On Perceptions of the BPO Industry

A lot has to be said but as usual a lot remains unsaid। It's as if the heart wishes to babble on but the mind refuses to acknowledge and accept the babbling of an emotional heart. Sometimes it's the occasion that decides the silence, sometimes, it's the audience.

As the great Rajender Kishen wrote:

मजबूर बहोत करता है ये दिल तो जुबां को,
दुनिया की इनायत है की हम कुछ नहीं कहते

Recently, I met some citizens of this great nation who spoke eloquently about the conditions prevalent in the BPO industry and in a broad swathe of the moral brush, tinged us all immoral and beyond all redemption. It's sometimes unnerving to see the way the gliterrati look at the 'sweat-shops' of a booming economy and then like jurors of a kangaroo court pass their valuable justice on the entire system as if failure to do would invite censure and ridicule

Of course, I was not averse to taking cudgels on behalf of the same but it's really sad to see to what extent the malaise has spread and how the world treats us with nothing more than masked contempt. It's really astonishing the way the world looks down at us, the engines of the economy that drives the nation!

And then there is the omnipresent, omnipotent Press - every negative incident in the world that has even a remotest connection to the industry is overplayed to the hilt and a bohemian attitude to the industry is subtly implied - it's as if the morals here are falling by the second and that we cannot hold on to our character forget our virginities!

The way the Press covers us, I am indeed surprised they did not find a long-lost connection to Saddam Hussein or Osama Bin Laden or Adolph Hitler or any of his kins! We have suddenly become the moral barometer of the country; the men who spend money like air (water is an outdated term) and women who are just looking for a fling (couches are also not important)

You can shout and you can fight but nothing will change। People will always be people. They will have their own feelings, their own justifications, their own axes

Maybe that's what Sahir meant when he said:

बेगाना सिफत राह-ए-मंजिल से गुज़र जा
हर चीज़ सजावर-ए-नज़ारा नहीं होती

A Manager Speaks

The one thing that worries my mind the most is whether as Managers we are supposed to speak about the benefits of the Organization or the benefits of the people that comprise the organization. Trust me, the most difficult post in any organization is not the top post or the lowest - it's the middle one wherein the ones below consider you a later-day avatar of Dracula and the upper ones would hardly bother to think of you as anything more appreciable than a courier boy, who has been hired to carry out their plans and nothing more.

It's like a Catch -22. You can either be bad or you can be sorry... only the difference is in the first case, your conscience is dead and in the second, well, you are dead. And then begins an unending charades of selling dreams and hopes and ambitions, while all the time both you and the other party knows that the chances that either will fulfil the dream is no minuscule as the traces of sugar in the sea. He goes away well-aware that nothing changes and you go away well aware that the guy may leave - he should leave if he really deserves something more than what has been put in his plate - so where is the win-win process that we all tom-tom but no one follows.

What hurts is that you know he deserves more and can do nothing about it. And on the other hand, at some pub, some bar somewhere in the heart of Bombay someone is downing a few pints and cursing you, your family and every other person other than my boss for what he thinks is betrayal.... 'Et Tu Brutus?'. Wish I could do the same but then Lord Voldemort could not drink to save himself from the Death-Eaters so the chances of him doing the same charade somewhere is something even J K Rowling would find difficult to explain.

Why am I talking about this? Well... the first reason is that I wanted to write something to ensure I do not end up killing Katherine Brock for all crimes, real and imagined and the second is that I find myself really thinking about this ridiculous concept of Appraisals - and the more I think about it - well the more I am sure I have to do it.

Sahir wrote:

फ़ीत्रत की मशियत भी बड़ी चीज़ है लेकीन;
फ़ीत्रत कभी बे-बस का सहारा नहीं होती !

Transliterated it means:

Although doing what your heart says is really a great thing;
A Heart's desire has never been the succour of the helpless

And so the show continues.....

A Walk in the Clouds

Today as I fly from Bombay to Bangalore on a cold and beautiful morning, I cannot but marvel at the beautiful scenes of God’s glory that Nature throws at us with alarming frequency.

Have you ever witnessed the sight of a giant plane cutting through swathes of white fluffy clouds and all that you can see around you is the blue sky sprinkled with a smattering of clouds all over it – white clouds, dark clouds like a mosaic of different patterns and forms floating away in quiet splendour. The beautiful formation of clouds hanging low over gloomy man-made structures, the quiet elegance of the wide expanse of calm water that we call the Sea and the first rays of the smiling confident Sun breaking through the dark shadows of a dark night imparting a beautiful crimson edge to the dark angry clouds all make me feel euphoric and desirous of saying a quiet prayer to the God that created them.

For a moment, I forget all my disappointments, all my frustrations and the hurt and animosity my heart bears for him and for a moment my heart my heart is filled with deep gratitude for being alive, for being able to see hope winning over despair…. of the dream of a new tomorrow. For a moment I am back in my youthful days, when I believed in the intrinsic good that lies in every man. For a moment, my heart falls in love with the dream they called life…. For a moment it wants to believe in Life.

It’s as if I am back in my childhood and reliving the days of my childhood when Grandmother used to regale me with stories of a distant land in the clouds.

A land where Angels and Fairies lived, where Dreams are made and all Desires of the Heart are fulfilled, where there is no misery; there is no pain and there is no hurt. My heart ached for that land and often I would go to sleep thinking of that Promised Land. After my grandmother’s death, I looked at those clouds with deep sorrow and I could often feel her looking at me with her deep and loving eyes and often my eyes would water at my helplessness and I would shed quiet tears of frustration.

Today as I fly and often when I fly, I am reminded of the hopes of that young child who desperately wanted to meet his grandmother and tell her stories of its exploits. He wants to show her the first award he won, the first rank he secured, the perfect score he made, the tough success he achieved and then sadly it dawns on him that nobody exists who would listen to him and his success…. that his success is incomplete, that he has won the battles but lost the war.. that he’s lonely in a crowd of people.

And then suddenly as a painful shaft of direct light pierces my heart, I realize that the land of fairies does not exist, that these clouds harbour nothing but memories of a dream gone wrong… that below these clouds exist the same old structures that have taken away from me all I loved the most and desired the most.

Memories, even if cherished, when remembered often give a deep sense of hurt and pain.

The Death of Innocence

Nothing surprises me any more - be it the Nithari Killings, the Nandigram massacre, the explosions at Mecca Masjid in Hyderabad or the more mundane observations of everyday life on the Bombay locals. Absolutely nothing surprises me any more...

Here I stand, more worried about the volatility of the Sensex vis-a-vis the NYSE, more worried about whether it makes sense to buy a 'Put' or a 'Call' Option, more worried whether I should invest in Reliance Petroleum or Tata Power, more worried about the movements of oil and gold in the Commodities market while thousands perish in the city of opportunity itself every moment, not ever aware about what exactly is a commodity?

For thousands of young boys and girls out there, the only commodity they know of, is their own young innocent body and the only price they know of, is the price they pay every minute for being alive. The only investment they make is the investment of survival because for every moment alive, one has to die a million times before he gains the right to survive, the only 'Call' they receive is the Call of Death - sometimes literally and at other times figuratively- but Death does call and then there is no Option. The only volatility they experience is in the temperament of the Drug-peddlers and the Cops who swarm their streets like hungry sharks intent on getting more tasty and innocent meat.

Maybe I have lost the capacity to react or maybe the word 'react' no longer exists in my dictionary. Come to think of it, sometimes now I feel I am more close to the understanding of what it feels to be a leper - a leper has no sensation of cold, of touch and of pain.... So are we all, all of us - social lepers for we have lost the capacity to feel... the capacity to be humane, the capacity to say something, the capacity to feel the pain - except when the pain is our own, our own selfish pain.

Sahir wrote long back:

Jawaani Bhatakti Hai Badkaar Bankar
Jawaan Jism Sajte Hain Bazaar Bankar
Yahan Pyaar Hota Hai Vyopar Bankar

Yeh Duniya Jahan Aadmi Kucch Nahin Hai
Wafaa Kucch Nahin Dosti Kucch Nahin Hai
Yeh Duniya Jahan Zindagi Kucch Nahin Hai

Har Ek Jism Ghaayal, Hat Ek Rooh Pyaasi
Nigahon Mein Uljhan, Dilon Mein Udaasi
Yeh Duniya Hai Yaa Aalam-E-Bad-Hawaasi

Never could I understand the depths of the word, nor could I align myself to the harsh tone of the poet but now it feels as if the reality of the poet strikes close to me.... much closer than I could ever think. Never could I empathize with the poet when he said

Jalaa Do Ise Phook Dalo Yeh Duniya
Mere Saamne Se Hata Lo Yeh Duniya
Tumhaari Hai Tum Hai Sambhalo Yeh Duniya

It seems just like yesterday when every injustice would bother me incessantly but I know that a long time has past by since those days of sweet innocence.... maybe an era has elapsed!!!

Maybe the loss of innocence is the price one pays for maturing into an adult... Maybe I am a Man now.

Bombay - a look

Every time I am back in Bombay, the first thing that strikes me is the calm here….. Well, many cities are calm…. But there is something decidedly different in the calm I see here…. it’s not the calm of a town somewhere in the heart of the interiors or the calm of a sleepy city, close to nature; on the contrary it’s the calm of a city that has lived too close to the edge of danger to bother any more about the danger.

It’s amazing to see how many people live here on this city and every absence of mine even if it’s for a day makes me aware of new faces, not only of the teeming millions but also of the their prized possessions…..roads keep getting crowded and drains keep getting clogged but the cosmopolitan spirit of the city is not affected.

The city accepts one and all without condition, without any apprehension it gives all of them a piece of its heart… People come in with their distinct quirks and feelings, a few with their own inflexible dogmas but in the end everyone gets assimilated with their own differences in this city that allows all to maintain their identity but at the same time maintains its own unique identity…. wish we all in the country had similar feelings…

And yet Bombay can be cruel…. Very cruel… you only need to look at those who sleep on the pavements, below the bridges and under the sun to understand that Bombay can be cruel ….. Like life itself, Bombay extracts maximum punishment from all for failing because somewhere in the unspoken code of Bombay… failure is not condoned…. Yet surprisingly, nobody sleeps in Bombay on a hungry stomach…. Not even the dogs that move around and beg for a morsel in each eye that looks at them.

It’s this Janus like attitude, this Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde complex that characterizes Bombay and makes it different from all other cities in India and abroad.

The great poet Sahir Ludhianvi in response to Iqbal’s all time classic anthem – Sara Jahaan Hamara, wrote in the film ‘Phir Subah Hogi’:

Chin-O-Arab Hamara, Hindostan Hamara
Rehne Ko Ghar Nahin Hai, Saara Jahaan Hamara

China is ours, Arabia is ours… India also in our hands we hold
Only we don’t have a house to live in…. The rest of the world we hold

When I listen to this song today, I am sometimes stunned by the agelessness of this song… as the words come out chillingly; I am sometimes astonished by the fact that the words are as relevant today as they were in 1957 when this film was released.

Each and every word of this song is as true as truth can be….

Kholi Bhi Chhin Gayi Hain, Benchen Bhi Chhin Gayi Hain
Footpath Bambai Ke Hain Aashiyaan Hamara
Sone Ko Hum Kalandar, Aate Hain Bori Bundar
Har Ek Kuli Yahaan Ka Hai Raazdaan Hamara

Jitni Bhi Buildingen Thi Sethon Ne Baant Li Hai
Sadkon Pe Ghumta Hai Ab Caravan Hamara
Jeben Hain Apni Khaali, Kyoon Deta Varna Gaali,
Woh Santri Hamara, Woh Paasbaan Hamara

Our rooms have been taken, our benches have been taken
The roads of Bombay are the new abodes of the homeless
To catch on our sleep, to Bori Bunder we trudge on shaken
Every coolie here knows us by our secrets

All Abode that were, have been shared by the rich
The streets of Bombay is where we reside
Our Purses are empty, and so abuses fly thick
By he who was supposed to security my decide

How true and how well-written….. Wish I could write even half as well as him…..

But this is not all that Bombay has or stands for ….. Bombay is also the harbinger of the Bombay spirit that has sadly been made famous by the infamous bomb blasts.

As the last line of this poem says:

Mil-Jul Ke Iss Watan Ko Aisa Sajayenge Hum
Hairat Se Munh Takega, Saara Jahaan Hamara

Together we will make this country shine so brightly
The entire world will be forced to look at us with admiration

As I said, Bombay is too complex to be understood.

The Beginnings

I was born an Indian..... in the hustle bustle of cosmopolitan Bombay (I refuse to call it Mumbai) in an era of glorious uncertainty.

Those were the days of the emergency when India was tasting for the first and decidedly the last time the fruits of unbridled ambition and delusionary power.... when rationing was the order of the day and taxation could be as high as 99%....

Maybe, you require such a time for a Devil to walk his first steps on Earth and so there I was walking the walk and talking the talk of the angst-filled 70s.. yet blissfully unaware of what 'angst' meant but still a part of the teeming millions that had a daily rendezvous with angst.

It has been 30 years since and life has since many ups and downs but somewhere deep down, the memories of those turbulent times remain firmly etched in my conscience.. as if like Abhimanyu in his mother's womb listening to the secrets of the Chakravyuh.. those days have been firmly etched.. nay, I would seared.... on my sub-consciousness.

So although the world of 2007 is vastly different from the days when I first ventured this world, many of the things still seem the same. Nothing changes more than Change and still nothing remains more constant than Change. That's the Paradox of life.

I sometimes ravel over the reasons I was posted to this urban landscape... Does God also have a lottery system.. Does he also a bureaucracy where every file is pushed for approval and rejection...I am sure the Almighty God must have also gone through a lot of personal heartburn to decide whether the devil that I was, I should be sent to the climes of crime-infested America, to the suffering continent of Africa or the lips-sealed dictatorships of Latin America, Soviet Union or China... but finally I think sanity prevailed and I was sent here.. to India....

India, the land where modernity meets ancient wisdom and where traditions meet non-conformism.... where tolerance is a way of life but there are sporadic outbursts of intolerance as well... the land of everything and nothing.. the land of simple complexes and complex thoughts ... a land where shanty slums live side by side with large palatial mansions.. the land is different ... .the land is beautiful....

Not that I mind it... in fact, despite the many frustrations that I have faced here I would still say, it has been a beautiful life in India.... and in Bombay.. .and I would not leave it for any other place anywhere...

So.. here I am ... in Bombay and occasionally and frequently out of Bombay as well.. but to be frank, the Bombay which lives in me cannot be killed.. it exists.... even when I am out, it's in.... and so I am a pucca Bombay man whether I am in Bombay or Singapore, NY or London, Tokyo or Zürich.