The City of Dreams - A love story!

He had always wanted to visit Bombay as a young man (apologies, it is Mumbai, now; but then, he always remembered Mumbai as Bombay, the city of dreams). He had heard that Bombay was an  intense, bustling city.  His loneliness were intertwined with a depth of intense feeling, perhaps, melancholy is what comes to mind.  Associating Bombay with melancholy is unheard of; in this city of dreams. Perhaps, it was the desolateness and hopelessness, which had pervaded his mind at that point of time, that evoked such strong feelings inside him.

When he first traveled to Bombay by a train from Bangalore, it was raining heavily when he reached the outskirts of Bombay.  The bustling activity in the station had jolted him out of the deep slumber, which he had fallen into while the train had glided slowly into the station. At a station on the outskirts, he had to switch trains and board a local train at about 3 AM in the morning. The local train was overflowing with milkmen and their families loading and unloading huge milk cans into and out of the train.  He had reached his uncle’s place in about ten minutes by the local train.  His first impression of Bombay, was, that the city never sleeps.  People were going about their activity at all times of the day and night.  Many a time, he had wondered when do these people sleep, amidst all the hustle and bustle?

For the next few days, he gradually explored the city, as he had nothing much to do.  He had completed his graduation in Bangalore and landed in Mumbai (staying in his uncle’s place on the outskirts of Bombay) in search of a job.  The job searches consisted of merely looking into the columns of Times of India newspaper daily for any suitable opening, which was hard to come by, during the late seventies.

He bought a second class season train pass for the entire month from the part of the city (where he was residing) to the centre of the city that was, Victoria Terminus, called VT, those days.  After his morning breakfast, he had set himself a daily routine of boarding the train and travelling to VT station.  From there on, he had no place to go.  He explored the city walking alone from the VT station to the nearby places that he fancied, mostly in the direction of the Arabian Sea, which was quite near to the station; this was at a walking distance of half hour, at the most.  Sometimes he walked down to Crawford Market or to Colaba.  His regular walks within the vicinity of the VT station had become a sort of daily ritual.  Being young and alone in Bombay with hardly any money, can be quite exhausting and excruciating.  The lonely walks created an intense feeling of disenchantment in his mind.  Just looking at the Sea intently, while lazily strolling on the sands of a beach, alone, can be a rather jolting and tiring experience.  Once this daily job of staring at the Sea was done, he used to hurry back by the late afternoon local train to the part of the city, where he was staying with his uncle, after partaking of a light meal in a nearby cafe.

The experience of boarding and alighting from the local trains in Bombay, was, in itself, a huge and scary experience.  Luckily for him, he used to board the train after the mad office rush was over in the morning times and even before the evening office rush started, he used to travel back to his place of stay.  He had learnt the trick of avoiding the rush hour on the local trains as it was a physical impossibility to get into or get out of the train during those mad rush hours.  One had to be a seasoned veteran of Bombay to master the tricks of boarding and alighting from the local trains during peak hours.  He was not quite there, yet.

In the first few days, he used to watch this mad rush of humanity, boarding and alighting from the local trains, with amusement.  After a few days, the amazement faded away and it was fast becoming normal routine with him, as well.  He wouldn’t call himself an expert, in this activity, though he had a few close calls, a couple of times.  It had almost felt that his end had come, during those times, when he was left dangling, hanging without any support holding on to the ledge of the train doors.  He had miraculously scraped through, surviving those terrifying moments.  He could now say, that he was lucky to be alive.

The vast sea of humanity, that is Bombay, is an experience, in itself, that one can never get over.  The sheer number of people, in every direction you look at, is just mind-boggling. Despite the vast number of people, the place can be humbling and quite lonely.  Being a shy person and an introvert at that, he had difficulty in striking acquaintances in the trains or at the beaches.  He stood staring, sometimes, at the various moods of the Arabian Sea, the dirt and remains it carried to the shore; huge ships and trawlers were visible at a distance.  He was devoid of human company and wanted someone with whom he could share his innermost thoughts and the situation he was himself in.

One sunny morning, during one of his long walks on the Seashore, he came very close to striking friendship with a beautiful girl, who appeared to be of his own age.  She had a dog with her.  He first thought that she smiled at him, though this was more of his imagination, playing tricks on his mind.  She was slowing down as she approached him.  The girl was of medium height, wearing a smart dress with long hairs flowing down her neck.  He was tempted to strike a conversation with this girl as she was comely in appearance and was alone; other than the dog, she was holding on to, at the other end of the leash.  As she neared him, he remarked that the dog she owned, looked beautiful and he asked her, what was the breed of the dog. She replied something, which he couldn't remember now.  What actually he wanted to say to her was that she looked beautiful and would she be friends' with him.  It was an awkward moment.  The girl was looking at him inquiringly, as she paused right in front of him.  She appeared more beautiful now and her eyes were sparkling; she had long eye lashes. There was a hint of a smile on her face, as she looked at him.  He was dumbstruck and could hardly speak another word; as the girl came near him, her close presence and the perfume she wore held him in a mesmerizing spell.  He was speechless, staring dumbly at her. His heart was pumping and the He could feel the blood rush through his veins, pulsating and throbbing.  He could feel his dopamine levels rise, leading to a warm and happy feeling.  He let go of the moment.  The girl walked away slightly disappointed.  He kept on staring after the girl, as she disappeared in a distance.  He had a strange feeling, perhaps, he thought this was what people called love at first sight.  It was a strange and bewildering thought.

From that moment on, his mind was in a whirl, racing with mixed emotions, unable to fathom what was happening in his mind.  He desperately wanted another opportunity to just see this girl, even for a moment.  During his entire stay, of nearly an year in Bombay, he never came across this girl again.  A strange sort of hopelessness had swept over him, disappointed with his own shy and reticent nature; adding to his hopeless situation was the fact that he could never find a job in Bombay during his long stay, in the city.  People called it the city of dreams, but, not to his mind.  He returned to Bangalore, shortly afterwards quite disappointed with the situation.  

The story of life is unraveling the complex emotions 

Radio Times

While driving on a lazy Sunday afternoon, when the traffic was tolerably less engaging, my wife and I were listening to the FM Radio, which was continuously belting out evergreen classic Hindi songs of a bygone era.  My mind was racing towards the golden times of the pre-FM Radio era; an era in which, Radio was the main source of entertainment for many of my generation.  I reminisce on the sweet memories of those times, which had been tucked away in some corner of my brain.

The Radio was an endless source of entertainment and information, in an era, much before the onslaught of Smart Televisions and High-speed Internet.  There was a clash of generations at home, vying for the limited Radio time!  While elders at home, were keen on listening to news broadcast or some other informative programmes such as panel discussions or the commentaries on current topics (e.g., Loksabha Sameekshe); however, the younger me (excuse me, folks, I was also young once:)) longed to tune into “Vividh Bharathi” on the MW (Medium Wave for the uninitiated) or “Radio Ceylon” on the SW (Short Wave, which is, AM / HF band).  Hearing the voice of Amin Sayani on Radio Ceylon was exciting; so was the fun in knowing, which Hindi film song was in the No.1 position that week or which song had been edged out of the top ten or twenty in the Binaca Geet Mala; this popular programme, was aired on for close to two decades, if I remember right.  We never missed listening to this programme, come what may.  The main topic of discussion among the inner circle of my friends’ group was the position of a particular Hindi song in Binaca Geet Mala that week!  

Cricket commentary on the Radio, excited all of us, irrespective of the generational gap (excepting elderly women in the family!).   Whenever there was Cricket commentary on, all other programmes on the Radio were rescheduled or cancelled.  We were so happy that the elderly and other Cricket-haters in the family were edged out of their Radio time; we, the Cricket lovers, had an upper hand over the entire Radio time for days on together; you see, those were the times of Test Cricket and not the instant Cricket, like one-dayers’ or twenty-twenty or IPL.

The ‘24x7’ programming concept was unknown, back then, in India (although some unfamiliar AM channels went on through the night, probably because of the time difference with those countries airing them).  None of the MW Radio stations were up before 6 AM in the morning (I am still fascinated by the Radio stations’ opening tune, which was later adopted by Doordarshan!) and were promptly shut down by 10 PM or so, after the final news bulletin of the day. 

After some years, when I was into my late teens, my interest in listening to Hindi film songs had started to flounder; something more fascinating had captured my imagination.  I had started enjoying listening to western pop music and rock music (compositions by ABBA, Boney-M, BeeGees, Brotherhood of Man, Beatles, Tina Charles, Donna Summer, Michael Jackson, etc., come to mind).  My favourite Radio station, then became, Radio Australia or Voice of America or BBC or Radio Kuwait or Radio Moscow, including so many unknown Radio stations that broadcast western popular music on AM band; incidentally, AIR, Bangalore also used to broadcast western music on Sundays between 12 noon and 12.30 PM, which aired my favourite western pop music based on the requests of the viewers.

How perspectives change!  My craze for western pop music those days, reminds me of the youngsters of the MTV generation, who endlessly watched the music videos on MTV or V channel, all times of the day and night.  The same glitzy, noisy videos which kept on repeating ad nausea, exasperated us no end; forgetting that, we too had created similar ruckus and irritated the elders of our generation, albeit, in a different era, with some bombarding western pop and rock music on Radio stations.  I can still hear my grandmother’s exasperated voice shouting from the kitchen asking me to stop the cacophonous blasphemy blaring on the Radio!

We had a huge Radio at home, named AMZEL.  The Radio was placed on a wooden stand, which was fixed to the wall, in the living room.  I think, this Radio brand was manufactured in collaboration with some US Company in the initial years.  This Radio was one of a kind; very few people had heard of this Radio brand, even then.  As a matter of interest, this Radio was manufactured by a factory named REMCO (Radio & Electrical Manufacturing Company), in which company my father worked as Accounts Controller.  This factory REMCO was later taken over by BHEL (Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited) and the manufacture of Radios and Transistors were abandoned; as the market demand for them had diminished. Even today, whenever I happen to pass the BHEL factory premises on the Mysore Road, memories of my late father envelop me and my eyes become moist; reminding me of the great times, I had with my dad.  This is a topic for another blog post.

Sometime later, came the revolutionary Japanese brand Transistors and the fancifully designed ‘Two-in-Ones’; Transistor Radio and Tape Recorder combined into one unit, which took the Indian market by storm.  The huge funky Panasonic brand of ‘Two-in-one’ comes to mind, which used to be mandatorily carried by people returning from Dubai and selling or gifting them to our people.

Coming back to the AMZEL Radio, I think, may be, my father got an employee discount on purchase of this Radio.  This Radio which was purchased in the year 1963 or thereabouts, served our family faithfully till the year 1980; I think, this item was disposed of as junk (as we did not know, what else to do with it), although still in fairly good working condition.  Sometime in late sixties, my father brought home a much smaller and compact version of the REMCO brand Transistor, manufactured by the same factory REMCO.  This Transistor also lasted until early eighties, when it was junked.  The Transistor had microprocessor circuit and switched on immediately whereas the Radio had some in-built valves and took time to switch on; that was the only difference I could make out in their functioning; being a non-technical person.  The REMCO Transistor had an in-built aerial and was mainly used in our family, especially when the Cricket commentary was on.  We had a choice of Radio and a Transistor in our home, which brought down the friction with in the family.

The most popular Radio of that era was the Murphy Radio.  A cute baby holding a finger to his mouth, was the brand ambassador for the Murphy Radio, which was so very popular, those days.  Jogging my memory, is a huge hoarding, advertising for the Murphy Radio, on the Brigade Road in Bangalore; where a distributor for the brand had their main show room.

During those pre-FM, Radio era, if we loved a song and obsessed to listen to that particular song, we had to wait for days on end, to get another opportunity to listen to the song; much depended on the whims and fancies of the Radio stations on the repeat cycle of a particular song.  I would like to think, that the prolonged wait deepens the pining for the song and keeps them fresh and evergreen in our minds; unlike today when we can watch/listen to any song we wish on the YouTube and you can replay them any number of times (you see, I have realized that downloading a song is a total waste of time, effort and phone/computer memory).  So much water has flown, since then.  There is no longer the obsession or fun in listening to any composition of the present day, Hindi or otherwise. Technology has taken over our lives, we are less ready to appreciate and enjoy what makes us happy.

cinematic experience!

When I look back on some of those nostalgic childhood memories, what I remember vividly was that cold, chilly evening in Bangalore. It was sometime in December of 1964 or January 1965.  I was all of 6 years of age.  I had accompanied my parents to watch my first movie that cold December evening.  I probably think that this was my first movie because the movie had left an indelible impression on my conscious mind.  The movie was in Hindi, titled “Dosti”.  The movie was being screened in a makeshift cinema tent, located near to my house which, used to be called a “picture tent” or sometimes a “touring talkies” in those days.  The makeshift cinema tent was supposedly a temporary structure covered by some heavy material (to avoid water leakage), that could be shifted easily from one place to another; although this particular “picture tent” never moved from its resting place, that was Tilaknagar (part of Jayanagar T Block now), which was later converted into a theatre, Swagath Theatre, perhaps. The whole concept of the “picture tent” was to provide entertainment to the masses in city suburbs and villages, where there was a dearth of cinema theatres. Inside the cinema tent, at one end, was a white large cloth stretched across a flat surface, acting as a screen; the moving images of the cinema was projected onto the white screen using a projector which, was placed at the opposite end of the cinema tent.  The white screen had become dirty, with large brownish patches, here and there, but still, the movie images looked fairly clear.

The projector operator sat beside a whirring old model movie projector on a folding chair surveying the crowds. In my young mind, the projector operator was some sort of a magician; and the owner of the cinema tent.  The projector operator decided on when the time was right to start screening of the movie and his decision mostly rested upon the size of the crowd; although a definite timing was fixed for the commencement of the show, which was 6.30 PM for the first show; this was rarely followed in practice.  A jarring bell was sounded before the commencement of the movie, which delighted the whistling crowd.  There was a rush of “adrenaline” in the audience, once the screening of the movie commenced.  This was partly because of the excitement created by the whistling and clapping from the crowds.

The main source of entertainment, other than the movies, had been the “circus”, for many of my generation.    The “Gemini Circus” was the most popular “circus” which used to pitch its tent in the Subhash Nagar Grounds (Now the Bangalore Central Bus Station terminus). However, the concept of “circus” which was so popular during my childhood days seems to be fast disappearing.

Coming back to the movie “Dosti”, though a cult classic hit of those times, the movie itself had a lingering melancholic impact on me; the two main characters in the movie, singing on the streets of Bombay to earn a living; had remained deeply etched in my memory for many years.  The story of the movie had a serious depth of intensity and the songs were evergreen classics.  That apart, I hardly remember anything of the black-and-white era movie, now.

The other quite vivid memory, I have, is that the “picture tent” was full of mosquitoes; which were a constant source of irritation to the loyal cinema audience.  However, the people were so enthralled and engrossed in the movie, that they soon forgot all about the mosquito bites. There was also this frequent disturbance happening within the movie tent.  People, who were coming in late to the movie, were constantly lifting the tent on both the sides and leisurely strolling in as if they had all the time in the world.  Every time a person walked in or walked out of the tent, their dark shadows danced on the cinema screen; there were persistent shouts from the people berating them on the disturbance; and every time the tent was lifted, the cold breeze from outside drifted in, making us shiver and huddle inside.

During the mandatory movie interval, the constant play of shadows on the movement of people, lighted up on the dirty white screen, while the loudspeaker blared the popular hit songs of the season.  People noisily rushed out, during the interval, discussing the movie plot and characters.  The interval reminded people to buy groundnuts (or peanuts as it is called these days) to pass the ten minutes of idleness.  Those days there was no concern littering the ground with the peanut shells.  It was a given, that peanut shells and all other food wrappers were left behind inside the tents, after each movie show.   Only once, at the end of the day, I think, the earthen floor was swept clean.  The jarring bell sounded again, signifying the end of the interval and resumption of the movie.

While, we, as a family were seated on the folding chairs in the back of the packed tent, people in the front class sat on the rough earthen floor.  We could see the dust on the earthen floor rise and settle down every time a person stood up or sat down. Some of the people who sat on the ground in the front, lighted a cigarette or a bidi, to the consternation of the non-smokers.  While some of the people objected, the smokers smirked and did not even bother to extinguish their cigarettes or bidis; they exhaled the acrid smoke with pleasure forming smoke rings.

Those idyllic memories of my childhood, watching a movie in a “picture tent” has remained with me, perhaps, reminding me of a joyful time when life was really simple, just black and white; and this brings on a smile to my wry face.

Boyhood Memories

It was a time like no other; the wonderful times that I had, as a young boy, growing up in the sixties and seventies.  Boyhood memories, with all its carefree charm, wondrous, playful, fun-filled life, has a special place in my heart.  Looking back, I was blissfully unaware, of what life had in store for me, down the line, just a few years ahead.

The games, we played as youngsters, had some typically funny names; although same or similar games with minor variations existed all over the country.  Just off the cuff, I remember a few names, (of course, in local lingo) such as, lagory, soorchand, icepies, gilli-dandlu, bugri, goli, tyre aata (typically a motorbike or moped tyre was used with the help of a stick or sometimes even the palm was used to roll the tyre on the streets); and of course, the ubiquitous gully cricket, generally played with tennis ball. Sometimes as a substitute for tennis balls, a rubber ball; or a sponge ball; or a cork ball; or even balls made from the produce of trees that bore red flowers in autumn, were used. You see, the frequent use of tennis balls was a costly affair and moreover, the tennis balls, had a tendency to lose its woollen exterior, very early, and turn into a bald, hard rubber ball.

The cricket bats, sometimes, were just flat wood planks shaped in the form of a cricket bat; cheap cricket bats were available in plenty in sports stores specially meant for playing cricket with tennis balls or rubber balls alone.  These bats, more often than not, broke when played with hard balls. 

For ‘wickets’, three stones were placed as ‘wicket’ markers at both ends; sometimes the three ‘wickets’ were marked on a wall, drawn with red-brick pieces or charcoal pieces. 

We could not afford to buy the 'wickets' or balls and bats ourselves; most of the time, we were dependent on some benevolent sponsors.  Many a time, the balls disappeared into the roadside sewers or drains or even house gardens, from where retrieval was not possible.  The boys who got us new balls, were considered to be important patrons and given special privileges, like batting first.

Playing one or the other games with boys of similar ages, during all times of the day was our main pastime; come rain or hot sun shine; the weather gods, never bothered us.  As cheeky boys, we were in the habit of sneaking away from home, sometimes even during the hot midday sun, away from the prying eyes of the parents.  All that was needed to start a game, was just a companion of similar age to play and an empty street, bereft of traffic.  Each game had a unique flavour to it and all the boys and girls of my generation knew each of the above games, by heart.

I am not sure, if the millennial generation has even heard the names of these games.  I think, many of these games have simply disappeared into antiquity, may be, they are lost forever.  Please don’t get me wrong; I am not making out a case that the games should be revived and the youngsters of today should start playing them.  Each generation of youngsters have their own way of choosing a pastime.  The present-day generation are all for video games and app-related games on their mobile phones and play stations; which are available aplenty and have probably replaced the physical games to a great extent; you hardly see youngsters playing on the streets, these days; the latest craze in the app category, it seems, is the game Pokémon Go.  Sometimes, makes me wonder how the games for youngsters get invented and how they get caught on, in the popular imagination of each generation.

Many of the games we played, required plenty of spare time and open spaces.  Luckily for us, as young boys of seventies, we had all the time in the world and many of the streets in Bangalore were free of traffic; there was very scarce movement of traffic all around Bangalore; most of the vehicular traffic was, just cycles and two-wheelers.  Cars were few and far between; mostly owned by few people, who could afford them.  This reminds me, there were only three major companies manufacturing cars in India.  The regal-looking, Ambassador; Fiat, later named as Premier Padmini and of course, the cute small car of those times, the Standard Herald. All these cars were manufactured in collaboration with UK or Italy.  Japanese cars, which we see, all around us, in plenty, these days, were unknown in India in the sixties and seventies.

As a young boy, I loved the Ambassador car and fervently wished to own the car, some day.  That, however, remained a dream, unfulfilled!  Of course, it never occurred to me, at that point in time, that the Ambassador car, would one day become a relic of the past, soon to be confined to the dustbin of history (or remain only as Kolkata taxis). 

As fate would have it, my boyhood days were soon cut short due to the prolonged illness and subsequent demise of my father; this forced me to grow up overnight and assume the mantle of a responsible adult. However, the wonderful, fun-filled memories of my boyhood days, still remain with me and regale me in my present out-of-work, retired state!

Reliving the past memories of my school days!

A classmate from my primary school days called me up one fine morning out of the blue, to invite me for the wedding of his daughter.  I could not recognize the voice; my mind was completely blank.  He kept insisting enthusiastically over the phone to recognize who the caller was.  I gave up.  After he introduced himself (rather disappointingly, I thought), something inside my brain clicked and I could vaguely remember the chubby little boy with a friendly face.  Now, who would recognize someone you have never seen or heard from, for the past 50 years or so.

Oh! What a day and week that turned out to be; reliving the past memories of my old school days.  I immediately called up another classmate friend of mine, who is still in touch with me for the past 55 odd years and exchanged this good news.  It appeared that it was he, who had provided my number to the new caller buddy from my old school days.

As old memories rushed in, I rummaged through my desks and drawers to search for an old school group photograph that I had somehow preserved (hidden cleverly from my wife, who has this strong penchant for disposing of old things at random despite strong resistance from the other family members!).  On spotting the old classmate of mine in the group photograph, I felt excited like a school boy who is unexpectedly handed an ice-candy (don't you laugh, ice-candy was a thing in my school days).

I made certain of the venue and date of the marriage reception of my classmate’s daughter; although my inner mind kept agitating on attending the reception late in the evening, all-dressed up, and driving to the venue in Bangalore’s traffic conditions.  I would say it was a real achievement in the end, having managed to keep up my date at the wedding reception.

As soon as my old friend (buddy of 55+ years) and I, entered the reception venue (a little apprehensively as we did not know anybody there), a young lady usher confronted us at the door and asked us whether we were from the bride’s side or the groom’s side.  We were taken aback at this beautiful questioning girl; we blurted out that the bride’s father was our classmate from primary school days.  We could see that the young lady was a bit skeptical with the explanation; however, she hid her disappointment well and bade us sit on one side of the reception hall.  Meanwhile, a dapper middle-aged gentleman (wearing silk brocaded Kurta and Pyjama; I thought he looked like the model of “Maanyavar” brand) with greying hairs, approached us with a hesitant smile, stretching out his hand.  You are Ganapathy and Nagaraj, right, he said.  He was all warmth and ebullient.  Our minds were frantically trying to connect the boy from the school photograph with the middle-aged gentleman in front of us.  We embraced each other warmly and got into deep conversation for the next two or three minutes reminiscing excitedly about our school days.  The bride's father went on to confess that he recognized our faces only from the WhatsApp profile photos.  Unluckily for us, we did not have the luxury of recognizing the bride’s father beforehand, as there was no profile photo of his on WhatsApp.  Be that as it may, how long can the conversation last in the middle of a bustling marriage reception? there were other people in the marriage hall vying for the attention of the bride’s father; he hesitatingly told us take our seats and moved away greeting other wedding guests merrily.

We had the fortune of meeting another primary school buddy of ours in the reception hall (our pal Suri) and it was a wonderful reunion of sorts of our old school mates.  It was an eventful evening to remember!  The food was excellent and we savoured the delicacies along with our sweet chatterings of the school days.  We all swore that we would keep in touch with each other and have a regular sort of ‘meet’ of our old school mates.  We reminisced late into evening about the good times we had as school boys (although I had hated going to school, when I was a kid) and how wonderful those days were (an outright exaggeration, as I was just a naïve school boy of the Sixties!).

In the long years of having lived my beautiful life, I have had the privilege of attending a number of school/college get-together/send-offs; professional get-together/send-offs (innumerable transfers/trainings and even resignations); where there were some moving, emotional speeches made / delivered; addresses or contact numbers exchanged; and tearful hugs with earnest promises made to keep in touch with each other.  Whither those promises and tearful hugs?  Well, that’s life for you; you learn to move on.

Is this emotional reunion of my old school classmates in a wedding reception going the same way?  Hopefully not.  In this age of easy telecommunication access, there shouldn’t be any problem dialing from our mobile contacts, right? Well, keeping my fingers on the dial!

The culinary delight - Madrasi Sambar

This anecdote, during my professional life in a nationalized bank, in the nineties was something of a unique experience; it is worth a recall.

I was posted to work in a branch in the somewhat popular town in Haryana State of Northern India which went by the name of Ambala Cantonment.  I say this place was popular because many of the Indians from the Northern part of the country, knew Ambala very well. Ambala was located on the National Highway; on the border with the Indian state of Punjab and in proximity to the capital Chandigarh. Due to its geographical location, Ambala  was a prominent place with an Army cantonment.

However, many Indians, residing South of Vindhyas, including me, had never heard of the place.  When I received my posting orders, I looked up the India Map (after locating a political map from my daughter’s text book) to ascertain the exact location and enquired from different people on how to get there by train (Google Maps were still way off).

On my first day, I was welcomed to the branch with some warmth but there was also a small measure of disdain.  Some of the local staff, had a nickname for me, a Madrasi.  Anyone hailing from the Southern part of India was a Madrasi, irrespective of the State they belonged.  Since I was replacing another Madrasi, (a fellow Kannadiga), there was not much expectations from me, as this outgoing person had a very somber reputation.  However, I had made it clear to each and every one of the staff member (whoever bothered to listen) that I was from Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka state and my mother tongue happened to be Kannada; more clearly, I had clarified that I was not a Madrasi.  The staff members nodded knowingly, but never bothered to understand the distinction, or how it affected me.  I always remained a Madrasi to them, with a funny name to boot (Snake King, was what one staff member slyly remarked).

After the first few months of my stay, the staff at the branch started pestering me to host a party of home-prepared Madrasi Idlis and Sambar (I was told that the previous Madrasi incumbent had hosted the staff to delicious Idlis and Sambar on several occasions).  I placed the matter before my wife.  It was agreed that during the branch year end, when only the Managers and Officers staff would be present at the branch, my wife would prepare and serve Idlis with Sambar.

The year-end closing of accounts in a Bank branch, is a grueling period for Officers and Managers staff, as the branch balance sheet has to be drawn as on the last day of the year.  The work would entail hours of preparation and would stretch late into the night and get completed only by the dawn of the subsequent day.  Following which, all the staff involved in the preparation of the balance sheet would be able to reach their homes only on the subsequent day morning for freshening up and reporting for next day's work.

When the day of reckoning arrived, my dutiful wife prepared about 80 Idlis, chutney and a bucketful of steaming Sambar to be served to the branch staff as dinner that evening.   I gallantly took up the task of carrying the bulky steel containers of hot sambar, on my Bajaj scooter at around 8 PM that evening to the branch.  The staff members present on the day were waiting eagerly to partake of the special Madrasi preparation of the soft Idlis and the deliciously aromatic Sambar.  One of my colleagues, took up the unenviable task of serving one and all, with alacrity.  As there were about 20 staff members, I had indicated that each person present could have up to 4 Idlis per plate and a generous serving of chutney and Sambar.

After delivery of the food items, I had got busy with some office work that required concentration; and had totally forgotten about the dinner that evening.  After a lapse of some time, when my hunger pangs started tingling, I checked with the colleague on the status of Idlis and Sambar.  He directed my attention to the steel containers.  I looked into the containers and saw a pile of Idlis still left over.  There was a huge quantity of chutney too, remaining unconsumed.  However, not a single drop of Sambar remained in the steel container.  I casually enquired with my colleague, what had happened with the huge quantity of Sambar.  He guffawed heartily and informed me that all the staff present had eagerly pounced upon the Sambar container and literally dipped their cups and tumblers into the container, merrily drinking away the delicious hot Sambar.  Only a few of them had consumed some Idlis and chutney.  It seemed that there were no takers for Idlis and chutney.  More than 40 Idlis and a huge quantity of chutney had been leftover, which I took back home crestfallen, to my beleaguered wife.  My wife laughingly remarked that she would have prepared and supplied only Sambar, had she known the tastebuds of the staff of my branch; where was the need of taking pains to prepare so many Idlis and chutney, she added.  I do not know to this day, if the famous Madrasi idli/sambar, prepared so painstakingly by my wife to be served to the staff of my branch, was a success or failure!

Love of the Mother tongue

What is it about one's mother tongue, it seems to have a larger influence as we get on in years.  When we were in our School years, we were discouraged from speaking the local language.  You see, our School was a sort of Christian run English medium School and this School had strict policy of not allowing the students to speak in local language within the School premises.  Of course, boys being boys, would surreptitiously, speak the local language amongst their close peer group.  If they were caught in the act, the student used to be marched off to the Principal's office.  Some sort of punishment was meted out to the erring student.  Speaking English was considered to be, loosely,  an upper class fashion or more precisely, it was largely the remnant of colonial hangover.  The English speaking class considered themselves to be the ruling class or the English sahib (or Brown Sahib).  Ordinary people aspired to admit their children to English Medium Schools.  Local languages were largely looked down upon, during those confused times soon after Independence.  Times are A-changing now, but still the language prejudice persists in large parts of our country. 

Coming to the point, I have always known my mother tongue to be a strange dialect; a heady mix of Marathi (loosely resembling the regional dialect spoken in large parts of Maharashtra) and other South Indian dialects mostly Tamil, Kannada and to a lesser extent Devanagari. The spoken dialect, accent-wise, almost resembles the local dialect, either Tamil or Kannada, whichever, you would prefer it to be. Any Maharashtrian who would listen to this dialect, would not understand a word of what is spoken. Likewise, if a Tamilian or Kannadiga were to listen to this strange dialect, they would not be able to understand a single word of it. To this day, I don't know what is the dialect called .  We claim it to be the original Marathi.  Not the Maharastrian kind which we believe, has been corrupted and mixed with different languages, especially Hindi.  While, some of my people maintain that it is, indeed, pure Marathi on an overall basis (of the purer kind, if you will!); some would like to call it Desastha Marathi or Kumbakonam Marathi or Thanjavur Marathi. While we were younger, we had a perennial fear that people at large, would confuse our mother tongue with 'Koli Marathi'; also a dialect spoken by a small community of people (tailors mostly) who are basically non-vegetarian in their dietary habits. Hence, we were refrained from speaking our mother tongue, when moving amongst the general public (for example, while walking through the Markets, or while travelling in public transport like trains, Buses, etc.). Though, honestly, I have to admit that both the dialects sounded almost similar in most parts! I still don't know, what is the harm if people confuse one dialect for another. How does it matter to stray listeners whether you are a vegetarian (speaking Desastha Marathi) or a non-vegetarian (speaking Koli Marathi)?

I have to admit, I have largely forgotten speaking Desastha Marathi myself, these days; I refer to myself as a Kannadiga to anyone who wants to know my mother tongue. However, whenever I happen to speak to a certain relative, who has historically spoken to me only in Desastha Marathi, I instinctively start speaking the dialect fluently; almost like a fish taking to water. That is the beauty of it, we never forget our mother tongue, though we hardly speak the dialect on a regular basis.

When in School, I remember some of my school mates needling and bullying me with expressions, such as, "Kaai katlas re" or "Kaai kasala, benne masala". It sounds amusing to recollect those expressions, now; but, as a young boy, I used to be horrified when such expressions were casually directed at me and my mother tongue was made fun of. When I discussed such matters with family elders, we were advised not to speak our mother tongue outside of our homes; it was generally understood, that such fun-expressions on different dialects were par for the course. The times were such.

All of this is nice, in good humour. However, there appears to be a more serious issue at hand. It now appears to me that the strange dialect which I call for brevity's sake,  Desastha Marathi, that is my mother tongue, is simply vanishing from the scene. The dialect which was spoken in my family for generations (I can count, at least, five generations straightaway), has almost vanished, largely no thanks to me; I have to take some of the blame; for I have not taken any steps in the direction of speaking the dialect and passing on the language to my next generation of descendants. My daughter laughs at me when I speak the language.  Sad, but true. I have to own up to my responsibility, though I would like to partially pass on the blame to larger issues such as, national integration and / or globalization; which has accounted for many of the local dialects and or/languages disappearing from the scene. Take Kannada for instance, many of its adherents are of the opinion that the language would soon disappear if no steps are taken now for its propagation and continuous use in the city/state that we live in. English has become the common link language; what with people inter-marrying, cutting across castes and religious lines. In a way, all of this is good for the society, but then, there is also a negative side; that has an effect on the languages/dialects that gets marginalized in the process. I am going off the tangent, as usual. Pardon me. Coming back to the issue of my mother tongue, there is a real crisis on hands now. My mother tongue has been marginalized, largely due to its non-usage; not developing any pride in speaking the dialect and not passing on the language intact to our next generation.

However, I still have high hopes that, someone (brave and wonderful), somewhere would have taken steps to speak and promote the beautiful Desastha Marathi dialect (my mother tongue, which is lavishing in the ICU now) for the sake of posterity. I would be hugely indebted and grateful to such wonderful people out there!

Stray thoughts on ‘what constitutes Happiness’

In a recent article, what I read about ‘Happiness’, made me thoughtful and my brain cells were activated (normally, they are dormantJ).  The article went on, “Happiness is the ultimate purpose of our existence, whether as a conscious or unconscious decision. It is every human being's inalienable right. Yet, how do we measure happiness? It comes in so many different forms and for such diverse reasons that there can never be a consensus of what constitutes happiness.” The words rang true.   The author had so eloquently expressed it.  When I looked up on the Wikipedia and many other resources (Thank God for Google!) there were numerous and confusing definitions of what constituted happiness and I felt that the subject was too complex for a confused layman, like me, to handle; in effect, there was no consensus on the definition of happiness as concluded by the above said author.

Man, has lived and survived in this World for thousands of years, yet, if happiness is the ultimate purpose of all our existence, is there no simple answer to this perennial question of how to be happy?

I held this thought.  A beautiful quote had stuck with me, in my sub-conscious mind for a long time. 

“It is so simple to be happy….. yet it is so difficult to be simple”.  This was a quote from a Hindi movie of yesteryear “Bawarchi”, a cult classic from the inimitable Hrishikesh Mukherjee.  Although, this truism had a deep sense of meaning and suggested an elaborate word play, in effect, this implied to me, that simplicity, could be the answer to happiness.  If one leads a simple life with no material wants or desires; following asceticism, good virtues and moral character, life would be much simpler and thereby hangs a tale; Man, can be happy, if he chooses to remain simple.

It is not in my character to give up on the material wants and desires; I do not wish to lead an ascetic’s life, though I believe I have strong moral character and have some fine virtues.  Excuse me, it is not that I crave to own a palatial bungalow in Sadashivanagar or own a high-end Merc or BMW or Audi or even travel around the world, first class.  There is no end to what a person can crave for and the World can offer.  I, on other hand, would love to enjoy the material and mundane pleasures, life has to offer, within the limited resources, I have. I am digressing.

The more I thought about it, the more I felt that, happiness, is after all, one’s state of mind.  When we are at peace with our inner self and surrounded by Nature’s wonders, perhaps, a wave of ‘well-being’ emotions would sweep over us (could I say this is happiness, or may be, one would call it euphoria?); On the other extreme, just as an illustration, when we are walking on the street, in a heavy traffic zone filled with smoke emanating from vehicles; and we see dirt and squalor strewn all around, an opposite kind of wave, perhaps, nausea, would sweep over us, making us feel unpleasant; could this constitute unhappiness during that moment?  Is this too simplistic an explanation, for what happiness or unhappiness could mean to ordinary humans?

Have we all not heard the famous quote, that ‘darkness’ is the absence of light?  Similarly, in my mind, the absence of inner strife (our devilish thoughts and conflicting emotions) and/or the absence of problems/issues we face in our daily life, constitutes happiness. Apart from this, I really do not understand, what one would call happiness.  May be, an ascetic who is in deep penance in the Himalayan jungles would understand the term happiness in a better perspective.  I, for one, cannot. In that sense, in my present state, I am profoundly happy, thank you!

Happy Retirement!

I had read somewhere that, retirement is the reward after decades of hard work and an opportunity to spend more time with family, to travel, and to do all the things on your bucket list you wanted, but were too busy to do when you are working.  I do not know, if this is an exact description of the state of mind of a retired person.  This would probably vary from individual to individual.  By and large, I think this exactly fits into my idea of retirement.

During the working-phase of my life, I had a never given a thought, as to, what would life be, or what I would do, after retirement; always assuming that the life, as I knew then, would go on and on.  It had never occurred to me, that someday I would get old and bald; no longer required by the company that had employed me; skillsets would age; technologies would change, or there would be a fixed retirement age (which is 60 years in India, now for most of the government and public sector enterprises including banks).  After reality kicked in, and retirement was almost upon me, I realized, that on the day superannuation dawned/resignation submitted, my name would just be a closed entry on the company’s records.  I would be merely acknowledged, as an ex-employee, on exit from the company.  The company which had, until the day prior to my last day at office, commended my work ethics and quality of work delivered; bestowing me with fancy titles, had overnight deleted my ID out of the systems and blocked out, physical access to all of their facilities.  As I happened to visit my beloved office, the next day after my retirement/resignation, I had to request my ex-colleagues to log me in, using their ID and escort me to the department, I had wanted to visit.  All the admiration and respect I had commanded the day prior, amongst my colleagues, had vanished overnight into thin air.  It was literally like, I had become persona non-grata, with the company.

During my working days, weekends and other public holidays were great fun, to go out with the family on social visits or reading or simply enjoying a lazy day at home.  ‘Me-time’ and ‘sleep-time’ were always at a premium during those hectic working days.  Mondays used to be a drudgery due to heavy traffic conditions on the streets and workloads left over from the past week at office.  Immediate bosses and superiors used to reach office early on Mondays brimming with fresh ideas, displaying high energy and vigour; waiting to pick on and browbeat their subordinates with their new ideas.  Their ideas were normally tried out on the middle level Managers, who had, no option, but to nod their heads in agreement, like a bimbo.  If you were to disagree or raise any objection to the boss’s ideas, you were a marked man!  No small favours would be entertained; which were unavoidable in our line of work; like sometimes coming late to the office, leaving office early due to some work or engagement or even during promotion processes; there were always some such frivolous favours that needed the boss’s nod.  Basing on my experience, working life, indeed was a real pain, especially in the middle management; sandwiched between demanding superiors and indifferent subordinates.

After years of waking up early in the day to an alarm clock, it was luxurious in the first few days, post-retirement, to over-sleep for some time and wake up leisurely, with no particular place to go and above all, freedom from routine obligations.  Life was great, no motoring to the office in the terribly mad traffic conditions, no bosses to get shouted at, no subordinates to deal with.  Once the initial euphoria of the post-retirement life passes on, new challenges, arise.   Many, new unforeseen factors come into play.

The biggest challenge would be on the home-front.  People around you, resent your presence at home; especially the women folk (you guessed it!) because you are staying at home, like them, with them, in their hitherto unchallenged domain.  Women folk, generally, do not like or want your presence, day in and day out, around the home space, that they have created and nurtured, over the years.  I can understand their animosity; You see, it is, but, natural when someone who has not been home during the daytimes for years and decades together, suddenly comes alive and tries to mark his attendance at home.  Ladies, please forgive me, I should not have said this, just a slip of the tongueJ.

After the initial challenges, as detailed above, on the home-front wane (you see, the famous Charlie Chaplin quote comes to mind, nothing is permanent in this world, including our troubles or worries or even irritations or fightsJ), comes the new challenge of what to do with the rest of your life.  People with extraordinary passion or energy continue with their life/career pursuits in line with their passions even after their formal retirement; however, for people with no particular skillsets, the daily lazy routine bites.  It is my considered opinion, that nature counter balances this state, generally, by inducing some adverse health condition such as diabetes, or high blood pressure or heart condition or some such debilitating health condition, not necessarily life-threatening conditions or diseases; in order to keep the retiree, busy in life.  The retiree would have some new health challenges on hand to discuss and mope about with his retired group of friends in the neighbourhood parks; exchanging health related advice and discussing ad nausea, the present Indian political scene and current affairs.  As the popular quote goes, ‘Time and tide wait for no man’, time swiftly marches on, relentlessly.  It is soon time to say goodbye to the world, as we know it!

Coming to my plans, it had always been my dream that I would travel around the world and visit interesting places, post-retirement.  Come retirement, many of the post-retirement plans remain only on paper.  Our travel plans kept on postponing due to one reason or the other.  Nothing moved forward.  Life remained in a limbo.  The upside of this, however, is money to that extent has been saved, which would come in handy for a rainy day, especially if you are living off a pension, like me!

Work is Worship!

I go back in time when “work” was considered to be a serious form of worship.  Serious workaholics strongly believed in the idiom, “Work is Worship” and toiled day in and day out. Most of these workaholics were “seen” to be good leaders and successful people.  The names of these people were often quoted, as shining examples to emulate and to motivate the younger generation to work harder.  For anybody who was seen taking a break or just relaxing in-between office work, their acts were considered blasphemous. Back in the eighties, during the early stages of my banking career, I had a nagging suspicion that the Bank had assigned some senior executives solely to keep a close watch on the young employees who had been recruited in hordes in all nationalized banks post the bank nationalization phase in the late sixties and early seventies in India.  Recruitment took place in Banks in thousands, in the late seventies and early eighties, very much like the mass recruitment we see in Software and Services Companies these days.  I suspect, some of the senior executives in Banks were ordained by Bank management to go around their Head Office / Main office building in the Bank just to catch the youngsters in the act of chatting among themselves standing near the staircases or loitering here and there or just “whiling away” their precious “work” time in the office canteens. I remember being remonstrated a few times by senior executives to go back to respective work stations and complete the “work” instead of wasting time.  Working late was considered the norm with employees putting in extra hours of “work” beyond their stipulated working hours.  Sitting late would fetch the employees the required additional marks in their annual appraisals which was considered a “must” for promotions!

The youngsters in Banks who had been freshly recruited from various colleges had carried over their baggage in forming groups of like-minded individuals for sharing experiences and discussing their work-life occurrences standing near the staircases.  The atmosphere in the Head Office of the Bank was buzzing with activity.  Young people were seen milling all around the Head Office or their Main Offices with enthusiasm.  There was so much energy and freshness around the Bank environment, which is in sharp contrast to what we see in the nationalized Banks today.  Pardon me, while I say that most of the nationalized Bank employees today appear all too tired, dull and old, ready to pack up their bags at the drop of a hat, once and for all, either to opt for voluntary retirement or wait for attaining superannuation.   Since there was the mass recruitment of employees in the early eighties, now there appears to be the mass exit of employees occurring in nationalized Banks these days.

Coming back to the topic at hand, we hear the refrain “work life balance” being bandied about constantly these days; used synonymous with the IT and other services’ employees who work around the clock, 24/7, catering to their “clients” from around the world.  These days the term of yore, “work is worship” seem to be almost absent.  It is now all about teamwork and making greater use of technology.  Great ideas and inspiration seem to be the buzzword.  People have realized the darker side of slogging 24/7; with the pervasive lifestyle, related health issues cropping up; employees not having quality time for families; and many other negative factors in the society catching up, to show up, the ill effects of working too much at the cost of their personal life.  Personal life gets disrupted with too much focus on “work” and nothing else, in between.

“All work and no play make Jack a dull boy”, seems to be the mantra these days; in the process, companies are urging their employees to have a perfect work-life balance.  The big multinational companies, software, services and otherwise, have all provided for various facilities within their Headquarters each looking more and more like college campuses rather than companies where people need to “work” for generating profits for these companies.  It appears that Google HQ has Group cooking classes or coffee tasting arranged for its employees; bikes are provided to employees to move around the campus; Cafes galore within the campuses; group fitness classes with A class Gym facilities and much more are provided to their employees.  Facebook HQ, on the other hand, have many other wonderful facilities for its employees; company store–filled with FB apparel and items; it seems they even have foxes on campus, real ones, with specially designated fox-habitat area, and the campus certified for wild-life; video arcade for employees to hang out; many fast food restaurants filled with Burgers, pizzas, burritos, sushi, sweet shops, coffee shops, vending machines filled with snacks and beverages. All free. An interior swing for employees to “chill” in the playground near to the mini-kitchen.  Lots of electric cars in the parking lot.  Apple, it appears have designed their new HQ in a unique circular style reminiscent of their iPod, iPhone and iPad.  Their new campus will include a cafe for 3,000 sitting people; be surrounded by extensive landscaping, and offer parking both underground and a parking structure.  Media reports widely describe the new structure as "spaceship".  Other facilities include a 1,000-seat auditorium, 300,000 square feet of R&D facilities, a fitness center; an orchard, and a dedicated generating plant as the primary source of electricity (powered by natural gas and other more environmentally sound means); with a gorgeous courtyard in the middle, and a lot more.  What else, next?  Your imagination is as good as mine!  With all these wonderful facilities’ available, where do the employees find time to complete their required “work” hours, in between all the recreation and fun?

How times are A-changing.  The workers of the world, rejoice!  Sitting late in Offices is now considered passé.  Life seems to have come full circle for the workers of the world, who were once viewed with suspicion and had to be reined in to be more productive with catchy phrases such as “Work is Worship” as a means of motivation.  Retaining employees was unheard of, in our earlier days; there were no retention policies to retain talented youngsters by providing facilities, including employee stock options.  Workers were considered mere “automatons” or “robots” working at the pleasure of the employers; the loyal “employees” of yesteryear were threatened with more stringent working hours and bad reviews if they did not “fall in line” with the management philosophy of work, work and more work.  What a “royal fall” for the employer managements, it has been!  Who has had the last laugh, now, the “workers” or the “employer managements”, your guess is as good as mine!

The Irony of Life

“The irony of human condition is that we are so focused on reaching some point in our journey, some happiness, or some goal, that we seem to forget that the journey itself is where life happens!"   

                                                                                                                     "Author unknown”

Attending job interviews is a challenging prospect for most people; however, for Rahul, job interviews had been a smooth sailing affair, so far, as he had performed fairly well in many of the interviews, he had faced in his lifetime.  However, every time Rahul attended a job interview, he had to go through lot of background preparation and new learning or unlearning processes, based on his previous experiences, in anticipation of the interview.  He had to understand the organization, the role, the background of the company, their financials and many more such important information gleaned from internet sources or from some ex-colleagues who had worked in that company.  The purpose of a job interview was deploying right people into the right job.  Only if the interviewers had this in mind during the selection process, many of the unpleasant or irrelevant questions posed during the interview could be avoided; again, the interview process, in general, threw open many candidates who lacked the technical or required skills to operate proficiently in his/her role.  Still the interviewers had to go through the entire process for selection of the best candidate, among the list of finalized candidates appearing for the interview.

When the interviewers, sometimes asked stock questions, for which there could be no ready factual responses, Rahul had ended up making up stories around them; which in most cases, was an imaginary answer or plain guess work, not always convincing. The one question that the interviewers invariably asked was, 'If you are selected, how do you think you will be able to transform this company or bring a new perspective into the job?’.  How can a sane person who does not know the “ABC” of the organization, seriously answer such questions?  All that the candidate knew for certain was the position for which he had applied for and the first impressions he had gained on his interactions with the company personnel such as the receptionist or the HR Department official; other than that, there was nothing noteworthy for him to assess and answer such question.

Another question, the interviewers generally asked was, ‘What do you think are your weaknesses?’. As if anybody, in their right senses, would open up before the interview committee and discuss their innermost fears or apprehensions regarding their own shortcomings.  However, if one, did mention their weaknesses honestly, what if they rejected the candidate based on the responses.  Honesty is a rare virtue, but then, how many of them appreciate the human value attributes of the candidate, in an interview process.  Again, there were some standard questions, interviewers were prone to ask.  For example, ‘Why do you want to join this company’.  Rahul was not sure how he would reply to such questions.  If he had indicated that he was unable to cope with the pressures of the present company he was working with or he did not like his current boss, what would be the reaction of the interviewers.  Would they still select him as a job prospect, because he had not lied and spoken the truth? 

Most of the interviews Rahul had faced were for seeking jobs during the later years in his life.  Like they say, life had begun after 30 for Rahul; after he had upgraded his professional qualifications and migrated to the Middle East.  During the earlier phase of his life in India, he did not venture out much to seek jobs, nor were there any jobs on offer during the pre-liberalization period of the economy in India.  He had this strange lethargy and not belonging to the "aspiration" generation, he was not keen in seeking jobs or positions in life.  Quite content with the IT Operations Specialist job he had with a Private Company in India, Rahul was quite happy in the 9 to 5 routine.  There was no job stress or pressure on performance.  He just did his routine job and went home without any worries or pressures.  As there were less work pressures, he had a nice peaceful sleep.  Life motto, at that stage of his life was simple living and more simple thinking; he had no illusions or aspirations on his own skill sets.

After moving to the Middle East, he had settled down in one of the big four Audit and Consultancy firm with their Information Security Department which had offered him a decent salary.  Rahul was not pleased with his current job, though; the main reason was that his immediate Manager, was not a very considerate and understanding person. The Manager’s life motto seemed to be, to just harass his subordinates’ day in and day out to squeeze work and blow their minds with his wisdom.  He, probably, derived sadistic pleasure in bullying and underrating the performances of persons reporting to him.   Rahul stayed on the lookout for better opportunities, mainly to avoid daily friction with his Manager.  He badly wanted mental peace and a change in work atmosphere.  There were some job offers in the initial days and he did attend a few interviews, but none of them progressed into a concrete job offer.  One fine day, Rahul was invited for an interview for the position of Head of Information Security with a Retail Bank proposing to establish themselves in the Middle East region.  The Head of Risk Management, a person of Indian origin, was known to him and he was on the lookout for a fellow Indian with considerable experience, to report to him.  Rahul had appropriate work experience and right credentials for the position.  He was invited for the Interview at 1.00 PM, one afternoon.  Rahul took time off from his regular work schedule, informed his immediate senior that he had some personal work, and left his office as early as possible.  By the time he reached the Office where his interview was scheduled, the clock showed 1.15 PM.  The interviewers had already gathered in the interview room and the receptionist directed him to hurry along.  Rahul stepped into the interview room, sweating a little and apologizing for being late.  He could see that there were three of them seated in a round table.  The person of Indian origin, who was known to Rahul, was looking at him with slight disapproval, as he was a little late for the interview.  Rahul could feel that his confidence level was a bit low and the interview did not go that well. He wanted the interview to end as soon as possible.  After some few minutes, which had appeared to him as an interminably long period, the interviewers concluded their questions.  Rahul thanked them and literally sprinted out from the interview room with relief writ all over him.  He wanted to forget that he had appeared for this interview.

Rahul had a surprise in store the next day; he was informed that he had been selected for the position of Head of Information Security by the Retail Bank which had interviewed him.  Rahul was shocked albeit pleasantly, that in spite of his bad performance in the interview, he had been selected to the position.  He thought that, may be, the contact person, who had known him, had influenced the selection process.  Rahul was asked to submit his credentials the next day at the Bank’s main office.  When he went to submit his credentials the next day to the Human Resources Department, he was told that the Head of Risk Management (the person of Indian origin known to him), who had interviewed him the previous day had resigned from the Bank, and yesterday was his last day at the Bank.  This was news to him and he felt strangely disturbed because this was the person to whom he was supposed to report to, in his new position as Head of Information Security.  Rahul did not know what to say.  The Human Resources Head, who was a Middle East national, informed him confidentially, that the person who had interviewed him the previous day, had joined the big four Audit and Consultancy firm for which Rahul was presently working.  Yesterday, the day of his interview, was his last day.  Rahul wondered at the irony of the situation.  Rahul was planning to quit his firm to join this Bank, whereas his would-be boss, the interviewer, had already put in his papers and quit the Bank to join his current firm.

Rahul, then went to on discuss his contract terms with the HR Department.  The terms of employment were good and very well acceptable to Rahul.  He was asked to join the Bank as early as possible.  Rahul was happy with the salary raise he had bargained for and, most of all, relieved that he could escape from the clutches of his Manager, his immediate boss.  The very next day Rahul submitted his resignation with his current firm.  After the lapse of a month, as planned, Rahul reported to the new Bank after serving his notice period. 

As per his letter of appointment to the new Bank, he would be directly reporting to the Head of Risk Management. On his first day in his new job, Rahul was ecstatic and happy with the Bank environment. The Bank had a pleasant atmosphere and he had a beautifully decorated office, all to himself.  The perks included a Personal Secretary, as well.  After an hour or so, into his new job, Rahul was informed to meet the Head of Risk Management, his new boss, as soon as possible.  Rahul had not met the Head of Risk Management, his new boss, till now.  He only knew that the person of Indian origin, who had interviewed him had resigned and Rahul was under the impression that the position was still vacant.  However, it appeared that the Bank had filled the position immediately and hired a new person.  As he had received a summons from the Head of Risk Management, he thought this was a good opportunity to go and meet with his new boss; and get acquainted with him.  Rahul, hurried to the Head of Risk Management’s office which was situated on a different floor in the same building.   He was asked to wait for a few minutes as the Risk Management Head was in a short meeting.  After a few minutes, the meeting was over and the Head of Risk Management was free.  Rahul went into the office of Head of Risk Management, with a smile pasted on his face.  He wanted to create a good impression and appear pleasant while meeting his new boss for the first time.  The Head of Risk Management, presently looked up, stood up with his hand outstretched and a broad smile on his face. Rahul’s face had gone ashen, with dismay and shock writ all over his face, as there stood in front of him, his old Manager from his earlier Audit and Consultancy firm.  He was the new Head of Risk Management!  He also later came to know that this new Head of Risk Management, his old boss, was instrumental in selecting him for this position and not his contact, the person of Indian origin, as he had presumed earlier.  Rahul had learnt a new lesson in the supreme irony of life!