Rewind : Remembering Marcel Hickman

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

 But she is in her grave, and oh,

 The difference to me!

 From Lucy Poems by William Wordsworth

After many years, I remembered Marcel Hickman. I was interviewing a male assistant of some advanced years and probably something in his profile or mannerism took me back to those years.

There are many people who contribute significantly in our lives but other than a “thank you” is never acknowledged when you look back on life or career. Marcel Hickman was the first person to receive me in the Exide office. He was assistant to the Sales Department. To call him a secretary (that is what his designation read), would be limiting our understanding of his capabilities to shorthand, filing, and typing. For that matter, calling him an assistant, is also setting the understanding that he waited to be instructed or worked to a specific job description. Marcel was the sales anchor in Head Office. In the days before mobile phones, it was even more difficult to catch the always elusive salesmen. Marcel ensured that the sales machinery remained well-oiled. He was the man you went to for sales numbers at month-end and also the first person to catch your ire if the numbers did not meet the expectation.

There were no “working days” in his calendar, so long as you spared him time for Sunday church. I had the first-hand experience of this. Charged with some extra work during the budget period (being a multi-national in those days budget documents to exacting standards had to be sent to UK headquarters), I landed up in office just assuming that MH would be there, but he was not! Overcoming a paralyzing fear, I checked with the security and figured out the hostel where he stayed. With single-minded determination, I charged through the compound, asked a set of dumbstruck gentlemen playing handball his room number and proceeded up the stairs. A visibly disturbed Marcel was most unwilling to listen to me, insisting I should leave the hostel immediately and demanding to know how I got past the security. I extracted a promise that he would reach the office in under an hour and proceeded back. Apparently, the hostel had a strict “no ladies” policy!

Starting-off in MIS, my early career impetus came from a readiness to work 24x7. Budgets and QPR required detailed planning. The documentation involved a lot of wasteful work as edits had to be re-typed and checked. Here I would be hanging outside the Sales Director’s office waiting for each set of updates, new analysis, and numbers. There are fond memories of many warm cups of coffee arranged by the Director’s EA. They rallied around with me, never complaining even if the final edits took us well past midnight. They worked to exacting self-standards and taught me early in life to set my own goals and principles.

Then came a day when I had my own chamber and secretary. Can't say I did it right from the start. My first feedback from a lady was that I did not forward-share my plans, keeping her in the dark and the workload did not come in a uniform flow. Other feedback was that I was a workaholic and failed to bond. One learned, improved but most importantly had the very good fortune to have some amazing persons, in this journey. I would not like to take specific names here but I trust I have improved over the years to hold them as friends, confidantes and remembered to contribute in many little meaningful ways. So, there came a delightful time, when my assistant and I were both pregnant, just a trimester apart. Bonding got re-defined to another level and to date, we may not connect often but know we are there for each other.

Over the years, I have interviewed many persons for this position. The skill-sets have changed from dictation to MS Office. Maybe it is the generation that I belong to, but many times when several ideas are jostling in the head, I wish for that old competency of a shorthand speed of  80, and the presence of a  person with whom I am completely comfortable. There is something in that free-flowing dictation and its edits. I don’t want to bring a frown on the reader’s face but must be honest to state that my assistants have helped me cope by allowing me the luxury of releasing pressure like a safety-valve. This job is not just a defined skill-set but the ability to be parenting the boss.

I bow today, to all of you who have walked with me and hope I have added value in your lives, in some small manner.

Thank you!

Play Ball

It is IPL season and stealing an early share of controversy was Kings XI Punjab captain and bowler Ravichandran Ashwin who dismissed Jos Buttler in a run out popularly called ‘Mankading’. Named after legendary Indian bowler Vinoo Mankad, ‘Mankading’ is a method of run out where a bowler dismisses a non-striker by hitting the bails before bowling when the latter is outside the crease. Immediately, social media took up the debate on whether this was in the "spirit" of the game. Much has been said and meme-ed on the subject and, no, I am not writing another piece about the moral dimension. Suffices, to note hear, though, "mankading" can only happen when the batsmen is slightly away from the crease and fully concentrating on supporting the striker with a quick run.

In 30+ years in my career, I have often seen this cricketing trick (for want of a better word) being played out in corporate life. If you are only concentrating on the task in hand, the quick wins and functional objectives, be sure there are some silent career-derailers at work. I would identify three types of bowler-colleagues to watch out for.

The Smiling Assassin :

Normally a subordinate or peer, this person is always very respectful in meetings. Will accept your suggestions and even at times applaud these. She is careful to keep on very good terms with the Top Management but slows down the execution of ideas perceived as "yours" and not "hers".

The Faulty Friend :

He is the one who will single you out as a like-minded colleague. You will be invited to his house parties, find that the families are blending well and a common outside circle of friends is evolving. This may actually begin out of a genuine shared interest like a club membership, reading habits, tastes in food or golf. It is an accepted fact that official friendships get highly challenged when both parties are talented and corporate eventuality of the pyramid would favour only one of them moving ahead.

The Silo Sultan :

This type is not uncommon. In most organisations, silo-working is identified as the main reason for loosing momentum in execution of strategy. In fairness to this person, the competitive corporate culture, sets us out to protect first the interests of our own functions. The Silo Sultan never leaves an opportunity to catch the Boss' ears on what the other function-head is doing incorrectly and / or given a chance how he would do things differently. 

Like in cricket, when something like this happens in corporate life, the talk by the cooler turns to "unfairness " v/s "foolhardiness". The important point to note, here, is that as per the Laws of Cricket 41.16 if a Non-striker leaves his/her ground early, the bowler is permitted to attempt to run him/her out. Further, whether the attempt is successful or not, the ball is not to be counted as one in the over.The law also states that if the bowler fails in an attempt to run out the non-striker, the umpire shall call and signal "dead ball" as soon as possible.

The corporate analogy is not hard to find. If the Organization culture sets a high premium on "fixing" the individual rather than correcting the process, it helps to have some ready cues to explain overall performance. Fault-finding gets unconsciously encouraged and a mankading colleague might actually be "permitted" in his act, like the bowler. The reason behind a sudden switch in roles or a transfer remains silent, like that uncounted or dead ball. 

Both, the spirit and letter of this law makes the act fully legitimate. In a country where "cricket is a religion", Mankading gets established as par for the course. Better, therefore, to stay at the crease, keep a good eye out over the entire field and recognise the colleagues who could be "mankading without a qualm". After all, like cricket, "big boys" play the corporate game. 

Finally, as Sanjay Manjrekar tweeted : 

"Dear coaches, 

train your batsmen at the non strikers end, to keep watching the bowler till he releases the ball. Mankading is a legitimate mode of dismissal. Be wary of it. 

As far as ‘spirit’is concerned, that’s for after the game, that you can pour in your glass.😋"

The same applies to corporate after-parties, where you applaud each other, raise a toast to teamwork and dance a jig to those "balle-balle" numbers. 

A Tale of Two Tables

One was of teak, the other a glass top. Scratches on the first could be made good with a scrape down and polish. The other bore such ravages like a warrior his wounds, with pride. The first was rectangular, with each place defined and managing to seat only six. The other was a cozy circle and you could always fit an extra chair, provided it was family and you didn't mind knocking elbows.

Both, however, had one thing in common. Families that had grown together, coming closer over long meals and conversation. Father and daughter were both clear that they needed to hold on to their piece of childhood and growing up.

Some time back, we decided to sell off my parents-in-law's eighty-six year old home. There were old beds, cabinets of carved teak, knick-knacks in brass and porcelain, tree lamps and side-tables of various shapes and sizes. We decided to bring home most of the stuff and dispose some of our contemporary furniture. The only difficult decision was changing the dinning table.

When my daughter was about five, we moved into a larger flat. Being prone to hosting parties we decided on a large dinning table. Somehow, that single piece of furniture became central to our planning and execution. My contribution, being always logical, had to do with the shape. "If you want to seat more people, go for a circular table", I said and promptly dismissed the matter from my mind. My husband poured over designs and pictured the table in his mind. "A sun", he mentioned, one morning as we sat sipping our morning tea. Dawn was just breaking and it was that moment in the day, when you could see the orange ball of fire, perfectly round, through misty clouds. A few days later, he showed me a sketch. Circular, with rays in a symmetrical pattern on the outer edge. The bottom wooden base was designed to complement the top.

As always happens, with a new piece of furniture, the first couple of years we were very careful. The table cloth and mats were put out daily. A sharp reprimand went out to anyone dragging something across its surface. Slowly, the table became a familiar part of our quotidian. The children used it as a study table and when Papa wasn't looking, my daughter, the budding artist, traced the etched lines of the sun-ray  patterns with a pencil. The table moved with us, as we changed house five times. We didn't exactly notice when a lattice-work of fine scratches, on the surface, had its own story to tell. Countless family dinners, parties, office work, exam preparations and at times, just a convenient dump.

Going back, some more years, I married and moved in to live with my in-laws. Through the working week, we managed to catch up with them, twice daily - for breakfast and dinner. In the mornings it was brusque responses (stealing glances at the watch) to father-in-law's update on home matters and the world in general. In the evenings, it was long conversations. The tablecloth rested over a fairly stable table that didn't particularly catch my attention. When my husband first mentioned he would like to bring the table, I did not take him very seriously. He's just being sentimental and the idea will fade away, was the thought on my mind.

When he announced this to our daughter, I figured I'd better pay attention, as my role as arbitrator looked inevitable. "But that is a part of our growing up years", said my daughter. "It is the same for your father, dear", fell on deaf years. "That one is a regular table, our's is specially designed - unique", she retorted. That's when I decided to actually lift the tablecloth and look at the extremely stylish piece that was crying out for a coat of polish. 

For a couple of days, my husband and I moved around our flat trying to figure out a space for both tables. Sheer reason challenged the thought but we went around with a measuring tape and hope. I absorbed fresh stories of my husband's childhood and fielded on Skype fresh questions from my daughter. Finally, we agreed that we'll figure out a place to store "her" glass-topped table, while we gave her "father's" teak wood one a temporary berthing space. "Just hold on to it, till we buy a space and I ship that across with some other stuff" (rattling off a list of furniture).

Each of us hold a piece or more of something that brought us luck, reminds us of beautiful days gone by or gives us that comfort of permanence. For the last couple of weeks there have been a number of videos on social media on Marie Kondo and how she is helping American homes and offices to de-clutter. "Minimalism", enjoying an "experience" over buying "things", "100 days de-cluttering challenge" are recommended as new ways to enjoy life and find peace. 

There can be no one-size-fits-all to finding peace and happiness. What you possess doesn't matter but the memories you build around it, does. My husband gave up his green card and returned home. My daughter has set up home, married and is building a career in another country. The table is just a metaphor for memories we share and the togetherness we carve out of glass or wood.