Category Archives: Short Story

A Case of Managerial Guilt
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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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The Mentor
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The Mentor

Double bokeh

(Photo credit: Daniel*1977)

This is a story now several years old. I was then an Asian bank trainee lost in the posh and elegant glass rimmed offices of a European city. I had been deputed by my institution to absorb elements of international finance.

In my mind, as I set out for this training exposure, I had an unwritten internal agenda: obtain the secrets of Teutonic competence and replicate it in my Asian environment. I had to break their ‘efficiency’ code. I observed everything they did, took notes and absorbed.  Imitation is the best form of flattery. I had always admired the European ability to work hard and smart and had attributed this resolute effectiveness  to the foundations laid down by Calvinism. Expertise would be my takeaway, I decided internally.

I would spend several hours staring at rapidly changing Bloomberg and Reuter screens trying to decipher what and why and how international markets were pulsating to buy and sell assets. The markets those days went to dizzying levels as swarms of dealers from Sydney to London hounded Sterling in some concerted move crafted by the hedge funds. “This is the time to learn”,  the bankers told me.

The work at the bank was strenuous.  Given my low level of exposure,   I seemed to comprehend market dynamics rather slowly. I had several nagging doubts on the occurrences even as the market rushed past at a frantic pace.

The trader who was officially designated to mentor me was an experienced hand named Patrick. Patrick, however, seemed to be extremely busy. This busy nature of his duties made him rather reluctant to respond to my nagging doubts.  He advised me to just sit quietly and observe whatever he was doing. Often, he would indicate that I should listen in with the extra cord to listen in to telephonic conversations he had with dealers. Otherwise, I just had no mentoring!

Having only limited experience to international markets, I had several nagging and lingering doubts. I tried to seek my mentor’s answers, but it looked like Patrick was  annoyed (or was it irritated) at my volley of questions. Once, he told me derisively in German ‘fragen kostet nichts’ (asking costs nothing). With that conversation; (a rather curt if not rude statement), I decided that discretion is the best part of valour.      I tactfully avoided Patrick. To my mind, he now represented ‘Teutonische arroganz’ not Teutonic efficiency.

About a week after this conversation , one evening, as I was walking out a little later than usual to the lonely Taunus metro station, (next to my bank), I was accosted on the way  by a group of Neo – rebellious youngsters. I had been forewarned by the Training head on my first day of reporting to keep off that shady area. On this day, I had unwittingly disregarded that advice.

The youngsters surrounded me, mocked me , called me an ‘asylee’. With fear gnawing within, I blurted out that that “I am not an asylum seeker but a bank trainee”. That seemed to provoke them more: they taunted me as a ‘short, dark stout man’ and as a parasite on the system. To add insult to injury, they advanced menacingly. Not knowing how to defend myself in a strange land, I did all that a helplessness man could do: pray and plea.

The threats were loud, deafening. I felt like a cockroach in the kitchen sink. I thought I would be battered or sprayed up on with insecticide for the sake of the common good of getting rid of   unhygienic insects. Suddenly, I just wanted to go home.

I cowered, put my hands on my head and waited for the inevitable.  Then from somewhere in the distance, I heard a familiar stentorian voice, as cold as ever. Through my half closed eyes, I could see Patrick bellowing out to them and threatening them with legal action. I saw that the youngsters scamper away with as much eagerness as they had set on me. I was shivering a bit when he came down the steps and unexpectedly hugged me.

In retrospect,  I thank the neo rebellious youngsters. Patrick and I never discussed the incident again but the very next day, Patrick gave me a drive along the Autobahn. At office, he not only answered all my queries but would earmark specific time periods to teach me the economics of the market.  I believe I took home a piece of the Teutonic efficiency, thanks to my mentor, Patrick.

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The Interview Panel

I ajusted my cheap, red tie which seemed to be too loud for the understated five star hotel-the venue of the interview. My suit, I felt was a shade crumbled and short and out of sync with the neatly pressed attires of a dignified interview panel. There was a Charlie Chaplin complex within. I was at a disadvantage; one of uneasiness as I started off.

I did not know the answers to the first five questions. That perhaps made me diffident.I picked up confidence out of that diffidence. That prodded me to draw them to what I knew rather than their asking me things I did not know. The Chair of the Panel, a very dignified old man seemed particularly patient. He said he appreciated my efforts to put things in a proper perspective. There was a lady member who seemed soft towards me. Or was it sympathy… One member seemed downright hostile if not contemptuous of my dearth of knowledge.

When I left the room, I was not sure if I would get the job… I did not care…All that mattered to me was that I had been honest.I had not bambozzled them with b***sh** even if I had not baffled them with my brilliance. I had recovered lost ground. I thought it was fifty fifty.
You win some… you lose some…
Would I get selected?

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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.

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The Leaf’s Story

The mother tree has roots. The roots run through the knotted earth to lend strength to the tree. The tree is my strength. I cling on to it. Infant anxiety, seeking the comfort of a tree bark.
I shake and dance in limited joy when the breeze sings lullaby for me. My peers join me. Even those above me sometimes join. When it is an integrated dance, it is joyous. I feel glows within.
The roar of the wind as it whistles past me sometimes instills fear in me. Will there be an abrupt cessation of existence? I heave a sigh of relief as the wind subsides.
Together with the birds, I wait for the sun. My seven and half hours of toil begins. I enjoy it. I work hard to make most of the sunshine.
The birds are luckier: they can climb the ladder vertically. They perch on top of me and then sully me with dirt. I cannot be a bird. So I endure. Mobility is discriminatory. In nature’s balance, I am stationary. There is constancy for me.
I then wait for the drizzle in driblets to wash the droppings off. Sometimes, the dirt is such that I wish for a heavy downpour. The heavier the rains ,the more awesome it is but scare inducing. As a member of the tree I am bold and beautiful, but as an individual I am insignificant and afraid. I am scared. When it is rain and wind together, I am terrified and I cling on to mother tree and pray. Sometimes I shriek in fear. Taking pity on our collective shrieks, the rains retreat.
When the sun returns, I dry myself.
Somewhere, along, may be during the breeze my neighbor and I rustled against each other. It was such a warm feeling. It felt silky smooth. I had a feeling of being charged and unburdened concomitantly. There was a resultant green glow of happiness on my skin. My neighbor blushed green too.
When the storms came, I drew closer to my neighbor; we clung on to each other in fear and in affection. It was most comforting.
Other peers are distant. I wish I could reach out to them. They are taciturn and they are each unto themselves. The leaves on the higher branches are totally on a different plane. The peer branches, I observe : some of them are in clusters. I wish we were closer to them. I wish we could have a union against the birds and the wind and the torrents. But that cannot be. They do not communicate except in thunder and storms…
Sometimes I reflect at my helplessness. There are tiers and tiers above me. They look down on me. I can see that some in the hierarchy are gracious and wise but quite a few are pretentious. I always look up, but sometimes I am sad and depressed and seek solace in the embrace of my neighbor leaf. I try to avoid looking down as I have fear of falling from heights.
Talk of falling . . . it is autumn and I find several above me have fallen. Some on top have made way … the wind tolls for all, but some are weak and depart early. As they fall with thuds of silence on absorptive earth, I cling on to mother tree … in desperate but unreal hope.
I wish I go before my neighbor… I cannot bear to see her go. But the good thought is that we both know that we have to go… the pigments are turning yellow. We are both aware that mother tree has to let us go so that she survives the winter for new births.
Let me document this before the breeze trips me.. like it tripped those above me and shall trip those below me. Let me cling on to the ecstasy of unreal hope until then.

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Should I believe?

This is a story several years old.

My dad who was a flourishing brick-maker was hit by what I now understand is a recession of those years… a sustaining lack of demand for bricks over an agonizing period of time. Bricks were stacked everywhere and despite severe price cuts there were few or virtually zero buyers. Construction had ceased. My dad tried his best to keep things going but with unsold stocks, it became near impossible to meet banker deadlines for repayments. On expected lines, the bankers retaliated in swift and forceful measure: in the beginning they curtailed and then withdrew bank credit limits.

Unable to make both ends meet, my dad borrowed heavily from friends and neighbors for large and small sums. Repayment deadlines were instantly transformed to default deadlines and obtaining fresh loans became near impossible. There was even voluntary rationing of all household demands. Meat and fish disappeared from the dinner table. I was experiencing the “frugal living and high (but bitter) thinking” phase not too quite stoically. As events unfolded rather painfully and day to day life became so difficult, I started losing faith. My parents would get up early morn and pray and to myself, by now an agnostic, I felt that prayer was a waste of time. I was unemployed and bitter at a world that did not seem to care ; the job search efforts were to me waves on boulders. I felt guilty that I was not fending for myself. As an aftermath of a rapid series of setbacks, I decided that faith was unwarranted.

One morning, from the blue, I got a call for an interview. The organization that called me for an interview was a thousand miles away. The cheapest mode of transport was by train. The train fare had to be paid … and my dad was neck deep in debt. I , on my own, tapped several probable doors, but we, as a family, seemed to have lost creditworthiness. The day before the interview, I saw my dad pray longer and I laughed to myself sarcastically; this was another futile attempt by a penurious man to ingratiate himself to an insensate Being, I reasoned.
I even confided my lack of belief to my mother.

Now, from my memory:
I have four hours to the train time and there is no sight of money. I resign myself to being unable to travel. My unusually reticent dad now asks me to pack to travel. I go inside and grumble to my mother “Why is he asking me to pack. we do not have the money even to buy a one way ticket”. My mother says fatalistically that God would help. “We are a happy family because we listen to each other”. “God will take care”, she says. I grumble that she has read Charles Dickens a bit too much!
Reluctantly I pack, so that I do not appear to be a disobedient son.
Three hours to the train. the cranky gate opens in un-lubricated pain. In walks a tall, middle aged stranger. He seeks to meet my dad “I have come to consult you on my proposed construction of my house next year”, he begins. My dad listens patiently. Standing by the door side, I frown. I am impatient as it is now two hours and half to the train.

“I have plans to construct a house next year and I have heard that you sell bricks. I want bricks for my house. They told me your factory is shut and you live here”. I am worried about the train in the next two hours and he is bothered about bricks now for next year!
My dad softly tells him: “Sure. Come in next year”. “Yes , yes, I shall,” he responds. ” But there is one condition, you will give me next year at today’s prices.” My dad smiles, unsure what to say. The stranger then says ” I shall pay half the value now as advance”. My dad gives him a price. The stranger, strangely, does not haggle. “Part I have cash and part in check.” My dad looks to where I am standing and nods unhesitatingly. As my writes the receipt, my mother says the stranger is God.
My dad asks the stranger if he could drop me off at the station. He wishes me luck as he leaves me off. As I wait for the train, I wonder if I should continue to be an agnostic. Will I get the job?

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A banker: between education and instinct

My boss went to Harvard for an executive development programme. for maybe a month and a half. On return, he would make it a point to drive home that he was now well trained and even better equipped to enhance efficiency in the bank. He informed us that Harvard stood above rankings- in other words, he had no peers for efficiency. In about seventeen meetings which he convened over the next two months , he would discreetly speak about his Harvard approach to the management as dynamic solutions to extant problems.

In several of these meetings, his pet theme was the need to bring down the ratio of bad loans at the bank : the non performing loans(NPL). During one such occasion, there was a’ Harvard driven’ harangue addressed to me specifically (my region had a high percentage of bad loans) to improve performance ; other peers enjoyed the public upbraid with amusement. He suggested that I needed to be effective; and gave me a target for a reduced ratio of non performing loans over a short time frame. He said my annual appraisal would depend on my KPI of reducing bad loans. There sounded to be a threat in his tone.

As I came back to my office, with the complex of a relatively(or vastly) incompetent man (who had not been trained in Boston) …there was this frail small man, Antony waiting for me. He was one of my borrower defaulters on whom I had served notice as a part of my recovery efforts at bringing down the ratio of non performing loans… (I had anticipated the boss’ harangue and was sincerely trying to bring NPL down to manageable levels). Antony stood hesitantly outside my cabin… “my son is unemployed, and i have a family to support , Sir, please do not press this legal notice. Please do not destroy my small family. I shall pay at the earliest.” There was a tremor in his voice that reached my heartbeats. Antony had borrowed quite a sum beyond repayable means to educate his kids at the University and to treat a sick spouse. i had given him long months of grace, rescheduled the loan several times. over … now it was approaching the statute of limitation and i had to proceed… i knew that he did not have the means to pay…

Did my boss have a strategic, dynamic solution taught at his University?

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Promotion

The ‘performance based’ promotion list arrived in stealth from ‘Head Office’ yesterday. One more time, my friend Austin had missed making it to the managerial cadres. Abe had bypassed him.

That evening, Abe said he would stay back in office a little longer as he had some urgent work. I felt that Abe did that deliberately so that I could be alone with Austin. On the way home, as we travelled together in a troubled, steely, cold, metro train, I tried to console Austin. “Do not worry”, I said, “after all, in a long career, a promotion is a small matter. What difference does it make to you what designation you have and then, monetarily there is going to be only a marginal difference. In these days of recession, saving a job is important.” I attempted to assuage his feelings. There was pregnant silence, which made me realize that my statement was insensate to the situation.

After a while, he responded, in hushed, hurt tones, hardly heard above the inapt incongruence of the metro. “It makes little difference to me, but I have not had any good news for my family for quite some time. For their sake, it would have been great to be promoted at least once. I have had nothing to celebrate for so many years now”. I knew what worried him: Abe stayed across the street. Comparisons!

When we alighted from the metro, I saw his hunched shoulders and wished the train ride had never ended; that would have avoided going to Austin’s home. I decided to walk down with Austin even if it meant a longer route. It was unfair to leave him alone in this rather sad state; it mattered little if I went home a trifling late.

“How do I break it to my family?” he asked, as he was about to ring the bell. I did not know how to respond.

Austin’s eight year old son rushed out from somewhere as the door opened. The kid looked crestfallen as he hugged Austin and murmured, “Daddy, Neil did not play with me; they are going out for dinner. He says his dad has become a manager. I told him we will also go out for dinner.” Austin’s three year old pony tailed daughter smiled as she tried to nudge her brother out for a warmer hug.
I waited to catch any variations in Mrs Austin’s voice as she announced the final decision , “We shall go out for dinner tomorrow. Today Dad and you will play scrabble”. There were no disappointing variations, which I noticed in that voice.

That evening as I trudged my way to my humble abode, I was grateful that God made families before He made offices.