Will She Be Mine?

by Subir Banerjee

  It was the beginning of some heady years of job life for me. A degree from MSIT was the passport to success in this country. It seemed everyone wanted an MSITian on their rolls those days. An education at MSIT was still a struggle for the majority. Only a brainy few managed to qualify for it and I was one of those. The world recognized it and wanted to reward me.

  Our professors had pampered us with this mindset while we were in college. At that time I had felt they were exaggerating pompously. Like scratching each others back to feel mutually good. However, I was wrong. Apparently, they had spoken with sound reason. The world seemed to lap up MSITians.

  My office room, where I’d been provided a desk to sit, was located a little away from the common computer terminal room where I spent most of my time. My boss was a person named Indra Dwapayanan. He was a friendly guy willing to sit by my side patiently as I programmed at the computer terminal in FORTRAN, a language I picked up on the job.

  The computer course I’d joined in Delhi did not teach FORTRAN, so I’d joined my first job as a literal novice in computer programming, since the programming language used by most scientists in this defence organization was exclusively FORTRAN.

  In my first week at the office my boss took me to pay a courtesy visit to the head of the department, Ananthkrishnan, who had headed the interview panel that selected me. The guy looked gentle and kind, but I later learned I’d hardly ever interact with him for my day-to-day activities.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What I initially took as Dwapayanan's helpful patience to sit by my side for hours as I hammered the computer keys, turned out to be an irritant gradually. The guy was simply keeping an eye on me to make sure I didn't shirk work. He might as well have perched on my shoulder to see what I was up to. Didn’t the guy have any other work?

  “Don't worry, you'll get used to it,” one of the developers sharing my office room said. His name was Shenoy, a year my senior. There were two others in the room besides him. In this way, four of us shared a dingy office room, without air conditioning. I was the junior most among them. We all reported to the same boss.

  Dwapayanan was lavish in his praise as he found me exceeding his expectations within no time. In the initial days he usually set me targets to complete in two or three days, but I always managed to deliver my work well before that.

  “Take it easy, RK,” Shenoy cautioned one day. “This is the time you and your boss are getting to know each other. Each is testing the other’s boundaries. The more eagerness you display in delivering large workloads in a short period of time, the more he'll saddle you with extra work. This is the time to set expectations. Show him a lower limit than you’re capable of, or you'll have a tough time ahead.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Start setting his expectations,” he explained, adding in clearer terms, “For example, if you can complete a task in two days, do it in four instead.”

  “How can I knowingly mislead him? That would be cheating.”

  Shenoy laughed and glanced at the others in the room. “How do you know who’s cheating whom?” he smiled. “I hope you learn before it’s too late- before he starts saddling you with everything that others leave behind. Presently, he’s cheating you by extracting more work than you get paid for. Do you think public sector or government jobs remunerate employees sufficiently? We’re the ones always cheated. So if you slow down, you wouldn’t be cheating anyone. You'd still justify the salary packet they pay you.”

  His words did seem to make sense. I’ve always been amazed and impressed by the strong rationales accompanying the actions of both the wrongdoers as well as the righteous people. Each held their ground to justify actions, whether right or wrong.

  “In return they'd still give you promotions after four years like the rest of us,” Shenoy continued, mistaking my silence for acquiescence. “On the other hand, if you work extra hard, you'd get no additional incentives or perks for your extra labor. You’d only be blamed for delays and be singled out for failures, besides spoiling your own work-life balance.”

  “Shenoy is right, RK,” another occupant in the room, Natarajan, chipped in. “This is not the private sector. Here over zealousness and sincerity are the recipes for self destruction. Nothing is gained in this industry by proving you're bright and intelligent. People don't appreciate. They either exploit you or feel jealous and try to run you down. Either ways you lose. Why should you work extra, for no added incentive? You might as well give that time to your family and personal pursuits.”

  This was an aspect of working life new to me. Mislead your boss otherwise he’d exploit you. It summarily implied that both sides needed to be cheats to an extent. The smarter of them would win. Was it an office or a den of cardsharps?

  I shifted to a small rented house closer to the office soon after, during the second week of my stay in Bangalore. The landlord took me to a house agent's office where I had to give my photograph and sign a form. On asking about the form, I was told it was a police verification form meant for tenants.

  “Do I have to go to the police station?” I asked timidly. Somehow, I was wary of any dealings with the police in a new city. I’d heard many disparaging things about them, their arrogance, how they harassed people, extracted bribes and misbehaved in general. They were a menace to the very people they were duty-bound to protect and help.

  “Not at all,” the house agent said with a gracious smile. “I'll take care of everything, don’t worry.” He tossed an imaginary coin in the air. “We all know how most transactions in this country’s public offices are greased. You’ve nothing to worry about. Just sign the form where I tell you and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  There seemed little choice. I’d heard of bribery before but had led a protected life at home so far. This was my first direct experience with these things firsthand. The maxim that stated that the payer of bribe was guiltier than the taker was wrong. If you didn't pay, the taker harassed you relentlessly on the strength of his official position, tormented you without qualms, caused you to miss critical milestones... till you found yourself so utterly helpless, and thoroughly fed up- that you complied.

  One day Dwapayanan took me to the headquarters of our organization, which was located at the other end of town. He booked an official cab for the trip. It felt wonderful to watch the city of Bangalore during daytime from the interior of the car.

  Of late I’d started feeling bored in office anyway. It was monotonous to spend the entire day in an air conditioned room in front of a computer terminal, day in and day out, or take breaks in between in a dingy, non air conditioned room that passed for my shared office space.

  The office cab parked beneath the portico of the building at our destination and we disembarked. As we left the car and walked into the headquarter building, Dwapayanan winked indicating the cab.

  “Do you know the qualification of the cab driver who drove us here?”

  “What is it?”

  “He's an M.A.,” he replied as if sharing a top secret. “Holding a master’s degree.”

  “Then he’s quite well qualified for a driver by our country’s standards,” I said with genuine admiration.

  “Isn't he? Imagine, an educated postgraduate drove us here. Despite his academic qualification he's just managed a driver's job,” he said with relish. “We live in a poor country, RK. These are the signs. At least, he earns something. There are others who aren’t as fortunate. Outside the polish of a few neighborhoods in a handful of big cities, there's rot everywhere else. People struggle for even a meager livelihood.”

  “It’s sad,” I replied ruefully. “Seeing others of their age prospering, buying gadgets, cars and houses, these people must harbor similar aspirations to do the same.”

  “But they’d never earn that kind of money.”

  “I once read in a scripture that any government which doesn’t control poverty digs its own grave eventually.”

  “Why?”

  “Poverty and hunger creat
e unrest and instability in the population, which is dangerous for any society,” I replied, adding on a more patriotic note, “Our government should take steps to reduce the frustration of such people. They’re in majority. If the majority is pleased, they’d anyway vote back the same government to power every time, without requiring coalition compromises.”

  He squeaked at my comment in his characteristic style when he wished to laugh at something he disapproved.

  “Anyway, we were discussing something else,” he said, resuming from where he’d left off. “One needs to only speak nicely to the poor to keep them placated. Qualified drivers like these want to vent their frustrations with life to someone, that's all. Just lend them a sympathetic ear.”

  “That's important to do as a fellow human being anyway,” I agreed.

  “But give them just that much- your ear- nothing more,” he cautioned in a clever tone. “It’s enough to make them happy, to win them to your side. It’s an effective way to manage their frustration. After that, if you want to make a personal trip in the office cab on a holiday, they'd be only too happy to oblige, with none the wiser.” He smiled craftily.

  I felt somewhat taken aback by his shallowness. He seemed like quite a senior officer but people's miseries apparently meant nothing to him. He preferred to exploit their weaknesses for his own benefit, for something as petty as hitching free rides in official cars at the government’s expense.

  I felt somewhat disappointed. A man’s educational degrees showed his academic prowess and qualifications, but his speech and dealings demonstrated his culture. Life for many like my boss- whether in government service or in the private sector or even politics- gradually became a journey of grab, grab and grab, and ignore, hurt and race hard- often beyond the limits of law. The usual mentality I encountered in society was that this is just the one life you knew, so misuse your position and accumulate in cash or kind while you had a chance, by hook or crook, and enjoy life to the hilt at all cost.

  We soon reached the secretary's room. The nameplate on the room's door read Margabandhu. He was a powerful man, who was supposed to call the shots in policy making for our imaging agency. Dwapayanan introduced me to him with eloquent references to my intelligence, abilities and excellent quality of work, topping it with the fact that I was an MSITian. Margabandhu's PA who’d stepped into the room for some work nodded in appreciation too. Everyone in the room looked impressed and I felt flattered to be the center of attraction. Emboldened by the flowery introduction, I asked Margabandhu if he had any plans to open offices in the north of the country where I belonged.

  “In the north?” he asked.

  He flashed an eerie smile at Dwapayanan. Instinctively I knew I’d asked the wrong question. He didn't complete his response and instead called for coffee. I was gradually learning how popular coffee was in the south, just as tea was commonplace in the north.

  As we all sipped coffee, my boss Dwapayanan obsequiously handed him a file containing documents and reports of his team and went over the itinerary of talks Margabandhu had planned over the next few weeks with his political bosses to justify defense spend on image research and exploration.

  In that context, Margabandhu told my boss, without as much as glancing my way, “I’d strike out the cities in the northern part from my itinerary if I could. Who wants to travel up north to speak- but all the idiots who matter, sit up north. That’s the problem. One feels helpless sometimes.”

  Dwapayanan laughed with a servile inflection and waited for him to continue.

  “If I could, I’d wipe out a few places from the country's map,” he added in a nasty tone, without looking at me.

  I was shocked as he went on to name a few such places. Indirectly he answered my query about his plans to open new offices for the agency up north. Dwapayanan laughed in mirth again.

  Later, on our way back to the office, Dwapayanan said cautiously, “Don't mind what he said, RK- he wasn’t serious about wiping out any place off the map. It was just his sense of humor. Otherwise, he’s quite patriotic, and believes in working for the betterment of all states in the country. He was simply joking.”

  “Thanks for telling me that- otherwise I might have misunderstood,” I replied. “Anyway, nothing gets wiped out simply because of a maniac’s wishes.”

  “RK, you shouldn’t talk like that about him! He’s the senior most bureaucrat in our organization, not a maniac.”

  “I was only joking,” I said innocently. “Just like he was joking about wiping out places from the map.”

  “Forget it.”

  “That might be difficult,” I drawled, looking at him. “What if I was born in one of the places he named?”

  “Were you born there?”

  “Does it matter? Since senior people like you and he laughed at his joke, it must be alright, irrespective of where I was born- though I need some more time to appreciate how it was a joke, and from which angle.”

  My boss remained silent. He evidently didn’t relish my effort to sound witty.

  Our next few outings from office consisted of visiting his guide in the University of Science where he was pursuing his PhD.

  “I'll recommend you for a PhD the moment you're a year old in our organization,” he said encouragingly as we entered his PhD guide's department. “It would help you get further promotions smoothly.”

  “My father says higher qualifications are usually good career building tools,” I responded in a positive tone.

  “He’s right. I’d encourage you to start growing your network in the organization with my help. It’s important for career growth. Use me as much as you can- I won't mind.” As we neared the professor’s room, he added, “It’s important to know these college professors well. They occupy important positions in the panel of interviewers in some government departmental promotion committee, called DPC. Next year when I send you for your first DPC, I'll try to ensure that my guide, professor Ananthpurusham is on the panel.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Familiarity and relationships matter more than merit sometimes. Never think of it as lobbying as some people mistakenly say.”

  By now I’d grown wary of what he said and didn’t take his carrot of doing my PhD too seriously. I’d noticed he had a way of making promises to achieve his own ends, and then breaking those promises without pangs or remorse once his objectives were achieved. The gift of gab enabled him to explain away everything glibly to his advantage and wiggle out of tight situations if any arose as an aftermath of his hasty utterances or questionable decisions.

  Professor Ananthpurusham welcomed us into his spacious office cordially. As usual Dwapayanan introduced me with the choicest of praises. The professor gazed at me appreciatively and nodded. I felt like a big man again, though wary of the adulation by now. But the professor didn’t cut me down to size for being a northerner, as Margabandhu had done.

  “I’ve suggested Rajat- or RK, as he prefers to be called- to get familiar with the level of research in the institute,” my boss suggested, looking for his buy in. “What do you think, sir?”

  “I think it's a good idea,” Dr. Ananthpurusham replied in a calm, mature voice, glancing at me from behind gold rimmed spectacles.

  “He can come here sometimes and meet with the other research fellows,” my boss ventured casually.

  The professor nodded.

  After that they went into a discussion on my boss's PhD thesis. I was left to stare out of the massive windows in the huge room and twiddle my thumbs. At one end of the professor's room, a narrow passage led to an adjoining room where a couple of research students sat in front of huge monitors, busy typing, pausing once in a while to regard what they had typed, or stooped to refer some sheets lying on the table, before returning to typing intently again. Everything about the place looked big and overwhelming. And peaceful. I liked the place instinctively as it reminded me in some ways of my alma mater, MSIT Kanpur.

  I thought about the carrot my boss had dangled, though somewhat warily. Getting a PhD
to my credit sounded attractive if he had really meant it. Overall, office life wasn’t turning out too bad in this place. From a comfort perspective too, office wasn’t bad. Unlike home, the office always had an uninterrupted power supply to run the fans and air conditioners. At home- whether in Bangalore or at my father's house in Delhi- one ended up facing several hours of power outages daily. Miseries and miseries galore, at a physical level as well as mental. There was no charm in life for the common man in this country. Birth here seemed a kind of punishment for misdeeds committed in one’s past lives.

  At my small rented accommodation in Bangalore I had so far not been able to afford a power backup solution in the form of an inverter or generator to run the ceiling fan and light of my solitary room during power outages. They called these regular outages load shedding. I called them loot shedding.

  After more than fifty years of any country's independence from foreign rule, if the rulers couldn’t provide uninterrupted electricity, clean water and security to its citizens, they had no moral right to rule.

  Shortly after, Dwapayanan walked over to me and tapped me on the shoulder, breaking my reverie. “Let’s go.” His discussion with his guide was over.

  Over the next few months, he initiated me into a few research topics at the institute under his professor's guidance, who in turn pushed me beneath one of his research associates.

  Overall, I found it hard to find fault with Dwapayanan. Notwithstanding his idiosyncrasies, he was actually helping my career. If things went well- which I was sure would- then next year he’d recommend me for PhD! I had never before been interested in higher studies, but higher qualifications seemed to beckon me. In retrospect, a PhD didn’t look like such a bad idea after all.