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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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.

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.

Office Meetings

Blissful traffic jams at meetings,
Some ramshackle hold up in previous minutes,
Delays in removal of Weberian wreckage
Tact, lazing , holding up agenda,
Bored scribbledom as demagogue fortifies,
Pretensions of notes on irrelevant harangues,
Messaging on mobiles , the bold drive past yellow lines,
Some sly messages, winking at knots,
Exchanges of unmet net love,
Frustration flirts on fb with mistresses coy,
Shying furtively away from pretentious hubbies,
Some honking from the pilot : achtung!!!
The slow lane guy filibusters on distrust : jam again,
Lanes jumped: decision delayed, snarls are welcome.

Office Groups

Pareto performance,

Eighty twenty ratio,

Minority performers struggle,

Do most work,

Networked non performers win,

Cry babies obtain booties,

They shout hoarse of heavy work,

Reluctant to share their undeserved spoils,

Wifi guilt inducing bonuses,

Flattery pays in hordes,

Colonization of spoils,

Imperialist centers of power ,

They do serve self needs,

The others endure misdeeds.

They call me imbalanced…

As I sit defiant but silent,
Rant soft at the immodest,
Discard my real true self,
Me, a human on market shelf,
I stare at brown, tall, hills,
At sympathetic sparrows on sills,
Like them, I seek profound solace,
In some mystic evasive peace,
Beyond the lagged frustration,
Of unwound, fangless, passion,
Seeking rainbows in cloudless skies,
Breathe kiln air through vaporous flues,
Which relaxes my bones quite dry,
To recall what I learnt, I try.