by Pawan Mishra
“Get hold of yourself, buddy!” Ratiram shrieked as he put his handkerchief on his bleeding nose while getting down from the car. “What’s your name? You can’t duck it this time. I need to complain about you.”
“Chela Ramani. Go file a complaint. Nothing will ever happen. You are going to be racing downhill in a few minutes to sink in a muddy pond at the bottom of hell. Enjoy the party.”
Chela drove past Ratiram so fast that he had no chance to ace back with his wit. He merely turned and took the elevator to the second floor.
“What’s up with your nose, sir?” a twentysomething girl in formal attire asked. “Are you OK?”
“I may just be on the outskirts of being OK,” he said, hiding his frustration.
“Can I help you with something?”
“No, I am all right. Thanks for asking.”
She ushered him to ABC’s office.
Alone in the room, Ratiram sat on the lonely chair on one side of the table. He then lifted the napkin holder from the middle of the table and put it next to himself. He took a napkin out and gently dabbed his nose. The bleeding had stopped, finally.
“Care for some tea?” He heard the girl’s voice.
“May I have a soda instead?”
“You got it,” the twentysomething girl replied. “By the way, I’m also supposed to apprise you that the three big bosses are running about ten minutes late because of a prior engagement. So please feel free to ask me if you need anything else, too.”
“Nothing, unless you can help reduce the wait.”
“I am afraid I can’t. Let me grab your soda.”
Ratiram couldn’t believe himself—he had been an entirely different man since he woke up this morning: arrogant, abusive, careless, and indifferent.
The girl left and locked the room from outside, so Ratiram got up and walked around to have a closer look at everything. Turn by turn, he picked up everything on the table—paperweight, table bell, pen holder, family photographs, a trophy—and turned them in all directions, examining each very closely before putting it back. He also opened all the drawers, one by one, and quickly read through many of the files, reports, and diaries.
Then the twentysomething came back with the soda.
“Do you need ice separately?” she asked him.
“I don’t.”
“Very well, then; good luck!”
“Thank you.”
He took the soda can and walked to the mysterious door at the rear of the room, stood next to it holding the handle, contemplated for about two minutes if he should open it, and finally flung open the door.
The door opened to a long, narrow corridor that contained several other closed doors, equidistant from one another—like a hotel corridor. Ratiram couldn’t assess his state accurately, whether he was afraid, nervous, or respectful, but he quickly came back into the room and closed the door again. He then sat on his chair.
All quiet.
ABC’s appearance followed within a minute. They settled themselves on the three chairs on the other side of the table.
“Ratiram, first of all, a big thank-you for your flexibility in making this meeting on short notice,” said Andar. “I am Andar; the gentleman on my left is Bandar; and to his left is Chandar.” He took a puff from his pipe.
“Hello, everyone.” Ratiram returned the greeting. “May I humbly request to have a nonsmoking discussion?”
“In all its history,” Bandar said, “this has been a smoking meeting. We’re not going to change it for you.”
“Does the smoking bring some extra effects or what?” Ratiram knew his self-destructive state of mind too well but hardly cared about it right then.
“Without further ado,” said Bandar, “things haven’t been working very well. We have bad news for you.”
“Put this smoke to rest first. Else we are not meeting.” Ratiram’s ultimatum shocked them.
“Will it work better if we stroll outside? You can get fresh air, and we don’t have to compromise on how we run this meeting,” Chandar said. He wasn’t a smoker, but stood strongly by his two companions. It wasn’t a matter of smoking, but a matter of a legacy.
“I don’t think that would work. I would need to be standing next to you to be able to hear you. That would mean inhaling the smoke in almost the same way.”
Andar and Chandar leaned toward Bandar, conferring in hushed tones so that Ratiram couldn’t catch anything.
“Let’s see if this works,” Andar said, turning toward the rear door and pointing at it. “Bandar and I go behind that door, and Chandar will stay here. We will only open that door to a tiny slit, just enough to be able to participate in the conversation.”
“We can try it,” Ratiram said, “and see if it works for me.”
“Thanks for your openness,” Bandar said.
“We are here to relieve you from your responsibilities, effective immediately.” Chandar wasted no time as soon as Andar and Bandar went behind the mysterious door.
“What else could you do? I mean really, wasn’t that the easiest way?” Ratiram asked fearlessly.
“As you know, the whole Coinman thing was the most disreputable matter that has ever come to our table. A disciplinary action has been determined on the key engineers of the incident,” Andar explained, without considering Ratiram’s question.
“Being one of the chief architects of the debacle”—Bandar took it forward from Andar—“you are impacted by the decision, and it is our duty to let you know that your employment with the firm ends as of today.”
Ratiram stood up suddenly and clapped. “Please accept my standing ovation on this marvelous move.”
The three bosses were caught off guard by this. For nearly a minute they couldn’t think of anything to say.
Andar broke the silence. “Are you all right? Hearing you’re getting fired may be quite stressful to the mind. But please understand; we follow our disciplinary process very religiously here, because high productivity can’t be expected without a healthy environment.”
“Could you please repeat what you said? I couldn’t hear because the door was accidentally closed fully for a second, it seems,” Ratiram said.
“I heard it very clearly,” Chandar responded.
“That’s probably because you tell this to everyone here. You heard it from your own mind, not from Andar at this moment.”
Andar repeated his previous words.
“Let’s get to the point,” Ratiram said, dabbing his nose with a napkin.
“The way it works,” Chandar said, “is we provide you with a proposal with two options. You choose one of those two options, and then sign the respective contract. And we wrap this meeting up.”
“Keep going, please.” Ratiram was impatient to get to the meat of the matter.
“Also,” Andar added, “we want to make you aware, in addition to terminating your employment with us, we strive to enforce an ‘extinct relationship’ policy.”
“What the heck does that even mean?”
“In layman’s terms,” Bandar explained, “it means that once you are gone from here, you remain gone. Make sure that no one at the office is ever able to get in touch with you. If they do, you lose your funds per the contracts.”
“Here is the deal,” Chandar said. “The options we offer you are these. Option one: we terminate you and, as per our firm’s rule, pay you six months’ worth of severance. That’s a normal termination. Option two: you resign and we give you a bonus equivalent to two years of your salary.”
“And which one do you think I would take, if I may humbly ask?” Ratiram asked.
“Everything being said in this discussion gets recorded and could be challenged on legal grounds. Therefore, we are not entitled to respond on your behalf,” Chandar replied.
“I will go with the third option,” Ratiram said calmly.
“Have you lost captainship of your mind? There was no third option here.” Bandar shouted from behind the door.
“I hea
rd it. Maybe that was my own voice in my head. Let me state it anyway,” Ratiram said with conviction. “Option three holds when the first two options are not applicable; specifically in a case where the firm is guilty of violence against its most loyal employee by breaking his nose, even when he helped senior management for years by spying on his own colleagues. Option three states that such an employee would be asked to resign with five years of salary, without the condition of losing touch with the firm.”
The three big bosses couldn’t believe it. It appeared that a deadly snake had just left each one of them—without biting, but after exploring each man thoroughly.
“Are you saying we are responsible for that miserable nose?” Andar finally found words.
“Yes, sir. Chela punched me in the nose.”
“We gave no such instructions to him,” Bandar protested.
Andar made a quick phone call in the meantime.
“He was working under your orders when he did it,” Ratiram responded.
“Bandar, he is right. I spoke to Deena. She confirmed that Chela broke that nose because of Ratiram’s obnoxious behavior,” Andar quickly confirmed.
“What will you do if we don’t agree to your demand?” Chandar asked.
“Well, I am not going to do much. I am just going to send a letter to all the employees here, telling them that their most dreaded big bosses have balls merely as big as mustard seeds and are the three biggest fattus that ever dwelt in this world. I would tell them that Ramta received such a fat check that his family was able to settle in Hawaii forever. And the bosses used the driver to propagate a fake rumor about his nervous state.”
“You seem to know more than what would suit our comfort level,” Andar said, as he and Bandar walked into the room smoking, not caring about Ratiram’s earlier protest.
“For your kind information, however,” Bandar said, in a manner that was enough to send a chill down Ratiram’s spine, “your research is not thorough. We have a fourth option that wouldn’t even require us to pay out any money. We try to stay away from things we don’t want to mix with business. But you have forced us to take that route.”
Bandar had effortlessly converted Ratiram’s grit into the smoke rings that he blew triumphantly in the air.
“We will be back in a minute,” Chandar said as he walked toward the mysterious door, signaling to Andar and Bandar to follow.
It was only a minute before Ratiram’s clothes were drenched in sweat from the fear caused by the gravity of their manner.
The three of them came back to the room after five minutes.
“We have decided that our best offer for you is the first one,” Andar said. “The second one is not available to you anymore. And if you insist more on the third one, the first one will also slip from your hands. We would need to then force option four. The beauty of option four is, it’s not discussed, just carried out.”
“I will take option one,” Ratiram said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“You may not have realized, and for reasons we can’t reveal,” Chandar said sedately, “this has been, and will remain, the most significant decision of your life. Deena will have your contract papers at the front desk. All the best for your future!”
Ratiram got up and left without wasting another second.
28. The Verdict
“Coinman,” Jay said, addressing him in his office room, “I am so happy that you have found a solution entirely on your own. I have no awareness of Sage Mangal’s capabilities, never heard of him, but I am very sure this will work more than the lousy solutions I forced on you.”
Both of them laughed.
“And by the way, Sage Mangal’s fee is not a problem,” Jay said. “Management has always committed to invest a large sum on the personal development of its associates.”
“I can never pay you back for this kindness and support, sir,” Coinman said. “I promise you that when I come back after finishing at the ashram, I will dedicate myself even harder to the progress of this firm.”
“I am very glad to hear that. I can’t wait to see you come back. We will miss you here.” Jay said, then paused for few seconds, as if he just remembered something important. He asked, “How is the investigation going? What does the officer have to say? What was his name, Mr. Kaatil?”
“Mr. Patil, sir. Everything is good. We received the final report yesterday. They have closed the case as suicide.” Coinman took a deep breath and continued, “That was a big relief. I had almost decided that if it was to come to Shimla being charged with the murder, I was going to take it on me. That may not sound practical, but sometimes practical methods are not ethical.”
“Whoa, that would have been some real sacrifice. May I know, only if it’s okay, the reason behind such feeling?” Jay clearly looked confused.
“Because I have never seen anyone like Shimla in my entire life.”
“Why would you say so?”
“After she joined our family, she hasn’t, for a single moment, put her own interest above the family’s. Even before that, all the trauma she underwent at her parents’ house, and her still managing to be a fine person, without a single complaint about what life offered her, puts her at a godly status in my mind. It’s very easy to be nice when you are affluent, but it’s next to impossible to be nice when you are constantly in severe mental and bodily pain. Despite experiencing the darkest side of the human mind, her mind is still a clean slate for a fellow human.”
“She is a phenomenal human. I can completely see now why you would have done the sacrifice.”
“She is,” Coinman said, with calmness. “Sir, if you don’t mind, can I ask you something?”
“No, not at all. Please go ahead.”
“Why don’t we see Tulsi and Ratiram at the office any longer?”
“Shoot! That reminds me that I needed to put out an announcement to inform everyone of this. Actually, I am planning to have a town hall meeting with all the associates to inform and take any questions on this. It still is a good idea to put up a notice in the meantime, though, to prevent the speculation market from surging to an all-time high.”
“That would be great. But I am leaving for Sage Mangal’s ashram in two days. Can I get some answers to satisfy my curiosity? I don’t think I can stand the suspense for a year.”
“Why don’t we do this,” Jay said. “I can dictate the notice right now, and if you can note it down and type it for me later today, that would help both of us. You would learn about what happened, and I will have the notice ready for the bulletin board. I can then get it on the board as early as tomorrow.”
“I am ready.” Coinman picked up his pen and writing pad.
“Here we go.”
To: Everyone
Date: July 09, 2007
From: Jay Tripathi, Unit Head
Two of our distinguished and old-time associates, Ratiram and Tulsi, have contributed immensely in multiple roles to the overall success of this unit over the past several years. They have been part of the team that laid a very strong foundation for our firm, upon which we have been building our future. The unit has gained immeasurably from their contributions.
The time, however, has come for some changes. It is with mixed emotions that I inform you that Ratiram and Tulsi have decided to look for employment elsewhere. We thank them for all the great support they have provided us and wish them all the best in their future endeavors.
We are working on finding replacements for these positions, and we’ll soon have a follow-up announcement with details on filling their roles in the interim.
I also wish to inform you that one of our most experienced associates, Coinman, is undertaking a classified assignment. He will return to the office a year from now, upon the successful completion of this task.
Please join me in wishing Coinman, Tulsi, and Ratiram all the best for their future.
Jay Tripathi
P.S.: Guidelines for the usage of the cafeteria have changed. Please refer to th
e updated handbook.
29. The Unpleasant Divergence
“By God’s grace, good sense has finally prevailed over everyone and everything,” Kasturi said to Coinman and Imli, who watched her prepare to leave with sadness.
“Why are you doing this? What will we do without you?” Imli had begun to weep.
“Don’t feel sad, dear.” Kasturi embraced Imli, patting her head lovingly. “Daulat and I had hardly talked during the past few years, yet his departure has left my life with an unimaginable hole. It’s like missing a part of yourself you did not think existed until you lost it. There seems no other way to fill the void than to devote the rest of my life to the service of humanity.”
“Mother,” said Coinman, “I wouldn’t stop you, yet request, for our family’s sake, that you consider your decision once again. We will all be so lost without you.”
“I have considered this from all angles before coming to this hard decision. You and Imli are going to be at Sage Mangal’s ashram for the next year. What would I have done here anyway, without you both?”
“Shimla is going to be here,” Imli replied. “She would be good company to you. Besides, how can the poor girl live alone in this house?”
“It’s time she takes on the world all by herself,” Kasturi said sincerely. “Our experiences from recent years have taught me that in protecting Shimla, we have actually hurt her more. She has grown up with one important side of her personality quite underdeveloped—which is going to be a dangerous thing for her future if it’s not corrected immediately by training her in living on her own. If she doesn’t start to handle things all by herself, she will never be ready to live life independently. And no one can be with her for the rest of her life. So in a way, this is the best plan for her. For a strong woman such as she is, I am very confident she will learn to cope without too much trouble.”
“That’s so right,” said Coinman. “I admit that as a child I never understood when you and Dad didn’t console me every time I wept or felt upset. As I grew, you purposely left more and more on me to tackle. You just wanted me to become strong by experiencing the mental maturity of handling disappointments in the early stages of my life. I am so grateful to you and Father for that because these things couldn’t be taught in any schools.”
