Last night I saw a very strange dream. In my dream, I saw myself as an HR manager of a multinational, working with my laptop and sifting through some important documents. The peon entered and announced that the candidates for the vacancy of Junior Manager were waiting outside to be interviewed. I told him to send them in one by one. He nodded and left.
The first candidate entered. He wished me good morning and I asked him to take a seat. He looked very ordinary but his eyes seemed honest. When I asked, he introduced himself to me in such a style that I had never heard before. When I put to him questions on his academics, he deftly answered all of them. He tactfully managed the other questions too. I had immediately made up my mind to select him but I had to follow a procedure and so I asked him to wait outside. Then I summoned the next one.
A boy came in. He was dressed in casuals. After the exchange of greetings, I asked him to take a seat. When I asked him his name, he replied the same in a nervous tone. I asked him to be a little loud as I put my next question. He stammered even though he was qualified enough to answer properly. After a volley of questions, I found him inappropriate for the position and made up my mind to reject him. I told him in a polite way that he would be informed if selected. At this he gave me a look that baffled me. He too seemed in a paralytic shock on what he had heard from me.
Somehow, he got up and left. I was about to ask the next candidate to enter when the phone on my table rang. My boss was on the other side. He asked me about the very same fellow who I had just sent back. I explained the situation to him. He then told me to call him back and give him the job. I asked him the reason to which he explained that the fellow had a relative in a senior position of an organization with which we had good business relationship. That senior person had requested a senior of my company who in turn asked my boss to do the same. Thus I must follow suit.
I called the guy back and asked him directly about his ‘Jugaads’. He immediately started rattling off the names of his relations in all the group companies I knew of. Thus I came to know where and in what capacity his uncle, brother, sister, friend’s brother, brother’s friend and many other combinations-worked. His voice had got a sudden boost which was not there when I was asking him questions related to the work and academics. I then understood the power of ‘Jack’. I was about to issue him his appointment letter when I was distracted by a strange noise. Everything in front of my eyes started fading away and I found myself lying on my bed with the alarm ringing. I thanked the almighty for saving me from cheating with my morals but I kept wondering about the boy who was waiting outside.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The Lemon Seller
Someone asked me the other day about my source of inspiration. I told the person that my parents are my biggest source. However, there are people whose actions or lives I find interesting enough to motivate others.
I remember going to the vegetable market near my home with my mother. Beside the vegetable sellers what one usually encounters are beggars who hunt (and haunt) you till you give them some alms. Most of them are able bodied men, women or children who simply do not want to work. This is one of the reasons why people abhor them.
While buying vegetables, I felt a tap on my arm. I turned to meet a boy whose appearance initially made me believe that he was one of those whom the people disliked. Immediately, I recognized my folly. He had with him a small basket, full of lemons, which he was trying to sell. He asked me and my mother whether we needed some.
This is no big deal. There is a horde of lemon sellers always ready with a basket in any market place. Of course it is true but with this boy it was different. He was no more than four and half feet tall, dark complexioned and poorly dressed. The basket hung in front of him with a rope that came around the back of his neck and he was using only one of his hands to make transactions. The other hand was peculiarly warped. I think one of his eyes had cataract as the pupil was ashen in colour and the other was half closed. His voice had a strange calm that I was able to feel. Without the basket he could have easily posed as a tramp, yet he was different from the others. He was trying to earn despite his disabilities. This attitude of his had earned my respect.
On my insistence, mom bought ten lemons even though we didn’t need them as just a few minutes ago we had purchased our required quantity from another seller. I felt that he must be rewarded for his hard work and more importantly, the zeal to do it. Ma went back into buying other stuffs and I kept looking at the boy who went his way trying to find more customers.
That was seven years ago. A couple of weeks back I recognized the same boy while he was walking down the corridor in front of a row of large shops. Other than his height, his body looked the same but this time there was no lemon basket and he was dressed in decent clothes.
I remember going to the vegetable market near my home with my mother. Beside the vegetable sellers what one usually encounters are beggars who hunt (and haunt) you till you give them some alms. Most of them are able bodied men, women or children who simply do not want to work. This is one of the reasons why people abhor them.
While buying vegetables, I felt a tap on my arm. I turned to meet a boy whose appearance initially made me believe that he was one of those whom the people disliked. Immediately, I recognized my folly. He had with him a small basket, full of lemons, which he was trying to sell. He asked me and my mother whether we needed some.
This is no big deal. There is a horde of lemon sellers always ready with a basket in any market place. Of course it is true but with this boy it was different. He was no more than four and half feet tall, dark complexioned and poorly dressed. The basket hung in front of him with a rope that came around the back of his neck and he was using only one of his hands to make transactions. The other hand was peculiarly warped. I think one of his eyes had cataract as the pupil was ashen in colour and the other was half closed. His voice had a strange calm that I was able to feel. Without the basket he could have easily posed as a tramp, yet he was different from the others. He was trying to earn despite his disabilities. This attitude of his had earned my respect.
On my insistence, mom bought ten lemons even though we didn’t need them as just a few minutes ago we had purchased our required quantity from another seller. I felt that he must be rewarded for his hard work and more importantly, the zeal to do it. Ma went back into buying other stuffs and I kept looking at the boy who went his way trying to find more customers.
That was seven years ago. A couple of weeks back I recognized the same boy while he was walking down the corridor in front of a row of large shops. Other than his height, his body looked the same but this time there was no lemon basket and he was dressed in decent clothes.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Survey Me Not
Lucknow, 17th September 2010: Phobias are of many types. If you type this word on Google, you’ll get a whole list of them. Some warrant attention while others seem stupid. In my profession, I have come across many types of people. Rude, polite, arrogant, caring, kind, misanthropes, philanthropies, selfish, misers- you name them and I have met them. However, the strangest of them all are those who quickly disappear whenever I appear with a questionnaire in hand.
Some time back as part of a project, for which I did my first market research, I discovered the shyness in many of the respondents. This time I also found that some were simply afraid to be questioned. These two attributes was ingrained in around 85% of the surveyed people. I guess that the question of ‘why people are averse to surveys?’ demands a survey in itself. Most of the people I went to belonged to the upper strata of the society. Education surely couldn’t have been the reason for either shyness or fear that I read on their faces. The questionnaire was not on any sensitive issue. It was a simple ‘Do you love your city’ thing. All of them had been clearly informed about the reason behind the survey and all questions were duly explained to them. There was no pecuniary benefit or loss involved to either party. Most importantly I am not a ‘bhai’ and neither do I know any. So why fear a single page and simple set of questions?
There may be a host of answers to this. One can be that the people who arrive with a questionnaire usually do not give an attractive look. On many occasions their appearance is shabby. Hence the people from well off families gain a wrong impression about the surveyor and the whole survey falls flat. It can also be that the person being interviewed is uncomfortable with the medium of instruction. However the interviewers are aware of the local language of the place where the survey is being taken. What I felt was that most people lacked the will to communicate. In a class of students only a few will be interactive. The rest will just sit through the whole period. They are the ones who lack that will to speak out or are unable to do so for any reason. Especially when their opinion is asked they become silent as if we are living under a dictatorial regime. In my current survey I asked a group of 27 whether they would like to participate. Only 15 did and the rest remained silent. They however kept peeping into the questionnaire being filled by others. I did not ask them their reason for not participating. I know that had they the power to express themselves they would have participated in the first place.
Some time back as part of a project, for which I did my first market research, I discovered the shyness in many of the respondents. This time I also found that some were simply afraid to be questioned. These two attributes was ingrained in around 85% of the surveyed people. I guess that the question of ‘why people are averse to surveys?’ demands a survey in itself. Most of the people I went to belonged to the upper strata of the society. Education surely couldn’t have been the reason for either shyness or fear that I read on their faces. The questionnaire was not on any sensitive issue. It was a simple ‘Do you love your city’ thing. All of them had been clearly informed about the reason behind the survey and all questions were duly explained to them. There was no pecuniary benefit or loss involved to either party. Most importantly I am not a ‘bhai’ and neither do I know any. So why fear a single page and simple set of questions?
There may be a host of answers to this. One can be that the people who arrive with a questionnaire usually do not give an attractive look. On many occasions their appearance is shabby. Hence the people from well off families gain a wrong impression about the surveyor and the whole survey falls flat. It can also be that the person being interviewed is uncomfortable with the medium of instruction. However the interviewers are aware of the local language of the place where the survey is being taken. What I felt was that most people lacked the will to communicate. In a class of students only a few will be interactive. The rest will just sit through the whole period. They are the ones who lack that will to speak out or are unable to do so for any reason. Especially when their opinion is asked they become silent as if we are living under a dictatorial regime. In my current survey I asked a group of 27 whether they would like to participate. Only 15 did and the rest remained silent. They however kept peeping into the questionnaire being filled by others. I did not ask them their reason for not participating. I know that had they the power to express themselves they would have participated in the first place.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Lone Gunman
The night was a cold December,
Lit with stars sapphire,
The moon of the northern sky,
Seemed drowned in despair
There was a strange chill in the air,
As a white horse trotted down the woods,
It came upon a small cabin,
The one that belonged to Jason Rudd
The sound of the hooves,
Brought the lights on in there,
Out came a healthy man,
With his own riding gear
He walked straight up to the horse,
And patted softly on its back,
Then put the saddle and harnessed,
And pulled out the slender strap
He wore a cowboy hat,
With his jeans up and tight,
The shirt was tucked in,
And the guns shone in the moon light
There was one on each side,
Like two silver rods,
They were his companions,
Beside the sturdy white horse
He then hopped on his animal,
Gave a slight whip,
The beast galloped straight,
To begin a new trip
A short ride took them past,
A row of sleepy homes,
The countryside was quite,
Not even a dog would roam
Jason was the sheriff,
In charge of people’s lives,
But no one was around,
When death took away his wife
The government then woke up,
Gave Jason the arms,
He brought the criminals to justice,
And crime was disarmed
Since then everybody sleeps,
As peacefully as they can,
As out rides Jason Rudd,
The lone Gunman.
-Manas Sengupta
Originally written- 02/12/2009
Lit with stars sapphire,
The moon of the northern sky,
Seemed drowned in despair
There was a strange chill in the air,
As a white horse trotted down the woods,
It came upon a small cabin,
The one that belonged to Jason Rudd
The sound of the hooves,
Brought the lights on in there,
Out came a healthy man,
With his own riding gear
He walked straight up to the horse,
And patted softly on its back,
Then put the saddle and harnessed,
And pulled out the slender strap
He wore a cowboy hat,
With his jeans up and tight,
The shirt was tucked in,
And the guns shone in the moon light
There was one on each side,
Like two silver rods,
They were his companions,
Beside the sturdy white horse
He then hopped on his animal,
Gave a slight whip,
The beast galloped straight,
To begin a new trip
A short ride took them past,
A row of sleepy homes,
The countryside was quite,
Not even a dog would roam
Jason was the sheriff,
In charge of people’s lives,
But no one was around,
When death took away his wife
The government then woke up,
Gave Jason the arms,
He brought the criminals to justice,
And crime was disarmed
Since then everybody sleeps,
As peacefully as they can,
As out rides Jason Rudd,
The lone Gunman.
-Manas Sengupta
Originally written- 02/12/2009
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