Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please (8 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

By Ashwin Menon

***

Character is doing the right thing when nobody's looking.

- J.C. Watts

The Dream
Whisperer

‘
T
here’s such a little meaning to the things we hold dear…’ This was the only thought going through my mind as I watched Anand berate Govind; his reportee. “I find it hard to believe that a Friday evening supersedes a 5 million dollar deal! Govind, you seem to have made a habit out of being completely undependable and I’m personally going to do everything I can to ensure that your free run ends here.”

Don’t get me wrong – Anand is the guy every corporate entity salivates over. Solid shark, go getter, legendary smasher of targets, vanquisher of competitors, lord of the term-sheet and so on. It’s just that Govind had just informed him that last Friday was his daughter’s birthday and he had to leave early. Apparently, Govind had made the cardinal sin of not checking his Blackberry every couple of minutes
because of which a clarification mail from the customer went unnoticed. This in itself was not worthy of a nuclear meltdown from Anand. However, the butterfly effect of that small miss was that because that mail was overlooked, the pricing that went out to the customer was wrong – and now it was too late to revert with the standard “Dear Mr. Customer, as an organization we are comprised of a bunch of incompetent morons. As such, we request you to please give us the opportunity to goof up on our commercial offer one more time.”

Later on that night when the managers went to our standard dive bar for the “Managers Round Table” session (please understand that this is an institution that keeps most of us sane), Anand was gloating about how he “put Govind in his place”. Anand is one of my closest friends, but there are times when I look at myself in the mirror just to ensure that I’m not turning into him. I’ve often thought of Corporate Culture as a fatal virus. One that creeps into you during the Company Initiation session, and grows ever so monstrously every-time we achieve our KRA’s. But hey, every now and then a Govind creeps through the cracks and reminds me to inoculate myself (secretly, because a sales guy with a heart is just weird and unheard of). So
, on that most revered of the evenings, I had to stand up for the poor guy. “Anand, you have to give that guy a break. This is not the first time we’ve had this issue, and I’m fairly certain this won’t be the last time either.” Anand glares at me, as if questioning why I’m called to the hallowed table of the management cadre, and asks me “Puneet, who made you the Patron Saint of Lost Causes? You know as well as I do that this is a quarter end.”

And there we go. The sacred term to humble and silence every sales guy since the beginning of time. One phrase to rule them all. For me it is not too much of a stretch to imagine
a time long, long ago when cavemen sat around and mumbled about quarter endings. I imagine that one of our smarter cave-men would’ve got up and asked, “My good fellow, what exactly is a quarter ending? Or for that matter a quarter?” I imagine his colleagues would have mumbled something further regarding the falling standards of education at IIM and then one of them went forward and invented the fire to change the topic. But I digress. Let’s return to our present day caveman, Anand. He continued to exposit the glory of being Anand, the rest of the crowd amicably guffawed, consumed copious amounts of beer (ah sweet beer, thou art the balm to sooth all wounds) and then proceeded to drunkenly head back to our homes.

All except me, that is. By whatever turn of fate it happened, as I was walking towards my car (brand new Ford Endeavor – commissions are a wonderful thing), I happened to bump into Govind.
He was busy helping an old man get to his feet. As I walked closer, I could see that the old man was involved in some kind of altercation, as he was bloodied all over. I ran over and asked Govind about the incident, and apparently the old man was the watchman in the parking area of the restaurant. He was beaten-up by a few youngsters when he went over to collect the parking fee. “He is my father, Sir. I need to get him to a hospital.” These words left me confused for a second. When you work long enough in a rewarding organization, I believe you tend to get isolated from the real world. I was shocked because I always thought of Govind as a junior account manager, MBA graduate and human being (in that order). It never occurred to me that his dad would be a watchman. Again, don’t get me wrong, I’m not an elitist, but it was difficult to comprehend. We live in a world where money begets money. Even primary schools demand a king’s ransom. Add to that the incredible cost of an MBA, and the mind obviously jumps to forming conclusions about the parents and their occupation. I leapt into action and helped him lift his father and both of us carried him to my car. As I was driving them to the hospital, Govind kept looking towards me now and then, nervously.

Expecting that he would need financial help with the hospital fees, I asked him, “Govind, speak up mate. Do you need any help?”

Govind looked towards me with tears in his eyes and said, “Sir, can you please not mention anything about this at office?”

“Of course this stays between us. Now, do you have insurance? Do you need any money right now?”

“No Sir, I’m fine. It’s enough that you are helping us get to the hospital. I’ve already troubled you more than I meant to.”

I spent some more time explaining to him that
he should feel free to ask me if he needs anything. Govind was a stand-up guy and politely refused all the help that I offered him. I just couldn’t let the guy go through this ordeal alone (Govind informed me that his wife was in Chennai, and his mother passed away a few years ago), and so I decided to hang out with him at the hospital. To be honest, I was curious to know more about Govind. How did he manage to break out of the life he was scheduled for, pre-destined for?

At the emergency ward, the medical team wheeled his dad inside. From Govind’s nervous pacing, I could see the silent, helpless urgency of a caring son. You could see the product of a family
that held currency in love. A family that never had enough, but made more out of the little than most do with a lot. A family united, absolute in the support structures it needed to build to help one another. Govind must have been feeling uncomfortable with my scrutiny, because he suddenly turned towards me. He came and sat down next to me and asked me, “Sir, how much did you pay for your car?”

I found the question jarring. There’s nothing inherently wrong with what he asked. It’s just that I imagined Govind would be more stressed out about other things right n
ow (like “Will my dad be fine?”, “How do we get back at the guys who did this?”, “How much will the hospital charge?” etc.). I couldn’t really keep this to myself and I blurted out, “Govind, are you asking me this question to divert your thoughts from the situation at hand? I mean, shouldn’t we file an FIR? Aren’t you angry at the people who did this?”

Govind didn’t respond immediately. Instead he smiled as he looked around the waiting room. A plethora of human emotions adorned the room like paintings on a wall. Some had come here to lose a loved one, and some had come to witness incredible doctors go toe-to-toe against death and win. A veritable Ali vs. Frasier match in every single case. In this place, surrounded by the ghosts of death and disease, frenzied families and clinical medicos, it was easy to lose hope. It was easy to despair. But in the midst of this hurricane, Govind stayed calm.

He turned back to me and said, “And what exactly do you think is the “situation at hand”? Right now, my father’s wound is being stitched up. I will wait for him to come around and then I will take him home and make him comfortable. After that, I will go and register an FIR. Am I angry at the people who did this? No, I am not. My father lies bloodied somewhere in this emergency ward being examined by perfect strangers. He has taught me to keep my chin up and look towards the future, and not get buried in the past. While I refuse to allow hate to fester in my heart, I will also learn ways to ensure this will not happen again.”

“Govind, all I’m saying is it’s okay to let the anger out
, bro. When we bottle our anger, it slowly turns into an all-consuming demon. This demon will gnaw away at our very being, perverting something beautiful and turning it into something black. Look, right now I’m praying for your dad. But there is another part of me which is screaming for retribution.”

“Sir, if we live our lives in response to what other people do to us, then we will forever remain just an echo of their actions. By reacting to hatred, we become an essential link in a perpetual chain of negativity. My father taught me to break this chain. It’s up to us to forgive and grow.”

How could this man be so naïve? This is why we create
stereotypes; like the villager who did an MBA. Delusions of Grandeur, but the poor man gets chewed up and spat out by the very system he sought to dominate. I felt it was my responsibility to reach out to this boy and educate him on the ways of the world. But the more I looked at him, the less I was sure about myself. His convictions didn’t come from a textbook. It seemed to shine through generations of good, hard-working people. But still, I persisted.

“Govind buddy, listen to me. I don’t know if it is my right to tell you such things, but if you’re planning to forgive everyone who does you wrong, then you’ll be spending all your life watching other people snatch things from you. The ocean
doesn’t belong to the goldfish; it belongs to the sharks. I could never forgive someone who would try and hurt my dad, and I don’t think you should either. I’m just saying don’t let anyone take you for a willing victim, mate. I know and I understand where you come from, Govind.”

Govind looked amused. That’s the only way to describe his expression at that time. I don’t mean that he was amused at me in a condescending way, but he was just confused. “I do not mean to give you a lecture, Sir. It’s just that in this scene right now, you are an accidental character. You’ve helped me because you know me. You stayed because you were curious. Now you question me, because you are trying to understand me. How can you ever understand me, Sir? You didn’t grow up like I did. My house used to be a single room
ed hut where I lived with my father, mother and two brothers. Our dreams weren’t as big as yours might have been. We dreamt of comfort and security, not Ferraris and iPhones. My father and mother sacrificed every single dream they’ve ever had to send me to school. All their dreams sacrificed for one hope. Anand Sir is right when he says that I cannot multi-process information. This is born out of a lifetime where at every stage I have focused on only one goal, and given my all towards that goal.”

As human beings, we always seek finality. We might call it closure, or a decision, or anything else for that matter. Finality is the defining truth about life. In the end, right or wrong doesn’t matter as much as the decision to make a call. Each decision is a branch on a never-ending timeline. The complexities and vagaries of life had convinced me that as humans, we will never be able to truly understand our choices, much less fool ourselves about who’s in control. But Govind right then was rock-steady. He appeared to have the answers to questions that I did not even understand how to ask.

“There is only one situation at hand, Sir. For me right now, there is only one goal. I need to touch my father’s feet one more time to tell him that I will not fail our family. I need him to know that I love him. I need him to know that I will take care of my younger brothers and give them the same chances that he has given me. Other than this, everything else is just an idle conversation. So asking you the cost of your new SUV is as good a question as any.”

“26 Lakhs”, was all I could say. Govind suddenly took on new dimensions in my mind. The meek, silent junior account manager suddenly seemed to remove his glasses, twirl his hair in front and wear his red underwear over his pants and take off into the wild, blue yonder with his cape flapping away behind him.
It is that strange and special moment when you realize that the sky above you, in all its magnificence and infinity, is actually just someone else’s false ceiling. That is how I felt at that moment. Govind had such clarity of thought because his life had taught him to prioritize perfectly. Maybe that was why he complained so little. Anand thought that
Govind lacked imagination. It was then when I saw that Anand was ill-equipped (mentally) to even begin to fathom Govind. I’ve often wondered how Govind was able to rise above the insults and threats hurled at him by Anand and various other members of the Management Cadre. His secret was that he knew that pound for pound, he could outshine all of us. But this confidence didn’t come from a dark place. It came from understanding. He didn’t ignore the insults, he learnt from them. He didn’t whimper at threats, he merely adapted to dominate. As I looked at Govind at that moment, it was easy to feel the advance tremors of imminent greatness.

A short while later, the On-Call doctor came by to let us know that Govind’s father was doing fine. He had got about 32 stitches, and Govind could take him home that very night. I offered to stay back and see them home, but Govind cryptically said, “I’m not sure you’re ready to see my house, Sir.”

As I drove home that night, I thought about every single thing that Govind had said. Over and over, like an unending loop, his words seemed to play. Even weird was the fact that Govind reminded me of someone, but in my drunken stupor, I just couldn’t put a name to the face. The next day, when I came to office, I immediately sought out Govind. There he was, diligently chatting up with some customer about when we could come by to showcase our latest product. Except for one thing – the man’s face looked nothing like Govind’s. Govind had a clear smooth face, whereas this chap had a goatee and irritatingly long, spiked hair. I went to Anand, “Dude, who’s that guy sitting in Govind’s cabin? He’s using Govind’s phone.”