An albatross around our neck

An albatross around our neck

For those of you who have not read the rather long poem “The Rime of the ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, or to those who have, but do not remember the jest I shall try to recreate the soul of the poem through my reading of the recent happenings around us.

Remember the Mariner who shot the albatross in spite of the crew thinking that the albatross brought about the south wind that helped the ship steer clear from the ice jam they were stuck in?  All the Babas are being slowly but surely shot out of their perches to be stolid ordinary beings in prison. Never mind they had brought succor to the stupidest amongst us like the crew of the ship who thought the albatross was their lucky charm.

However as the weather clears and the mist disappears the crew of the ship think that the mariner did right by shooting the albatross. Similarly now, when the mist around our babas slowly dissipate we are thankful to the judiciary and the judge for having stowed away the babas for long.

But as soon as they see that the ship has slowly entered unchartered waters near the equator and nothing seems to be moving with their ship seemingly ‘As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean’, they start blaming the mariner for they think it is the wrath of the dead albatross that has brought this upon them.  Likewise those of us who do not believe in babas are rudely jolted back to our senses when things go wrong accepting the wrath of the saints is our undoing.

How often have we argued against the babas and their lot, against the saintly beings on earth who preach to the gullible? How often have we thought out of our rationale streams and decided to ditch these saints for the logical drift. How often have we been driven back thereafter when things don’t add up? Haven’t we been told that what we face is the wrath of our disbelief, of having shunned the holy and unquestionable path? In our plight we realize that there is no succor, but deliverance by the holy and like the crew of the ship we go back to blaming the mariner for having shot the albatross.

Having failed to stay adrift in our new found belief we go back to the path less cumbersome and start swaying to the music of the babas. Like the crew of the ship who cursed all small and slimy creatures at sea we atone for our sins and ask for forgiveness for having taken on the holy with words less pronounced.  We ask for pardon every day when we come face to face with the babas. In the euphoria that builds up we feel like midgets. The crescendo that builds up drowns our words of repentance and we feel fresh and new as an elephant out of the pond.

Failing expectations ordinarily, we are forced to hang the albatross around our neck, for lest we forget its wrath and pile up a heap of misfortune upon ourselves.

Why do we keep going back into the sinkhole, into the whirlpool of disaster when our logical mind tells us that the power to resurrect lies within? Is it simply because we are not tuned to accept disaster as a part of life? Is it because we are not tuned to face failures? Is it because all of us want to live a flawless life? Are we nervous, fidgety or even insecure?

Will we, like the mariner continue telling our stories of woe to generations to come and turn the young ones into believers of our sort? Will the young ones ever learn to disassociate their worries from the monster of tomorrow or will they churn these stories in their little heads and get up in the morning like the wedding guest who listened to the rime of the ancient mariner and wakes up the next morning “a sadder and a wiser man”.

30^th August 2017

Life at the crossroads

Life at the crossroads

It was around 4 pm on a Monday when this mid aged Lady was called into the HR Manager’s cabin and calmly told her services were no more needed from tomorrow. She stood there in stiff silence, without any reaction. The HR formalities of counseling done she went to her table and started to cry loudly. This was when her colleagues came to know about her fate.

But what actually got the goat were her intermittent woes amidst the wailing. What about those loans that she has taken, what about her child’s education? How would she explain this to her family and friends? If she kept it a secret surely neighbors would come to know sooner than later considering that her daily routine gave her away.

The wailing of this lady put a scare into the minds of her colleagues, would they be next? The very thought sent a creepy feeling through their bodies. In a flash second all of them played the scene out in their minds. What would happen if this truly materializes. They shuddered to even think of this scenario.

This is a general trend now in companies big and small, they cut down staff citing reasons that were in existence decades ago but which was not the focal point in those days. What is even appalling is the manner in which it is done giving no time to the aggrieved employee to even say a final goodbye to their colleagues with whom they have worked for years.

In my time the office was a second home, the elders, seniors, juniors and peers would gather around the lunch table in groups and discuss family matters. Even while work was in full swing, incidents that affect daily routine and matters for advice were sounded out across the work floor. This bonhomie became the impetus for career growth; inter and intra personal relationships, care love and respect for fellow human beings and exultation in being a participant in family functions.

Religion was never frowned upon nor did it dictate terms for friendship. Uncle Rehman used to bring mutton aplenty during one of those Eid celebrations that I remember. I still remember wading through the maze of little soft streams of effluent thrash in the middle of nowhere to get to uncle Rehman’s home on his invitation for Eid.

But that was because my Dad was his good friend, someone with whom he shared his thoughts, his dreams, his family problems, children going astray or even loaning a little money when either of them needed it. They could count on their friendship and bonhomie through working long years in the Steel plant.

Both of them had joined when they were strapping young lads and had grown together in life. There was no divide. Uncle Rehman could even reprimand me if I did something wrong. Uncle Rehman was only one of them; there was an Uncle Majhi, an Uncle Singh, an Uncle Patel, and uncle Ghosh et al. But all this was possible because they were working long years in an institution that had promised them a livelihood if they followed the norms for workers.

Once you entered an institution you belonged to them and you brought along a joyful group of family members who took pride in associating themselves with this institution. The only time they parted ways was when either of them retired. Fond eyes would swell with emotions and each would wish the other long life and wonderful years ahead.

Though some of them faded into the morrow, my dad still had a once in a while relationship with some of them. When he passed away a few of them called and reminisced those old days.

Where the friendship is now, where is the bonhomie, of time spent shouting above the din of the machine to be heard? Where have all of them vanished? the workers, the factory owners, and the heads of institutions? When Ratan Tata visited Jamshedpur the workers complained that their toilets were not as kept as those of their officers. Ratan Tata at once called the utility staff and instructed that the board above the toilet which read ‘workers’ and ‘officers’ be interchanged once a week.

Well all these are fond remembrances, of an era gone by, of a crop of people who had contributed to this nation’s existence and its soul, who have participated in nation building. When someone asks what have we achieved in the last 70 years? He or she is doubting the contributions made by their own fathers and forefathers.

Today the HR manager calls you and gives you the pink slip without even a show of emotion. If you challenge the manner you are castigated from all future jobs within that industry. Exit clauses will not allow you to find another job at which you are adept. Survival of the fittest has become survival of the finishers. We are all placed in a pond with crocodiles and are goaded to come out after a fight.

While some of us come out victors, there is no joy on our faces; the struggle that one undergoes does not justify a beaming face. Bonhomie, care and loyalty are words etched in the past. Today what is required is to send your emotions on a vacation the moment you enter a workplace. Work without being able to tell yourself that this will last. The sword of termination hangs over you all the time and all this at the cost of economics, of profitability, of maximization, of liberalization.

 Hr Managers, Organizational representatives, industry leaders, owners, politicians, writers, bloggers, social media users all have to come together to get that sting back in relationships. If we are able to do that, then this country and your institution will have grown not only in business but also in love.

For profit should not be the only criteria for establishing business. Fostering love among and within communities should equally be important. Business should be able to grow communities. Bring back your emotions Oh! All you leaders and guide our sons and daughters to be able to tell their grandchildren stories of yore.