Anecdotal

My Unforgettable Boss

October 26, 2014

“There’s one sad truth in life I’ve found

While journeying east and west –

The only folks we really wound

Are those we love the best.”

― Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 


Rewind to the nineteen eighties. I had started my career life in Pune in the Department of Telecommunications, Government of India.  After several years and much scramble, I secured a transfer to my home state, Kerala. But I would not stay there for long thanks to the allure of an offer of overseas posting through a deputation to the government company, Telecommunication Consultants India Limited (TCIL), New Delhi. (Deputation is a channel enabling government servants to work in outside organization for a few years without losing their government jobs and the privileges associated with it). That TCIL was an enigma and its offer of overseas assignment a mirage are matters for another post.  What matters here is that I had quit TCIL and sought a posting back to Kerala. The year was 1990.

There is a general notion that deputation meant a cosy and cash-rich tenure away from the nerve-racking humdrums of a regular sarkari job. Such a notion is particularly strong among people sitting in Delhi entrusted with the power and freedom to toss people like me around the country while always staying put in Delhi. For this reason, post-deputation postings are done ensuring maximum sufferings and losses for the employees concerned. After all, we have to uphold the sacred principles of socialism enshrined in our constitution! And I too fell a victim of this socialistic logic and was posted to Madhya Pradesh Telecommunication Circle in the office of the Chief General Manager Telecommunication (CGMT) at Bhopal. As Shakespeare said, “And thereby hangs a tale”.

(At this point, I would request the reader to note that, twenty-five years ago, a CGMT was not just a run of the mill senior executive with a ceremonial title and a fat paycheque. There were only a handful of them then. And they had mettle and muscle, which they knew how to use.)

Now coming back to the story…

I learnt on joining at Bhopal that the seat I would occupy was a hot one.  I understood that the person whom I relieved had been trying for a transfer from that seat for a long while. He confessed to me that he wanted to go essentially for the reason that he wished to be away from the presence of the CGMT. But I could not appreciate his discomfiture since he was supposed to be reporting to the Internal Financial Advisor (IFA) and not to the CGMT.  The truth then tumbled out. I learnt that I would be interacting directly with the CGMT more often than with the IFA.  No wonder the man was so happy to hand over charge to me.  The situation was rather tricky.

The CGMT was out of office visiting the field. Since his domain covered the whole of the state of Madhya Pradesh (then undivided), official tours often took up a good deal of his time.  As I waited for my first encounter with the CGMT, several stories on him came to me through the office grapevine. I was told that the then Union Minister for Telecommunications hailing from MP had personally intervened to get him posted at MP Telecom Circle since the minister was told the he would be the best choice to improve the state’s telecom situation. I heard that he had almost lost his job for shouting at the Hon. Members of Parliament in the course of a Telecom Advisory Committee meeting (Authentic sources have it that the CGMT had actually yelled at them asking them to get out his office!). He had escaped unscathed, thanks to the goodwill of the Minister.  Other stories said about how he would put the fear of god into his officers and how they would stand before him, shivering in their pants. Some stories were of alleged corruption.  Others were hot and spicy. But there were none, which would subdue my anxieties. 

A week had passed.  I was standing on the veranda talking to a couple of colleagues. Then there was a sudden movement. I looked around and realized that the people to whom I was talking had vanished in a flash. Then my gaze went towards the entrance.  I found a knot of people headed in my direction.  Some of them I knew as senior officers working there.  But the one in the lead was a stranger.   He was tall, not less than six feet in height, and strongly built like a wrestler. His long hair was gracefully greyed to a degree.  His wide sideburns, dropped almost to his jaw, covering much of his rather plump cheeks.  He walked with an air of power and authority. “What people would call a towering personality!”, I thought. Then it hit me.  I ran for cover.

The CGMT was in office and I knew that my first encounter with him was at hand. A critical intelligence I had gathered in the meanwhile was that the CGMT had a habit of keeping the trade union leaders in good humour.  They had unrestricted access to him.  Such bonhomie, perhaps, was part of his tactics to ensure industrial peace. But, I was told that it presented a problem for the officers.  Often, the officers would be upbraided in front of these union leaders for real and imaginary omissions and commissions. Those at the receiving end often knew that, much of what the unions sought were undoable. Yet they would listen quietly and leave more quietly.  

Then it happened. The phone on my table rang. It was the CGMT’s secretary at the other end. She said, “CGM wants you”.  The secretary was from Kerala and I had met her.  I asked, “Why me? You should ask the IFA to go.” She said nothing.  I heard her putting down her phone.   A sudden panic gripped me. My heart was racing.  I ran, not in the direction of the CGMT’s chamber, but towards the washroom.  

I had no idea about the matter that the CGMT wanted to talk.  Since I considered it risky to go with nothing in my hand to an official meeting, I grabbed some paper that lay on my desk and ran, this time in the right direction.  As I crossed the secretary’s room, she gave me the thumps-up with a grin to boot. “Wasn’t there a sadistic tinge to her grin?” I wondered.  I knocked, waited for a moment, pushed the door open and stepped in.  The room was spacious and plush. The walls were lined with lush green plants kept inside shining brass containers that concealed the earthen pots in which it grew.  There was a massive desk in the centre.  The CGMT sat behind it.  Another person sat across him. 

As I proceeded, rather tentatively, towards the desk, the CGMT raised his head. He glared at me and shouted,  “Who the hell are you?” His voice sounded more like a roar. I stopped in my track as if I had hit an invisible wall. Obviously, he was unaware of the change.  I tried to mutter something about my coming in place of… But I could not form a proper sentence. To be honest, I too stood shivering in my pants!  “OK.”, he said at last. When I approached the desk, he pointed towards his guest and told me that he was the Circle Secretary of … union.  He had taken up some issue earlier.  The issue remained unresolved in my branch. ”I want the matter settled by next Monday”, he said, banging his fist on his desk for effect. The union guy sat there relishing my anguish – a cat enjoying the misery of a rat!

But, by this time, I had regained some composure.  I suddenly recalled what my predecessor had told me. “Remember that he will try to intimidate officers coming across him for the first time.  If you quiver, you will stay quivering forever. If you act with the right measure of tact and confidence, you will stay safe forever. The key was the right mix of tact and confidence. I had to make a try.  If I succeeded, I would stay afloat; else, it would be my funeral.

I reacted to his instructions with an emphatic “Yes Sir”.  After he finished, I turned and looked into the eyes of the union secretary sitting there with a silly smile on his face. I said, “Please come and see me before you leave.  I need some details on the case”.  I knew it was the height of audacity to speak that way to the CGMT’s guest. But it was a gamble. I waited with bated breath expecting an explosion. But nothing happened. I threw a furtive glance at the CGMT.  He sat there cool as a cucumber. I thought there was the faintest of smiles on his face.  “Not a bad beginning… attaboy”, I murmured to myself.

Slowly, I settled down into my new role.  I had a good team not averse to change. My immediate boss, the IFA was a jovial fellow hailing from Tamilnadu.  (It was a period in Indian history when Kerala produced all the stenographers and Tamilnadu, all the accountants). But there were two problems with him.  One was his habitual pan chewing.  A tin container on his table had the ingredients going into the pan. He accessed it at regular intervals and kept his mouth ever filled. The real put off was that he would suddenly burst into hilarious laughter spewing the crimson contents of his overfilled mouth around.  The other difficulty with him was that he loved talking and held a good stock of rather silly anecdotes. Once you would get caught in his spin, your day would go for a toss.  So, I would mostly interact with him through the files and would use some excuses to quickly close personal meetings (An imaginary meeting with the CGMT worked best as an excuse.  He would never dare to cross-verify!). In the midst of all this, I waited with disquiet for the next call from the top.  

And the next call came before long. This time, I went in more reassured.  I found him alone. As I entered, he looked at me, and signalled me to sit.  I sat down rather hesitantly.  A file lay open before him on the table.  I noticed that I had sent it that morning. The file was going around for nearly half a decade with no decision on the issue it carried. I had spent time to study the matter involved and had prepared a brief note on it to facilitate a decision.  “You wrote this note?” His words were more in the nature of a statement than a query. As he was speaking, he buzzed and the office boy appeared.  On his signal, the office boy withdrew and reappeared with a large tray on which crockery, cutlery and all the ingredients for making tea were nicely laid out.   He placed the tray before the CGMT and left quietly.  The CGMT quickly mixed two cups of tea with his expert hands and pushed one towards me.  I just could not believe.  “Is this the man at the centre of all those blood curdling stories?”  That meeting lasted for around twenty minutes.  He spoke on the issue involved in the file before him, on the quality and content of the note I had prepared on it, on his style of management and decision making…

Every word he spoke had the force and authenticity of practice behind it.  He had said.  “You see, I have a clean desk and hardly any pending files on the rack. I do not allow files to pile up when I am in office. When I return from field visits, I first clear all the accumulated files. I tackle the most difficult cases first. I never write queries in the files.  I simply speak to people who would give me the inputs I need to arrive at a decision.  I may not have a direct reporting relationship with the people I contact.  Hierarchies do not bother me, but speedy and quality decisions do.  I realize that the files escalating to my level need quick decisions since it carry personal issues of the people who work with me, the feedbacks of our customers and matters connected to the developmental works we have to execute for the nation. I must remember that these cases come to me since it remained unresolved at the lower levels or I alone have the authority to decide it or to escalate it further.  And I never dispose of files by merely drawing my initials where marked.  I always write my decision in big boldface, giving no scope for doubts or interpretations at any time.”

Thus began a memorable relationship inconceivable in the normal hierarchical setup of a governmental system.  On almost all occasions I visited him, he would prepare tea for both of us and for others if present. The CGMT once told me, “I care more for a postcard written in Hindi by a last-grade employee since I realize that he works in a remote station hundreds of kilometres away from this office and his grievance would remain unresolved in the normal course. He writes directly to me since alternative approaches failed to deliver.  I can neither turn him down nor initiate action against him for writing to me personally. That would devastate the poor man. Yes, I take my officers to task.  I am often furious in dealing with them. I cannot allow them spend time contributing the minimum while enjoying the maximum pleasures of their positions”. 

I had the good fortune to work with him only for around two years.  But my learning during the period was immense and invaluable. I had tried to apply what I had learnt from him in my later career within the comparatively limited scope of my domain. I believe that readers who had worked with me would realize this. Of course, I had often terrorized them too.   

Eventually, orders transferring me to Kerala arrived. When the CGMT found it, he called me and said, “I am not going to relieve you”. I told him about my wife working in Kerala.  “Give me a request.  I will get her transferred here.”, he said. I had no doubts that he could have easily accomplished it using his influence and connections in Delhi.  But he was just being light-hearted and had no desire of obstructing my long awaited transfer to my home state.  But others had such a desire and attempted to delay my transfer under many pretexts.  When it came to his notice, he intervened. He said, “If I do not help those working dedicatedly for the organization, I have no right to remain in this seat”. 

The day before I was to leave, he called me over phone and said, “One of your books is with me.  Remember to collect it”. The book was, ‘What they don’t teach you at Harvard Business School’, by Mark H McCormack.  I requested him to keep it. I love books and hold a sizeable collection of internationally renowned titles in my home library.  I once used to lend books. Since the books were hardly ever returned, I stopped.  I have seen people acting forgetful about the books they have taken from me. It distresses me to lose books. But it delighted me when the CGMT accepted my request to keep the book. It was no big deal for him. But it was among the biggest of deals for me.

On my final day in his office, I went to meet the CGMT for one last time.  The red lamp outside his chamber was on. It signalled that entry was prohibited. I spoke to his secretary.  I was told that he was in a meeting with area General Managers.  I was leaving Bhopal that evening and could not wait for the meeting to get over. Normally, the secretary would not have dared to disturb him. But that time she did. I went in.  As I entered, he stood up, came forward and almost gave me bear hug.  

In the course of my service spanning close to four decades in the Department of Telecommunications and in BSNL, its corporatized avatar, I had worked in offices across the country with people who came in all shades and sizes from exceptionally brilliant to exasperatingly idiotic. Some of them I have forgotten since they left no marks.  Some others I remember because of the ever-bleeding wounds they left in my heart.  And the rest I would remember for their affection, understanding and support. I too have wounded people with my rash words and reckless reactions. But I have always loved them. But hardly anyone knew.

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  1. Your style is a marvel and views, distinct. Though our interactions were not much, you had always been a spark in my memories…. Expecting more…
    B Sunil Kumar, Pune

  2. My dear Sir,
    Great to have you back in form.

    Grace…and kindness move us like mountains. And very, very few among those who penetrate your thick armour would ever know you nursed such wounds…may those wounds continue to produce such pearls!

    Perhaps you would like our incumbent CGM…quite like you, a straight-talking quick-firing maverick of a man, a dying breed in BSNL.

  3. Dear sir,

    You were always there for mentoring us….
    u always supported us unconditionally…
    u helped us to beat the workplace blues…
    Thanks for showing us no matter how hard bosses crack the whip…
    they need to have a strong human side to their leadership…
    Thank u for being with us….
    u are unforgettable….
    and also i should say superb work sir…

  4. Ego, Sir is inversely proportional to Self Respect which not many people would understand and those who do are ever cheered by their followers. Great to see you in a new avatar. adarsh

  5. Sir,
    You planning of your retired time is excellent. Exemplary!
    Instead of being rash and reckless, if you were a bit polite, many others might have learnt more from you and much of your knowledge and experience had flowed for the benefit of others. Working with such an experienced superior officers is definitely a boon for anyone.

  6. Dear Anonymous,

    Thanks for your comment. In response, let me present a quote:

    “I'm still kind of a mess. But I think we all are. No one's got it all together. I don't think you ever do get it totally together. Probably if you did manage to do it you'd spontaneously combust. I think that's a law of nature. If you ever manage to become perfect, you have to die instantly before you ruin things for everyone else.”
    ― Michael Thomas Ford

    Regards,

    kutty

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