To Tie or Not to Tie - Alternating Perspectives of a Necktie and a Corporate Historian

Clothes maketh the man.
- Someone

And if that man beeth on the payroll of an MNC, they maketh him even more.
- Centuries later, Someone Else

(Apologies to female readers, but Someone and Someone Else weren’t always politically correct.)

I am a tie. A necktie. I am a sombre blue in colour with white pinstripes running diagonally across me. I came with a tie pin, a flashy show off if ever there was one. But we got on well together. Contrasted against the silky white of our friend the shirt, we had quite a day. A really good day. A really long time ago. Umm, no, I don’t quite remember how long. You see, since that day – the day our man got married – I haven’t quite seen the light of day, and have lost count of time. This is surprising, because I belong to the wardrobe of someone who’s on the payroll of an MNC. Imagine my surprise then, when today our man poked his head inside his wardrobe, and pulled me out from under a heavy duty pair of Killer jeans. Killer was suitably miffed for not having been the chosen garment for the day, as he had been for very many days, and came down heavily on my tail. Ouch, I totally agree with his name…

There was a notification from the highest level of the MNC that tried to, more or less, take away the option of wearing a tie. Another thing it did was, more and not less, to banish the wearing of jeans (Killer or otherwise) and sneakers. Of course, reactions to this notification varied. There was an organized underground movement by rebels to get the junta to wear worn out denim and anything but formal shoes on the first Friday after this notification. Then there were those closet dandies who decided to come out in the open regarding their clothing preferences. (“Our man is one of them,” adds the necktie.) And as usual, there was the majority that was confused, did not know which side to take, and decided to maintain the status quo while it became clear which extreme would ultimately win…

I was slid over and knotted appropriately around our man’s neck. His wife did a double take when she first saw this change in her hubby’s appearance, but recovered quickly to perform the filmy style knot tightening act of the loving wife. The kids were thankfully off to school, otherwise I am sure they would have giggled their heads off at the unexpected sight of me. A little while later, our man dutifully missed his office bus by a whisker, and looked around for an alternate means of transport. He then suddenly remembered me and decided to give a royal miss to the public buses stopping invitingly in front of him. A tiewala in a public bus? Nah! A cab driver got lucky instead…

Unknowingly or knowingly, battle lines were being drawn in the form of rolling eyes and jibes at the changed look of the dandies. Members of the opposing factions eyed each other warily and started to move around in the safety of numbers of their own kind. Elevator conversations invariably turned to discussing about which person had taken which side and taking stock of the parties’ strengths. The atmosphere in the cafeteria was generally tense but even that was occasionally heightened by the guffaw of the rebels at the sight of a dandy smearing his tie with chicken gravy. The erstwhile smoking areas in the office building served as meeting places where members of the confused majority were brainwashed alternately by the warring factions and cajoled, urged and threatened to join or face consequences. Eventually, with numbers stacking up against them, the rebels took to refuge in minor victories, as in, “Even my boss doesn’t wear a tie, so why should I?!” and started challenging the ‘wearers’ to maintain their dandyism once summer arrived…

Our man and I reached office by the time the guards at the office gates had regained their humour post the morning rush. One of them saw us, smiled, touched the knot of his own tie, and said to our man, “Et tu, saar?!”

AbNQ

The Chair Bumpers

Having enjoyed the sunshine, central AC and spacious loos of a modern office building, I was recently deported to an ancient twentieth century office. After a few days of mild depression (comparable to that of a Beverly Hills resident putting up in an Indian railway general class waiting room), I decided to stop being glum about it, and to look at things from a positive perspective. About many things, I managed to console myself, but the pièce de résistance, the one thing I can still not reconcile myself with, is having a seat next to a shared printer.

With reams being written and talked (did someone say Stop Talking, Start Doing?!) about eco-friendly workplaces, it is astounding to get to know about the affinity of laptop-toting execs for The Printed Word. Once I got used to my chair being bumped from behind by people (ranging all the way from “Oops, I’m so sorry,” to menacing eyes saying “Get outta my way!”) on their way to collect their Printed Words, I did some analysing and inferencing and categorised these Chair Bumpers as follows.

·         I-Can-Do-It-On-Screen-But-It’s-Easier-On-Paper

I ask, what is easier on paper? Reading? No, they say, it’s the ease of analysis and annotative capabilities and the comparability and shareability of documents (using multiple copies of course). Yeah, I add, the invigorating aroma of fresh ink on virgin paper too? They nod in excited agreement. These I-Can-Do-It-… types will typically have self-important expressions of smugness when they come to collect their Printed Words, and start reading them on the return journey to their chairs – So much to read and so little time, yaar! As if they hadn’t read the Words on their TFTs before.

·         Read-at-Home

Poor workaholic souls who take their work home, yes, both in electronic and paper format. Their trick is to be spotted by the boss with a bunch of Printed Words while leaving the office. Earns them an additional point from the higher-ups and helps them show off their workaholism to their fellow travellers on their way to and from home. (For more on commuting sociology, read this.)

·         Clandestine Publishing Company Pvt Ltd

They will come in early, stay back during lunch hour, or even after hours, so that they can print their copies of War and Peace in peace (sorry for the pun!). The good part about these Publishers is that they avoid bumping chairs, and in fact greet you apologetically and envy you at the same time for sitting so close to the printer. In the beginning, it was strange to be greeted politely for a change rather than being Chair Bumped, but then things fell into perspective pretty soon. Publishers of this type are easy to spot – before striking Ctrl-P, they’ll always look around with shifty eyes and make sure the path to the printer is free of obstructions. And then, they put Usain Bolt to shame by the speed with which they complete their sprint to and from the printer. Oh and yes, a friendly guy sitting next to the machine is a potential partner in their Publishing Company.

·         The Environmentalists

With a stricken expression as if the printer is using their blood rather than ink to do its job, the Environmentalists use duplex printing and hunt around for used paper in their drawers that they can recycle onto the printer tray. You would know them by the tagline Please do not print this unless it is absolutely necessary at the bottom of each of their emails. I would readily have myself Chair Bumped by these people than anyone else, but the trouble is they oblige me very rarely. So that journeys to the printer become social occasions and time for chatting up with long-lost friends who sit near the printer.

And then of course, you have those who sit next to the printer all day and take out prints of their blog posts by the dozen. Muwahahhahaha!!!

The Fine Print

With all the brouhaha about the nuclear deal between USA and India, yours truly got interested in getting down to the fine print. And as is usually the case with fine print, it threw up some pretty interesting stuff. Sample this:

Published in January 2006, the Henry J. Hyde United States-India Peaceful Atomic Energy Cooperation Act of 2006, popularly known as the Hyde Act, says...

It is the sense of Congress that— ...
(12) any commerce in civil nuclear energy with India by the United States and other countries must be achieved in a manner that minimizes the risk of nuclear proliferation or regional arms races and maximizes India’s adherence to international nonproliferation regimes, including, in particular, the guidelines of the Nuclear Suppliers Group (NSG);

Perfect. Further down the twenty-eight page document, it also says in its Statements of Policy in Section 103 that (among other things) the following should be a policy of the US...

Given the special sensitivity of equipment and technologies related to the enrichment of uranium, the reprocessing of spent nuclear fuel, and the production of heavy water, work with members of the NSG, individually and collectively, to further restrict the transfers of such equipment and technologies, including to India.

Makes it crystal clear, doesn't it, that USA wants to further restrict transfer of sensitive equipment and technologies to India? And then, we have a media note released in August 2007 that publishes the text of the Agreement for Cooperation between the Government of the United States of America and the Government of India concerning peaceful uses of nuclear energy (123 Agreement). Here's what it has to say:

The Government of India and the Government of the United States of America, hereinafter referred to as the Parties,
Have agreed on the following: ...
1. The Parties shall cooperate in the use of nuclear energy for peaceful purposes in accordance with the provisions of this Agreement. ...
2. The purpose of the Agreement being to enable full civil nuclear energy cooperation between the Parties, the Parties may pursue cooperation in all relevant areas to include, but not limited to, the following: ...
g. Supply between the Parties, whether for use by or for the benefit of the Parties or third countries, of nuclear material; ...
i. Supply between the Parties of equipment, whether for use by or for the benefit of the Parties or third countries;

Quite a change of heart or what?! Are the underlined parts in the above documents really that contradictory, or is it just me who's unable to grasp the meaning - or intentions - of the (Super)powers that be?!! If you are interested in knowing more about this topic, click here. Hopefully you too would become interested in the fine print! AbNQ

The Journey

Awright, a personal blog post after a long time... yeah, first time maybe...

Recently, I started using my office bus service because, among other things, it is free. The other big reason was that one doesn't have to offer explanations if one decides to be late to office on a Monday morning – just pretend having missed the office bus by a whisker, and demonstrate using a minuscule distance between your thumb and forefinger to your colleagues.

It’s amazing how people tend to seek comfort zones even in a crowd that is waiting for a mode of transport. There could be your old friend from school, the person who sits in the cubicle next to you, one who works on your floor, another who’s in your company but in a different office, or even someone who looks just as lost as you are. There’s the customary chitchat about the weather and grumblings about the ever-decreasing quality of food in the cafeteria. The conversationally challenged are delighted if they have the previous day's cricket match to talk about. (On other days, they’d switch to the bad state of the road they’re standing on.)

And then the first bus would be sighted. It’s an unofficial competition as to who spots the ugly vehicles first, with the winner getting to announce to the rest of the crowd that the Holy Sighting has indeed been made. People supposed to board the bus that arrives first pump their fists in the air and offer mock consolation to the losers. Actually, the jubilation is pretty genuine and some people can barely suppress their glee. Tearless (thankfully) goodbyes are said, and boarders of the first bus march towards the podium, which here are the steps of their bus.

Once inside the bus, protocol takes over like nowhere else. Seated inside would be about a couple of dozen of one’s co-workers, each occupying a window seat or an aisle seat. There would always be a gap of one seat between two occupied seats, and occupiers would guard these buffers of their privacy zealously. Various methods are used to do this, ranging from placing office luggage on the empty seat, or using it as an armrest, or simply sitting on a seat and a half. One is supposed to find a seat that does not violate this arrangement of alternate seating, and at the same time ensure that one’s intrusion into the bus does not wake up anyone who is pretending to sleep. Oh yes, pretending to sleep with your bag on the empty seat next to you doubly ensures that it remains empty. Generally, one gets the least desirable seat in the entire bus, and plonks down for the rest of the journey. But there would always be members of your comfort zone (see para 3) who board the bus after you, and would feel comfortable only next to you. So they would cozy up to you and ask you to shift your base by one seat so that they can plonk down on what should reasonably have been your own seat. And in the process end up annoying the person whose privacy you have violated by eliminating the empty seat between yourself and them, and feeling annoyed yourself for having your own privacy doubly violated by the dolt next to you. You could, however, feel relatively lucky if that dolt is of the conversationally challenged variety (and there was no cricket match the previous day). If not, make a mental note of striking off the dolt from your comfort zone members.

Making for a striking comparison between the standing-for-the-bus to the inside-the-bus stages, chitchat is strongly discouraged. If closed eyes don’t deter any wannabe gabsters, one can simply plug a pair of earphones into one’s ears and try to distract oneself with strains of RJ blabber. Or if one doesn’t have earphones and doesn’t feel like pretending to sleep, just stare out of the window.

Sooner rather than later, depending on traffic conditions and the driver’s relative ignorance of suburban geography, the bus grinds to a halt in front of the office gates, and there’s a final scramble to get off the bus before anyone else. Those who miss out on the initial scramble pretend (yeah there’s a lot of pretence involved in the whole game) they would rather take it easy and be the last to get off – as if they have nothing to do in office, which again is mostly true, as this post testifies!

Traffic-Stopper

Dressed up in bright pink with golden embroidery, she was ready to be the cynosure of all eyes at the wedding. A free spirit with a happy heart and a spring in her stride, she knew the world was hers. Having alighted from her cab, she couldn't wait to cross the street to be with her friends at the party. Rushing forward, she almost knocked down a biker, who smiled and passed on. Slightly flustered but her spirits undamped, she glided further away. A second biker, this time coming from the opposite direction, narrowly missed her hemline. By then, her father had had enough and admonished her mother. "Paanch saal ki bachchi hai. Raasta paar karte hue haath nahin pakad sakti?!" AbNQ

The Performer

On a bright sunny morning, without a care in the world, he strutted around majestically, taking his time to go through his paces. The performer continued with his act, oblivious of human presence. All it cared for was the attention of the female of his species, which he was getting in ample amount. A blue hair here, an iridescent feather there, broken hearts everywhere... The performer hopped gracefully and effortlessly from one foot to the other. A thick plumage to kill or rather be killed for, a crown to be proud of, and sorrowful eyes to pierce you... The sun's rays fell on him and became beautiful upon contact. The performace had his audience enamoured and asking for more. The peacock had made my day! AbNQ

Homecoming

Thirteen years was a long time. Had it really been that long? As the sun brightened, it felt as if it were only yesterday that he had sat at the window waiting for the morning bustle. He could hear the trundle of the bakery vans, the shutters of shops rolling up, the cacophony of the birds. A creeper had made its way up the side of the window. Now there was only a long black stain in its place. The paint on the wall had faded. Nature had taken its toll on the house. It had grown old. Oil stains where fuel had leaked from the old car on to the concrete below were still there. But the place had remained parched since. It was as if the ground was waiting for more spills. It was as if the house was waiting for its family to return. The sun hit the ground in front of the house. It looked as if the house gave a smile. Had it recognised him? The scene blurred in front of him. Home sweet home. This was where he was born. This was where he had grown up.
A call on his mobile informed him that the contractor had arrived. He saw the labourers coming with their pickaxes and hammers. He turned to have one last look at the house. A single word escaped him. "Sorry." Thirteen years was a long time. AbNQ