A Case of Managerial Guilt

A Case of Managerial Guilt

Who's the Boss?

Who’s the Boss? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is a story of people management.

I was posted as a manager in a regional office of a bank. Within the organization, I had earned a reputation as a dynamic officer and was consequentially, rewarded with the charge of a regional office.  Something to be proud of for a young aspirant. I was ambitious; had a career to  look forward to; a hierarchical position to reach. I used to be a reputed disciplinarian then who insisted on efficiency, efficacy and punctuality. Set an example myself. Walked the talk. I knew that my 20 odd staff who worked in my office admired me. Internally, I was proud of myself, a young professional or ‘yuppie’.

Among the staff was Venky, a forty year old officer who had been in the office for longer years than anyone else. On the day of my reporting, I observed that he was rather casual in his dress and indifferent to me in approach. Unlike the rest, he did not seem to bother much for the new ‘boss’. There was a sense of ‘deja vu’ in his eyes. As a young , fast rising  yuppie, my ego was hurt.

Venky thus moved over to my caution list. Over the next few days, I observed Venky to be a habitual latecomer, coming in between thirty to forty minutes late every morning. The office had no arrival- departure check in; our system was built on employee trust. I felt that this habitual lack of punctuality was a breach of trust.

I tried to check up on his back office desk whether he was up to date (you may call me a ‘snoopervisor‘;  an act  unbecoming of a supervisor, but a yuppie has to have a self preservation instinct);  I found that his desk had no arrears of work. I was not satisfied with my research;  I felt that office protocol was being subjected to strain by Venky.

In two weeks,   I observed that  he left office a couple of days early- by 2 hours!. I checked up with the human resource (HR)  officer on the irregular  habits of Venky. To my assessment, the HR Officer seemed hand in glove! As a matter of fact, he stated that  Venky did come late “occasionally”. He clarified that Venky was working in the back office “Sir, we are aware of his late coming habits and have posted him in the back office to avoid any customer interactions”:. The HR officer’s answer seemed evasive and added to my irritation. ‘This HR is ‘accomodative’ , I  thought to myself.

As a young,  aspiring, manager, I decided that I had to intervene. A message had to be conveyed to all. This attitudinal problem with Venky was an opportunity. This had to be set right in larger interests of the office. I instructed the HR Officer to suitably advise Venky and to record in his file that he had advised him.

Venky had by now moved up to the top of my black list. I began monitoring his arrivals and departures. Two weeks later, he was late again. I thought there was a challenge to authority implied there.

I summoned the errant official for an official  chat. Venky seemed glazed as I sought explanation. His silence was deafening and defiant. He would not meet me in the eye. “You have been warned by HR”, I provoked. He was silent and seemed impatient to be done with. “Next time you are late, I may not appreciate it”, I continued. Silence again. My advice seemed to be gone with the wind.

Two weeks later, I noticed he was late on two consecutive days. That, I decided was my ‘Venky moment’. I called in the HR officer and ordered the Venky be issued an official warning.  The HR  officer seemed to be  uncomfortable and pleaded that this letter be withheld for a few days. He pleaded that Venky was current in his work.

” Why delay such action?” , I countered. ” We need  to  drive home to everyone that we are serious about maintaining office etiquette”. I insisted that I sign the letter the very same day. The HR  officer, reluctant though, complied. I left that evening with a sense of achievement . I had  again proved myself a strong and effective manager.

The day after

Through out the next day,  cold stares seemed to greet me. Suddenly, I seemed to have lost my colleagues. The warmth in their eyes seemed replaced by some shade of insecurity. Staff seemed even reluctant to respond to my greetings. Eyes looked away.

I called Ms Barve, my secretary to my office. Usually quite enthusiastic, even she seemed reticent to communicate. As the head of the office, I knew I had to seek reasons. I could not antagonize all. I confidentially sought reasons for this divide. Initially she was reluctant. But then someone had to tell me.

“The staff feel that action was quite hasty. You have not understood the man. You are not aware that Venky has a special needs kid. Venky takes this kid of his to the school everyday. Some days, the boy is emotional; he yells and cries and then Venky remains in school till he calms down. Some days, the boy suddenly is upset at school and he gets a call from the teacher there and he has to rush and take the kid home to calm him down… we all have normal children so we do not realise the angusih of the parent”…

That was a tanker of cold, icy water being directed at me. I knew instanteneously that I had taken an ill informed decision. In my megalomania, I seemed to have wronged him. I needed to defend myself from my guilt. So I asked Mrs Barve  ”Why did he not tell me?”.

“He swore us to secrecy not to pass this info to you. He is a man of immense self respect. He says he does not need to exploit the office on sentiments. He told the HR officer not to reveal but to go ahead and issue the memo as that is proper office procedure. He said he respected your desire to send a proper message to staff on punctuality,” she said as she left.

I stared at the ceiling.

Was Venky’s  secretive nature inappropriate?

Should the HR officer have been more transparent?.

As a task driven manager, was I insensate, callous?

Should I withdraw the letter and the warning from the file?

Should I call Venky and apologise?

Daily Prompt: Erasure

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Schadenfreude- a pleasure derived from the misfortune of others …

Schadenfreude- a pleasure derived from the misfortune of others …

Dance of the Blessed Spirits

Dance of the Blessed Spirits (Photo credit: code poet)

We wait with glee in expectation of the other person to trip.

We know he is going all wrong. We could correct him.We could  point out to him his mistake.

We may have the ability to influence him ; to hold him back from the path downhill.

We could perhaps even issue a ‘cease and desist’

Yet we choose not to so do.

It is a ‘ set up to fail’ syndrome.

We realize that he is about to make a fool of himself.

Internally, we are proud of ourselves, of our superior intellect. We know.

We sit back and relax as he presents himself before an audience.

We desire eagerly that others come to know that he does not know.

Then we see him stumble, then tumble. That is a delectable spectacle.

Quietly, to oneself, it is victory time for  us.

Celebrations of the avertable adversity befalling an adversary.

The demonstration of demonic prowess within us.

This is but a pyrrhic win. For we have lost the moral right.

All that we gained we lost to ourselves even as we won.

That is an irrational, inhumane  triumph of deceit.

This post is part of Prompts for the Promptless – Ep. 3 – Schadenfreude over at Rarasaur’s blog

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The Climb up in Life

Barefoot climb.
Steep plane vertical.
Holding onto slippery rails.
Hills Blue and Black.
Dark, deep forests swaying wild.
Hot rocks smouldering.
Stones simmering in noon heat.
Lone companion on a long trudge .
Looking for the crest.
Elusive with every step.
Yet higher the ascend.
Hear the irregularity of breath.
The blaze of a fire.
Then the Sight of the Invisible.

A Security Guard’s Story

I am a security guard at the Debit and Credit Bank.
I earn a decent , minimal salary in these times of recession.
My monthly pay packet is fair enough to take home after tax deductions.
I pay taxes so that the bank where I work can be sustained through Government funding.
I am told that as a taxpayer I own quite a substantial number of shares in this DC Bank.
So I sit through the night and guard the bank which I own as a taxpayer. I guard so that external brigands do not plunder.
Everyday, I watch in awe as these blue suited, dignified looking, learned but taciturn bankers move out in hordes in the evenings.
I stay behind television screens and read newspapers ( I read as I am lonely in the darker hours of night as I struggle to keep awake)… read that my bank is paying its investment bankers $ 250 million as bonuses…It is about performance related pay… (PRP)
It is paying $ 400 million as fines for rigging the ‘Libor’…
It is creating a reserve of $ 1 billion to protect the bank from mis-sellings in insurance and swaps… ( I do not understand these words…so these might be very technical terms to understand and implement… that is why these bonuses are paid) ; banks are ambiguous; banks are complex.. they mis- sell; I mis-read!.

An Author and his work…

Is it vanity? Or is it creativity? This urge to write…
Even if it is vanity, (my friend Patrick feels it is so) , it keeps my mind active.
I am compelled to think. I am compelled to think as I type.
To blog , I have to read too. So I end up reading and writing.
That is a good thing to do in a swift transforming world.
This is the age of discontinuity as Toffler said.
So I try to change myself.
I want to change from a mundane being to an intellectual tortoise.
I cannot change others.
I can change myself.

Time Barred : Humility

As I realize that my pride has slipped,
Down the ravines of vanity dropped,
I look around in helplessness-
At achievement carcasses!
Strewn around me in defiance,
Reminding me of chance and mischance,
Of death, I had dictated yester year
Now beckons me and I shrink in fear,
Hollow roars of my forgotten brags-
Echoes of avenged ghosts now in rags,
Stare at bottomless abyss of despair,
I can look back at a muddy arrogant pyre,
Storms – of shrieks, of stills, of pangs
The futility- of frills, of frivolous, of fangs.

My Friend’s Entreaties

Recession: When will you reverse to return my lost job?
Head hunters: Do not fold up as yet as I would have no more doors to knock.
Tele interviewers: do not be insincere and pretend that I am good and yet not offer me.,.
Friends: Do not whisper at my incompetence.
Parents: Do not grieve as a quarter of a centum are unemployed.
Trade : will ships and containers move?
Car Dealers: will you sell more for the confidence factor?
Purchase Managers: At least say you will buy more.
Fed: please ease quantities of hopes.
Cliff hangers: please do not fling us on…
to the abyss of uncertainty.

No herd to follow: i stand at cross roads.

The Elephant Story

I have two drivers- or mahouts who are supposed to take care of me, domesticated elephant that I am. The elderly senior mahout is a kind man but asleep most often. He gives me food and then goes off to sleep under the tree or sometimes even in my shade. It is not sleep but slumber. The old man, as Aldous Huxley, noted is a log. Often times, he chains me to the tree and goes to visit his mistress leaving me at the mercy of the callous second mahout.

The younger, second mahout is a stork, in Huxley’s words. He is a more recent recruit. He is raw and cruel. He is intent on nay, obsessed with, control. He keeps the power rods with himself though I have always heard that by tradition only the senior mahout must retain or use these. The elder one has virtually abdicated in favor of inexperience…He looks keen to retire and this hollow guy would then be promoted… cannot even think.

This young fellow oft looks me in the eye and says menacingly that he would set me right. Ambitious and keen on proving his elephant driving abilities, he hurts me between my ears at times and often times drives the stick into my nails. Excruciating pain… He uses the curved hook and the poles to harm me. It pains me. He is arrogant; thinks he knows. He really does not. As the bent iron nail drills through my skin and flesh, dammed tears fill my eyes. The senior mahout , whenever he wakes up, shouts at the junior mahout for the bruises evident on my body and then goes back either to sleep or visit his other mistress.

I am aware that have long tusks. I sometimes feel like goring the second mahout. I know I have a long trunk. I could lift him and throw him off. Should I do that… or should I just scare him? the balance of terror… I know my strength.

My thoughts often make me sad: even lions respected my forefathers. And this puny, short little fella thinks he can dictate… But then, before I got trapped, my herd, my pride taught me that the powerful are patient. Only the strong can forgive.