The Sales Meet

It's 2.30 pm in a corporate office of a conglomerate. It's the month of July somewhere in mid 90s and dark clouds were ominously hovering over the murky horizon. A year has swiftly flown by in the big bad world and the Management trainees are kind of settling down. Today, we find ourselves in a swanky conference room of the Group President for the Quarterly Sales Review. Not a day one really looks forward to.

On the top of the table are the big guns - our boss's boss and Top Man Mr. Ranade - a thin man with a curling mustache and piercing eyes. Next to him is the Big Man, Mr. Mukherjee - who's at the top of the totem pole - a short tubby man nattily dressed up. Imagine a bulldog wearing a suit. Both the top man and the big man has the unhappy ability to scare the daylights out of all living things - the prime prerequisite of being in the top management.

Neither of them are smiling as Mr. Chatterjee, the marketing chief who is our boss and the center of our universe walks in with the logistics head, Mr. Chaturvedi in tow. The sales targets have not been met as usual and this time Boss has decided that he's not going down alone. He's bought the entire marketing department along as cannon fodder. 

The Management Trainees look very pale. Lee is biting his nails, Ashwini is all glassy eyed with terror and I can feel my knees wobble. Imagine goats being led for a slaughter. We try to look invisible and grab seats as far as possible from the big boys. Octavia, our boss's secretary is the only one looking nice and smug and pleased, crouched over her notepad and can't wait for the fun to begin.

The first strike is quite early in the day. Our dear boss is presenting the sales figures. The first slide is up showing planned vs. actual figures and action plan. Our boss is in full form and blazing like a Juggernaut. Just as the slide is going to get flipped, Mr. Mukherjee, our boss's boss's boss barks "JUST HOLD ON". He stares at the slide in rapt attention. We all follow his eyes anxiously and stare at the slide.

After 2 minutes, all hell breaks loose.

Mr. Mukherjee glares at our boss and yells "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS NONSENSE, CHATTERJEE - THIS IS THE SAME SLIDE YOU SHOWED SIX MONTHS BACK ! The juggernaut has been stopped in it's tracks. Our Boss goes beetroot and gawks at the slide unhappily. We all gawk at the slide unhappily, not daring to breathe. 

Our boss's gaze slowly shifts to Octavia, his secretary and shorthand expert who suddenly doesn't look so happy anymore. After all, she's the one responsible for the collating the presentation. The Boss's murderous look has the unmistakable "Baahar aa, dekhta hoon tereko" written all over it. Octavia looks ready to burst into tears. The Top Man and the Big Man are by now openly jeering  our poor boss, who has started sweating buckets. The management trainees are staring at him and secretly hoping for a coronary so that the meeting would end and we could all go home. The rest of the marketing team looks on nervously.

The meeting continues. It's a massacre. An hour passes. Then another. Mr. Mukherjee, the big man is in full flow, raving and ranting at the departmental incompetence. He shouts with thinly veiled contempt "VERY POOR PERFORMANCE. THIS YOUNG GENERATION HAS NO COMMITMENT AT ALL".  All of us look suitably ashamed of ourselves. 

Then the big man's eyes wander angrily across the room and finally rests on Jeetu, one of the more laid back guys in the domestic appliances department. At the moment, dear Jeetu is surreptitiously trying to catch up on his afternoon nap while Rome is burning. Mr. Mukherjee yells at him. "YOU THERE, YEAH YOU..WHAT'S YOUR SALARY"?? Jeetu wakes up with a start and gawps at him, his face going an unhealthy ash white. Imagine being hauled out of your breakfast table by your collar and flung across a cliff head first, porridge, cutlery, napkins and all. Words refuse to come out as Jeetu starts stuttering. I can feel my throat going dry with panic and sweat trickles down my neck. I am sitting in ground zero, right next to Jeetu.

Then the big man then turns to our boss "CHATTERJEE, THIS YOUNG MAN MUST BE DRAWING WHAT, 5000 RUPEES?. BUT DOES HE DO ANY WORK WORTH 5000 RUPEES"? Everyone looks at Jeetu suspiciously. The poor chap clamps up. He draws something like 25 Grand but he isn't about to volunteer that information.

The big man is just about warming up. He glares at Jeetu and shouts at our boss "CHATTERJEE, I BET THIS FELLOW GOES HOME EARLY EVERYDAY !!! HE MUST WORK AT LEAST 18 HOURS A DAY". All the big boys nods their heads vigorously and glares at Jeetu convinced they know a laggard when they saw one. It doesn't help that Jeetu looks guiltier than a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Much to our relief, the eventful day finally gets over and we crawl out of the sales meet, shaken and stirred. It's time to head for the nearest bar to restore the mauled and bruised spirit. The day soon passes into history.

The next day, the sun is out in the skies as usual.  Over a cup of tea, the management trainees heave a sigh of relief for having survived the meeting. However, the best is yet to come. The minutes of the meeting have been typed manually by the can't-wait-to-please-boss Octavia and action points are circulated.

The minutes of the meeting are floating all over the place, and soon has the floor reverberating with laughter. Though at least one person in the department is in a state of shock and gloom.

Because, a particular action item in the minutes of the meeting tells it's own tale.  Among other things, typed in bold letters in point no. 10 - "JEETU TO WORK 18 HOURS A DAY" !!

Finally, something productive has come out of the meeting :)

A Slice Of Life

Keflavik International Airport, Reykjavík - Iceland. The crowd is sparse. It's January and the evening is bitterly cold. Flight FI782 has just landed from New York, JFK. In the shadows outside, a man in a dark overcoat waits for his brother, silent with grief. His brother comes out shortly. Their father has just passed away after a long illness. They hug each other. The eyes of one brother has the wretchedness of the one who is far away and has spent years dreading the final phone call. The eyes of the other brother has the haunted look of one who has stayed behind and has watched his parents grow old and frail and finally fade away. The two men are in their early 30s, separated by a couple of years. And a distance life and time will never bridge.

Nashville, Tennessee - A tragedy is unfolding. The funeral of an young girl is heartbreaking. She has been taken away by the gods at the age of three. Her mother and a seven year old brother are numb with shock. Her devastated father is one of the pall bearers and is having difficulty in shouldering the coffin. It is a burden too heavy for any parent in the world. An unknown soldier walks across the cemetery and gently steadies the father and takes the load on himself. When the coffin is lowered in the grave, the soldier kneels down, his face wet with tears. Even a complete stranger must go down on a bended knee at so monumental a loss.   

Marseilles, France. A man walks along the seaside by the Calanque de Morgiou, oblivious of the crowd around. He has loved and lost. The beginnings of a heartbreak are beginning to tug at his tortured soul. The tears flow as he looks in the distance at the lonely years ahead. He isn't the first one on earth to get defeated in love. But it sure feels like one. He will not get closure, but he will just learn to move on. He promises to himself that he will never run back to what broke him. love doesn't break your heart. People do.

Prague, Czech Republic. An innocuous school race of 7 year olds. The winner is being applauded by all - the pride of his parents and friends. In a lonely corner is the boy who came last. His father looks at him angrily and then ignores him. He doesn't care for his son's anguish and sees only a loser. The boy sits in a corner and cries. The potter has smudged his pristine creation before the cast is set. Damaged goods start early on in life.

Zhengzhou, China. A young Shaolin monk stands in front of a pool lit by silvery moonlight at 2 am. Floating on the water are thin wooden boards laid next to each other. His brow knit in concentration and muscles taut, the Shaolin monk prepares to do one of the toughest Kung Fu feats ever - the walk on water. The task is to race across the thin planks without falling. The young monk takes a deep breath and makes the first attempt. He crosses three planks, stumbles and sinks in the icy water. He comes up coughing and gasping for air and starts all over again. The flight on water is about speed, a delicate coordination of breathing, rhythm, balance and stamina. There is no audience here. No tests. The monk is here because he loves the art. His only competition is what he was yesterday. 

London, United kingdom. In a happening nightclub in the center of the city, a bunch of eighteen year old pretty girls, breathless with excitement are enjoying a night out. The future is limitless and exciting. They are too young to know grief. And in another corner is a bunch of 60 year olds enjoying a beer and laughing in the glow of quiet camaraderie. Old enough to know grief. But also, old enough to know that life is short and time doesn't wait for anyone.

A mountain in Tanzania - a mystery wreathed in clouds. The group of young climbers gather around the traveler who has just come back and bombard him with questions. The summit..how is the summit. The questions are all about the summit. The traveler smiles wearily. "Nothing is at the summit. The springs, the valleys, the mists, the sunrise and the sunset on the way is what the climb is all about...but you won't see them because all you are eyeing is the summit".

Darkness and sunshine are two sides of the same coin - the share is uneven and sadly determined purely by the roll of dice fate throws at us. All you can do is take it on the chin and move on to live another day.

And therein lies a tale. 

All in a Day's Work

It's the 90s. The office setting is grim. It’s a corporate headquarters of a large conglomerate. Imagine a huge rectangle room. Imagine a line of cabins one side and severe looking chairs and tables on the other. 

On the left are the cabins where the Management rules from. The first cabin in that of Mr. Goswami, the personnel manager and who looks like an escaped convict. Next is the Top Man, Mr. Ranade - a thin man with a thick curling moustache and piercing eyes. Both his bark and bite are equally legendary. Three cabins to the right is the marketing Chief, Mr. Chatterjee who is our boss and center of our universe.  He has short curly hair, large spectacles over small ears adorning a thick neck and a pot belly to match.  

On the right of the floor are chairs and tables occupied by the worker bees. These are divided into a careful hierarchy. On the top are the old hands - the ones who have risen through the ranks. In our department, there is Mr. Chaturvedi, the logistics chief and Boss’s man Friday.  He is short and squat with an impressive belly. Then there is Mr. Joshi, the chief go to man. Ever smiling, fit and agile, Mr. Joshi lights up a cigarette every 30 minutes to stay healthy. He is our favorite because he is the most approachable of the lot.  And there is Octavia, our boss's secretary and his short hand expert. She is the gossip queen of the office, a pro in the grapevine chatter.

This lot is complemented by Mr. Choubey, the court astrologer that helps us make profits by doing havans and aligning our tables with the stars.

The next layer are the MBAs who joined a couple of years before us and who are still around. There is the suave and handsome Kulvee, self-assured and the department’s favorite pinup boy. Then there is the bespectacled Rakesh, oblivious to the world and perennially writing something on a paper pad with his head so low that it is left to his nose to prevent his specs from touching the table. And we have Amanda, the advertising in charge - the department loudmouth and the local bully.  

All in all, a curious crowd.

Finally, there are the freshly minted MBAs - the management trainees at the bottom of the table. This is the group of rookies I belong to. Despised by the old hands and everyone's favorite whipping boys. There is Sonal, my best friend - freckled, fiery, indignant and ready to take on the world. The regular rebel without a cause. There is Lee, benignly laid back and lighting up every now and then. Then there is PeeCee, a highly volatile girl and eyeing Lee. And there is me – Mr. Anonymous of the lot. All of us are twenty something.

9.00 am Mr. Chatterjee, The Marketing chief and our boss troops into office, his entourage consisting of a shifty eyed driver carrying his briefcase. Octavia looks up in fright. So does Sonal. Lee and I look at each other uneasily. Everyone is gauging his highness's mood - For that will dictate how the day will go. A closer look reveals the man is scowling darkly. Everyone's hearts sink. This doesn't look so good. Everyone's on the edge in the marketing department, especially the management trainees.

As per regular routine, 45 seconds after Mr. Chatterjee enters his cabin, the logistics head, Mr. Chaturvedi follows him. Two men against the world. 5 minutes later Mr. Chaturvedi comes out - balefully eyeing everyone one by one. Everyone shudders. His eyes finally settle on me - cowering in a corner. "Boss bula raha hai". With shaky legs I enter the cabin. "Yes Sir", I stammer. Boss looks at me scornfully. "Cigarette la". Relief washes over me like a flood. For the next 15 minutes, I systematically go combing the neighborhood for a smoke , happy in the thought I'm doing something productive.

9.30 am. In the morning, a breakfast trolley comes in manned by a mean old man called kaka. Today's special is til ka laddu. That’s my favorite and against my better judgement, I meekly ask for a second helping. The man rudely refuses. I go red in embarrassment at the public humiliation. The next moment all my friends around me spontaneously stretch their hands out offering me their only laddus. Life comes with its kindest moments at the most unexpected of times.

11.30 am. There is a meeting between our boss and the top man. As usual, the sales targets haven't been met and dear boss has just got an earful.  He comes out raving and ranting. Just imagine a bulldog that’s just been kicked in the ribs. Our spirits sink even lower.  Mr. Chatterjee curtly beckons the whole gang in his cabin wagging a finger. Everyone anxiously troops in the smoked out cabin. He glares at everyone and roars "JUST HOW MUCH CAN I COVER UP FOR YOUR INCOMPETENCE. HIGH TIME YOU PEOPLE LEARNT TO LIVE ON YOUR OWN OXYGEN!!!” He got the same lines from his boss 5 minutes back.  He bangs a thick fist on the table, causing pens and pencils jump all over the place in fright. "I WANT RESULTS” – he screams. Everyone hangs on fearfully to his words, too terrified to breathe. All except one. Octavia, our boss's secretary and his shorthand expert rises to the occasion. It's time to show solidarity to the boss. She huffs and puffs enthusiastically "We shall try to do our best, Sir”!!! Unfortunately, this only serves to incense boss further who glares at her angrily and yells "TRY, I DON'T WANT TRY, I WANT RESULTS". Octavia goes scarlet and deflates like a balloon. There is murder in her eyes. The management trainees all chuckle inwardly. One should know when to butter and when not to butter. We keep our eyes carefully on the floor. You don't want to be seen smiling at that moment by Boss.

2.30 pm. I am in the men’s washroom enjoying a quiet leak - The place is crowded and there is chatter and bonhomie in the air. Suddenly the place goes silent. The top man has walked in for a quick one. Those were the unfortunate times when private executive loos didn't exist. Zips go in the shutdown mode, toilets are flushed and the inmates flee. The place empties out in 5 seconds flat. No one wants to be around when the great man does his stuff. All except me. I am dreaming good dreams and am blissfully unaware of the heightened activity and suddenly find myself stranded alone next to the top man in the next cubicle. The silence hits me suddenly and I shut my eyes in panic and pretend the world doesn't exist. The moment passes.

5.30 pm. Mr. Chatterjee’s mood has cleared visibly and he is happy now. There is a dealer’s meet in the evening and he is looking forward to hitting the bottle and meeting old friends. The sun has come out of the clouds. There is a flood of relief around. Everyone's smiling with joy. The management trainees are visibly relieved. Boss comes out and expansively waves at me, slaps me on my back and says genially "Beta, Cigarette la". I go hunting for a cigarette and am happy in the thought I'm doing something productive.

8.30 pm. The dealer’s meet is on. Booze is flowing freely and the regional sales heads are getting an earful from my dear boss.  The management trainees are living it up with the free stuff and I wander off on my own, dreaming the good dreams - and walk straight into the danger zone.  Mr. Chatterjee eyes me and booms out “Come here young man”. I go stone sober and get the familiar sinking feeling. Boss puts an arm around me affectionately and tells the regional sales heads “You guys don’t know how to sell. Look at this young man – he just closed a deal worth a million yesterday”. Everyone cranes their neck to have a good look at me - there is awe and reverence in the air. I freeze in shock at this brazen lie and break into cold sweat. I didn't see this one coming. I stare back at everyone wild eyed with a silly smile on my face. There are hearty congratulations all around and I shake everyone’s hands weakly, desperately trying to think of some suitable customer’s name in case someone asked. Fortunately everyone’s too plastered to ask the finer details and I fly back to the bar as fast as my legs carry me and drown down 2 shots of neat vodka.

Much to our relief, the day finally ends.  Those were the happier days for the Management trainees.  Little did we know, that would change soon. Very soon.