations are held normally with others, sympathy is not expressed when due, personal space is not shared any longer, formal language is used, sentences become shorter and to-the-point, etc.

Not only the boss, even colleagues and clients can be scanned for that sort of conduct. If anything is found amiss, remedial measures must be taken immediately to minimize damage.

Silent treatment is not a monopoly of the professional environment; the unfortunate trait can also be a favorite of friends, neighbors, and family members. The impact in all cases is more or less the same: It leaves the sufferer confused and devastated.

I have had considerable experience of receiving silent treatment. There have also been instances when I opted for this strategy while dealing with chosen individuals. Some of the instances are illustrated below:

Once I was deep engrossed in a conversation with my sales team. A page-3 sort of guy was playing difficult while making false promises to gain freebies. (A hint: His Indian company has a French-sounding name!) I had finally put my foot down and refused to grant any more favors till the promises were honored. The guy threatened my team, reasoned with me, warned that he would approach the CII and the media, and finally agreed to release the dues. I was emphasizing that while that man projected himself as a bigwig, he was actually an idiot (I had used the Hindi equivalent of the word). Unfortunately, my newly imposed Punjabi super boss happened to walk that way exactly as I uttered that sentence. Being the father-in-law of a former Miss India and the first runner up in the Miss Universe pageant, he was also a bigwig who knew little about the nitty-gritty of our business. His steely eyes met mine, and I knew that I had signed my death warrant. I left that company after braving humiliation and panic attacks for three months.

We were very close to a neighbor in my childhood. It was common for us to listen to some classic English music on his self-made sound system every other evening. While the music played in the background, he and my father discussed politics, his wife and my mother chatted about recipes, and we children helped ourselves to the refreshments. He took me to the hospital when my father was away on tour, and towed our car with his Cadillac after the flood water receded. Things were going on well for two years, till his mother decided to visit them one day. She was introduced to my parents. Soon, the old lady started spending her afternoons at our place. I was happy because she appreciated my singing and even gave ten rupees as a token of appreciation on one occasion. My mother was happy because she reminded her of her own mother. The daughter-in-law, i.e., the hostess, was happy as she was free of the old woman’s presence for a few hours every day. It was a win-win situation for all. With increased warmth, the lady started spilling the beans about her daughter-in-law: She belonged to the lower strata of society and had to be taught manners and etiquettes for several years after the wedding. Hardly fifteen days would have passed when I found ‘uncle’ responding to my father’s comments in mono-syllables one evening. His wife mostly remained busy inside the home, helping her son with school lessons. His mother came to meet us, but the son politely asked her to tend to something important in the kitchen. We got up after five minutes, and never visited them again. A beautiful relationship was broken.

I was once posted at a rather hostile place. The surroundings were alien to us, we had no acquaintances, there were no public telephones around, and medical services were rudimentary at their best. Coal was extracted day in and day out by blasting rocks, and heavy earth moving equipment ran haphazardly all over the area. We were sweetly surprised when a teacher of my son extended a hand of friendship. If she was ten years younger to me, her parents must have been ten years older than us. They shared our passion for good food and were not averse to cooking their favorite meals at our place. It became embarrassing to say no when they demanded favors including a ride in my car to far-flung areas which we otherwise didn’t desire to visit. It took them less than a year to consider us, and everything that we owned, as their own. Luckily, I was transferred to Delhi within two years of that uncomfortable companionship. The gentleman took my Delhi office number and called me on one of his visits. I instructed the operator to tell him that I was not available. I never conversed with them again.

A dear friend, who helped me sail through a prolonged period of crisis, has suddenly become so silent that even my birthday wishes are not being acknowledged. Some close relatives have also gone on silent mode.

What should you do when a silent treatment situation arises? My suggestions are, don’t preparate it. Of course, you will be perplexed to find silence filling in a place of usual conversation. Rather than sulking about it, find the cause and mend the relationship, especially if the other side happens to be a client, your superior, or your love interest.

What if you fail find a cause?

Well, then read the signs and find a respectable alternate before it is too late.

Remember, all relationships are dynamic in nature. People are viewed differently at different points of time. Loss of vested interest, disappearance of common ground, shift in stature, peer pressure, jealousy, fear of loss of prestige, malicious talk by an influencer, a misunderstanding—the reason behind sudden silence can be many. Give time to either parties to repair and reboot. If that happens, fine. If not, let it go. There is no point in carrying the baggage of a dead relationship.

Some relations are temporary by nature. Some become temporary due to the withdrawal of one or both sides. Accept it and move on!

Want to Feed Me? No, Thanks, I’m Full!

Often, when I read newspaper headlines or glance through social media posts, a thought strikes, “Dear propagator of this information, PLEASE don’t try to feed me. I’m already full!”

I, of course, fall in the minority, as is obvious from the multi-thousand ‘likes’ some totally misleading and many-a-times false posts acquire within a small span of time. I wonder why the readers, instead of seeing through the trick, fall prey to the narrative.

Recently an emotional post caught my eye. The two or three-line message, already liked by 1.4 thousand readers, claimed that to people leaving their home in search of a job, a single hundred rupees note given by their mother to buy food on the way outweighs the hundreds of thousands rupees already lying in their pocket. I was taken aback! Who carries “hundreds of thousands rupees” in the pocket? And, why someone with that much of money should still be “in search of a job”?     

National newspapers are better, if you read them with an acceptance of their political leanings and the propaganda based thereon. However, many opinions fail to make a connect with me. For example, Karan Thapar, delighted with his stay at the Glenburn Hotel in Kolkata, writes, “There’s a morning room where I breakfasted, reading a three-day old copy of The London Times. It felt more relevant than a contemporary edition of an Indian newspaper!” Later in the same article, he praises the Bengal Club: “It’s a world apart from the Punjabi dhabas that Delhi’s clubs have been reduced to. Here, the British connection is fondly cherished, painstakingly maintained, and thoroughly enjoyed.” He adds about the club, “There wasn’t a kurta-pyjama to be seen. Nor a bhadralok dhoti.” He had a “four-course meal with two wines, and the silver cutlery was resplendently laid on both sides of the shining china plates.” He writes, “We had carrot and celery soup, rock lobsters, roast mutton with cranberry jelly and mint sauce, rounded off with delicate brandy snaps. The evening ended with liqueurs served frappe in crystal glasses with sleek stems.”  Fine, fine, but I care two hoots about frappe and The London Times, knowing fully well that they don’t connect with me.

I know, many of us like to indulge in luxury, feel superior, and forget all worries for some precious moments, and perhaps that was the reason why Mr Thapar shared so many details. But, will the readers feel happy on reading the piece? I sincerely doubt that. They may rather like to show a quiz to Mr Thapar in retaliation. Published in the same issue of the newspaper, the quiz goes: “At Rs.8.3 crore per night, Atlantis the Royal has the most expensive hotel room in the world. The two-level suite has a terrace, an infinity pool, silk wool carpets, gold toothbrushes, Hermés toiletries and a Louis Vuitton Ping-Pong table. Where else but …?”

I will never go to the Glenburn in Kolkata or to the Atlantis the Royal in Dubai. I don’t need to.     

My Child

I dropped Rani and Smriti, and returned. Just fifteen minutes ago the house resonated with activity. And now, it was barren. Fighting tears, I climbed upstairs to Smriti’s room. The blanket was carelessly tossed on one side. The linen was creased. And, the pillow still had a big dimple on it. I caressed the creases and the dimples, and broke into hysterical sobs. How different is Smriti from an ordinary child! She had to lose an academic year on shifting from Delhi to Bangalore, but did not complain. She did not complain when in spite of securing more than 92% marks in the Class XII exam, her name did not figure in the list of candidates shortlisted for medical education. How enthusiastic she was when she appeared in the Design Entrance examination of Symbiosis, and how gracefully she accepted the fact that in spite of being short listed, she did not make it to the final list. I often saw dreams in her eyes – dreams that twinkled like stars, and dreams that died like wrinkled flowers.

I do not know when I will see her next. But I know, things will not be the same any more. It happens with distance. She will be more formal henceforth. She never demanded anything that she felt I would not be able to provide. Now she will be all the more cautious.

Smriti, my child, I wish you the best! I am not a rich man. What I did not give you far outnumbers what I gave you. But, I gave you my love. I will continue giving it till I breathe my last.

A Hearty Meal

With my stock of dostis exhausted, I had a challenge staring at me yesterday night! I had to either cook rice, or make rotis myself, or buy rotis from a shop and eat.

Sleeping with a belly full of rice was not very appealing. Buying just two rotis appeared a little degrading. Moreover, the rotis around my place are mostly made of maida, and are touched by several hands before reaching the customer.

So, I settled for the second option, deciding to make rotis myself.

Though I am well familiar with the nooks and corners of our kitchen, it was difficult to find the tawa (skillet) and the belan (rolling pin). I spent some time looking for that elusive chakla (board), only to realise that we do not possess one! The work is done on the granite slab.

I took some atta and carefully poured some water over it. Then came the stage when it has to be kneaded. It went off well, though a lot of dough got stuck on my fingers, palm, slab, floor, handle of spoon, tap, etc. It required just a dash of water to become perfect. I added water, and to my horror, the thing turned into a solution. I added some more atta, then some more, and then some more. The dough clung to my hand and made it fit to be shot for a scary movie.

Finally, the dough assumed familiar consistency. I cut lois (small portions), and started using the belan. I am very happy to tell you that all rotis turned out to be circular or squarish, and there were absolutely no triangles or rectangles! Usually our rotis are about five inches in diameter. My rotis were varied. The largest turned out to be ten inches in diameter. They were five in all. Had I not added so much of atta, perhaps the dough would have sufficed for only two rotis.

I ate them with relish. They were a little elastic, but were fresh. I saved one for the dogs.

The performance may be repeated tonight!

India Comes Last!

It is said that one must think before one acts. If you are America, you can act first and think later. Or, you need not think at all. After all, you are the big brother! You can act and justify your action with afterthoughts, if you deem fit. In the name of establishing world order, you can topple democratically elected governments, indulge into espionage, and keep next door neighbours at loggerheads to maintain your supremacy.

If you are America, you have the right to preach that while Christians can follow varied political beliefs, Muslims all over the world toe a single political line, and therefore your President can deliver a speech to the ‘Muslim world’! Being the ‘Mr Know All’, you can supply loads and loads of deadly weapons and give billions of dollars of monetary help to Pakistan for fighting terrorism, ignoring the warning from your own sleuths that these are used by the Pakistani army against India and not against terrorists. You can do an encore of the mid sixties, when you supported Pakistan in a similar manner and supplied rotten food grain to India. You can even walk a step further, and suggest De-Militarised Zones on both sides of the Indo-Pak border, knowing fully well that it would increase infiltration of terrorists into India.

And while you take steps that spell doom for India’s security and prosperity, you need not worry about any retaliation from India (not that you ever cared about it!). With so many assembly elections lined up, the ruling UPA is in no mood to waste its time on such issues. The right leaning NDA is too busy in mudslinging over the loss of power that it had so cosily got accustomed to. And, the trigger happy left front, who is quick to call a bandh and damage public property at the drop of a hat, is busy trying to figure out how to contain Mamata Banerjee who threatens to upset its bastion in West Bengal.

Concerns for India come last.

Towards A Strong India

All sorts of reservation policies are tried in our nation. There is reservation for employment, reservation for admission to institutes of higher education, reservation for membership of a parliament seat, reservation for eligibility on accommodation in the train, etc., etc.

Scheduled castes, scheduled tribes, backward classes, women, residents of a particular state, poor, all are supposed to get the benefit of reservation. Discrimination based on gender, caste, economic status, domicile, religion, etc., is expected to vanish with adaptation of the reservation policy.

The fact is, in spite of living half a century with reservation, discrimination stares at us from all angles. It is exploited by different people for different selfish reasons. We still have untouchables who cannot draw water from a well. We have violence against Indians because they moved out of their state. We still have poor dying of hunger.

We are in this state because we are still not aware. We are still not educated. Specially the women, the architects of society. I wonder why India cannot have a much more liberal reservation policy for education? Why cannot we have hundred per cent reservation for education? Let every Indian, be she or he of any caste, religion, economic group, and state, have a seat reserved in a school, in a college, in an institute of higher learning. If we do not have enough resources to fund education for all, let us obtain it through a penalty on all bundhs and activities of damage to public property and peace.

Unless we take a revolutionary step in educating ourselves, we will not be able to build a strong India.

The Way the Cookie Crumbles!

General Elections 2009 are over! All predictions, once again, have proved to be incorrect. The Indian voter has exercised franchise in such a manner that both the winners and the losers stand surprised.

You can say, that's the way the cookie crumbles.

But, there is a method in the madness.

The voter has rewarded virtues such as honesty, competence, and modesty. Arrogance, even of proven performers, and shrill campaigns have found few takers. Those flashing the caste card have been denounced, those encouraging lawlessness have not been favoured.

The voter in India has matured, and has given a clear verdict in favour of stability and development.

Jai Ho!

Just a Small Payment

It started about three years ago!

I was in my office, engrossed in work. I do not have a particularly excellent eyesight. I can’t read well without specs. To top it, my eyesight is worse with specs! So, I tend to stoop at my desk, not allowing more than a ten inch separation between my aging eyes and whatever object I may be looking at. My style of observation has the added advantage of increased concentration. You may safely say that I don’t only look at the object, I even listen to it, though it may be only a piece of paper!

I was engrossed in looking at some paper, when someone knocked. I keep the door of my cabin open, and expect the visitors to just come up to my table, take a seat, and start the conversation from the word go. This saves time on pleasantries that are not meant but yet uttered. My colleagues are aware of my eccentricities and tolerate them.

I looked up. It was not a colleague. The visitor was a young man. A young man, who, perhaps, was short of cash. His necktie was dirty and beyond washing, his shirt collar was black with grime, his leather belt was cheap, and his trousers needed ironing.

Obviously, he was a salesman.

Courtesy demanded that I offer him a seat, and I did. The salesman, a young man of about twenty five, began in his typical salesman rhetoric. He demanded to know how many times I went out to a restaurant, how many times I travelled by air, etc., etc. He demanded information of very personal nature, and I was reluctant to share it with an outsider generations younger to me. But the young man was persistent, and I ended up supplying all the information to him.

The young man produced some papers, asking me details and scribbling. Finally, he thrust a bunch of forms under my nose. “Sign here”, he commanded. “But I don’t need a credit card”, I retorted.

“Sir, you are getting it freeeeee”, he smiled, as if he were informing that I had become the President of my country.

“Free or paid, I do not need another card”, I protested.

He looked at me with pity. “What is the harm if you have a card?”, he asked.

“Well, I already have some. And, while you claim that it is free, you will ask for money when it becomes due for renewal next year.”

“I will not ask for money, Sir”. The man was confident.

I thought it over. Yes, what would be the harm if I possess another card? If I accept the card, the poor fellow may get some much needed commission, I thought, and signed on the dotted lines.

The young man was correct. He never asked me for money. The card provider did. Every year, without fail. I kept on paying, before finally deciding to put a stop this year. I refused to accept the card. The company sent a letter informing that it had received the card back. And sent me another notice to pay. Followed by another notice. And another. And another.

Isn’t it a bit too familiar?

My Last Salute

Till yesterday I did not know who Unnikrishnan was. Or, Major Unnikrishnan, for that matter. I heard his name for the first time yesterday.

He was fighting terrorists in a Mumbai hotel. He saw a colleague getting injured and rushed to his help. The bullets found him. Major died doing his duty.

Today morning as I crossed the crematorium, I found the army band taking position. A few kilometres later, a flower bedecked army vehicle passed me.

My eyes swelled with tears. I am not an army man, but gave the Major a salute. As best as I could. I had lost someone who I wish was my own.

I will follow your example, Major. I will help my countrymen, and do my duty. Without worrying about what I would get in return.

India will produce lakhs of Major Unnikrishnans and Field Marshal Sam Manekshaws. We will win.

My last salute to you, Major. You will live for ever.

Strange but True

It was summer.

Summer in India can be harsh, but it is specially so in the steel city of Jamshedpur. Those who can, take leave and go to cooler places during the harsh season.

I had also taken leave, but for an entirely different reason. I was sick. Bed ridden, in fact.

Till about six months ago, when I had got married, I had a lithe physique. I enjoyed my work that involved a lot of travelling on dusty roads. It was usual for me to cover four hundred kilometres in an Ambassador car four days every week and then spend eleven hours in the office on the remaining days to complete the paperwork. I was a lonely bachelor. The lifestyle suited me well.

My parents lived in Delhi. My father remained occupied with his office throughout the day. My mother, alone in the house, would keep track of my movements through phone calls to my colleagues. And the day she would find me in the office, we would talk happily for very long hours.

And then, I had fallen sick. It appeared to be a simple illness in the beginning. Bouts of cough, general weakness, etc. Every day I felt I would be fit to go to the office the next day, but even taking a small step would appear to be a big challenge the next morning. I started losing weight rapidly. Within two months, I was reduced to 49 kilograms from 67.

My mother regularly called up the office. My colleagues initially told her that I was down with flu. Later, to not to unduly worry her, they would say that I was on tour. This continued for some time. Finally, one fine morning my parents landed at my house.

They were stunned! It seemed to them that I was making a determined progress towards death. My entire body was continuously trembling. Doctors, having failed to diagnose the disease, were prescribing medication of various types on a hit-and-trial basis. Obviously, my condition was beyond the control of doctors.

She observed me for two days. On the third day, she made me stand in the courtyard. She was heartbroken. Looking at the summer sky she spoke loudly, not to anyone in particular, “I do not know what has caused my son’s illness; but I ask for him to be forgiven, and offer myself instead.” I was too weak to stand on my feet, but the pathos in her voice sank deep within me.

My parents escorted me to Delhi. They consulted several doctors, and I started regaining health. Within a few months I was hale and hearty, engrossed in work, as if nothing wrong had ever happened to me. I did speak to mother whenever time permitted, but as months passed, increased work pressure and the birth of my son shortened the conversations.

Once on a tour to a Tata office, I was handed over a wireless message stating that my mother was seriously ill. Devastated, I flew to Delhi. She had vomited blood and was hospitalised. I ensured that she was shifted to a better hospital and received good treatment. However, her condition continued to worsen. She started bleeding from everywhere. Within ten days, she passed away, leaving me at her bedside.

Doctors declared that she died of cirrhosis of liver, and asked whether she was an alcoholic.

My mother had never touched alcohol in her life!