"COME AGAIN......"

There used to be a narrow gauge Railway, styled, Barshi Light Railway. The train used to be sickeningly slow on the track.
The jokes on the speed used to be galore. One I recall, goes;
“The train driver complained to the authorities, that, there was a menace of cattle on the rail-track. It was a perennial problem not a casual one.
Sure enough , a committee was set up to investigate in the matter. They went about the job seriously, for quite some time. Submitted a report eventually.
Their finding was a shocking one. It appeared that a buffalo was the villain of the piece. The surprise came in the concluding remarks of the report; which stated that it was the same buffalo which was obstructing the travel of the train, on the rails, again and again and again.“ Some speed !
English language keeps on adding new expressions to say, the same intent in different styles.
The good old expression, whenever one failed to hear someone clearly, used to be;
“I beg your pardon Sir.” Too prosaic and archaic British, perhaps.
“Sorry?” would be more contemporary. The stylish would say “Come again.” Slightly continent- oriented, etiquette.
I am reminded of the BLR joke, and the expression for the unheard conversation after observing the repairs, to Pune roads.
All roads, should have been kept in good order and condition, in the first place, to face the monsoon, which comes annually, at the appointed time punctually.
This was woefully left undone. The rains devastated the communication arteries of the city totally. Consequently, there was furor over this inaction, incompetence, and faulty administration.
They blamed torrential rains, contractors, civil servants, municipal authorities, faulty raw materials, incorrect process, camber of the road, the travelers on the road. (They were advised by authorities, to use roads sparingly, “TAKE TO FLYING”, ha...ha….).
After long last, some semblance of repairs was undertaken. There was a precondition, put before they embarked on the Good Samaritan task, of road-repairs. Rains must take a holiday for the repairs-chaps to work uninterrupted, peacefully, they are susceptible to cough and cold.
Rain-gods obliged.
We got to see the roads again, all black and inviting.
All the guilty, who were bearing the brunt of the public wrath , which was expressed roundly, squarely etc. commenced surfacing, at the public functions, again, again and again. .
All heaved a sigh of relief, that the rain for the season was over .
It was too loud and premature perhaps.
The fury of rain, which had abated, for some time , came back with a renewed vigor.
Last whole week, there is unprecedented rainfall. There would be new statistics which will feature in local newspapers. This is the first time, in living memory that ;there is such heavy rain-fall in September etc. etc. Skyward all the guilty will all ask in unison, “HOW is that ?” Cricketer’s style.
The contractor will get his second contractor , to re-repair the damaged road, again ,again and again.
I overheard the contractor pray to the rain god,
”Come again ,”
Does he not know, that the buffalo repeatedly obstructing the traffic , in the anecdote of BLR as above, is the vehicle of YAMA, the death god?.





M S RANADE
Chairman & CEOPlacewell Consultants,
Pune 411007
mranade@vsnl.com

"LAPTOP & ME"

“Lend me your ears” Antony seeks the attention of his county men, to explain to them, his interpretation of the actions of his assassinated friend, Julius Ceasar.

When you visit, by prior appointment some Sr.Manager in an office, more specifically an IT/BPO/ITES variety; the guy in front, is not taking his attention off his laptop.

You pause.

He says “Go ahead, I am attending to my inbox.”

Unsaid “I am attending to my inbox which is full of a lot of useless E-mails which I am deleting.”

“You may say your monologue; “soliloquy” in peace. I shall continue to be unattentive.You can’t comment on my non-attention” When by prior appointment you meet an individual a business environment, it is customary to give an undivided attention to the visitors. In fact protocol demands, that if a phone call is received, during the course of the meeting, one does not accept the same.

During the entire period of the meeting my friend would just not take his eyes off the laptop. We barely had any eye-contact, which is the pre-requisite of a good dialogue. I was trying my best to engage him in some conversation relating to the business at hand. He was punctuating his inattention by occasional “hums” “go ahead” etc.
I knew very well, he was not of the type to be engaging in multi-tasking. An upstart from some non-descript business school.
His inattention was more a show off. Perhaps to impress me that he was a very busy individual and had condescended to grant me time in his busy schedule.
A poor show, I must say.
Culture is an implicit behavior. The actions happen automatically without any specific signal from the brain. I meant that refinement; to which civilized society is so used to.
This kid on the block was bereft of it. I excused myself politically without concluding the business on hand.





This is the accepted behavior. Any other than this is intolerable; and boorish.

On my way out I said to the receptionist of “Lend me his ears.” “Why? What is wrong with his ears?” She asks you.

“I wish to pull them out of his skull He should learn to attend to his visitors with all his heart and soul. None seems to have taught him, the basics of courtesy; and refinement. “An irate me.

I was finally out of his office looking more like the assassinated Julius Ceasar; almost mind-dead.

M S RANADE

Chairman & CEO

Placewell Consultants,

Pune 411007mranade@vsnl.com

"COLD RECEPTION"

“Your reception was cold, and lime cordial warm” Someone quipped about the hospitability-index of an establishment.

When did you visit your dentist or the ophthalmologist or the general physician last?
Did you not notice the callous attitude of the receptionist? Totally unmindful about your presence; in the establishment.

They have in the reception-hall a TV, their personal cell, the office-telephone, computer mouse to toy with. Why attend to the visitors? You stand there like a sucker, waiting for her attention to focus on you.

“Yes” she exclaims at last.
“Oh man, I haven’t asked you yet.”- Me.

The above dialogue script just popped in my mind, I did not articulate it. However I sheepishly mumbled “I already had fixed an appointment yesterday, with the specialist. I am waiting to be ushered in”.
She gave me a look reserved by the medical-interns for the inmates of the morgue.

They will enjoy seeing you being humiliated to the hilt. They can’t back answer their employer but the entire pent-up anger will be directed at the visitors. I just gave her a hard look and refrained from any insulting remark. I restrained myself solely on account of decency. It has something to do with her most unattractive demeanor too. I wonder why these so called receptionists are appointed at all. They are counter productive.

Their attitude is,” why in the first place, are you at the place”. Especially at the moment when they are busy looking at some juicy stuff being flashed on TV in front of them. Their cell phone is busy for personal chats and yaps. The lowly job of ushering you in to her boss should really be done by someone else, not by her. She would attend to manicuring, or long winding conversations on her telephone with her boy-friend, or some family relations, kitty party members etc. You are last on the list.

You are an intruder on her private space. Get lost. That is unarticulated message from her to all the visitors.


Did you say you have a toothache? Unbearable? Shooting pain? Heed my advice please.
Take a double dose of some painkiller, and suffer the little ache, stoically.

The humiliation you may encounter, at the hands of the receptionist, in the foyer of the reception of your dentist, will be very hurting and incurable.
Avoid the visit, instead.




M S RANADE
Chairman & CEO
Placewell Consultants,
Pune 411007mranade@vsnl.com

“A DELUGE OF GREETINGS SMSes.”

During Deewali festivities, apart from the noisy crackers, and the fumes of the ammunition, fired continuously on roads; there was another menacing onslaught I had to encounter; a perennial stream of SMSes.
Due to the advanced technology, one can mass- transmit the greetings, “mail-merge “; variety. The entire mailing list receives a standard greetings message.
The sender gets a feel that he has done the job, a sort of noblesse oblige.
But he does not realize that the recipient is harassed, and bored stiff to receive the same message from ever so many contacts. Totally counter-productive
What is the alternative?
Write a personal note, it will have the warmth, a personal touch rather than the stereotype mail, sent so very formally, casually, as a ritual.

It is like shaking hands with a robot that is conditioned, to receive the guests and even give them a rose bud. Would you like it? Talking of handshakes, I recall an instance.
Mr. Holck Larsen, who co- founded the engineering giant Larsen and Toubro Limited, in Bombay,( now Mumbai) exuded personal warmth in abundance.
The sapling which was planted in mid 30s, grew into a large company due to his vision and an unstinted, support; from his team, which he sought and got.
A well-knit organization produces quality products. He handpicked his team mates , personally in many cases. A great teamwork, committed workforce, has been the hallmark of this hugely successful company.

Mr. Larsen used to ensure that he would personally stand at the main-gate, on the first day of January, year after year. He would give a warm handshake to each and every employee of the organization.
Till such time as the employee strength was small, it was more a personalized event. However the tradition continued. When the employee strength rose to nearly five thousand, it was still pursued by Mr. Larsen.
I do not know, if you had the experience to shake hands with a hundred odd persons in a meeting. It could be a promotion, transfer, send-off or some such social/official function.
Next day one has to take some muscle relaxant, and a day’s leave.
Mr. Larsen’s hand would be swollen visibly, post this marathon hand-shaking. He would still enjoy the ceremony, though.
The significance, of this warm gesture, and the value attached to this event, by the team-mates, would get highlighted on the next day.

Just outside the cabin of Mr. Larsen, there would be a large crowd of employees, who would insist on a handshake. Due to their absence from work on first Jan, they had missed on this precious memento in their service. Would he confer on them the missed take-away, a handshake.

In spite of the fact that he would be just about able to lift his hand, Mr. Larsen would still oblige.
This is the meaning of the greetings and the warmth it generates, when there is a personal touch to the act. It really helps build relationships, not the mail merge of the e’mail or mass SMSes sent mechanically.



M.S.RANADE
mranade@vsnl.com
UNPUBLISHED

“WINNING HEARTS, NOT BY CLUBS.”

Around mid ‘60s there was a great turbulence in the Trade Union movement in our country. There was very little dialogue between management and the Unions then. Communication was mostly through slogan shouting, by workers and show-cause notices, from management.
The preconceived notions about each other, were skewed. Each one doubting the motives and moves of the other.
I was working as a Commercial Manager, in an Italian company in Aurangabad.
We used to buy drill-bits from a medium scale industrialist, HENRY Hamilton. He had his unit, manufacturing drill-bits and other special tooling in one of the MIDCs in Thane region. There was a virulent labour-dispute in his unit and the production was at 25% of normal. I was worried about the continuity of supplies from him.
During my meeting with him on the status of supplies, he was bragging continuously about his physical prowess, and how he always had an upper hand while dealing with his workers.
He shocked me, out of my wits; when he showed me, an imported revolver, which he was carrying in his suitcase.
He told me that he was in danger of a violent attack by his workers, and was always prepared for the worst of the eventualities. He is a toughie and will not take things lying low, etc; ad infinitum.
I requested him to please shut his bag up, and leave me in peace. I was really put off by his show-off. Before the staff around me would start screaming, I wanted him out of the office.
Later, as expected his workers went on a total strike. Henry was nonchalant and unrelenting.
“Let them do what they like. I am sticking to my guns.” Very adamant, and arrogant Henry.
The striking workers put up some flags of the union, as a part of the protest, apart from the continuous din of slogans at the main gate of the Unit.
Henry called the Leader of the Union and asked him,
“ With whose permission have you put the ugly flags here?”
“We are your workers, Sir. We are allowed to register our protest. Everyone is doing this.”
“Who owns the premises”?
“You, Sir”.
“O.K. Understand this well and proper. I am throwing all the flags away. I do not approve of this at all, on my premises.”
Some fuel in the fire.
The factory stopped functioning, after a lockout. The matter became a long drawn out industrial dispute.
I recall another instance, around the same time.
This unit was an extension of, the main giant factory in Mumbai.
A seasoned HR chief Mr. Vipin Patel from the main Company was deputed to establish, and rear this unit up.
It was considerably away from the main Company, located in a fishing village, on the outskirts of Mumbai.
The HR chief Mr. Patel was very tactful, who understood the psyche of the workers. He knew that the workers there always had a sense of alienation. They felt as a persecuted lot. The workers had to do the bidding of the Union directives from the main Company, in Mumbai.
Hence any establishment act, was looked through this lens.
Here too the workers had some ongoing industrial dispute. As a part of the standard act of protest, they put up the flags of Union on the compound wall of the factory premises. This was pursuant to the directives of the distant Union bosses. It was certainly not a pleasant sight any way.
When Mr. Patel arrived at the factory, he was shocked to see the flags all around, on the fence of the Unit. Naturally he was very disturbed.
He summoned the Union Leader,
“ What do you think you are up to?”
“This is our protest, against the management 's policies, which are always anti workers. “ The obedient Parrot, echoing the big boss, from Mumbai.
“OK, no dispute on this count. I have called you, to my office for a different purpose altogether. You are aware that our company’s name is associated with top- class quality products, and we are almost a “standard” for the industry.” “Patel speak” contd....
“ Yes Sir” The crowd, which had gathered out at his cabin, roared in unison.
“The flags you have put, are all of tattered cloth, and the color has run out etc. This does not become us. I am sanctioning immediately Rs 1000/, which will be paid to you in cash.” An ‘understanding incarnate’, Patel.
“Sir.” Subdued Parrot.
“My request to you is, to remove the tattered flags, which are all rags. Get new ones stitched, which will befit our name. The name and prestige of our company is involved. Neither your name nor mine. It is “US” that we are talking about.” Mr. Patel should have been an Indian representative, in UN.
The workers removed the flags at once. The new ones never came up, and the matter was scuttled. The thousand rupees were returned in tact to Mr. Patel.
When the dispute came to a head, Mr. Patel’s name was suggested as the mediator by the Union on their behalf.
The MIDC factory closed down permanently. ‘Henry the strongman’ is, eking out a living by HAWKING HOMEMADE CANDLES, now.



M. S. RANADE
mranade@vsnl.com
UNPUBLISHED

"RED-TAPED DEMON"

Throughout his career, Jack Welch, who was a chairman and CEO for twenty years, of general Electric, hated bureaucracy like hell.
A hugely successful leader and a great manager, both rolled into one. A rare combination.
Often management students wonder, why Welch bashed through out his career, the bureaucrats, through whom he had to get the work done, anyway.
His abiding aversion to BABUs was due to an attitude displayed universally, by the typical bureaucrats, swathed in red tape. To understand well the complex, stunted, diminutive; mindset of this genre, visit any revenue office, in our country.
I recall an instance from the industrial domain, which will give you a taste of their mental make-up.

A YOUNG ASPIRANT

The story starts with a young engineer, Hiren Patel, who joined an engineering unit, manufacturing stainless steel milk pumps in the early sixties in Mumbai. A young graduate engineer, he had done his post graduation in management from, an Ivy League, US business school.
Hiren was the most eligible bachelor, then in the society.
He got married too, to a bright young girl from his community. Eventually he bought a scooter ” Roman Holiday style”, which was in vogue then. He would commute to the place of work, on his newfound vehicle.
Later he used to get dropped at the place of work, by his wife, who acquired the skills to manoeuvre the two-wheeler, through the crazy traffic of Mumbai. She would take the scooter back home, after dropping her husband.
The factory had a European General manager, Mr. Johansen a qualified engineer, and a great taskmaster. In some ways he was quite a terror, and his word was law in the Unit.
Young Hiren became a blue-eyed boy soon, of Johansen.
The establishment had a typical administrative officer, Mr. Ayer who would go by the rulebook. Always the red book, never the blue book. No exception. A typical hardheaded, head- clerk, whose role model was some revenue officer.
He was hated by one and all.
Once Johansen asked Hiren, how he commutes to the factory.
He replied, it was his young wife who, used to come on a scooter to drop him.
Wouldn’t she like to come in, to see where he was working? Asked his boss.
“Of course she would love to come in.” Replied Hiren.
“Call her in, right away, if she is at the gate yet.” Johansen.

The young engineer was excited. He got on the intercom to the Security officer, checked if his wife was still at the gate. She was.
Immediately he requested the Security officer to let his wife in, as Mr. Johansen had permitted her to come in.

SPOIL SPORT

As per rule, visitors had to obtain an entry pass from, Mr. Ayer.
The Security officer asked the wife to wait in his office, who was very elated to visit the place of work, of her husband.
The Security officer approached, the Administrative officer, Mr.Ayer, for the pass.
He conveyed to Mr. Ayer, about Mr. Johansen’s permission for the young wife of the engineer to visit the factory.
Mr. Ayer, true to his salt, a typical beureaucrat, referred to the rulebook. No visitor was to be allowed on Fridays in the factory, and the day happened to be a Friday.
So, no entry.
The Security officer did plead with him, that the lady was waiting at the gate as per instructions of the General Manager.
“It just does not matter. Rule is rule, and she can’t enter.” Ayer the adamant bureaucrat, decreed.
With a sad face the Security officer, conveyed the decision to her. He regretted his inability to allow her inside factory.
She was totally disappointed, tried to contact the husband on the intercom. Who was also very crestfallen to understand about the decision. He went to Mr. Johansen, that his permission could not be executed.

RESPECT FOR LAW

What do you think the European boss said?
" I am sorry, if the rule says that on Fridays no visitor is allowed I have to abide by the decision. I would not like to overrule this.”
A great lesson for our young managers. The rule has to be honoured and the enforcement of it has not to be challenged and overruled, even if it meant disregard of one’s instructions.
This is the culture, we have to imbibe.
Do you know the result of this crude and draconic enforcement of a minor rule?
Hiren eventually, became the General Manager of the factory. At many functions of the factory, his wife was supposed to attend officially, to distribute the prizes etc. She never entered the factory premises. Even at the farewell function, of her husband.

I am sure you will appreciate now, the utter hatred for all bureaucrats, consistently displayed, by Jack Welch.

Jack Welch was crowned the last CENTURY’S best Chairman and CEO, globally, by Fortune magazine.



M. S. RANADE
mranade@vsnl.com
UNPUBLISHED

“MOVING A MOUNTAIN”

You want to have a post- breakfast constitutional, (walk). What will you do? Wear your NIKE and may be ,take a walking stick, in good measure, and proceed towards the mountain, or the hill nearby. Right ? O. K. for a commoner like me.

Wrong, if you are a top executive, IN INDIA, or at least a close relative of someone in power. Closer the better, for effectiveness and speed.

I had heard the mythological story , from my grandmother, of the divine prowess of Hanumanji. While on an errand to get a medicinal plant from Vindhya, he spirited the mountain itself . This must have been done as an abundant precaution, by him. There was the life of Laxmanji, at stake, the younger brother of his god, Shriramji. No chances were taken.

Another one was about the greatest Adam, Shrikrishna. With the help of his followers, he moved up the entire GOVARDHAN, (hill) and provided it as an umbrella to save the township, from torrential rains. There was some worthy purpose in these stories, of movement of mountains.

With a pinch of salt I used to take the stories, and out of respect to my grandmother I never challenged the veracity. However there was a lurking doubt in my mind about these mythological happenings.

Later in life I was told the story of a devout, top Executive, in Delhi.

The Executive used to pay his respects to a holy cow, prior to his breakfast as a ritual daily. The cow used to be in a barn in the palatial campus of the top Executive .

On one not so fine a day , the Executive fell ill. He was not able to move, out of his bed, which was on the second floor of the mansion.

No problem! The cow could move. Hence to abide by the regimen of the Executive, the cow was made to climb the stairs. The prayers to the cow, adhered to religiously.

My doubts about, mountain moving to the man were shaken slightly.

However now, when I learnt that Mr. Yadav, a close relation of our Rail-minister, was obliged ,by moving the whole train to the platform where the SHALAK was , I have converted myself to a total believer.

You don’t have to take the trouble to trot to the hill . You can transport the hill home, manage the right relatives.

Mountain can be moved.

M S RANADE
Chairman & CEO
Placewell Consultants, Pune 411007
mranade@vsnl.com