An exuberant Sardar

It would be amazing to see an IT workplace that has almost no sign of envy, jealousy or no resemblance to ’Game Of Thrones’ plot. Imagine a day where every one in your office greets you with a honest smile with no signs of stress at workplace, not because of lack of goals or work ; but because the awesome people in the office make it worthwhile to stay & work.

While the industry accepts what Moore’s law had predicted , there are no conclusive studies to see if people who are using these CPU’s are becoming more mean or lonely every year. Stress management at workplace has evolved to be a separate industry in itself and building quality IT workforce is becoming more costly every year.
Agreed that its impossible to create an ‘always happy’ workplace , but there are always astounding personalities that light up the darkest of such places. This is a diary log of one such amazing human being, an ‘exuberant sardar‘.

I will be ever grateful to my first company which gave me an amazing entry into the fast lane during some tough recession times. As expected a metro life and enough gala time in a fast growing company has its own carrot vs donkey situation. As it turns out, the natural progression was to look for green grass across the ocean.

Being ‘Single & Joyful’, thriving happily in a harsh humid Chennai weather, zipping away on my Bajaj Pulsar 150 across the stretch of the town like a free spirit I spent 4 joyful years.
As much I was unwilling to leave, the search for onsite role was in full swing by then. While the company pushes you to get a work visa, the choice to travel was quite similar to an arranged Indian match making. The candidate assumes the role of the fateful bride that is expected to brighten the lives of the company & onsite account managers.
Securing a lead position for a big account had its own drill. As the tradition was already set, a group of self proclaimed intellectuals held the keys to the ’Bifröst’. To get an entry, one had to demonstrate the nerve of ‘Loki’ & guts of ‘Thor’ . Once you establish the necessary qualifiers, they will turn the key and teleport you to the land of opportunities.
The primary skill set for any onshore lead is the ability to setup a quick ‘dog & pony show’ for almost anyone anywhere . Being able to prepare intellectually intimidating presentations was a plus, I was told that being unequivocal and categorical about people helped character building. As inevitable, things worked out & I set forth my journey. The departure from Chennai was eventful, I would be eternally thankful to almost a dozen good friends who came to see me off, especially the many young ladies who were there for the emotional support or may-be to doubly ensure that I left for sure. Anyway the first travel experience was phenomenal, I missed my connecting flight and ironically spent the night at DEL airport chatting with an old man on why the ‘brain-drain’ is causing a ‘cultural-zombie’ state for this generation.

Entry into a new country was life changing, there was a 50X multiplier to expenses and 3$ for a black coffee was exorbitant amount for a  South Indian guy like me. Coffee known as ‘Kaapi’ in south India comes in various forms, the Chennai filter Kaapi is my favorite. The black coffee in my hometown in Kerala is a poor man’s drink, one could walk into any house in my village and ask for some hot water and this is what is offered – ‘for free’. The coffee tasted better because it was flavored with palm jaggery & spices.

The pre-uber-era commute in a foreign country was certainly a nightmare, that’s when our own people in the name of helping show weird step-brotherly treatment. Back home; helping was a very natural thing, for the years I remember I could give or take a lift from anyplace and from anyone. In-fact traveling on a bike without a pillion rider was pretty much a wastage of fuel. Although a bike always gives better mileage when the pillion rider is a friend who also is a girl, but that’s my own unconfirmed observation.

Here in the land of opportunity, It was quite uncomfortable to see all the folks carrying so much weight on their shoulders. In office everyone had something or the other painful work experience to talk about. It appeared that no one was really happy, life was more or less a predetermined routine. Most systems had war rooms & issues, every single IT application was always in the operation room expecting a delivery or surviving a stroke. First week it was too much action to handle. The next 3 months, I was working almost 16 hours everyday to get up to speed with what was going on. My boss will pick me in his own convenient time, he will drop me and on the way he will dump more of his own work on my head. He was a smart & hardworking guy, not so much a good manager. The dynamics of the team was very political & I was at the center of the war between onshore vs. offshore. It was the same old debate, the chicken or the egg.
I was asked to give a tough time to offshore as there was ego clashes everywhere. Writing strong emails & pointing out mistakes was customary. It was not a common pattern, it was a trickle effect of the sad state of leadership transition. The previous client engagement manager was a super nice person and I would have preferred him to be sticking around, but I had no say. There were no folks in the office who had not been troubled by the so called new client engagement manager, the lady was a sad porcupine who wanted to climb up the corporate ladder with her tiny hands and was using every possible way to ensure her success over others. Keeping teams conflicted was one strategy that worked like a charm.
The only relief was the excellent client team that I was part of, it was almost the yin & yang pattern of this whole arrangement that kept me going for two years. It was not bad, it was just tough to deal with dictatorship.

The Fun Mascot

For an enlightened person, friend and foe are the same. Once upon a time, not so long ago there was such a person. He was a happy sardar, been in the office for over many years and literally knew every single person in each cubicle in every corner of the building that could hold about 1000 odd people big & small. It was joyful to to spot this person in office. He was naturally cheerful and a bubbly character, surprisingly the old age had only got him better and more peaceful within himself. He used to greet ladies with hands folded , for men he had hands welcoming & stretched out. In a corporate world where success was measured by ones ability to verbally decapitate their competitors and peers, he was one person who was the embodiment of the fact that being humble is one’s greatest strength.
He would address every single person with the prefix ‘Gentlemen’. His logic probably was that the ladies are always gentle, the ‘men’ however needed to be reminded quite often. I often wondered if it was his ‘async-await’ logic to fetch the person’s context as he simply knew too many people.

His workplace was the most iconic and happening place in the whole wing, he would have a cupboard full of various snacks and sweets that was open for anyone. He would leave a few jar’s of fresh snacks for anyone who wanted to stop by. Meeting with him left a good feel always, he never encouraged rumor or bad-mouthing  and looked at every situation as a bunch of input parameters to a program that handles people.

When a new person came to this office, it was his task to get him introduced with everyone in the office and he would go around appreciating a guy whom he has never met or worked with. He would always receive big boxes of sweets from India and he would go around the office distributing it to anyone and everyone. If on a certain day I was feeling sad, I would simply go and meet him. Surprisingly he had access to some of the great food places in the area and once he took me to a chai place where they served hot tea in a strange looking round bottom glass flask with hot samosas. It was certainly the best ‘chai’ I had during those cold years.

There is a famous verse from the movie song ‘Arth’ which goes like this
“Why is it that you are smiling so much, what is the sadness that you are trying to hide “
Some days I feel that there was something sad about him that he did not disclose, yet he cared less about himself and more about others.

It is so true that, an ability of a multi dimensional being is to be able to cheerfully thrive in a world that is unjust & unkind.
For most of us a simple plot of happiness with age would be a diminishing graph, it’s the same with friends. While many suggest that the real problem is in our expectations from others & reducing it can be a solution to all of our problems, I disagree with that thought  pattern. When people reduce expectations, they end up shooting someone because its ok to let someone go if you have nothing to do with them.

Due to the limited nature of human acceptance & crooked ways of education , all organizations will stay political. An example of how we have skewed our experiences is the industry famous Porters five forces model, which when applied to co-workers can turn situations into a psychological war-zone.
Often the teams which are progressing, they often find an acceptable ‘zero-sum game’.  In Sigmund Freud analogy, office people are like hedgehogs in winter : they need to be close to stay warm, but if they get too close they can sting & poke each other. The result is average performance , sometimes leading to ‘Operation Successful : Patient Dead’ situation.
Leaders should focus on their ability discourage politics , for that they need to exhibit exuberance and first work on their own self. The change is around the corner when companies will prefer emotional intelligence over verbal or technology skills. That day the glorious sardar will be promoted without the need to try hard.

 


 

References

  1. Workplace stress. (n.d.). The American Institute of Stress. Retrieved from http://www.stress.org/workplace-stress/
  2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Porter%27s_five_forces_analysis
  3. https://www.simplypsychology.org/Sigmund-Freud.html
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Kobe,Moori & Pothan : A long short story

This is an attempt to create a write up that would find its place midway between fiction & non-fiction. There are no cultural or religious intentions behind this article. I only attempt to present facts that I have collected from various sources. Mostly I want to see if I can spin the yarn..

This is the story of two bulls, Kobe & Moori.

Kobe is the glorious descendant of the much valued Tajima-gyu breed from Japan. Kobe was born to a wagyu cow in a very homely farm where life happened in perfect harmony with nature. His country is considered to be one of the most progressive ones in the world, in-spite of being in a geographically challenged location. The farm was the home for some glorious ancestors that had left him the legacy of a well bred genetic strain, for the same reason he was smart strong & very good looking. The calf’s were allowed to drink enough milk from their mothers until a certain age after which they naturally moved to isolation. They were provided healthy green food, most importantly they were given enough love,care and pampering to grow. Kobe knows that he would be sent to the butchery in next 5 years, but his people would allow him to live as a king until then.
If given an option, he still would have preferred to be born to a French couple from the famous Blonde D’Aquitaine breed. He had heard tales from his parents about how that breed of cattle were kept stress free, listened to music and most importantly had the privilege of hearing his human keepers tell stories to them for hours. He had been told that humans paid a great fortune to get their hands on a slice of their body, it was considered to be a great honor to be on a wealthy man’s plate.
However meaningful, Kobe’s life was not that eventful. He had heard stories about bulls who fought many humans in a arena, sometimes tossing them up in the air. It was their best encounter with the two legged creatures. The humans were notoriously famous for using some sharp tools to make the bull bleed; it skewed the fight, yet the victory was for the bull because they knew that human’s feared them and the game was to get over their weakness. He used to hear jokes about how humans would take the privates of the fallen bull and consume it with great appreciation hoping to Man-Up more, it was a rare delicacy known as Rocky Mountain oysters. He hoped to have an ending that said “I had the balls to make a Man out of a HuMan”, he was told that animal’s had many smaller graves that were kept in places that were called super markets, always had nice pictures and details about them which allowed the humans to precisely track details about where they came from. Kobe lived in a very peaceful setting, he had good healthcare & enjoyed personal attention from his fellow humans. Death for him was never horrifying, he was always motivated by the idea of fulfilling human culinary desire of enjoying an enriching meat menu. That was the least he could do for all the special treatment humans give him. He knew exactly when he would be asked to leave, for him life would happen after he was gone. He was a walking fortune for his owners, so he had all the pride to keep his head high. This however is not Kobe’s story.

Moori on the same side of the globe was born to a Sindhi cow breed. Although he was a descendant of a much richer ancestral heritage, he was born in an Industrial Age to a family that depended on agriculture for their economical needs. As told by his mother, Moori had 4 other siblings in previous years out of which the bull calf’s were repeatedly sent off in their early age by his owner, he only hoped that they are still alive.  His female siblings were allowed to stay on the farm, eventually they aspired to be producing good milk for the humans. He was very confused about why humans did the exact opposite of this with their own offsprings. Moori’s mother had been in the farm for close to 8 years, having taken care of his 4 siblings made her weak and hence she gave less milk every year. Moori used to have only half the share of his mother’s milk, rest was the owners share that he used to sell to his customers. His mother used to take him along for grazing, even though most of it was dry hay; some days were eventful when they had corn stem and tree leaves to chew on. He still remembers the day when he had a few banana peel and how that flavored his rumen for a whole day. She used to tell him stories about how there were Greenlands in the places where humans have now built tall buildings, about her childhood when they used to eat fresh cold cut grass from the farms that had the taste of fresh morning dew. There were good times when humans used to have them as companions for festivities & celebration. Moori’s father was a sporty bull who used to work with a plough all day. Some days he would ride the human family on the bullock cart to long distances. The humans were so compassionate & thankful then. The world changed, machines took over and eventually his father was sent to some other place from where he never returned. There were rumors that old bulls always ended up in a place called a butcher shop where they would be cut to pieces and distributed among humans.
He was stressed out that his mother might someday end up in a butchery even after 8 years of continuous hard work. He was wondering if the humans he worked for would ever realize the respectful relation their ancestors had with his. While he had no schooling, he was always held back by the genetic wisdom of not trying to kill humans. His life was quite helpless, especially with the strength that he had and yet not being able to use it to protect his family. Some days he would just weep and pray that all this gets over soon.
One fine day, Moori decided to set on a journey. He thought that his uncertain life should always end by his choice. He knew that he had to anyway die in the hands of a confused human, he might as well see the world from his eyes. He cut his rope, drank all the milk he could from his mother and bid a sad farewell to her. His mother told him that humans were always in search of something called knowledge and only that can save his life. He had observed how the human kids would carry some heavy luggage from places called schools, he knew that knowledge was something you carry on your back and it hurts like hell. He was a bull, he thought if his father could carry humans on his back then he could certainly bear the weight of knowledge. Yet school was place where they were expected to learn all the great things in life. It was highly likely that the school would have all the answers. A stray bull in his land was never seen with suspicion, especially if it was minding its own business. He only had to pretend that someone owned him. He wandered into a school bubbling with activity, he stood close to a group of kids that were making synchronous noises. When he observed closely, they were busy chanting about why Mary had a lamb and importance of wondering what stars are. He was not sure why they would keep all this as a suspense. He observed & only concluded that school was a place where you confuse a human so much that they try to get out of that place every year. With this, he had no hopes of knowing why humans wanted to cut & distribute animals. He would rather be talking to animals as the school had no information about all the mysteries of nature and its co-existences.
He wandered further from the village into a swamp land and saw a bunch of water-buffaloes sitting in a puddle. He was curious about the uniqueness of their color. He had observed that cows & bulls come in a variety of colors. The brownish red ones from his clan used to boast about their superior red-sindhi lineage and zebu patriarch’s. He was quite obnoxious when they spoke about the color of the leather on their bodies, especially when the end game of that was to be on a human’s foot or to hold the piece of cloth that hid the lower portions of their body. He wondered why humans were so shameful & pretentious creatures.
As he approached the swamp, he saw that the buffaloes welcome’d him by clearing some space in the puddle. He gently slid into the mushy gooey richness of the mud. He had seen some human females in the family smear some mud on their faces hoping to look more beautiful, he was still wondering why the buffaloes never got fairer.
He found a huge old buffalo sitting calm next to a patch of green grass near the puddle. He was still a million questions and wanted to strike a conversation with the old man. He quietly slid next to him and cleared his throat, he said ‘Hello Sir, I am Moori’ I am a white Sindhi bull from an agricultural land. He narrated his story about why he had to leave his mother in search of answers.
The old man did not budge, he kept chewing his cud. Moori knew that buffaloes are lazy creatures, humans would compare other humans with buffaloes to use it as a form of supreme insult; which meant extreme levels of thick skinned laziness.
After a few attempts, the old man spoke. He said, my name is Pothan and I am 40 years old. He said, he had all the answers to Moori’s questions, but he was not sure if Moori would live that long to know all of it.
He wanted to give the details rather quickly, but being a buffalo was not an ordinary business. Their timeline was on the slower axis, life was all about relaxing & eating. The water buffalo’s were famous for following a very strict time table with only 3 things to do.
He started with some facts he said, there are over 100 Million of my kind in this land. We are domesticated for our thick milk with higher fat content. He said that humans make a good earning by selling their milk, sometime even adding a little water would still won’t make a difference. He held his head high with pride as he said, we animals never cheat !
As he gave more details about their lifecycle, Moori’s expression changed to that of watching a horror movie. He said that most of the bull’s were sent to the butchery at an age of 3-4 years based on their size and growth. The best part of their life was that they were blessed with a lower intellect and hence it never bothered them with a lot of questions. Life was quite simple, if they woke up that day alive then the whole day was for them to party. If they did not, they were called ‘carabeef’ that served a higher purpose. Their body was perfectly adapted to hot swamp weather, which no other domestic breed would dare to flourish.

He said: listen carefully Moori, I might have an idea for your survival.

to be continued …

 

http://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/most-expensive-meat/index.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cattle_slaughter_in_India

Japanese Article on Tajima Cows

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