The Fatal ‘Head’ache — V

A Note For My Readers

It’s probably time to sing – Korbo, Lorbo, Jeetbo Re. After two years of below par performance, it seems that the Kolkata Knight Riders are all set to script a turnaround. They may not go on to win the Indian Premier League, unless there are several upsets, but they appear to be a much better unit this year, even in the absence of some senior international players – Chris Gayle, David Hussey, etc. The body language has turned quite positive.

So, what’s the secret of this potential turnaround story? It’s change. Leadership is an important component in any success story. And it becomes all the more important during turbulent times. Thus change, if any, to be effective should come at the top and then trickle down to the bottom. Shah Rukh Khan just did that by sacking John Buchanan who was more focused on the point rather than on proving the point – a sure recipe for disaster.

And last but not the least, dear readers, your wish is my command. And keeping in mind the immense yet growing popularity of The Fatal ‘Head’ache series, I am glad to present you the fifth episode. Let the story unfold and more importantly entertain you. Keep writing to me with your suggestions, feedback, questions, and queries: rajkmitra@gmail.com

Happy reading!

*****************

It was sometime in mid-2008. The global financial crisis had begun taking its toll. Project flows across the industry dried up significantly. And we were no exceptions. There wasn’t enough work to keep even half the team busy through the day. Everyone was tensed about his/her career, as rumours flew thick and fast about job losses. Any prudent manager against such a backdrop would have had dedicated time and effort to skill development. We began dedicating songs, poems, movies, colours etcetera to each other on Nishigandha’s insistence. No team members, but one, did it willingly. They did it because they had to — to be seen as a “team player”.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end there. If Nishigandha failed to understand the association of the song with her personality, an invitation to her ‘indoctrination chamber’ was inevitable. And we struggled to keep the song selection as simple as possible, keeping in mind the need to massage her bloated ego in order to keep “feedback” sessions at bay.

But, Nishigandha’s favourite sport was musical chair. She was so fond of playing it that we ended up playing almost every month. Sometime “to counter growing groupism in the team”, sometime “for project reasons”, an excuse was necessary, however lame it might seem, to shuffle us across the bay. Nishigandha took this quite seriously. And after I became “part of team management”, I used to spend, along with my counterpart LP, at least two to three hours with Nishigandha to “brainstorm” before arriving at the “perfect” matrix.

I had no idea about her liking for this sport until the day of raksha bandhan in 2008. Probably because I used to sit two bays away from the editorial bay initially and had no clue about what was happening inside it. After almost a month, she “gave me the opportunity to sit with the team” when a team member had to be moved out due to project reasons. It was long bay with three blocks of four workstations. I, Atiya, and two other used to sit at the first block, while she used to seat at the end of the bay – window seat befitting her managerial status.

Raksha Bandhan, 2008: I was quite excited. Had it been in college or in university, I would have had run away. But, when Atiya floated the idea of giving our relationship a name, I gladly agreed. When I entered the bay I noticed Atiya ready with a rakhi to tie on my wrist. Two Cadbury dairy milk chocolates were on her desk (a la kuchh mitha ho jaaye). A bit of a pandemonium ensued when the raksha bandhan ceremony was taking place, as our neighbours too got interested.

Nishigandha had been silently watching the event unfold, but as soon as it got over, she lost her patience. She walked up to my desk in brisk pace.

“Are you here to make relationships?” Nishigandha quipped.

“Well, not really. But, if something develops, I don’t see any harm,” I replied almost instantaneously.

That she didn’t quite like the answer was visible in her face. But, she got back to her seat without uttering a word and focussed on her computer screen. Suddenly, she turned to LP.

“LP, you are my brother. I want to tie you a rakhi,” Nishigandha suddenly told him, leaving LP visibly embarrassed at the sudden discovery of a ‘sister’. She meanwhile frantically began searching for something similar to a ‘rakhi’ that could be tied on LP’s wrist. LP was too perplexed to react. After a couple of minutes, Nishigandha got hold of a thick thread from one of the dustbins in our bay and tied it on LP’s wrist, denying him the opportunity to even react. Britannia bourbon biscuits essayed the role of sweets.

We watched with dismay inside the bay. I looked at Atiya. I could see a grin on her face. We stepped out for a cup of coffee. “Any idea what will happen next?” Atiya asked me. “She is increasingly becoming unpredictable to me. You know her for long. What do you think coming next?” I said.

“I am quite sure your seat will be changed soon. Far away from my seat,” Atiya said with a smile.

Atiya was spot on.

After a week, we got an excel sheet in our outlook mail box containing our new seating numbers. I opened the sheet to note down my new seat number. As Atiya had expected, I was moved far away from her. I was now closer to Nishigandha (wink, wink).

[Atiya was my colleague for more than a year, but now she is more than a family. We learnt a lot from each other during those days. And I have no qualms in admitting, I still have a lot to learn from her, especially her people management skills. She is a living encyclopedia of Bollywood]

Advertisement