Its a crowded train. Damn you it is! What else do you expect during Diwali. Everyone has to get home. They have wandered for long and the festival is calling them home. They have waited till last minute to bag a train reservation. Some adventurous to venture without one. Some carrying far more luggage than they ought to and are keeping themselves busy counting the baggage for fear of loosing behind any. They crib, they fight, they try to make things right. They sing, they hum, they listen to some radio song. They look outside the window, they try to catch some sleep, they want to hide their boredom but just can't. Its festive time and getting home is all they want to do. There also seems to be exist a vigilante group staring at the door and shout at people who leave it open. They need to feel that ac on them. They have paid for it and want to vasool it. I will try to close the door if I go through. Don't want to be lashed at in a language I don't understand.
I try to make sense of the chaos. Put the equation together, but fail. Sleep will elude me, comfort will betray me and dare I say the AC of the compartment has already given up on me. Darn travelling cheap has its perils. I know somewhere that Channel V bai will be laughing at me. "Itna paisa mein itnaich milenga"
Oh what wouldn't I trade for an oasis of serenity and take me away from this bizarre reality. And when I loose all hope, I catch a glimpse of her. Just the eyes at first, staring out into the night. There is not a thing to be seen and all you manage to catch is a reflection of the train and its eclectic bunch. Gazing at the same chaos reflected in the windows does little to comfort me. But the gaze in her eyes gets me hooked and soothes me somehow. I am curious to have a look. The distance between our seats and the occasional sideways rocking of the train has only afforded me a stealing glance at the eyes, the rimmed glasses, the ear rings, the colour streaked hair but not the whole face. Putting together pieces of this jigsaw puzzle is no fun since I know I have a very short attention span. Any more of this hide and seek and I would have moved on!
But curiosity keeps getting better of me. And I seem to be drawn into some oblivion. Suddenly I don't care for the chaos around me. I don't care for those vigilantes shouting at random strangers, mostly hawkers, to shut the door. Frankly the hawkers don't care either. But that doesn't deter the vigilante. They seem to have found a purpose for the time they are on this train.
The glimpse of a scarf brings me back to the oasis of serenity I had been searching for so long. Seems the AC is working its charm, why else would the unknown stranger put it on. Now there is a sense of mystery to the plot and oblivion has pulled me in even further. I can't complain and want to know what lies ahead.
The next I see is a book, which has managed to engross my muse into reading it. The gaze of the eyes, peering out of the train and into the night, was now fixed onto a novella or sorts. Well, reading is good! Maybe we have an intellectual on board the train. The composed articulate type. I am on the edge of my seat now. How I could wish away all that’s blocking my view. That would mean that a backpack, a purse, a lunchbox, a sweet grandma, a weird bald guy and numerous train seats would have to just vanish.
The train rocks sideways again and so does my view. I swear I could get through to the title of the book. And what is this I read - The presumed articulate lady with the scarf and glittering ear rings and sexy rim glasses is reading 'Half Girlfriend' by Chetan Bhagat.
Oh snap! Get me out of here. I don't believe myself. I followed the white rabbit into wonderland only to be tricked like so. Lady that crap of a book is the deal breaker. I no longer care how you look, I don't even want the whole picture. Ugly duckling or a beautiful swan.. its a moot point now. A picture speaks a thousand words and a glimpse of that book had made me run away like crazy.
What matters now is how do I snap off this dream. A shrill "chai chai" seems to be the kick I have been waiting for. That synced with "samosa le lo" and later by "col drinx" should get me back to the crazy reality I have been trying to run away from. However bizarre it may be, its the only one I have. I tried getting into an alternative reality for a while and was welcomed by a "literary genius" and so next time I think I will pass.
Oct 31, 2014
Nov 8, 2010
Social networking for the heck of it!
I once updated my FB status with this - "Gmail.com and Facebook.com - that sums up the internet for me!". An honest confession liked by 2 and commented by 1 on the lines of "same here". And after all the social networking frenzy has mellowed down, the statement I made is just a mirror to the stark reality. Sure you have many options to engage online, but at the end of the day it comes down to just one person - you.
Its a desperate measure to break out of the monotonous, boring lives we lead nowadays. We want to escape this life and get into a virtual one which is equally pretentious. How many of us would put things onto their profiles that they really mean? Are we really the person we say we are? The very basis of our "online" friendships starts with a lie. How far do you expect it to take you?
When I first created my FB profile, I was unsure about what I'd put on it. Just some basic info to start with, and then later I added my likes/dislikes, what I read, what I watch etc. But that was quite a while back. My choices have changed over time and I no longer care to update my profile either. So if you sent me a friend request after going through my profile, sorry my not-yet-a-friend, its a different me now!
For a while it was good to get in touch with old friends and lost contacts, make new ones, strike some interesting conversation et al. The "status" updates made it convenient to let everyone know what you were up to. But it irks me now when I see all the updates. No I don't want to know what you are having for breakfast, I don't want to know what good time you are having on the weekend nor how boring was your work the week before that. I need a dialog to keep in touch with my friends and not become a FM receiver for your chatter. And when you run out of status updates of your own, you borrow URLs, bit.ly them, put them up on your profiles and irk me even more!
I'd like a have an "Unlike" button please. Coz that little "Like" button is probably the most abused thing on FB. I put up an update, someone 'likes' it and puts in his comments. Someone else 'likes' my status and the commented message as well! Is it like a popularity meter? The more hits on "like", the more popular you are in the FB fraternity. I swear I have seen this as well .... "sob! sob! my goldfish died!" followed by 3 likes!! That poor fish did manage to make some enemies in its tiny lifespan. I suspect the culprit is one of these three people.
Gaming soon took social networking to a whole new level. There would hardly be a soul who hasn't heard of Farmville. It got me hooked onto it too soon and for too long. I was addicted to this crazy virtual farming game. I would spend hours buying grains, ploughing my fields, growing crops and vegetables in my quirky little avatar which I must admit looked much like me. It ought to, because I had spent endless hours, fiddling with its looks to near perfection. It hit me one day, that I was spending too much of my time and energy on Farmville, when I had planted seeds that bore fruit in two hours, which then would sell for a profitable amount. I would literally log in in every two hours, carry out my chores, make the money and let the new crop flourish for the next two hours, until I log in again! And it wasn't just me. All my virtual neighbors were doing just the same!! Since then, I have given up my career in virtual farming and trying to return to a normal life, which was an uphill task since now I was faced with a dilemma - whether to tend to my new zoo or make myself a fish aquarium!!! For all that its worth, it was fun while it lasted.
I was once a faithful Orkut user. But then FB came along. Everyone jumped onto the FB bandwagon, and so did I. Pretty soon it was R.I.P Orkut. Tomorrow some new killer social networking site will come into being and send FB into oblivion. People will blindly follow suit. Recreate their profiles and start from scratch in a new "exciting" virtual world which will be the in-thing at the time. You might look at new requests on that site and wonder "Hey don't I know this guy from facebook? He was on my friends list, but we never really got to know each other." You would want to decline the friendship because it never really meant anything. But then say "what the heck!"... and click "Accept". Rejoice. Your "network" just got larger.
Its a desperate measure to break out of the monotonous, boring lives we lead nowadays. We want to escape this life and get into a virtual one which is equally pretentious. How many of us would put things onto their profiles that they really mean? Are we really the person we say we are? The very basis of our "online" friendships starts with a lie. How far do you expect it to take you?
When I first created my FB profile, I was unsure about what I'd put on it. Just some basic info to start with, and then later I added my likes/dislikes, what I read, what I watch etc. But that was quite a while back. My choices have changed over time and I no longer care to update my profile either. So if you sent me a friend request after going through my profile, sorry my not-yet-a-friend, its a different me now!
For a while it was good to get in touch with old friends and lost contacts, make new ones, strike some interesting conversation et al. The "status" updates made it convenient to let everyone know what you were up to. But it irks me now when I see all the updates. No I don't want to know what you are having for breakfast, I don't want to know what good time you are having on the weekend nor how boring was your work the week before that. I need a dialog to keep in touch with my friends and not become a FM receiver for your chatter. And when you run out of status updates of your own, you borrow URLs, bit.ly them, put them up on your profiles and irk me even more!
I'd like a have an "Unlike" button please. Coz that little "Like" button is probably the most abused thing on FB. I put up an update, someone 'likes' it and puts in his comments. Someone else 'likes' my status and the commented message as well! Is it like a popularity meter? The more hits on "like", the more popular you are in the FB fraternity. I swear I have seen this as well .... "sob! sob! my goldfish died!" followed by 3 likes!! That poor fish did manage to make some enemies in its tiny lifespan. I suspect the culprit is one of these three people.
Gaming soon took social networking to a whole new level. There would hardly be a soul who hasn't heard of Farmville. It got me hooked onto it too soon and for too long. I was addicted to this crazy virtual farming game. I would spend hours buying grains, ploughing my fields, growing crops and vegetables in my quirky little avatar which I must admit looked much like me. It ought to, because I had spent endless hours, fiddling with its looks to near perfection. It hit me one day, that I was spending too much of my time and energy on Farmville, when I had planted seeds that bore fruit in two hours, which then would sell for a profitable amount. I would literally log in in every two hours, carry out my chores, make the money and let the new crop flourish for the next two hours, until I log in again! And it wasn't just me. All my virtual neighbors were doing just the same!! Since then, I have given up my career in virtual farming and trying to return to a normal life, which was an uphill task since now I was faced with a dilemma - whether to tend to my new zoo or make myself a fish aquarium!!! For all that its worth, it was fun while it lasted.
I was once a faithful Orkut user. But then FB came along. Everyone jumped onto the FB bandwagon, and so did I. Pretty soon it was R.I.P Orkut. Tomorrow some new killer social networking site will come into being and send FB into oblivion. People will blindly follow suit. Recreate their profiles and start from scratch in a new "exciting" virtual world which will be the in-thing at the time. You might look at new requests on that site and wonder "Hey don't I know this guy from facebook? He was on my friends list, but we never really got to know each other." You would want to decline the friendship because it never really meant anything. But then say "what the heck!"... and click "Accept". Rejoice. Your "network" just got larger.
Jul 25, 2010
Leaving a 'sticky' legacy behind
My office desk was cluttered with some thirty odd post-it "sticky" notes. Each one bearing a quote, some wise crack or some thoughts that I may have churned out. It all began when once in a meeting I asked something silly and apologized for asking such a stupid question. To which my manager replied "There are not stupid questions". As I was about to find out, it was but a part of the whole quote which was "There are no stupid questions, only stupid people". I was so mighty impressed with it that I promptly wrote it down on a sticky note and put it on my cubicle wall at my desk.
I gradually cultivated this habit and kept adding wackier, funnier stickies onto my "sticky" wall-of-fame. People appreciated it, some found it amusing, some thought I was eccentric. But who cared. My collection was growing over time and I was running out of space. It was a museum of wit, humor, philosophy and I was its curator.
My aspirations of being its curator for longer were cut short by my decision to move out of the company. I saw an opportunity I could not miss and had learnt all that I could at current job to let go without any regrets. With just couple of days to go, I was glancing at these pearls of wisdom that I had either shamelessly copied or tried to put in words of my own. It was then that a really different idea came across my mind. I thought it would be cool to ask my friends and colleagues to pick the ones they liked and put them on their desks as a souvenir. So I sent out a mail to a close group asking them to come over and choose a sticky for themselves. Soon enough people were making their way to my desk and picking ones which they thought suited them best. It was interesting to observe who chose what because it said a lot about them.
One of the first ones to go was "Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm", good choice I thought and could only have been taken by a person with a never say die attitude. My junior grabbed this one, "If I am so afraid that I wont even try, how can I say that I am alive". I saluted his spirit and hoped he will never be afraid to try anything in his life. Then came the turn of the newest member of our team. She probably wasn't even aware of my departure until recently when the news broke out. She pondered her options and settled for "Like scars add great character to the soul, dents add great character to the car". She must really love her car was what I thought before recollecting my own story behind this quote which I had penned.
By now the stickies were disappearing very fast and I was finding it difficult to keep track of who chose what but made sure that they took only one, so that others also could get a chance. People picked stuff like "We are drowning in information, but starved for knowledge" and "Ships in harbor are safe, but then that is not what ships are built for", but what disappointed me was there were no takers for my very own stickies which had a hard hitting take on the management. I am a huge Dilbert fan and besides the comic strips if there were anything else which came even close were some of the stickies on my wall. I was waiting for people to pick "Proactiveness is when you send mail saying that you are about to sneeze. Initiative is when you tickle yourself with a feather first" or "You may think it is you initiative but the fact is you are a victim of your manager's delegation with credit taken in advance" or "The one who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on". I think people were steering clear of any controversial choice of sticky notes. Until someone hesitantly chose "Job satisfaction is just a temporary phase". Way to go man! And someone else picked up "Arm yourself because no one else here will save you". I smirked as I saw people shedding their inhibitions and making some bold choices.
Another of my juniors came to my desk and was almost immediately baffled by her options. She naively asked me which one would I choose if I were to give her one. I looked around the scattered notes and chose one for her. It was none other than the Vodafone jingle "Every morning I wish I could just play. Wish the mornings would just stay". Something befitting her naivety, which she gladly accepted.
With more and more stickies vanishing by the minute, I was left with only a handful. Late comers were in for a disappointment but hey doesn't the early bird get the worm?
When I sent out that mail to all, I had no idea it would turn out to be such a fabulous experience. Some were commenting on the wit these notes carried, some complimented me on my handwriting (read liars!!) while some were back for more as just one sticky was not enough for them. In some sense, I pondered, I was leaving a legacy behind, giving enough souvenirs to my friends to remember me by. May be I can start making a new stickies collection in my new workplace and hope someone back here will continue my trend. And I think I know just the person. If she is reading this, please take a cue. We all know how much you love your car.
It was almost seven in the evening and I had just few more minutes before I bade goodbye to this place. Maybe I will come back after a couple of years, but venturing out at this point is something that I must do. I took a final look at my wall with just one sticky note left. None other would have suited the situation more than this one. I was leaving my 'sticky' legacy behind and the last one of them read "Life is simple. You make choices and don't look back".
I gradually cultivated this habit and kept adding wackier, funnier stickies onto my "sticky" wall-of-fame. People appreciated it, some found it amusing, some thought I was eccentric. But who cared. My collection was growing over time and I was running out of space. It was a museum of wit, humor, philosophy and I was its curator.
My aspirations of being its curator for longer were cut short by my decision to move out of the company. I saw an opportunity I could not miss and had learnt all that I could at current job to let go without any regrets. With just couple of days to go, I was glancing at these pearls of wisdom that I had either shamelessly copied or tried to put in words of my own. It was then that a really different idea came across my mind. I thought it would be cool to ask my friends and colleagues to pick the ones they liked and put them on their desks as a souvenir. So I sent out a mail to a close group asking them to come over and choose a sticky for themselves. Soon enough people were making their way to my desk and picking ones which they thought suited them best. It was interesting to observe who chose what because it said a lot about them.
One of the first ones to go was "Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm", good choice I thought and could only have been taken by a person with a never say die attitude. My junior grabbed this one, "If I am so afraid that I wont even try, how can I say that I am alive". I saluted his spirit and hoped he will never be afraid to try anything in his life. Then came the turn of the newest member of our team. She probably wasn't even aware of my departure until recently when the news broke out. She pondered her options and settled for "Like scars add great character to the soul, dents add great character to the car". She must really love her car was what I thought before recollecting my own story behind this quote which I had penned.
By now the stickies were disappearing very fast and I was finding it difficult to keep track of who chose what but made sure that they took only one, so that others also could get a chance. People picked stuff like "We are drowning in information, but starved for knowledge" and "Ships in harbor are safe, but then that is not what ships are built for", but what disappointed me was there were no takers for my very own stickies which had a hard hitting take on the management. I am a huge Dilbert fan and besides the comic strips if there were anything else which came even close were some of the stickies on my wall. I was waiting for people to pick "Proactiveness is when you send mail saying that you are about to sneeze. Initiative is when you tickle yourself with a feather first" or "You may think it is you initiative but the fact is you are a victim of your manager's delegation with credit taken in advance" or "The one who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on". I think people were steering clear of any controversial choice of sticky notes. Until someone hesitantly chose "Job satisfaction is just a temporary phase". Way to go man! And someone else picked up "Arm yourself because no one else here will save you". I smirked as I saw people shedding their inhibitions and making some bold choices.
Another of my juniors came to my desk and was almost immediately baffled by her options. She naively asked me which one would I choose if I were to give her one. I looked around the scattered notes and chose one for her. It was none other than the Vodafone jingle "Every morning I wish I could just play. Wish the mornings would just stay". Something befitting her naivety, which she gladly accepted.
With more and more stickies vanishing by the minute, I was left with only a handful. Late comers were in for a disappointment but hey doesn't the early bird get the worm?
When I sent out that mail to all, I had no idea it would turn out to be such a fabulous experience. Some were commenting on the wit these notes carried, some complimented me on my handwriting (read liars!!) while some were back for more as just one sticky was not enough for them. In some sense, I pondered, I was leaving a legacy behind, giving enough souvenirs to my friends to remember me by. May be I can start making a new stickies collection in my new workplace and hope someone back here will continue my trend. And I think I know just the person. If she is reading this, please take a cue. We all know how much you love your car.
It was almost seven in the evening and I had just few more minutes before I bade goodbye to this place. Maybe I will come back after a couple of years, but venturing out at this point is something that I must do. I took a final look at my wall with just one sticky note left. None other would have suited the situation more than this one. I was leaving my 'sticky' legacy behind and the last one of them read "Life is simple. You make choices and don't look back".
Jul 2, 2010
Appraisal at gunpoint
Those who have been following my blogs probably know that I do not hold the job appraisal process in high regard. Especially in IT where appraisals are probably more rigged than the world cup cricket matches. So post appraisal, one could either be burdened with grief and low self esteem or emerge triumphant with an i-don't-give-a-damn attitude, metamorphosed into a being of steel, undeterred by the ball talk that just took place in closed glass room praying that the glass rather be sound proof because if it weren't, chances are that few others also heard the ridiculous, stereotypical, inconsequential talk and felt good about themselves by living in the bubble that their manager is a tad better. I am not even getting started on the victims of the normalization curve, a fancy tool and an unparalleled excuse to pitch an unaware soul into the danger zone. A career changing punishment which affects salary and promotions. Having given enough background on the topic, this is how I want my appraisal to be and may I pray that I survive IT long enough to see this one day.
A mail pops up in my inbox. A meeting invite. Subject says '1:1 Discussion'. I smirk. I know the end. What will follow is the beginning towards that end. I leave home early. I have preparation to do. Few more days I do the same. My actions are completely justifiable should someone ask me. But my manager makes a note of this. One more appraisal point is what he thinks. I don't want to correct him. Let him relish this until the day we cross swords.
D-day, d-time. I am cool, confident and colossally caffeinated. He is furiously typing something, filling out some online portal, jotting some notes, basically making his arsenal replete for a premeditated onslaught. He signals me to the meeting room and dashes off to collect some printouts from the printer. His walk is emphatic, face beaming. 'I am going to nail him this time' must be the words going through his mind. I am least bothered coz I have a plan. Years of appraisals have driven me to bring an end to things and this is how.
I make my way to the meeting room which I chose for a reason. I want to have the battleground advantage for my ambush. He sits in the chair which I leave unoccupied making himself invisible to the rest of the floor. I have a deep laugh. The bait has been taken. Bring it on.
He starts as usual. Managerial jargon that does not make any sense to me. After weapons like "proactiveness" and "initiative" have lost their sharp edge, he tries to strike me with new fire power like "ownership" and "book of work". Book of work ... 'bow' for short.... bow-wow!! I am not amused. And ownership as I understand is like raising a foster child. Someone initiates a project, bakes it half way and passes it on to someone convincing him that it is his baby from now on. The child may be down right arrogant but its easy to blame bad parenting.
Back at the table, some more precious minutes go by and I realize that its time to put my plan in action. I speak for the first time in a deep heavy voice to make it clear that what I say is not to be taken lightly. I am doing a perfect imitation of Vito Corleone from the Godfather but the nut head sitting across the table thinks that I have a sore throat. And I begin.
"I work for you on unrealistic deadlines, sacrificing my weekends and tiny joys of having tea in canteen, forfeiting my dates because I am working on Friday nights. And you think you can take such opportunities to humiliate me further by saying all that I do isn't good enough. There must be an end to this and that end has a price. I leave it to you to decide if it is a price you want to pay."
He is not believing what he hears and before his smile turns to anger, I make my move, making him go from being angry to bewildered to outright frightened. I place my Colt Python with its holder on the table. 'I want to end this' are my last words he hears before blacking out for a brief moment.
"Do you know what this is? Colt Python, the finest revolver ever made with its .357 caliber that, needless to say, is very lethal in short range. Peer into its nickel finish barrel while you wait for that bullet to be fired. Now listen."
"Your project management skills have made me forget words like faith, hope and mentoring. Over time I have lost motivation. Do you hear me? You fail to motivate me. The only thing I am motivated to do is place my Colt on your temple and pull the trigger. I may also go trigger happy riddling your arms and legs before letting the last bullet find its way into your head."
Dead silence.
"What happened? Never seen such a deadline before." I chuckle at that pun before continuing, "You still probably have enough time to come up with an analysis document on how did this situation ever arise. At your experience level, this is expected...."
By now he has a parched throat and is gasping for air.
"Let me make it easy for you. I will take out one bullet from the gun, spin the wheel for while and lock it back in. That leaves you with one chance at life. Make no mistakes. Probably this will make you feel the way I did when I was pushing that code to live. How uncertain I was, for I was all but a foster parent for it." Somehow creative literature gets the best of me at this point. I am surprised at myself. But again the moment itself is so dramatic.
"As you pass bricks in your pants, I am willing to reverse the probability. Lets just keep one bullet in the wheel and each of us takes a chance at pulling the trigger. Equal chance right? Here I go" and like a pro I pull the trigger to click at an empty chamber. That clicking sound sends an odd chill down his spine. He sweats incessantly as I see beads dripping off his nose and chin. "Your chance". He is trembling with fear, unable to comprehend what had lead to this extremity. Its not the hundredth blow that knocks down the wall, but the ninety nine that go before it as well. Someone ought to have told him that.
I pick up the revolver and place it on his temple. "I am making you an offer you cannot refuse", I say again with my Corleone imitation at its best. "I want an increment which I decide, a long term onsite and a promotion. Don't even try to make everyone in the team happy by passing these goodies like toffees to children. Its either all for me or a bullet for you. And should I pull the trigger, let me tell you I have booked this room for the next four hours. That's long after the last office creature has gone home. Take a look around. No one on the floor can see you or your plight. I have my aides telling people that you went home early due to health complaint so I doubt anyone will come looking for you. I will walk out of this place without raising any suspicion and come back later to reclaim my kill. The boot of my car is big enough to dispose two of your kind."
He is tongue-tied, white with fear but agrees to everything I say. He survives the day, learns some humility, understands that projects cant work without resources who are humans and not machines, relaxes some deadlines and even sponsors a movie outing for the team. A little hostility brings out the better side of him. I ponder, he isn't that bad, but high time he learns some people management lessons the hard way.
As for me I get what I want. Move to onsite of my choice at better designation, working diligently and enjoying life for the next six months until one fine day, I resign. Resign to join another IT giant because....
...I was given an offer I could not refuse. ;-)
Hell, this would be a dream appraisal for me. How about you?
A mail pops up in my inbox. A meeting invite. Subject says '1:1 Discussion'. I smirk. I know the end. What will follow is the beginning towards that end. I leave home early. I have preparation to do. Few more days I do the same. My actions are completely justifiable should someone ask me. But my manager makes a note of this. One more appraisal point is what he thinks. I don't want to correct him. Let him relish this until the day we cross swords.
D-day, d-time. I am cool, confident and colossally caffeinated. He is furiously typing something, filling out some online portal, jotting some notes, basically making his arsenal replete for a premeditated onslaught. He signals me to the meeting room and dashes off to collect some printouts from the printer. His walk is emphatic, face beaming. 'I am going to nail him this time' must be the words going through his mind. I am least bothered coz I have a plan. Years of appraisals have driven me to bring an end to things and this is how.
I make my way to the meeting room which I chose for a reason. I want to have the battleground advantage for my ambush. He sits in the chair which I leave unoccupied making himself invisible to the rest of the floor. I have a deep laugh. The bait has been taken. Bring it on.
He starts as usual. Managerial jargon that does not make any sense to me. After weapons like "proactiveness" and "initiative" have lost their sharp edge, he tries to strike me with new fire power like "ownership" and "book of work". Book of work ... 'bow' for short.... bow-wow!! I am not amused. And ownership as I understand is like raising a foster child. Someone initiates a project, bakes it half way and passes it on to someone convincing him that it is his baby from now on. The child may be down right arrogant but its easy to blame bad parenting.
Back at the table, some more precious minutes go by and I realize that its time to put my plan in action. I speak for the first time in a deep heavy voice to make it clear that what I say is not to be taken lightly. I am doing a perfect imitation of Vito Corleone from the Godfather but the nut head sitting across the table thinks that I have a sore throat. And I begin.
"I work for you on unrealistic deadlines, sacrificing my weekends and tiny joys of having tea in canteen, forfeiting my dates because I am working on Friday nights. And you think you can take such opportunities to humiliate me further by saying all that I do isn't good enough. There must be an end to this and that end has a price. I leave it to you to decide if it is a price you want to pay."
He is not believing what he hears and before his smile turns to anger, I make my move, making him go from being angry to bewildered to outright frightened. I place my Colt Python with its holder on the table. 'I want to end this' are my last words he hears before blacking out for a brief moment.
"Do you know what this is? Colt Python, the finest revolver ever made with its .357 caliber that, needless to say, is very lethal in short range. Peer into its nickel finish barrel while you wait for that bullet to be fired. Now listen."
"Your project management skills have made me forget words like faith, hope and mentoring. Over time I have lost motivation. Do you hear me? You fail to motivate me. The only thing I am motivated to do is place my Colt on your temple and pull the trigger. I may also go trigger happy riddling your arms and legs before letting the last bullet find its way into your head."
Dead silence.
"What happened? Never seen such a deadline before." I chuckle at that pun before continuing, "You still probably have enough time to come up with an analysis document on how did this situation ever arise. At your experience level, this is expected...."
By now he has a parched throat and is gasping for air.
"Let me make it easy for you. I will take out one bullet from the gun, spin the wheel for while and lock it back in. That leaves you with one chance at life. Make no mistakes. Probably this will make you feel the way I did when I was pushing that code to live. How uncertain I was, for I was all but a foster parent for it." Somehow creative literature gets the best of me at this point. I am surprised at myself. But again the moment itself is so dramatic.
"As you pass bricks in your pants, I am willing to reverse the probability. Lets just keep one bullet in the wheel and each of us takes a chance at pulling the trigger. Equal chance right? Here I go" and like a pro I pull the trigger to click at an empty chamber. That clicking sound sends an odd chill down his spine. He sweats incessantly as I see beads dripping off his nose and chin. "Your chance". He is trembling with fear, unable to comprehend what had lead to this extremity. Its not the hundredth blow that knocks down the wall, but the ninety nine that go before it as well. Someone ought to have told him that.
I pick up the revolver and place it on his temple. "I am making you an offer you cannot refuse", I say again with my Corleone imitation at its best. "I want an increment which I decide, a long term onsite and a promotion. Don't even try to make everyone in the team happy by passing these goodies like toffees to children. Its either all for me or a bullet for you. And should I pull the trigger, let me tell you I have booked this room for the next four hours. That's long after the last office creature has gone home. Take a look around. No one on the floor can see you or your plight. I have my aides telling people that you went home early due to health complaint so I doubt anyone will come looking for you. I will walk out of this place without raising any suspicion and come back later to reclaim my kill. The boot of my car is big enough to dispose two of your kind."
He is tongue-tied, white with fear but agrees to everything I say. He survives the day, learns some humility, understands that projects cant work without resources who are humans and not machines, relaxes some deadlines and even sponsors a movie outing for the team. A little hostility brings out the better side of him. I ponder, he isn't that bad, but high time he learns some people management lessons the hard way.
As for me I get what I want. Move to onsite of my choice at better designation, working diligently and enjoying life for the next six months until one fine day, I resign. Resign to join another IT giant because....
...I was given an offer I could not refuse. ;-)
Hell, this would be a dream appraisal for me. How about you?
Jun 2, 2010
All for a good cause
Corporate Social Responsibility. CSR. That's one beloved word of the corporates. Regardless of whether it was or not a correct implementation, right from the grass root level and up, they relish the process, flash the figures of expenditure in annual reports and grab as much the media coverage as possible. It earns them a goodwill, or so they think.
I am not much of a CSR person. I mean doing charity is a noble cause and I do do it in my small capacity. But the need for such pomp eludes me. Even as a group, I don't see the need for colorful fliers and expensive posters adorning the wall to announce that a csr is under way. You might as well add the miscellaneous expenses to the donation amount itself. Why the unnecessary expense? Beats me!
The company I work for is no different. CSR is so dear, that employees are encouraged to participate in all possible causes to raise enough money for the needy. And so we keep spending endlessly on cards, diyas, candles, paper bags, key rings, key holders, chocolates and what not. All at exorbitant prices. I mean I am not against donation, but then just ask for it. Don't sell me a paper bag for fifty bucks or a pack of assorted chocolates for hundred. I want to help but not end up feeling cheated. I hope you are getting the point and hence over time my interest in CSR activities has dwindled. The only one time I thoroughly enjoyed such a thing was taking some NGO kids to a field trip in a zoo. My sole purpose was that I hadn't been there myself, so what better occasion to pay a visit. Vested interests I suppose!
But I have the mother-of-all CSR stories to tell you. The one that I recently attended in office and I am in awe. So here goes...
As usual the CSR buzz was going around with email fliers flooding my mailbox. "Watch this space for more!" ... yea I am already excited about it. The last thing I want is some jazzy graphics in my mail box. I have other important mails to read. One of the activities planned as part of the CSR drive was tshirt painting competition and some nut-head had come up with the idea of an auction where people would bid for tshirts and the collected amount would go towards charity.WTF were the only words that came to my mind. Anyway the competition went well and the masterpieces painted by my office colleagues went up on display for others to see. I appreciate the effort but barring a few, most of them looked like a big mistake. I felt that we were seriously under-running some painting talent. Some were ridiculous to the extent that I even thought we had some retards on the payroll. Nonetheless the efforts were lauded and everyone heartily thanked for their participation.
Next up was the auction. People actually found time to leave their work behind and spend the next two hours in our auditorium bidding for these masterpieces as the michelangelos and the da vincis look upon their creations with great pride. And mind you, this was no ordinary auction. They also had a home-grown team of models to strut the tshirts around. OMG I had no words for the organizing committee. As the models, both guys and girls, walked the makeshift ramp to some peppy music, people cheered and clapped and hooted ( for the girls only ).
Our compère laid down the ground rules for the auction and some etiquettes that needed to be followed. Needless to say, people were aware that real money was involved. So you win, you buy! The minimum bid was to start at Rs.200 with next highest in steps of 50. So it would go 250, 300 .. and so on. Someone protested that 50 was too much and they should make it 25. Obviously this someone wasn't out of recession yet. But good call and everybody agreed. Rs. 200 was already over budget for me so I preferred to keep quite and enjoy the show. All madness was about to start when the first tee went under the hammer.
200 was the opening bid. Someone raised the stakes to 225, someone said 250. So people knew that things weren't going to be generous enough because rather than charity, the buyer seemed more interested in a value for money proposition. After some more bidding, the first tshirt for sold for Rs. 400 which I must say was the least of the bid wins for the day. The fever had just started. The next tshirt bought some 650 in the kitty and the next went for 1000. We thought 1000 would be it. Who would be insane to spend more than that? We were about to be proven wrong.
The heat of the moment was enough to fuel some aggressive bidding between the managers who took the stakes to 2000. Then someone called out 2250 and heads turned. Another call for 2500 and mouths stayed agape. The hammer went down at 2700. Things were insane enough and we were in disbelief. By now the "retard" masterpiece had gone for almost 1700. Again the words WTF crossed my mind. I chose to remain silent and observe the mania.
The models on the ramp were enjoying the prices being quoted. Someone had to remind the bidders that the price is for the tshirt only. No one is taking the model home. The way she blushed on hearing that comment was absolutely priceless. Guffaws in the crowd followed and when the uproar died out people got back to some serious bidding.
Rather than the quality of the painting, it had now become a prestige issue with people ridiculously bidding more and more aggressively. The insanity had now breached 7500 mark. Man, people have a lot of money here. That's the sentiment that started doing rounds and people whose salaries weren't appraised to their satisfaction let out sighs making their disappointment amply clear.
The baap of all bids was about to start and it was the last tshirt on the ramp. Now 200 opening bid was too low to ask. People started with 1000 and stepped up by 500. It was crazy and in no time the bid breached the 5000 mark with two bidders going for it. People had already seen 7500, so this bid seemed meagre if compared. So one of them boldly moved to 6500. The second bidder went silent for a while. People thought this would be it. The compère who kept track of the bids thought it was over. She called for 6500 going once... going twice... A finger was raised and the bidder silently said that he had a price in mind and since it was the last tshirt he would bid to his limit. Everyone was silent and eager to hear what amount this gentleman was willing to spend. He silently uttered his final bid. Rs 10000. Dead silence. Suddenly I realised I was a pauper in company of these elite people who had dug deep into their pockets. And I thought 200 was over budget. This bid of 10000 had shot through the roof. No more bids and the last tshirt went under the hammer for a colossal amount. Unthinkable for many. Ridiculous for few and uncomprehensible for the rest.
The total collections were announced and the team had managed to sell twenty five hand painted tshirt, barely worth twenty five hundred in all, for a massive figure few digits shy of 95000, averaging to almost four thousand per shirt. Basic cost price and profit calculations weren't making any sense. How do you manage collections of this order? Where did all the money come from? Who were these idiots who poured their wallets out?
Even if this was for a good cause this CSR event left me spellbound. It was a cocktail of creativity, charity, insanity, aggression and absolute lack of control over money spending. A lot of oohs and aahs in the audience accompanied every bid that scaled new heights. Some NGO will really be happy to see those funds donated to them. Hope they make some good use of it. As for me, I am done with this CSR stuff. Taken aback, left in awe and thinking is it really worth it. Next time a CSR NGO sale comes up I will be sane enough to buy a paper bag for fifty bucks. After all, it is for a noble cause.
I am not much of a CSR person. I mean doing charity is a noble cause and I do do it in my small capacity. But the need for such pomp eludes me. Even as a group, I don't see the need for colorful fliers and expensive posters adorning the wall to announce that a csr is under way. You might as well add the miscellaneous expenses to the donation amount itself. Why the unnecessary expense? Beats me!
The company I work for is no different. CSR is so dear, that employees are encouraged to participate in all possible causes to raise enough money for the needy. And so we keep spending endlessly on cards, diyas, candles, paper bags, key rings, key holders, chocolates and what not. All at exorbitant prices. I mean I am not against donation, but then just ask for it. Don't sell me a paper bag for fifty bucks or a pack of assorted chocolates for hundred. I want to help but not end up feeling cheated. I hope you are getting the point and hence over time my interest in CSR activities has dwindled. The only one time I thoroughly enjoyed such a thing was taking some NGO kids to a field trip in a zoo. My sole purpose was that I hadn't been there myself, so what better occasion to pay a visit. Vested interests I suppose!
But I have the mother-of-all CSR stories to tell you. The one that I recently attended in office and I am in awe. So here goes...
As usual the CSR buzz was going around with email fliers flooding my mailbox. "Watch this space for more!" ... yea I am already excited about it. The last thing I want is some jazzy graphics in my mail box. I have other important mails to read. One of the activities planned as part of the CSR drive was tshirt painting competition and some nut-head had come up with the idea of an auction where people would bid for tshirts and the collected amount would go towards charity.WTF were the only words that came to my mind. Anyway the competition went well and the masterpieces painted by my office colleagues went up on display for others to see. I appreciate the effort but barring a few, most of them looked like a big mistake. I felt that we were seriously under-running some painting talent. Some were ridiculous to the extent that I even thought we had some retards on the payroll. Nonetheless the efforts were lauded and everyone heartily thanked for their participation.
Next up was the auction. People actually found time to leave their work behind and spend the next two hours in our auditorium bidding for these masterpieces as the michelangelos and the da vincis look upon their creations with great pride. And mind you, this was no ordinary auction. They also had a home-grown team of models to strut the tshirts around. OMG I had no words for the organizing committee. As the models, both guys and girls, walked the makeshift ramp to some peppy music, people cheered and clapped and hooted ( for the girls only ).
Our compère laid down the ground rules for the auction and some etiquettes that needed to be followed. Needless to say, people were aware that real money was involved. So you win, you buy! The minimum bid was to start at Rs.200 with next highest in steps of 50. So it would go 250, 300 .. and so on. Someone protested that 50 was too much and they should make it 25. Obviously this someone wasn't out of recession yet. But good call and everybody agreed. Rs. 200 was already over budget for me so I preferred to keep quite and enjoy the show. All madness was about to start when the first tee went under the hammer.
200 was the opening bid. Someone raised the stakes to 225, someone said 250. So people knew that things weren't going to be generous enough because rather than charity, the buyer seemed more interested in a value for money proposition. After some more bidding, the first tshirt for sold for Rs. 400 which I must say was the least of the bid wins for the day. The fever had just started. The next tshirt bought some 650 in the kitty and the next went for 1000. We thought 1000 would be it. Who would be insane to spend more than that? We were about to be proven wrong.
The heat of the moment was enough to fuel some aggressive bidding between the managers who took the stakes to 2000. Then someone called out 2250 and heads turned. Another call for 2500 and mouths stayed agape. The hammer went down at 2700. Things were insane enough and we were in disbelief. By now the "retard" masterpiece had gone for almost 1700. Again the words WTF crossed my mind. I chose to remain silent and observe the mania.
The models on the ramp were enjoying the prices being quoted. Someone had to remind the bidders that the price is for the tshirt only. No one is taking the model home. The way she blushed on hearing that comment was absolutely priceless. Guffaws in the crowd followed and when the uproar died out people got back to some serious bidding.
Rather than the quality of the painting, it had now become a prestige issue with people ridiculously bidding more and more aggressively. The insanity had now breached 7500 mark. Man, people have a lot of money here. That's the sentiment that started doing rounds and people whose salaries weren't appraised to their satisfaction let out sighs making their disappointment amply clear.
The baap of all bids was about to start and it was the last tshirt on the ramp. Now 200 opening bid was too low to ask. People started with 1000 and stepped up by 500. It was crazy and in no time the bid breached the 5000 mark with two bidders going for it. People had already seen 7500, so this bid seemed meagre if compared. So one of them boldly moved to 6500. The second bidder went silent for a while. People thought this would be it. The compère who kept track of the bids thought it was over. She called for 6500 going once... going twice... A finger was raised and the bidder silently said that he had a price in mind and since it was the last tshirt he would bid to his limit. Everyone was silent and eager to hear what amount this gentleman was willing to spend. He silently uttered his final bid. Rs 10000. Dead silence. Suddenly I realised I was a pauper in company of these elite people who had dug deep into their pockets. And I thought 200 was over budget. This bid of 10000 had shot through the roof. No more bids and the last tshirt went under the hammer for a colossal amount. Unthinkable for many. Ridiculous for few and uncomprehensible for the rest.
The total collections were announced and the team had managed to sell twenty five hand painted tshirt, barely worth twenty five hundred in all, for a massive figure few digits shy of 95000, averaging to almost four thousand per shirt. Basic cost price and profit calculations weren't making any sense. How do you manage collections of this order? Where did all the money come from? Who were these idiots who poured their wallets out?
Even if this was for a good cause this CSR event left me spellbound. It was a cocktail of creativity, charity, insanity, aggression and absolute lack of control over money spending. A lot of oohs and aahs in the audience accompanied every bid that scaled new heights. Some NGO will really be happy to see those funds donated to them. Hope they make some good use of it. As for me, I am done with this CSR stuff. Taken aback, left in awe and thinking is it really worth it. Next time a CSR NGO sale comes up I will be sane enough to buy a paper bag for fifty bucks. After all, it is for a noble cause.
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