Chhoo Mantar

Rumi, a young shepherd boy of ten, returned home where his grandmother welcomed him with a glass of cool buttermilk. He gulped down the drink in no time and was about to start his daily prattle when the old lady put a finger on her mouth signalling him to stop talking. “First freshen up, eat dinner with me and then at bed-time we will talk.”

“Ok, Dadi.”

After dinner, the woman cleaned up the place while the boy rolled out their bedding on the mud floor of their hut, the thatched roof of which had quite a few uncovered patches. When the weather was dry, the two would admire the clear starry skies through those gaps, but on wet days the bed had to be moved away and pots and pans had to be placed strategically to collect the rainwater.  She was too old to repair the hut herself and had limited resources to get it done by someone. But, somehow, neither of them complained. They were happy in their simple lives, in each other’s company.

“Dadi, I have been seeing something very unusual over the past few days. Sometimes, around midday, I see a horseman in full armour galloping down the castle path. He jumps off his horse under the big banyan tree, ties the animal to the tree trunk, and then starts running towards the middle of the field. He normally runs for a short distance and then with every few steps he shrinks in size till he reaches a small wet patch. By the time he reaches the spot, he has already shrunk to no more than a small creature like a mouse which then jumps and vanishes into the soil. The last few days I have tried to follow him, hiding behind the trees and the bushes, and have also tried digging the soil at the point where I have seen the man vanish but it always turns out to be a dead end. All I find there is soil and more soil and no trace of the man or the mouse or whatever he had become. Later, I end up filling the hole that I have dug and levelling the ground to its original state. You have lived for so long here, do you know what this is all about?”

“How many times have I asked you not to take the sheep to the side where they grow the grains? You should take them to the other side where there is only grass which is good for the animals. Stop going to the other side and go to sleep now. I don’t have answers to all your silly questions,” said an angry and disturbed Dadi.

“Your anger tells me, Dadi, that you know about this vanishing act and you want me to stay away from it. Tell me, Dadi, what’s the mystery behind this?

The old woman went silent and the little one’s reply calmed her down. She now spoke with a quiver in her voice.

“What you have been seeing is trickery and black magic and getting close to it means you will get sucked into it and, finally, it will devour you brutally. I know who is doing this black magic and how dangerous that person is. I want you safe and so am asking you to avoid going to the other side and observing whatever is happening there.”

“I get your point Dadi but what is this ritual?”

Fed up with his constant questions, the old woman broke her silence.

“Long ago there lived in these lands a man who was, possibly, the greatest magician of all times. He had twin daughters who trained under him for years together. The younger one, Bela, was very pretty and was loved by all in the Kingdom of Kano. The king had a son, Prince Hano, and when the time came for him to marry, he ignored Bela and married the only daughter of the neighbouring king. Everyone was invited for the celebrations at the castle. Bela never forgot the slight and envied the woman who was to become the queen. As time passed, Hano ascended the throne. Bela, meanwhile, took to dark magic and slowly mastered it. She would practise the dark art on the villagers. Some people simply vanished; others were found badly mauled in the mornings as if some wild animal had attacked them. The master magician, on realising that he had helped create a dangerous entity, tried reasoning with the girl to mend her ways but she refused. One day the sad father, who blamed himself for the actions of Bela, jumped off the cliff and was never seen by anyone again. Bela’s sister was heartbroken and decided to give up magic altogether and cut off her ties with her twin.”

“Why then did the magician teach Bela the art of black magic?”

“Magic is neither good nor bad. It is how people use it. Some use it for entertainment, for creating something good while others use it for harming others. The father was just passing down to his daughters the life skills he knew hoping that the knowledge would help them in life.”

“What happened to Bela then?”

“What I am going to tell you is something unknown to anyone in the land. So just listen carefully but make sure you do not share it with anyone or it will get you into trouble. People who want to keep this a secret will go to any length to ensure it is never revealed.”

“I promise Dadi, I will not talk to anyone about it. Tell me.”

“King Hano and his lovely wife did not have a child for many years. And then, finally, they were blessed with a daughter. However, the little one was very sick from the time she came into the world and doctors tried their level best to keep her weak heart beating. Bela came to know about this tragedy and saw this as an opportunity to change her fortune. She went to the king and told him about her magic powers to cure all ailments. The king and the queen were very happy to hear this but then the witch spoke…

‘’I have a garden full of magical berries and if the princess were to have just one berry a day, she would have no issues with her health. She would be able to live a normal life. But I have a condition that you must fulfil or else I shall destroy the garden forever.’’

The king and the queen said that she could ask for anything for they treasured their daughter more than anything.

‘‘I will bring one magic berry a day for the princess and no more. No one will try and search for this garden of mine. In return, the queen will have to be banished from the kingdom and I will have to be given a place on the throne beside you.”

The king was about to put his hand on the sword when the queen stopped him and said, “We agree to your demands. As long as my daughter lives to be healthy and you stay on the throne, my going away is a small price to pay. My only concern is how Princess Sumi will take to a new mother?”

“You need not worry about that for I will change my appearance to become an exact replica of you. No one except the king will ever know.”

In the middle of the night, the real queen was put in a carriage and taken away by soldiers who appeared loyal to Bela, and by the time the sun rose in the morning, a silent coup had taken place in the palace.”

“So, you mean to say the queen in the palace is actually Bela. Where is the real queen now?” asked Rumi.

“She lives somewhere in a small house in the direction where you usually take the sheep out to graze. The house is guarded by soldiers and she is not allowed to step out of the house. Her daily requirements are provided for by the soldiers from time to time. She is under what you might call a total house arrest.”

“Bela is an evil woman. Why can the king not kill her?”

“The king is helpless. On the one hand the life of his daughter is at stake, and on the other his wife is held in captivity by an impersonator. It is like in the game of chess where he is in a checkmate situation.”

“Dadi, you always say that evil must be defeated and forces of good must come together. Why don’t you do something now?”

“How can I fight Bela, the witch? She is far too powerful.”

“Dadi, I have seen a picture kept inside your iron trunk. You had a sister who looked exactly like you. It means, you are the twin sister of Bela and the good magician who your father trained as well. You definitely are the only person who can match her in this art.”

The old woman froze and had no heart to refute the boy. She softly said, “Rumi, I have not practised the art of magic for years now and do not wish to get involved. I have one purpose in life now and that is to take care of you.”

“Dadi, now that I know the story, if you refuse to rise to the occasion, then you have to teach me the art. I am willing to step forward.”

“You are far too young and learning this art will take you years. Why don’t you go to sleep now while I think over this? I will let you know my decision by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, Dadi. Sweet dreams.”

As Rumi slept soundly, the old lady opened up the big trunk. She first looked at the picture of her with Bela and then she saw one photo of her father performing on stage. She remembered him and his final words, “The world is a place to love and live and magic must play its role in keeping it like that.” There were books inside which had not been opened for long and some pieces of ropes, magic wands and other props of illusion, possibly meant to be used on stage during live performances.

She closed her eyes and asked herself a few questions and the answers that came to her mind:

a.      Is Bela doing wrong?  Yes

b.     Should she be stopped? Yes

c.      Do I have the ability to fight Bela? Maybe not, for I am rusty and old.

d.     Should I take her on? Maybe not, it is not my fight after all.

She slept off after a while and in the morning was woken up by the gentle hands of Rumi who was pushing against her shoulders.  When she opened her eyes reluctantly, he kissed her on her cheeks… “Dadi, please say yes.”

She could not say no and simply nodded her head and the boy jumped with joy.

To be continued.

SS

History's Child

I confess I am not a big football fan. I played football as a kid with friends in the colony, was a decent defender and managed to kick the basketball more often than dribble it on court. My following of football remains limited to watching David Beckham on and off the field and following the World Cups every 4 years. Over the years I have become a Messi supporter. My interest in tonight’s World Cup Final remains BTS’ half-time performance. Ironically, I also happen to be my father’s daughter, who, if the blogs over 11 years have not made it incessantly clear, is mad over football. And while he has written many a tale of his love for the game, this one is from the eyes of a heavily biased witness.

In my father’s world of insurance, the agents and brokers who procure the businesses for the companies are often pampered, with majority of them being in possession of heavily stamped passports. Many a times, the insurance companies also send a few of their own people from sales and business along with these partners on these jaunts. The year was 2018. Based on a business contest, a bunch of such people were selected to go to Russia for the World Cup. A few employees from the sales side who managed these partners were also shortlisted for the Argentina vs. Nigeria match that was to take place in St. Petersburg, Russia. As the Business Head, my father’s seat on the flight and stadium were all assured and booked. Being a student of history, to be able to visit the historically rich city of St. Petersburg, that too, for a World Cup football match was almost too good to be true. I was in Delhi, preparing for the final MD examination. I could hear the unfiltered, childish joy in his voice over the phone. So when he asked me if I wanted to come with him, the answer was obvious. Even if I did not have a ticket for the match, visiting Russia was a no brainer. And my exams would be done and dusted by then. Alas, every crime committed, deserves an equal punishment. The crime of joining the white coat army, comes with its set of trials and for me they came in the form of the announcement of the potential dates for the Senior Residency exam at AIIMS around the same time. One day I was sure that examinations are the cause of all ruin and there was no way I was going to sit for this one; the next day I would urge him to go to Russia without me. While heated telephone conversations and emotional wars waged for a few days, peace prevailed in the form of the most unusual circumstances. One night, one of the youngsters in his team from the Kolkata branch office called him up expressing his wish to go for the World Cup match since he had played a large part in achieving the business target. Seeing much logic in his demand, my father took up his case with the higher ups. But there was no way an extra person could be added to the list of travellers to Russia in view of the budget control. The boy was completely heartbroken when he told him that his request had been turned down. Next evening when I called, my mother handed over the phone to dad, “Your father wants to talk to you.” “M, the Russia trip is not happening. I have written to the organisers in office nominating the Kolkata boy to travel to Russia in my place.” Before I could launch a set of attacks, he continued calmly, “I could hear the boy crying on the other side of telephone. I have been fortunate to travel across the globe on work related assignments and there will be more in future. Besides, I can watch the matches on television.” And here I was claiming the martyr’s role, sacrificing either a trip or an examination. He watched all the matches, as usual, without an ounce of regret, pity or complain. The boy got him a beautiful Russian doll. It sits inside the glass cabinet of our living room, handled with care. Dolls are more fragile than a champion’s heart.

From childhood, I have heard the Man-U chant every English Premier League season, seen the ecstasy of the wins and the sulking face at the losses and poor performances. For an ardent fan, going to Manchester, the holy land of Manchester United, is a long nurtured dream. Exactly a year later, in the summer of 2019, India was to play Pakistan in a World Cup cricket match at Manchester. Once again, my father’s place was reserved. More than the cricket match, he was excited to visit the Manchester United stadium and kiss the grass that had produced some of the finest players under the watchful eye of Sir Alex Fergusson. Once again, history decided to do an action replay. This time, it was a member from the Delhi team who made the request. I rolled my eyes, mom mocked him as Karna, the giver. Nothing changed, except the name on the tickets. In years to follow, having visited Anfield and Wembley and clicked pictures with the busts of Liverpool legend Bill Shankly and Roger Moore, the captain of the 1966 World Cup, he still wishes to set foot on the haloed grounds of Old Trafford. Coaches and players retire, fans never do. 

One thing my father has taught me is that when you give away something, something even better comes your way. I would have said I have learnt this from life, but I was never one to believe in self-help gyaan. In 2022, my father finally boarded a plane to Qatar and saw Lionel Messi in the opening match of the World Cup against Saudi Arabia at Lusail Stadium. He won as he watched the GOAT score a goal, even though Messi lost the match. Messi went on to win the World Cup 2022. 

“Look who we are, we are the dreamers
We make it happen, 'cause we believe it.
Here's to the ones that keep the passion
Respect, oh, yeah
Here's to the ones that can imagine
Respect, oh, yeah.”

Now, as a retired person, he is the only one able to enjoy all the matches this year. He wakes up dot on time for the matches, mind you, without an alarm, does not feel sleepy for the entire 90+ minutes, clicks photos from the television screen to send me and watches the highlights with an unquenchable enthusiasm. “Jet lag is when people feel tired and yet find it difficult to adjust to sleep cycles after a long journey in a plane to a place with different time zone. I am unable to find an equivalent word for my state now after sleeping intermittently for the last 6 weeks. I will have no match to watch. Should I call it Soca-lag? Footlag?” Tonight, history may or may not repeat itself, but for history’s child, the football dreams will continue. 

MS

David

 You are hundred

And I have lived five times your age;

I was carved

But you created.

 

They said the marble could not be carved

Yet my master brought me to life;

You chronicled life in the deepest of oceans

And dense jungles never ventured before.

 

The Giant, I am a symbol of liberty

Trapped, an exhibit to flashes and eyes;

You are free, you travel at will

And capture the beauty of the wild.

 

My muscles taut, my stance erect

An epitome of anatomical perfection, they say;

The unfurling wings, the trembling earth beneath lithe paws

Nature through your lens is more balanced, I say.

 

My lips are pursed, sacred silence to Goliath’s screams

Yet they read my thoughts, I know not what or why;

A mother’s fear, a hungry cry, a triumphant roar, a joyful screech

You voice their tales, with humility and grace.

 

My eyes are alert, focused, assessing

Yet I cannot spot assailants with hammers in plain sight;

You offer a view of the best of beasts

A prey in flight, a predator in fight.

 

I felled Goliath

An inspiring tale of victory of the underdog;

You fall and frolic with Gorillas

Save and preserve the underdogs, you said.

 

You are hundred

And I have seen five times your age;

My marble mind bends to none

You mould minds to care a little more.

 

Man created me, a masterpiece

But man destroys;

You, mortal, are the David I wish I could be

For your savages are better than mine.

Michelangelo's David at the Galleria dell'Accademia, Florence

(Image courtesy: By Jörg Bittner Unna jbittner@web.de - Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=109721344)

Sir David Attenborough

(Image courtesy: https://www.wwf.org.uk/about/ambassador/sir-david-attenborough)

MS

The Leader and The Boss

The football World Cup throws up many interesting facets that connect with you beyond the playing arena. This time, let me take you down the memory lane to World Cup 2018 in Russia.

Here’s a picture of the famous Brazilian coach Tite on the ground. He was celebrating Brazil’s injury time goal against Costa Rica when he ran into the field and tumbled on the ground. There is many a picture of the same coach dancing with the team after being victorious. The coach later said in some interviews that celebrating on the field helps build his connection with the young generation and it unites the team. I doubt if anyone disputes the gesture of the leaders celebrating good times with their teams. The juniors and youngsters feel happy when seniors join them in having fun. It is a great unifier and elevates the stature of the leader.

In the very next match versus Croatia, Brazil lost in the penalty shoot-outs and was eliminated from the tournament. The team was completely heartbroken, and long after the game was over, they were seen sitting on the ground with their heads down and some were even weeping. Having been winners in five editions of the World Cup, every time a Brazilian team gets down to playing, the whole country is never satisfied with anything less than winning the tournament. This has a huge impact on the minds of the players wearing the country colours. But where was the Boss at this point when things were down? He was seen walking quickly back to the dressing room leaving behind a sea of players and supporters in a state of sadness, desolation and regret.

Contrast this reaction with that of the Japanese coach in the same tournament when Japan lost to Belgium 2-3 in the Round of 16 after leading by two goals. The coach, Hajime Moriyasu, walked into the field, went towards the section where the Japanese fans stood in sadness and bowed to them in a gesture of gratitude and respect. Seeing him, the whole Japanese football team repeated the action facing the crowd of supporters in the stadium.

Reading about this story of the coaches, I was reminded of an incident way back in the summer 2009. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was returning home from Borivali Court, trying to get a Nationality Certificate for my daughter for her admission to a government medical college in Mumbai. She had her passport, birth certificate and multiple documents apart from newspaper reports of her being the national science topper for CBSE. It was a possible precursor to the SIR that is now underway. I got a telephone call from my branch office at Bandra. Even though we had a five-day official work schedule, the sales and operations teams usually worked on Saturdays as well to catch up on back log and training of employees and agents.

“Sir, there has been a serious incident in the office this afternoon between Saurav Sen and Sanjay Mahtre. Sanjay got pushed around, so he left the office and got in some tough characters who came into the office asking for Saurav. By then Saurav, had run away and switched off his phone. They then asked all the employees to vacate the premises and made the guards lock the entrance. They have taken four of our guys to Bandra Police Station and have said that they will not be released till Saurav surrenders and is punished for beating up one of their party workers. “

I asked for some more details and came to know that it was a minor scuffle and no one had actually suffered any injuries. The party workers who had entered were part of a local political force known for their aggressive and violent means of getting their demands met. Saurav Sen was unreachable on the phone. Someone must have passed on the news of the goons coming for him. I got the names of the employees in the lock-up and asked a few seniors from the branch to keep me informed of developments till I arrived.

I knew the situation was difficult and had never faced any such incident which had a political angle to it since my arrival to the Maximum City  eight years ago. My first reaction was to seek help from the seniors in the corporate office. I reached out to the Heads of Operations, Human Resources and Legal Departments. All three listened to the whole story, one by one, and all of them had the same piece of advice for me, “Just go to the police station and get the employees released. We are with you and you can reach us at any time if you need to.” Despite my requests, none agreed to come down in person and help resolve the crisis. These bosses ensured that the troublesome monkey stayed on my shoulders while they offered verbal moral support to me which meant nothing. I knew that if something were to go wrong in the case or if the goons were to get violent, the sole blame and the beating would fall on me alone.

I reached the police station quickly. Sanjay, who had a big bandage on his left arm and was sitting at the entrance, stood up and came towards me. With him came a few of those big-sized guys. Sanjay introduced me to them as ‘Sen Sir’. The others only heard Sen and thought I was Saurav Sen, the culprit they were all waiting for to give a good thrashing. Fortunately, Sanjay quickly clarified, “Yeh Sen Sir hamare boss hain (This Sen Sir is our Boss) and he is not the Sen who beat me up.” The thugs took a step back and I went to meet the police officer in-charge after speaking to Sanjay and offering him my wishes for an early recovery from his injury.

The police officer on duty was very clear. “Please sort out the matter with these people who are insisting on filing a police case against your office and these employees who we have so far not put them behind bars. If they approve, I will immediately release the employees.”

I now started my talks with four of the biggest and most ferocious looking characters. I felt like a lone striker in the opposing football team’s end with four formidable and aggressive defenders rushing to head butt, shoulder push trip me over and ensure that I leave the field on a stretcher. All my dribbling skills were of little use before these ferocious foursomes. When all my pleadings failed to melt their hearts, I raised my hands in total surrender and asked them if I could financially compensate Sanjay for his injuries. They flatly refused the deal. Instead, they shamelessly put forth their new set of demands. “You have to immediately terminate Saurav Sen from service; make Sanjay a permanent employee from off-rolls and pay us twenty thousand rupees. You know the police. We will have to pay them to withdraw the case plus we will pay for all the chai-pani for the party workers who have been working hard on this case since the morning.”

I spoke to the three seniors at office once again if I had any authority to decide on the demands that were put forth. None of them gave a definite answer- they were doing the tiki taka style of Spanish football where you constantly keep passing the ball from one to the other. I decided to act according to my judgement, keeping the interests of the employees in mind. I told the people on the other side of the table. “Hiring and terminating an employee is not in my hands but will raise the issue with the HR Department. It will take time. Secondly, I am not carrying so much money with me. I will need to go to the ATM nearby and get the same.”

 The toughies forgot their other demands and readily accepted my offer of paying them off. As I hailed an autorickshaw to go to the ATM, two of the toughies jumped into the vehicle without any notice. “We will accompany you. What if you also run away like the other Sen?” I nodded my head and found myself with a heart that was racing fast and a butt that had to be squeezed in on the smallest bit of space available on the passenger seat most of which had been taken up by the two muscular guys, smelling of sweat and tobacco, on either side. The auto reached the ATM. The duo got off and started following me inside the bank enclosure. I had to tell them to wait outside, to which they reluctantly agreed. I pulled out the cash from the ATM and they had a glee on their face seeing me back in their custody. The auto was kept waiting, and once again, the three of us somehow fitted into the back seat to reach the police station where I handed over the money to the party boss. He counted the money, smiled and shook my hands. He then asked the station officer to release the four employees.

The great rescue act was complete. Saurav was later transferred to another office. Sanjay quit work and never returned after this incident. The employees and their families were all happy and thanked me. I, too, felt a huge sense of relief and satisfaction.

Last Word: Tite is considered one of the greatest coaches Brazil has ever had. My intention is not to show him or my seniors down for this may have been a one-off incident in their long and illustrious careers.  Dancing with the team in good times is fine, and possibly, many a boss would happily do but standing with the team and your people in bad times and dark days like the Japanese coach is, possibly, what differentiates a leader from a boss.

Dancing with the Team 

SS

PS. World cups pics courtesy internet

The Hand of God

We all remember 1986 World Cup in Mexico and the Hand of God incident where Maradona fisted the ball into the England goal, hoodwinking the on-field referee. That was the time when there were no VAR and Trionda Ball that could detect the mischief. Of course, the magician from Argentina thereafter produced what most pundits claim to be the Goal of the Century where he picked up the ball in his own half and dribbled his way past half a dozen English players and then dodged passed the helpless goalie, Peter Shilton, and put the ball into the goal. The world erupted in frenzy for God had finally arrived on the football field! Maradona almost eclipsed Pele in popularity and half the Bengalis shifted their allegiance from Brazil to Argentina. His leadership style was praised and his dazzling footwork was something people yearned to watch and he never disappointed them.

Fast forward to 2002 World Cup in Korea and Japan. This was a group stage match between Brazil and Turkey. Turkey’s Hakan Unsal kicked the football at Rivaldo’s legs while a corner kick was being set up. The whole world saw that the ball hit Rivaldo’s thigh but the Brazilian fell down on the ground clutching his face in a severe display of pain. The referee missed the act and saw Rivaldo writhing in pain. He promptly took out a yellow card from his pocket and showed it to Hakan. Since this was Hakan’s second booking of the match, the referee then brought out the dreaded red card and gave marching orders to the shocked Turkish player. The ten-man Turkish team lost to the full squad of talented Brazilians 2-1 and the winning goal was scored by none other than Rivaldo. Some people said that Rivaldo could have won the Oscar for his brilliant portrayal of a man in pain and agony.

On a professional front, about fifteen years ago, I was faced with a similar dharma sankat or dilemma of a somewhat similar nature. I was heading the business operations of a large office at Mumbai with over two hundred and fifty employees reporting to me. The business targets, as usual were stiff, and the markets extremely competitive. Every month we would do a review of the business numbers and we had a mix of some good and some bad months but by the time the last month arrived, it seemed the office match could swing either side. Finally, when we closed the books at the month-end, we appeared to have exceeded the target only to be told by the higher ups that one large business renewal of ours, that we had won after much struggle, would be booked in the corporate office as per the new norms. Despite my protests about the unfairness of the system where the budget was allocated to the branch but the business credit was being denied due to last minute change of rules. The office ended the year on 99.4% completion of the budget at the end of the financial year on 31^st March.

Since the time of Indus Valley Civilization, we have ensured the presence of the revered humped bulls in our lives, be it in the temples or the corporate world where you will see it taking the shape of the ‘Bael’ curve often pronounced by the stiff upper-lipped Englishmen as the Bell Curve. This is the most prevalent form of adjudicating the annual appraisals in companies with a large number of employees. Usually, this curve has five points ranging from 1 being the outstanding performance to 5 being the worst or unacceptable. Rating of 3, where most employees find themselves, is considered as average but in official parlance ‘meets expectations.’

Immediately after the closing of the financial year the Human Resources jamboree of appraisal exercise commences and so it was with ours. Business heads were told by the senior management that they had to be very objective in their markings which had to be clearly based on business performance. Only those who had achieved 120% or more of their targets were to be marked as ‘outstanding’ and those with 100% or more achievement but not 120% were to marked 2 which qualified them as ‘exceeding expectations’. Anyone between 90% to 99% would be marked as 3. 4 and 5 ratings are below par. All this sometimes sounds harsh but the HR justifies it by saying how else can you evaluate the employee performance using a single common yardstick. Subjective elements, they say, are emotion driven and is too dependent upon the Boss’ whims and fancies, which can pose a bigger problem. And so, the humped bull process prevails.

I was forced to rate a large section of employees as 3 since they were in this below 100% bracket even though, deep in my heart, I felt sympathetic towards them for having put in so much effort and hard work. They deserved better than merely meeting expectation. Lastly, the time came to write my own appraisal report and then I came to the end where self-rating had to be done. It was the most difficult decision to make. The 99.4% achievement could easily have been rounded off to 100% which would have merited a rating of 2. Should I or should I not? I asked myself. With no one watching, I could have used my ‘Hand of God’ and slipped up my rating. With the prospect of getting high bonus money and a promotion at stake, the Devil in me said… Just Do It and Swoosh! No one would have questioned the rating. The temptation was high but at that moment I decided to take the moral high ground and wrote final rating as 3 of having met expectations of the organisation.

When the COO did my appraisal based on my report, he called me over to his office and asked me to change the rating to 2 and explained the pitfalls of average rating. I told him that I had used the same yardstick for myself that I had done from my other team members. As a leader there should be no special privileges or separate set of rules of appraisal. If I were to act selfishly today, I would never be able to look into the eyes of my subordinates with honesty especially those people who were also in the ninety percent bracket and had self-rated themselves as 2 but were downgraded by me during review. I would have no moral standing before the people who loved and respected their leader if I were to upgrade my personal rating even if the short coming was a paltry 0.60%. Later, when the final appraisal letter was handed over, I got the expected rating of 3 and missed out on the higher bonus and possible elevation to the next level.

With the World Cup happening now in USA, Mexico and Canada, I was reflecting on these past incidents of the playing in the football and corporate fields. I have no reason to doubt the footballing genius of Maradona and Rivaldo or any desire to want to show these two champions down. They did what they felt right. However, I wonder whether for the sake of winning, if everything is just as fair as they say it is in love? Has every hero, every champion and every person occupying the corner office and its vicinity had to make such compromises on issues of personal integrity, honesty and sportsmanship? Do the trophies and glorious triumphs cleanse all the deeds that these champions may have done which was not completely legal, fair or gentlemanly?

Maradona won the World Cup at Mexico and became a G.O.A.T. Rivaldo and Brazil won World Cup for the fifth time, most by any nation so far. Having scored a self-goal, do I regret not having taken the Champions route to success and reaching for greater heights?  No, not for once, for I too won something precious that day, my life’s cup of joy. With that moral victory, I am able to sleep well at night knowing I was fair to my people and more importantly to my own self. It gives me greater happiness and consolation to know that not always the best players end up in the corner offices. The Ultimate G.O.A.T and someone I have always admired, Pele, won three world cups and scored many a goal in his career but never captained the Brazilian football team in any of the championships.

Post superannuation, I sometimes run into those youngsters who worked with me in those days, some of whose names I have even forgotten. They still remember their boss of old, come forward with open arms and show their love and respect in their own simple ways. And I am happy to be able to look straight into their eyes and smile with honesty. I can also look into the mirror and smile at myself for I had stopped at the red light on the road when no one was watching.

SS

PS. All pictures except the last are from the internet

Shades of Red

J.K. Rowlings wrote, “The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter.” Similarly, the clubs choose their followers if you happen to be a Bengali. It all depends upon which side of undivided Bengal your parents were born. If you are from the Western side, then your team would be the one in Maroon and Green. If your roots were in the Eastern part, then your team had to be the one in Gold and Red. So, when my father would take me to see the football matches from school, they had to be the ones where East Bengal was playing. By the time I grew up into my teens, I had a best friend, Buddha, to accompany me to the matches. The only problem was that he supported the arch rival, Mohun Bagan. We became regulars to the Delhi’s Ambedkar Stadium where the DCM and Durand Cups were held each year. We would reach the stadium well in advance, buy the cheapest ticket available for the stands and before entering eat chholey-bhature from a vendor-on- bicycle with a big metallic bowl on its carrier and a stove placed on it. In India that is what we call as jugaad. In the initial part of the competition when the Calcutta clubs played the teams like the JCT Phagwara, BSF and Punjab Police, all Bongs would sit together as one entity to ward off the aggressive Punjabis and local fans. But when they faced each other, the divide between the two sides was complete and often led to ugly brawls both inside and outside the stadiums. Even though Buddha and I backed different teams, we celebrated good football and never let the game get the better of our friendship. During those times, the heroes in Red and Gold were men like Sudhir Karmakar and Manoranjan Bhattacharya or Mona da who were the toughest defenders of their time, wizards in front like Jamshed Nasiri and Surajit Sengupta and the reliable goalie, Bhaskar Ganguly. I would dream of these players and hoped to be like them for that was our exposure to the beautiful game.

We got a glimpse of world football when Doordarshan brought the World Cup matches to our homes every four years. This is when we got to see the magicians of Brazil, Argentina, Germany and Italy who would mesmerise us with their brilliant footwork, strategy and scoring abilities. Giants like Zico, Maradona, Rummenigge and Zidane took your breath away but then this was a temporary phase. Our lives truly changed with the coming of the ESPN Star Sports channel introducing the English Premier League in the early 2000. For almost nine months out of twelve, we were now able to watch the English clubs fight for victory on the television with excellent coverage and commentary. This turned the tide against the domestic football as we entered the famed stadiums of Anfield, Old Trafford, Highbury and St. James’ Park, week after week to witness a grand display of strength, speed and wizardry. The players, whom we idolised during school and college days, now seemed amateurs and the colours of Red and Gold faded away as I got carried away by the brilliance of an English team in Red and White.

The admiration and fan following for Arsenal was complete by the EPL season of 2003-04 when they completed their run of thirty-eight matches with twenty-six wins and twelve draws… never before had any team accomplished this unbeaten run in a league known for its competitiveness where anyone could beat the top clubs on a given day. This team under the manager Arsene Wenger was given the title of The Invincibles.  You could feel high voltage electricity pass through you when players like Thierry Henry, Denis Bergamp, Robert Pires, Patrick Viera, Ashley Cole and Sol Campbell touched the ball. It would feel as if they would find a way past the sea of opposing players and the ball would kiss the net at the back of the goal any time. I would make my weekend plans with the family keeping the timing of the matches of the Red Arsenal in mind. People at home understood the passion and happily let me have it my way. My wife and daughter knew two people of the screen, the tall and handsome, Wenger, wearing his immaculate suit and red tie and ‘Onnri’ as the commentators would pronounce the name of the other Frenchman and legend, Thierry Henry. Henry’s touch was silky, footwork so nimble that defenders just felt a rush of cold air as he passed them and his shooting prowess from the corner, free kick or open play with his right foot, left foot and his head would result in brilliant goals. He could do just anything with the ball.

In 2001, I joined an insurance company in Mumbai and in 2006, the joint venture US based partner of the company, AIG, became the principal sponsor for Manchester United. This moved my needle of loyalty partially to the other club in Red. In 2006-07 season, the team under Sir Alex Ferguson won the EPL Championship and the team was Red Hot!  With Rio Ferdinand, Nemanja Vidic and Garry Neville at the back, Paul Scholes, Ryan Giggs and Michael Carrik in the middle and upfront were the super stars in the making, Wayne Rooney and Christiano Ronaldo. The team went on to win the UEFA Champions League as well in the same season. The local office in India brought out a calendar with the Man U pictures and I was presented an original team shirt with the AIG logo. Now the move to the Red Army was complete. This was the period of utter madness and fan following with daughter buying Man U key rings and T-shirt for me and office folks celebrating my ten-year stint with a huge cake with the team logo on top. The AIG Global CEO, Martin Sullivan visited India in 2008 and two employees from each of the ten odd India subsidiaries were flown to Hyderabad for a meeting with him and I happened to be one of them. After the big man spoke about the world’s largest insurance company and their commitment to India, we were given time to ask some questions. The question I asked was, “Sir, AIG sponsors Manchester United which is so aggressive on the field, yet the same company’s India insurance arm is very conservative in its approach. Why don’t you bring in the same drive and aggression that will help us score more goals in business.” Mr. Sullivan smiled and said, he surely would have a word with the local leadership team. The very next year, AIG which was too big to fall, crumbled but the team with its logo prominently displayed went on to win the EPL thereafter in 2007-08 and 2008-09, then again under a new sponsor logo in 2010-11 and 2012-13. This team had now become the New Invincibles.

The EPL turned Blue from Red 2013 onwards. With Manchester City, Chelsea and Leicester City winning in this period in different shades of Blue except for two seasons in 2019-20 and 2024-25 with Liverpool winning under the mercurial manager, Jurgen Klopp. Manchester United, my club in Red, however, was faring dismally in this post- Ferguson period and was often found in the bottom half of the league table. But I stood firm on my loyalty with Manchester United with just one aberration. In the spring of 2023, I had a chance to visit London as a trainer in an international insurance programme. With an extra day at hand, I was planning to visit Manchester and Old Trafford but my daughter insisted I should go to Liverpool instead and see the birthplace of Beatles, my favourite band of all time. The curse of my team was on me and I almost missed my train to Liverpool due to a mix-up by the travel aggregator. Anyhow, I managed to get onto the train and went to Liverpool and saw the museums and other places dedicated to the immortal band. My train back to London was in the evening and I landed up visiting Anfield, the home of the Red arch-rivals of my Red Club. This would be an absolute blasphemy for the die-hard Man U fans. Every step of the way at Anfield I could feel ‘You will never walk alone’ ringing in my ears but my love for the game got the better of me.  I soon began enjoying the place soaked in history and even bought a few memorabilia from the club store for my family and friends. Incidentally, this Red team has recently equalled the number of times EPL was won by my Red club.

Come 2025-26 season and the tide changed. Manchester United came back strongly, after years in exile, to finish third in the league. Arsenal under Mikel Arteta, finally, restored the pride on winning the EPL title after twenty-two long years. His team of champions including Declan Rice, Gabriel, Saka, Odegaard, Saliba, Trossard and Timber showed class all the way through the season, especially on dead ball situations and with their fluidity in movement. They now face Paris Saint-Germain on 30^th May 2026 at Budapest in the final of the UEFA Champions League. A victory here would once again seal their status as equivalents of the 2003-04 Invincibles, if not better. Another magic happened here closer home. My original team of Red and Gold, East Bengal, won the domestic championship after the same number of years of hiatus as Arsenal in England… twenty-two years!

While I am too old now to switch my affinity, I am happy and proud of the different shades and teams of Red I have followed in this life. Anytime there is a football match on air, I am ‘Eveready’ shouting ‘Give Me Red!’

At Qatar WC in ManU Cap

SS

**NB. First three images are from the internet

Epic Fury

Mangalam loved Ganeshan. He hardly remembers his parents for it was Ganeshan who found him as a boy lying alone in the forest with no one to take care. From then onwards, Ganeshan made sure Mangalam got his timely feed of milk when young and then later the best of fresh greens as he grew up. And Mangalam sure grew up very fast. In no time he became the tallest creature in the vicinity. Ganeshan, initially, kept him inside his small hut when Mangalam was a baby but soon he moved him outside or else the man would have had to sleep in a house without a roof. Even though the other temple elephants always had chains round their feet, Mangalam was allowed to roam free. He had the liberty to go anywhere, anytime. He would sleep outside Ganeshan’s hut and wait for his loving master to come out at sunrise when the two of them would go for a long walk to the river-front. Mangalam always found this phase of the day to be the happiest for he could bathe for long in the cool waters and also play with Ganeshan. He would often shower the man with his trunk after he had changed into fresh, dry clothes. This was the daily fun the master and his loving pet had.

Ganeshan was one of the many mahouts who managed the elephants in the big temple. There were five other elephants attached to the temple, each with a separate mahout. The routine for the elephants was pretty boring. On a few auspicious days, the elephants would be decorated all over and made to stand in a formation as the band would play devotional music while the crowd cheered seeing the resplendent animals. Idols of gods and goddesses were placed atop them and they were then made to march through the streets for hours together with the devotees thronging on all sides. These were pretty strenuous days for both the elephants and the mahouts as even a small chaos anywhere could have caused many a death. On rest of the days, the work included a morning visit to the temple, breaking a few coconuts, waving and blessing people who would visit the temple. It was the same routine in the evenings when earthen lamps illuminated the temple complex. Lately, there had been a lot of requests from the people wanting to be pictured with the elephants and quite often they were willing to pay the mahouts some extra money for making the elephants do some simple stunts. Ganeshan was very strict and a no-nonsense man. He never permitted anyone any such liberty with Mangalam. He treated the elephant like his own child and never liked it to be photographed by others. He feared the excessive visibility would lead to some negative impact on his little one. At midday, the mahouts and the elephants had some time to themselves to get some rest or else to move around and feed on the vegetation nearby.

Having lived a large part of their lives together, Mangalam and Ganeshan could  communicate well with each other. Ganeshan spoke only Malayalam, and over the years, the big animal could comprehend much beyond simple commands of sit, stand and eat. Mangalam and his mahout understood each other beyond words. They could understand the feelings and thoughts of the other. A look into the eyes of the other or a change in facial expression was enough for the other to make out if the other person was happy or sad, in pain or in good health. Ganeshan was excessively possessive of his child and even if a thorn were to prick Mangalam, he would not rest till he had taken it out and applied oil on the affected part. Having lost his wife early during childbirth, Ganeshan lived all alone for some time till he found his mission in life, bringing up Mangalam as the child he never had.

The temple’s chief purohit, Srikrishna, was a good man. He not only kept the temple administration and the employees in good order; he was also friendly to the others including the mahouts. He even took time to reach out to the elephants and knew each one of them well by their names. They, too, reciprocated to his calls. However, in this place of peace and tranquillity there lay a problem. It was none other than Srikrishna’s son Kumaraswamy. He was quite the opposite of his father and from his school-days he would indulge in cheating in the classrooms, stealing animals, bullying and terrorising one and all. Over a period of time, Kumar had built up a formidable army of goons who had been close to him since school and now ran an illegal trade in cutting timber from the forest and transporting them outside. While many people knew about the dark trade going on in the vicinity, no one ever had the courage to complain to either the police or to his father and he became bolder by the day.

Kumar’s greed grew with time and one day, Ravi, one of the mahouts, came to Ganeshan and said that he had seen big tusks hidden behind rows of chopped tree trunks in a storehouse deep inside the jungle. He was unable to get close to the place as it was guarded from all sides by men who looked like Kumar’s goons. Felling of trees was something Ganeshan had accepted but chopping of tusks meant that someone was killing elephants for their selfish gains. For some months, there were stories of deaths of elephants doing the rounds but people said they were caused by a fatal disease. Ganeshan now was able to connect the deaths to Ravi’s findings. He asked Ravi to take him at night to the spot where he had seen the store. Reluctantly the man agreed for he, too, loved the elephants. That night, Ganeshan whispered something into the ears of Mangalam and carrying a lamp and a big stick, walked into the jungle with Ravi under a moonlit sky.

It took the duo almost an hour to reach the spot and from a distance, Ganeshan could see a place with barbed wires on all sides. He could also see the chopped timber that was lying one on top of another with the largest numbers at the base and gradually tapering on top to prevent the heap from rolling off. Ganeshan gave the lamp to Ravi and asked him to wait there while he went to take a closer look. Since it was late in the night, there were no guards outside; Ganeshan slipped under the barbed wire fence and tip- toed to the timber stack. Carefully he started crawling towards the store which had electric lamps shinning inside. He slowly reached the window from where he popped his head up to see what was going on inside. He saw big pieces of tusks lying on the floor while the guards were busy playing cards and enjoying their local drink. Ganeshan was shocked to see the sight and wanted to do something to prevent loss of any more elephant lives. In his excitement, he tripped over and alerted the guards who quickly came out. They caught him while trying to slip out of the barbed fence. Ganeshan was dragged inside and the five guards, armed with lathis, started beating him mercilessly. Ganeshan shouted for help and mercy but none came. The guards suddenly stopped showering the blows on hearing the sound of bells ringing violently and approaching the place they stood. Ganeshan knew it was Mangalam coming. All the temple elephants had bells hung on their necks and each made a distinct sound which their mahouts could only make out. The men then heard a loud trumpet and in no time, they saw a huge creature rushing madly at them. Mangalam crashed into the barbed wire and dragged it along the way and stopped only when he reached the spot where Ganeshan was lying down. The guards knew that their lathis were of no use when it came to fighting a charging elephant and they fled the scene. Ganeshan got up and slowly unwrapped the barbed wires around Mangalam’s bleeding feet before walking back home where he applied some medicinal weeds on the animal’s injuries before going to sleep.

At day break, seeing Ganeshan asleep, Mangalam went to the river front for his bath alone. Around the same time, Kumar arrived with his men armed with hunting guns, barged into Ganeshan’s hut and dragged him out.  Once again Ganeshan was thrashed badly and before his elephant arrived, they had gone away after threatening to kill Mangalam unless he was chained. On seeing Mangalam, Ganeshan had tears in his eyes and he tied thick chains on both the hind legs and secured them against a giant of a tree. Mangalam did not protest but understood what might have happened during his brief absence, especially after the incident of the night before. He went with Ganeshan to the temple for his usual duties. Ganeshan went straight to the head priest and complained about Kumar and what harm he was causing to the animals and the forest. The head priest immediately called for his son and rebuked him in public. He ordered him to stop all his illegal activities or else he would himself report the matter to the police. Kumar was not one to listen to his father but threatened Ganeshan with dire consequences. Ganeshan finished his activities at the temple and returned home. In the evening, he went out alone to get something from the market but did not return for long. Mangalam was beginning to feel uneasy at the long absence and kept trumpeting and shaking his head to ring the bells after small intervals. Ganeshan did not return home at all that night and the sun was about to rise. The elephant knew something bad had happened to his master.

Mangalam stood up and, with all the power he had, pulled hard at the chains. He did it a number of times. The chain did not come off but the tree got uprooted. He started to push forward and the chain came loose. He was free to move with all the speed he could muster. He had gone just a little distance down the path leading to the market when he saw Ganeshan’s body lying still on the ground with a number of people crying while sitting beside him. Mangalam went close to Ganeshan’s body and touched it with his trunk. He understood that his master, his friend was no more. He turned around in anger and ran towards the place where the priests and their families had their houses. Mangalam knew the chief priest’s house and went in that direction. The ringing of his bells had alerted Kumar who quickly took out his shot gun and took aim from the terrace. The moment he saw the rushing elephant, Kumar started firing one shot after another. The bullets pierced Mangalam’s thick skin but he kept running and crashed into Kumar’s house, a portion of which fell like a house of cards with the killer himself falling over the railing of the terrace. Mangalam lifted his right front foot as high as he could and brought it down with all his strength on Kumar, crushing every bone in his body. The badly injured Mangalam then fell down and breathed his last.

A few months later, the devotees and the people of the temple pooled together their resources and installed a small statue of Mangalam and Ganeshan just before the Gopuram and the story of the man and his devoted animal became quite a folklore in the region and beyond.

SS