Will She Be Mine (15 page)

I failed to control my urge to be outspoken and walked into his cubicle. Before locking horns with him I told a couple of peers in the team that I’d make him upgrade my rating. 'Don't get into a confrontation,' one of them cautioned. 'Remember, the boss is always right.' Perhaps he had a point, but I simply had to know the reason behind the unjust rating or I wouldn't be able to rest in peace. That was the problem with my conscience. Just as I couldn’t tolerate wrongs being done to others, I couldn’t tolerate wrongs meted out to me either.

“The problem lies in your communication,” Ramesh explained with a smirk. “You need to improve on that. But don't worry,” he added quickly. “I'll help you overcome some of it. We'll put you through a few soft skill trainings. That should get you better grades the next time.”

“Is this an entertainment company or a media house?” I asked in a not-too-friendly tone.

“What do you mean?” he asked indignantly. He had reason to sound startled and looked confused at my belligerent mood.

“Forget it,” I said. If he was obtuse, that was his problem. “Can you give me an instance of my weak communication?”

How could I forget my father's teachings so early in the innings? Be upright, stand up for the right principles yourself and also help others abide by them, he often said. He never taught me diplomacy.

Hypocrisy and diplomacy went hand in hand. Pulling the mask off your boss's face was not done. Think about it. How many masks can one rip apart in a society overrun by the corrupt minded or for that matter, how many masks can one rip off in a lifetime? One would have to recreate the entire planet earth to clean up everything and restart the wheel. Perhaps that was the reason God annihilated everything in His creation at regular intervals, I thought, recalling my scriptural readings from my spiritual days following graduation when Shalini had rejected my proposal for marriage. However through the years I did manage to rip the mask off quite a few of my bosses, much to their chagrin.

“Instances? Well, there have been some, but don't worry. You're not so weak.”

“Yet you penciled in the remark for my next boss to see.”

“Don't worry, Rajat. For the foreseeable future I'll remain your next boss too.”

“Then you'll see the remark at the time of my next appraisal and remember.”

“What's your problem, man?” he asked. “It’s not as serious as you're making it out.”

“It’s wrong in principle- not a question of how serious or severe,” I replied bluntly. “I'll give you a few instances of my efficient communication skills since you're unable to give instances where I was poor. I gave a presentation on Visual C++, another on the communication APIs. Both were well received. I have good rapport with the team members, participated proactively in all the team meetings and played a major role in the recent offsite team building exercise. In the office I regularly did my tasks on time.”

He blinked but didn’t say anything. I could see his mental gear hard at work at the back of his shifty eyes, scrambling to find justifications.

“I can produce several other instances that go to show my good communication skills,” I continued. “You can talk to the project members and check about my communication abilities from them as well. The project got canceled for everybody. If others can get a better rating for less, why am I being penalized? That’s my question. I feel I’m being singled out.” I took a deep breath. “It certainly can't be my communication. I won't buy that.”

I pouted at him with a challenge in my eyes. He stared back mutely, daring me to take the next step.

“Will you strike out that remark and upgrade my rating?” I asked coldly at last.

“Sorry, we don't work that way here. You have to accept your manager's rating.”

“Even if I feel it's wrong?”

“It’s not wrong,” he said in a stubborn tone. “If you insist on criticizing your rating without reason, you'll lose out in the future.”

“Is that a threat?”

He didn't reply.

“I've good reason to question it,” I said. “Just because you're the boss doesn't necessarily make everything right. You can't do everything alone, which is the reason you need a team. A manager needs to take his team members along. He amounts to nothing without them.”

“Rajat, I think you're unnecessarily creating an issue out of nothing.”

“I'm not,” I replied evenly. “You are. You said I’d lose out in the future because I questioned your rating. I don't see what I stand to lose if I continue pursuing the issue further. That's precisely what I'll do, since I'm not satisfied with your explanation.”

I walked from his cubicle straight into his boss's cabin. From where he sat he could see the direction I was headed and sat up at his desk to look as I opened the door to his boss's office. The spring door closed behind me as I stepped inside so he couldn't hear what went on inside after that.

After a couple of days he walked up to my desk with a sheepish smile. “How about coffee, Rajat?”

“You can call me RK,” I replied casually.

“Come, RK,” he said, passing a friendly arm around my shoulder to help me up from my chair. A few curious eyebrows popped up around us at the camaraderie as he walked me to the staircase.

We walked up to the terrace cafeteria in silence. As we carried our coffee mugs to occupy a table by the window, next to the terrace, he said nonchalantly, “I've upgraded your rating.”

“And the remark on poor communication?”

“Oh, you took that too seriously. I didn't mean it really. I've expunged that as well.”

I didn't say anything but concluded he was a stupid, shameless and- at the same time- dangerous man with few qualms. He wasn’t straightforward. Such people should be dealt with carefully in life. In my view he shouldn't have penned down negative remarks about my communication in a formal report if he wasn’t serious about it in the first place. He was a manager and during my appraisal he’d been discussing the official appraisal with me, not an initial draft.

He didn't deserve to be a manager. The basics were missing. Throughout my career I saw different versions of Ramesh at various levels of management, including lofty positions like that of VP and MD, who dressed up suavely, spoke glibly and had on opinion on almost every topic under the sun, but on closer scrutiny came across either as adults with undeveloped, juvenile faculties who refused to grow out of their nappies or criminals on parole, willing to repeat earlier crimes wantonly, and ready to make compromises or even back down if challenged. Even at this early stage of my career, the private sector was turning out little better than the public or government sector in terms of the quality of people and their principles and standards of ethics and morality.

“I've expunged the negative remarks,” he confirmed again, waiting for my reaction in case I’d not heard him the first time.

I nodded, sipping my coffee silently.

“I met Pads,” he mentioned nonchalantly. Pads was Padam Singh, his boss, the MSITian, under whose instruction he’d hired me and into whose room I’d barged after leaving his cabin the other day. “I suggested him to let me change your appraisal as you're new to the private IT industry. He didn’t agree at first but I put my foot down. I insisted we needed to encourage you in your initial days here and do the best from our side to help you.”

He waited for me to call his bluff. When that didn't happen, he continued with increased bravado. “Pads didn't agree at first,” he said with renewed confidence, trying to sound convincing, “But I stuck to my guns.” He looked at me dubiously. When I still remained silent, he gushed out triumphantly. “I put my foot down.”

It was easy to see what must have transpired between the two and just who had put his foot down. The bluffer.

“Good,” I said approvingly.

He narrowed his eyes at my supercilious remark. It was not done telling your boss that. But I’d found a route to bypass him in times of distress and was in the know of his boss's weakness for my credentials. Ramesh would always remain a foolish messenger for me. Fate had armed me well and I wasn’t lacking in brains to know when to use my ammo in the future.

A few months later, there was a massive restructuring in the company. This big US based multinational company that had manufactured computers for decades, took over another company. The merger resulted in many job losses in the US, while adding that many more in India. As a result, several senior engineers, including me, were suddenly catapulted to the posts of first line managers, reporting directly to Ramesh's boss since the setup in India was small. I too became a busy man overnight. It wasn’t bad to be promoted in one’s second year without being required to perform.

The new managers underwent a few in-house trainings which brainwashed them that as managers they’d henceforth need to own up all decisions of the company they were asked to transmit down to their reports. They couldn’t just wash their hands off and tell the truth as it was, that ‘hey, I share your frustrations. Actually this isn’t my decision; it was thrust on me by our lousy superiors. We have a common enemy.’

At first I wasn’t too clear what these decisions were. I gradually realized that our bosses- and their bosses all the way up the pyramid- hid behind the skirts of lower rank managers for their arbitrary decisions on performance ratings, salary hikes, incentive bonuses or promotions. They spoke eloquently while addressing employee forums, but behind their backs screwed them up, divided the loot of profits between themselves in sales- and some of the key non-sales departmental heads to enlist their support- and after that guiltlessly pointed the rest of the employees to their direct managers as the culprits. The direct managers of those employees were thus saddled with the onerous task of defending lousy decisions they had no inkling about.

The next thing I knew, I was one of the managers delegated to transition a project from the US to the Bangalore center. I’d soon be on my way to the US, upon getting a business visa. I dashed off an email to my friend PS informing of my visit at the email id he had provided when he visited India for his sister’s wedding. This would be my first trip abroad and hopefully mark the beginning of a good third year in office. In this aspect, of traveling abroad, I'd be one up on Shalini. In those times it was still a big thing in Indian society in terms of respect and fame, to travel to the US. In many ways, it’s still considered a big achievement.

As I went over my final preparations for the US trip following the stamping of my passport with a US business visa, the intercom on my desk rang. The receptionist announced I had a visitor. It seemed a bit early for the foreign exchange- forex- agent to hand over my foreign currency and traveler's cheques, but I went down to check anyway. One never knew these days.

To my surprise, the visitor wasn’t the forex agent at all. It was Shalini! She was waiting in the reception area when I reached down. How come she was in Bangalore! Had she come to profess her love to me? To admit that she’d made a mistake by spurning my proposals? My heart skipped a beat as I approached her hopefully, though I was determined to remain wary. I wouldn’t propose another time till I was sure of her seriousness. I couldn’t endure another rejection at her hands.

“Surprises never cease, do they, RK?” she greeted happily.

I smiled happily too, secretly overjoyed, though still trying to divine the reason behind her sudden presence. It shouldn't have surprised me to find her in Bangalore though, I thought in retrospect. She’d completed her MBA from the KIM center located in this very city a few years ago and was likely to have friends in the city. But knowing her practical approach to life, she’d have come here on a business visit rather than to meet friends or alumni. She wasn’t one to waste time and money on sentiments. Considering that, I felt she wouldn’t waste money on a trip to profess her love to me either. She must have come here on a business trip. Nonetheless, it was a heady feeling to realize that she’d found time out of her official schedule to meet me for the sake of old times.

"Didn’t hear from you for a while, RK. Been wondering what happened. Are you chasing other girls now?" she said casually as I walked up to her and offered my hand. Her jesting tone disrupted my thought process. “I don't blame you. Might be a good idea to latch on to someone serious, who’s more interested in you. It’ll remove your itch for me.”

Itch? How could she talk like that, so heartlessly, as if it wasn’t enough to spurn my proposals? I’d already suffered a lot on her account, taken up spirituality after her rejection and had even chucked my first job offer at campus- lucrative by all standards- just to be near her. I’d practically ruined my career over her. After so much had happened, this was no way to speak to me, making jest of the intimate feelings of love I held sacred. But I remained silent. I usually felt tongue tied when she spoke in that dominating tone of hers.

She had never tried to understand me. Her objective behind visiting me today was gradually becoming apparent. She’d looked me up to while away her spare time between breaks in her official meetings, possibly to have fun at my expense. What did she mean by asking if I was chasing other girls? Like her mother did she also think of me as a vagabond?

“What can I do if girls insist on chasing me?” I replied tersely. “Not everyone’s as superior as you to rejects commonplace MSITians,” I added sarcastically, in case she’d missed the halo surrounding my prestigious qualification.

“I see,” she said simply, looking around the reception area carelessly. “Quite a backward looking office this is, isn’t it, Romeo?” She shook her head disapprovingly. “How can you work here? Being from MSIT, you should have bargained for something better. I feel bad for you.”

I was starting to feel irritated by now. “What brings you to Bangalore?” I asked brusquely to change the topic. “Are you here on a routine meeting or attending an interview?”

“We'll come to that later,” she said with a glint in her eyes. “First I want to know how you’ve been. You didn’t even ask how I’ve been, or whether Rags finally recovered permanently from her fever or had another relapse like last time.” She pouted her lips. “’I thought your prestigious MSIT brain was usually alert and courteous about asking these simple questions, but you seem tongue-tied.”