Survival Skill

Some time back my friend Rajeev sent me a forward. About life in the corporate world.  Around the same time I too had been mulling over the days I spent in the corporate world. I have straddled with equal ease, now I realize, Public and Private sector, Banking and Non- Banking.  I found life interesting, worthless, comical, idiosyncratic, meaningless, rewarding …….you name it. It is much the same everywhere.

When I left the protected world of Public Sector Banking and jumped into the unknown Private – Proprietary, de facto, as closely held by the promoters- I was warned by many well meaning friends that I wouldn’t last long. My answer to them was – what choice I had? - and who would have thought I would have to walk out of the safe havens of the ‘nothing will affect’ Premier Government Bank.  In the circumstances that I left the cocoon and jumped into world of the unknown, I was charged with a desire for retribution and determination to prove a point… that there is life   outside the PSU, worth giving a try.

I left the ‘cocoon’ for all the wrong reasons. I had just been promoted to the next higher grade- many a peer fell by the side- which could open to me at least two more promotions before superannuation. I thought that was a great reward for my work but the local higher ups thought otherwise. I was dispatched, as it was the wont, to a distant ‘foreign’ land, the North-East. But I never imagined that I was to be the scapegoat in a three way tug of war of the State Government, the management and the Officer’s Union in finding a person to head a branch in a disturbed capital town.  Parochial considerations would also have played a role. To the utter disappointment (surprise!)  of the contending parties I chose not to play sport. I refused to be the sitting duck and dodged the posting to my best. When I found I had unwittingly become the fourth contending party and there was no escape, I put in my papers.  Back to square one, the other parties, with the onerous task of finding another potential victim.  And me, out into the wild. That in short is the story of my straying out.

During my last years in the Bank I had opportunities to be exposed to new management theories. Consultants were dime a dozen. The sleeping giant was set to wake up. Transformation and Business Process Re-engineering were the buzzwords. The existing organizational set up and business plans were all the works of domestic homegrown consultants. And not suited for a bank aspiring to go World Class. In these times of Globalization only a global name would work…..so came in McKinsey . Everything looked fine till they started tampering with the nomenclature of the hierarchy.  Managing Directors became Chief Officers in their area of responsibility. What a let down!

Meaningless processes and rules-as felt by the consultants- were to be discarded. The Bible of the Bank- the book of instructions, upon which most of us had sworn our allegiance - went into cold storage.  Re-Engineering the Corporation took its place.  The talk of value-adding the customer, value chains, core competencies, paradigm shift and so on were bandied about. It didn’t matter to these worthies that originators of BPR had moved on to Beyond Re-engineering and the peddler of Core Competencies was toying with core incompetencies. As long as they, yours truly included, mouthed these jargons they were considered moving with the times. The others who still swore by the Book and the traditional banking were considered unfashionable. Well, this was the atmosphere prevailing when I left the bank. In my wildest of dreams did I ever think of revisiting the fad management theories let alone be a most willing participant?. No. But that was what it was to be. That’s the story of another post.

My moment of F(l)ame

The flames that consumed the Lokpal Draft finds its match only in the fury of the Australian brushfire. The carbon gases emitted would have been adequate to wipe out all the carbon credits earned by Indian Corporates so far. All the electronic annual reports and direct credit of dividends to bank accounts went naught. Well, the civil society cannot be expected to behave civil always. Bills can’t be torched on facebook or twitter. On occasions they need to express their ire by fire on the streets also.

That brings to my mind how I narrowly missed my moment of f(l)ame during college days.  We were a small group charged with secular progressive ideology; or so we thought during those days.  We could never have won college elections and were an inconsequential minority whose voice never mattered. We lacked the organizational skills of Kejriwal or the dramatics of Bedi to convert a simple villager wearing a Gandhi cap into a cult overnight. We didn’t have the wherewithal to call for a strike and if we did, the consequences could be serious. Those days the Principal did matter. He could rusticate you and that would be the end of your dreams to a degree. Only your parent’s entreaties could make him alter his decision. This in a nutshell is the background information.

Our group was itching to mark our presence in the campus. In academics and extra curricular activities our individual members did make a mark. But as a group we had no voice. It was around this time that the monthly college news paper came out with an editorial which we considered offensive. It was about the formation of the new Calicut University. The editorial cast serious aspersions about the secular nature of the University. This was a Godsend opportunity for us.

Before anybody could take up the issue we decided to act. But how?  A strike?  We didn’t have the strength. Gherao the Principal? We didn’t have the guts. A fast to death didn’t look cool. Gandhiji or Gandhigiri had not become a craze then, four decades back, as it is now.

It was then that somebody came up with the idea: Burn the Paper!  Inside the college campus, with all the fanfare that we could command.  A senior chap, politically correct, suggested that before we do anything drastic we need to exhaust the usual remedies. Make a representation to the Principal. There were dissenting notes as the dissenters felt that the surprise element would be lost. Nevertheless, the senior’s voice did carry weight. We sought an audience, but our reputation was so great that it was promptly turned down.  We then waited for the Principal to make his rounds and accosted him in the verandah. We made our point but the Principal dared us to go with our protest. We claimed we represent “the students” as Team Anna says they represent “the people”. The principal had a Diggy Raja (Singh) trait in him and we were dismissed with contempt.

Back to square one, we made our future plans. Before the opening bell we were to shout slogans and make a bonfire of the paper in the college quadrangle.  And thereafter what?  We were blank. We had no road map or new issues to rake up. Cut to the present there is no dearth of issues to fight for … electoral reforms, right to service, right to food security, right to education…..all unheard of those days. Right to strike work was the only mantra of the times.

The next day with great trepidation the small group assembled outside the college campus. Unlike now , where the visual media directs the show , the angles , the sound bites and the protestors and the police are only the dramatis personae , those days there was not even a beat reporter of the local eveninger to cover our show.  Altogether, a surcharged yet depressing atmosphere in our camp.

It was then to our great relief the anti-climax unfolded. The Principal put a corrigendum on the notice board that an article which inadvertently found its way to the editorial did not represent College view point and was the personal view of the contributor! No word of regret though! We claimed credit and called off our protest with great sense of relief .Did the Principal capitulate to our demand? If he did, he surely overestimated our strength and capacity to carry forward. Or was it a clever move by the Principal to dissipate a budding group.  Well, we made a point, however chimeral it may look now.  But was that what we really wanted? Beyond the issue did we cherish an urge to be counted? What ever be it, we missed our moment of f(l)ame.

The Aftermath

It has been three months since I have been away from my blog. During these times I have had very less access to my comp. A quick check of the mails, a stealthy visit to the face book or a hurried glance of the stories …..this has been my routine. The change has been caused by the onslaught of the hurricane which I forecast a couple of months back.  I have been busy with my grand children, all of 6 years between them. With the rains keeping them indoors most of the time, it has been the responsibility of the grand parents to keep the brats adequately engaged. Not an easy task, as they can be hands full if they so decide. 

 Television is out of bounds …restricted to just one hour between 9 and 10 Pm to get them adequately subdued for the night’s sleep. Mostly, Hindi reality shows, which would not seek to expand their knowledge of curse words.  The X Factor or Kaun Banega Crorepati. They also love to watch the cookery shows.  No surfing the channels, as they love to watch the ads also, much to my discomfiture.  

The outdoors are mostly temples which they seem to like. So much so, that the general refrain on a bright day is…Which temple are we going today?  They seem to be generally outdoor creatures, especially the Hotel lobbies or restaurants which they appropriate to themselves. They make friends with the bearers and charm their way to quick and speedy service. When visiting relatives they expertly make their way to the kitchen and ask……… What can we have to eat?

Between them they fight but would not allow third party mediation. Very often they gang up to extract a story or a play act from their grand parents. The grandfather is made to act as ‘the enormous turnip’, the giant from ‘Jack and the beanstalk’ or the ‘sly fox’             as the story demands. He sees ‘mean looking fellows’ with ‘unruly hair’ all around. Straight from Enid Blyton story he overheard being read out to his sister.

Nik is very reasonable while making demands. The other day I heard his grand mother tell him …    “Nik ! If you start fussing I’m not making Gulab Jamun at all. Stop now and I promise to make it tomorrow.”  No issues for him. Not for him ‘my way or the high way’. He promptly agreed but with a small twist:  “Ok Ammama, I stop fussing, but I want tomorrow, Now”  What do you say to this?

They are at their extreme boisterous behavior towards the night when the whole colony has gone to sleep.   Nothing can stop them from their shouts and shrieks except the fear of the bogeyman, now with diminishing returns. My daughter says, their behavior, at times, comes in handy too when they have an unwelcome late night guest. Not for us, used to the tranquil nights in Manisseri!

  

A week almost now, I have the comp all to myself. The remote is safe in my hands but not the excitement in surfing channels. We have the tranquil nights back but that’s not what we look forward to these days. The silence is deafening.

Season of Protests

I have been feeling slightly down cast these days.  A sense of uneasiness or perhaps an inferiority complex as any Behavioral Therapist would easily point to. Before you jump into further conclusions let me tell you it’s all about my inability (again a contrarian?)  to see eye to eye with many of my friends…..on raging current issues, be it India Against Corruption, Food Security, Money stashed abroad or the Wikileaks. And why I write this now is because I have not been a great supporter of Anna Hazare’s movement. And this precisely is the cause of minor quarrels at home. For, I have not participated in a sit-in or lit a candle. Neither have I joined the Facebook group to support the anti corruption drive.  My wife feels I have missed the bus and when the movement comes to power I would be one in the firing line, hopefully a little away from the point blank range. Some consolation.

It is not that I’m not against corruption. But it is the definition of corruption that bothers me.  From petty corruption to massive swindling. Sleaze, bribery, fraud, petty theft. The list is endless. Would I fall into any of these categories?  Or would some misdeeds be excluded from the purview   so that there will be still some left in the movement? I wouldn’t worry too much as the core group will burn the midnight oil over these minor issues. They will, for sure, come out with some innovative ways of ‘eradicating’ corruption. And not just newer and stiffer punishments which we all know are not effective deterrents. I would keep my fingers crossed.

I never thought corruption is such a high brow subject with many nuances , has class conflict characteristics and philosophical undertones until I came across ,in the internet,  a paper titled ‘The Social Construction of Corruption’ by Prof  Mark Granovetter of the Stanford University. I won’t burden my very few readers with the gravitas of the paper, save quote: “yet it is common in human history that groups with conflicting interests present different sets of standards for what behavior is appropriate, and label behavior that benefits competing groups as illegitimate or more specifically “corrupt”.”

Again it was around the same time that I came across a very novel idea mooted by none other than Dr Kaushik Basu, Chief Economic Advisor, Ministry of Finance.  I found this absolutely radical and out of the box.  Make bribe giving legal! Don’t knit your eyebrows too soon… Not all kinds of bribery, but the petty ones; what the Dr. terms as ‘harassment bribery’.  A kind of speed money you have to part with to get a certificate, a tax refund or a bank loan. By making ‘payment of such bribes legal, the giver gets immunity while the taker does not’. Dr Basu avers this divergence of positions could be a deterrent to the bribe taker. The immunity is not to be retrospective and the details yet to be worked out. Make no mistake, this loud thinking by the learned Dr. has already met with stiff opposition from the moral brigade.  I’m, however, an enthusiast and would like to give this a try.

If I were to confess retrospectively on my misdemeanors I would have a few cases to report. These are not bribe taking instances and some are not related to bribery at all.  And pray what are my misdeeds? Obtention of a railway berth through a tout, an unauthorized electric connection, an out of turn gas cylinder and may be a few more similar ones if I rack my brain really hard.  When the matter of my not joining the sit-in was discussed I confessed to my wife I could not be considered blemishless and as such it would be hypocracy if I shouted “Bhrashtachar Murdabad”. Her response: “Only Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion and not Caesar”

Her latest take on the subject is that since I missed the Anna bus I should atleast jump on to the Baba wagon.  Something unthinkable for me.  But I had to do something to buy peace. It was around this time that the “Bodies of the Soil (copy right: my friend Kozhipurath Rajagopal) issue cropped up…. Ivor Madom crematorium won’t take bodies from outside the Panchayat any more. A body blow to many of us who had mentally reserved a nook for our heavenly journey!  Taking up the cause the local Citizens group decided to go in for a ‘Dharna’ demanding construction of a decent crematorium in my home town

Not to miss the God sent opportunity and more so to buy peace than to heed the still, small inner voice, I joined the sit-in in front of the Municipal office. None could fault me for this and there is truce at home. For the time being!

Hurricane NiNa

We have just been warned. About the impending storm. The severity has not been forecast. The land fall is expected in a month. We get daily alerts and   situation reports.  We are brazing up for the event and looking forward to it with great anticipation. The alert is about the impending visit of our two grand children and their parents on their annual holiday.  When we saw them off last, one was a sweet play school girl and the other just about on his feet. Now the elder girl, Nandini, is in her LKG and the younger boy, Nikhil, just made his foray into the play school.  Between them they are a bit of an ambush squad. 

During their last visit, which was a year back, they had not yet teamed up into the deadly duo. Other than pulling down my computer key board, dismantling my small pocket radio, running away with the mobile phone or the remote control or subjecting the walls to their art work, they had not been into any major destructive activity. Not so now, we are told.

A small update:

Nandini would go to sleep only after the usual quota of the same story- alert at pointing out even a minute deviation. She likes it without any change from the original.  She would start a conversation by asking you seemingly simple but profound questions that could shatter the foundations of the universe. What? Why?  The ‘What?’ questions are more or less harmless and are endless. Like what did the pussycat say to the puppy? What did the puppy’s mother say? And so on. It’s the ‘Whys?’ which take the life out of you.  Mercifully she is past the ‘Why’ stage. 

Her brother is not the questioning type. He is action oriented. I understand that he is more into ‘deconstruction’ / reverse engineering or finding innovative ways of playing with his toys.  (Like Derrida, the French philosopher, I’m averse to use the word destruction, and therefore, deconstruction. Similarly reverse engineering for dismantling.  After all, who knows, Nik might even turn out to become a great scientist!)

Nandini is more into arts. She likes to paint. (I’ve preserved her first effort, though the fresco has been painted off.).She attends a Bhajan class every Saturday and knows a few patriotic songs. Her favorite is ‘Jana Gana Mana” which she sings not less than half a dozen times at a stretch and expects us, at the other end of the Yahoo Messenger, to be in attention. She likes to play act her teacher with Nikhil, a reluctant student.  He is often game as he gets an opportunity to handle her crayons. Both have picked up a few words from their Hindi speaking teacher/ friends. They like to utter words such as ‘chup baito’ or ‘shut up’ which they know are a taboo at home. They can be a boisterous, marauding squad as their Doctor discovered recently, much to the discomfiture of their parents. Being frequent visitors they had developed great camaraderie with the Doctor.

Both are keen observers. Nandini liked the white bridal gown of Kate Middleton although she felt if she were to wear it she would like it shorter! Looking at the chorus boys she asked…Why are they looking so sad, Amma?  Nik felt that Princess Anne resembled the child catcher and he didn’t want to look at the TV any more! Nik can identify alphabets, particularly if it happens to be M, written in the manner of McDonalds! Once he told, looking at the Gurvayoorappan photo, “Amma, the Ambatty is smiling at me. Why?”  Another occasion he declared, peeping   through the windows, on a rare bright day with a clear sky-- “Amma, look the sky is falling!  He can become Hanuman or a cricketer, any instant, with the aid of kitchen gadgets usually kept out of his reach.

I have mentioned just a few of the instances from the situation report shared by our daughter during the daily chat. She says these are just the curtain raisers. Mentally and physically we are getting ready for the event. I surfed the net for some information on what people do when they get a hurricane warning. They fortify their homes, stock essential water and ration and keep praying that the storm doesn’t leave a trail of destruction. We are following suit. We have arranged with our carpenter to fix an extra barricade for the stair case railing, wicket gates for the sit out, moved the breakables into the loft and kept our books locked in a glass cupboard with a fervent prayer that they won’t take a fascination for the books.  Well, as the saying goes: Expect the unexpected! Keep your fingers crossed.

The Oracle: a flash back

Nirmalyam, an epoch making film of the seventies won’t be made again, much less shown in the theatres of Kerala. The reasons are two fold: one, the story is no longer contemporary –that’s the subject of my post- and two, I doubt, the present religious (Hindu) awakening will permit such a film being shown without a cut. Kerala society has moved on so much since the seventies, thanks to the dilution of Marxist dogma with liberal ideological moorings, that even the hard core Marxist is temple going and sports the sacred sandal paste on his forehead. In such a revivalist point of time, it is doubtful whether the ordinary Hindu will   tolerate the perceived blasphemy of the Velichapadu (Oracle). Such is the intolerance that has crept into the society that MT, the author, director and producer of the movie would consider it a misadventure not worth taking.

Nirmalayam is the story of an impoverished Velichapadu, set in the backdrop of a village temple in ruins and the people around it, who depend on the meager income of the temple to eke out a living. The temple has fallen on lean days with fewer devotees thronging in. With poverty stalking at their doors, the son of the Oracle turns into a rebel, a deviant; the daughter falls an easy prey to the charms of the young temple priest. Amidst the despondency, all that the Oracle is looking forward to is a resurgence of faith among the villagers which could brighten his fortunes. As if in answer to his prayers or as a result of the wrath of the deity, the village is afflicted by small pox. The villagers turn to their Oracle to appease the deity. This was the moment the oracle was waiting for, his moment of glory!  Fully charged, he rushes home to get his temple sword, only to find the money lender walking out of the house, satiated by his (oracle’s) wife who had sold her body to discharge the family debt. Utterly defeated and shattered, he pours his pent up fury into the ritualistic frenzied dance, slashing his forehead repeatedly with the sword and splashing and spitting the blood on to the deity till he falls dead. A very powerful end which stunned the audience! And for his powerful acting as Velichapadu, P J Antony walked away with the National Best Actor award.

Well, as I said in the beginning this story no longer holds good. The story of Nirmalyam came to me as a flash back, during the local temple festival. The oracle of the temple is a stocky young man who is in business almost all the days of the week.  On Chuttuvilakku (adorning the whole temple walls with oil lamps) days, for which there is a waiting list of devotees,   he performs the ritualistic dance. It is then that the deity speaks through him to the devotee. The devotees, blessed by the deity, make liberal offerings. During the festival season the Oracle goes around the village showering blessings and collecting offerings to the temple and to him. Devotees vie with each other in their offerings and devotion.  No wonder the modern day oracle is a far cry from the Nirmalyam days. He moves around in his private conveyance, has all the modern amenities at home and a happy contended family. 

If MT decides to remake Pallivalum Kalchilambukalum, he might have to change the script a bit, though, to make it contemporary. And sure it will not have a torrid ending!   

ദി പറമ്പന്‍ അടി ( Helicopter Shot)

I have been no fan of the slam bang cricket. I grew up with the test match cricket, the only form of cricket those days. Those were the days of Bapu Nadkarni, Mansur Alikhan Pataudi, Nari Contractor, Faroukh Engineer et al. They played for days together against mighty opponents, very often with no results. Either the rains came to their rescue or Nadkarni produced a mighty spell of maiden overs.

The game was enjoyed on the running commentary of a Sardendu Sanyal, Balu Alagannan or a Suresh Saraiya with statistics provided by the AIR statistician who was known by the name Mama. In the news papers the commentary was very often by Rajan Bala, Raju Bharathan or KN Prabhu. The 5 day match had a day off and the last match in a series had six days to produce a result. You could very often skip a large portion of the game and still not miss the vital action. With figures which read 29 overs, 26 maidens, and no wickets for three runs from Bapu Nadkarni, you could carry on with your daily chores and still be with the game.

Then came the 50 over limited over cricket and the television. And the game changed beyond recognition.  The gentlemen in white transformed into men in blue or orange or whatever colour you chose. The umpires also transformed, some wearing Emirates Air logo. The players have all sorts of corporate emblems on all visible parts of their body. And they come armoured like the ancient Greek soldier. Some with weird hairdos and some with appalling tattoos.  Some sported talismans a la Bhappi Lahiri.

  

The instant variety T20 was soon to follow. Except that they play with a bat and a ball, this fun game, more of an entertainment, has very less to do with cricket. The game is over in minutes and if you perchance dozed off a while, or blinked, you would have missed the turning point in the game.And then the replay of replays, frame by frame, millimeter by millimeter! And the game is analysed ball by ball by experts, some  fully attired and by some who would have their dress precariously held together.

This game throws out unlikely, unheard of heroes and is no respecter of form , style or reputation! Paul (not the Octopus of the FIFA 2010 World cup) the hero, so far, of the IPL 2011 brings me memories of Kunju, my friend and couple of years senior to me in school. I had just joined my village school after a stint in the Town. I had brought a cricket bat, a cork ball and a little knowledge of the game when I landed at my ancestral home to pursue schooling. After a briefing on the nuances of the game, Kunju was invited to play the game in the yard. I bowled the first ball at Kunju expecting a wicket, but to the dismay of the small group of aspiring cricketers, the ball was never to be seen again. And Kunju was not welcome anymore! Kunju would have surely made it to one of the IPL teams if he were to be spotted today. 

POST SCRIPT (2021)

10 years hence ,my grandson Nikhil  (12), a cartoon enthusiast (Mario Miranda fan) was inspired to draw Kunju hitting the helicopter shot and the fielding side looking stunned. Mario's trademark dog looking bored and unmoved.  The 1950s in Nikhil's imagination. Here is his sketch: