The monsoon rain fell in thick sheets, the cruel drops impinging upon fragile bodies, sending them scampering for cover. The clouds gurgled with laughter, watching the futile efforts of drenched mortals trying to shelter under a tree.
I reminisced about the happy times he and I had spent together at Marine Drive. He. The one who my heart beat for. Strong and virile. And I was then beautiful and comely. In my arrogant youth, when I believed I’d stay young and lovely for ever. If he had been around, he’d still have loved me. Like before. Despite my scars and ugliness.
I remember the time when I was his soul and he was mine. When our identities blended with each other so well that no one knew where one ended and the other began.
No matter how clichéd it sounds, in his case and mine, it had been love at first sight. No one else had ever evoked the same feelings, the now familiar rush of emotion in my heart. I reciprocated his feelings, and we became inseparable companions. For a while, at least. We believed that we were meant to be together. He and I. I and him. We
But, that was only till they came. Those cruel men, with cold steel in their hearts, veneered under thin smiles made of plastic. I shrieked and struggled, but to no avail. Vain were my cries of help, and he could do nothing but watch in anguish, as I was defiled by those monsters.
I remember my appeals to you, to you who stood there in mute stupefaction, gaping at the dastardly dervish dance that went on in front of your very eyes. You never came to my aid. You shrugged your shoulders mournfully, and went away.
The rain fell in thick sheets, trying to wash off their filth from me, trying to cleanse my soul with its sheer impact. And he writhed in agony from the blows that they had landed on him. I took him under my fold, and we wept.
But you never noticed.
He was a tough character. He wouldn’t die on me just yet. He managed to drag himself around, just to lend me strength and help me live.
You rejoiced in your cowardice, rejoiced at the fact that he still lived. That’s when I learnt to hate you. That’s when I realised that your life revolved only around yourself. You only stopped to capture a vicarious thrill, an adrenaline rush of being in the thick of things. You never even cared.
You were not there when they had come again. One night, when all was quiet, those men with faces cloaked in darkness came. The evil glint of their weapons still gives me sleepless nights. I cower in fear, dreading that they may return yet another day.
The rain fell, washing away the blood from his mortal wounds as he lay there. You never came.
He died that night.
On those monsoon nights, when the clouds rumble in anger at your cowardice, and the sea threatens to breach its shores in its angst, the wind carries my whispered longings away to where I think he can still hear me.
I’m a broken shell, an old woman pitted ugly sores, brought low by my own hubris and your cowardice.
I am Mumbai.
Described as ‘A Handbook for Indian Managers to Survive All Things Organizational’ – Vijay Nair’s book manages to take a dig at organizations, bosses, subordinates, the work culture, and nearly everything that occupies space in an organization.
Drawing richly from management jargon and various organizational models drawn from business knowledge, Mr. Nair provides a read that is irreverent at some times, and hilarious at all times, but manages to capture your attention all the same.
There are many books by management ‘gurus’ and experts proclaiming modern organizations as fine examples of excellence, integrity, and what not. But, there are very few books that would take the dangerous stand of ‘Organizations are evil’. Moreover, who better than a person with a post-graduate diploma in HR and several years of experience as a consultant to tell us about organizations?
The author keeps in mind the long line of latest ‘incidents’ in corporate history – the Radia tapes, Enron, the Satyam fiasco and the Union Carbide disaster. He then builds on these to talk about what the motives of your organization are. What is your boss thinking? What does ‘it’ want from you?
Mr. Nair manages to modify management models and frameworks like Six Sigma and Maslow’s needs hierarchy (along with many others) and weave them into wildly funny and interesting ones. (Incidentally, you can’t help but relate to them as well.)
He lampoons organizational cultures and demands to know if organizations think of employees as plants and themselves as gardeners – ‘nurturing’ and ‘growing’ employees. In addition, he identifies some people who are at the core of evil – the HR managers and external consultants.
The six types of bosses that he has you identify using his Boss Labeling and Fixing Instrument make you wonder – about which type you fall under, and about which one your boss falls under. Comparing the HR managers to ‘dementors’ from the Harry Potter series is fairly apt too. After all, they often suck away happy feelings and leave just an empty shell of a person behind.
Probably, the idea behind the book is not to get too worked up about its contents (in case you are a
dementor HR person or any other animal species described in the book). However, maybe the sarcastic tone of the book is a reminder to all of us who work in corporates, about how easy it is to go wrong, and become ‘it’ to our subordinates. At a deeper level, perhaps, it is a warning to the reader to not become an Oily Oyster or a Horny Harry.
The Boss is Not Your Friend is a book sprinkled lavishly with wit and humour. The current crop of corporate employees should be able to relate to this one, and have quite a few laughs reading it.This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!
The fact is, that civilisation requires slaves. The Greeks were quite right there. Unless there are slaves to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting work, culture and contemplation become almost impossible.
The people who make the business world go round and round, without them executives might actually have to do something besides make rules to make it more difficult for the slaves under them to do their job. Corporate slaves are easily identifiable by the vacant look in their eyes as they are always overworked, underpaid and underappreciated.