The Fatal ‘Head’ache – IX

I apologise to you – my dear readers – for not being able to bring out the ninth episode on time. Sometimes it’s quite difficult to find the right trade-off between your profession and your passion. And in a market-driven system, passion often gets a raw deal!

Thank you once again for your continued support – your inspiring as well as not-so-inspiring comments that literally drag me to my writing desk, week after week. Some of you still can’t believe what you have read so far. How much is fact and how much is fad?

There’s an old saying: “You can bend it and twist it. You can misuse and abuse it. But even God cannot change the truth.” But, the more important question is: how do such powerful people sustain their corrupt practices, bypassing 360-degree evaluations?

The answer could be found in this month’s Harvard Business Review. According to studies done by Dana Carney of Columbia Business School, powerful people are better liars. The stress of lying produces involuntary physiological reactions, but liars who have power are much better at masking or suppressing those telltale signs than liars without power.

Bottom line: Powerful people are more comfortable lying, and it is harder to tell that they’re being dishonest.

Here’s the ninth instalment for you. Send in your comments/questions to rajkmitra@gmail.com. You can also post comments/questions anonymously on this blog.

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I was taken aback by this sudden emotional outburst. The image of Nishigandha that had got imbibed in my mind the first day I had seen her was shattered into pieces. And I scrambled for suitable words to end this conversation. I felt I was trapped forever, gasping for breath. The critical question is: do you take such shit lying down or strike back to redeem your self-respect? I wasn’t quite sure.

I was, however, sure about one thing – the consequence – the fatal consequence. She had, a couple of weeks back, narrated me the story of how Meghna, her favourite team member, had once complained against Nishigandha to the top management. “No one believed her,” she had told with a sense of pride. “Who’s going to believe her? I am here for four years. Everyone’s going to believe me,” she had guffawed.

“And men in this organisation are quite scared of strong women,” she had added.

“Nishigandha, I am sorry, but I did nothing intentionally. I will talk to you tomorrow. Please don’t cry,” I told her in a consolatory voice.

Surprisingly, Nishigandha agreed to end the conversation, but on condition that I would never “ignore” her call in future. I put down the phone and eased myself on to a couch. I was now more determined than ever to stage a fight back. The rebel in me was gaining strength by the day and I could sense that I was losing control on him.

I kept staring at the roof. An hour passed by almost unnoticed. A gruelling fight was on the cards, but I was worried about one thing. I can take the counterpunches in my stride, but they should not land on any of my team members. The odds were heavily stacked against me. Escalating the issue to the top didn’t seem a good idea, and it would have had bruised my “monstrous” ego.

I looked at my watch. It was around 11PM. Time to catch up with some sleep. As I prepared to call it a day, my cell phone rang. Oh God! It was Nishigandha again.

“Hey, were you sleeping?” she asked in a rather chirpy voice.

“What do you expect me to do at 11 in the night,” I could help but make my displeasure apparent.

“Can we talk tomorrow at office?” I told her.

“Hey, chill. I called up to tell you please ignore my idiosyncrasies. No obligation whatsoever. I was a bit low then. Didn’t know what I was saying,” Nishigandha said.

“It’s alright. No issues. Good night,” I replied.

“I thought of clearing things out. My husband is a sweet person. And I am very happy with my husband,” she continued.

“That’s great. But, why are you telling this to me? You are literally forcing me to think on those lines on which I never thought,” I told her rather bluntly.

“We will talk tomorrow. Good night.” she replied and disconnected the phone abruptly.

I sat perplexed. What the hell? After a couple of minutes, I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t like the person standing in front of me. I hated the person who had resigned to his fate. I could not stand him for long. I eased myself on the bed and tried hard to catch up with some sleep, but failed.

Suddenly, my eyes fell on a portrait, hanging at a not-so-visible corner of my bedroom. Swami Vivekananda. I had bought it from the Ramakrishna Mission Narendrapur Ashrama on the last day of my college – eight years back. It had always been with me since then. However, I didn’t realise when it had gathered a thick layer of dust. I jumped off my bed to fetch a cloth. I began cleaning the inch-deep dust on the portrait. The dust was gone after five minutes. And I could ready his message clearly.

“Arise, awake, and stop not till the goal is reached.”