Lessons learnt the hard way
Around this time of year, my ‘speaking circuit’ begins and continues through the winter till the onset of summer. Some of this is a part of the ‘history and heritage’ walks in the hills and elsewhere. Some part consists of more formal indoor lecturing. Most of the audience is from Great Britain or from other former British colonies like Australia and Canada. A few still arrive with a dated and pre-conceived ‘elephants and snake-charmers’ image of India. Most, fortunately, are aware of and well in tune with a rapidly changing world. There are moments of gentle amusement like the time when a gentleman carried a set of notes made by his uncle to help him on his visit to Shimla. Among other exhortations and bits of advice was the invaluable information, ‘There are no cars in Shimla and rickshaws are the only means of transport.’ Another, having heard with great reluctance and considerable resistance about the civilisation of ancient India, wanted to know why there wasn’t a greater sense of gratitude towards the colonising British.
Occasionally, one is also asked to speak at management institutions. Most want and expect me to talk about writing, nature and my beloved hills. To speak of how this slow life is not so bad. However, occasionally, one is thrown a googly. Once, someone in the audience, during the Q&A session, said, “But what you have spoken about teaches us nothing about management, business and the real world for real people.” So, there it was. The ivory tower had been reduced to dust. At that moment, I mumbled something about Nietzsche having said that “art was there so that we did not die of the truth”. And the muttering continued to add, “Suppose the world was populated by only one sort of people. That could be accountants or managers. There would be no music and art. It would be a very dull and bland world.”
For the next lecture, one wanted to be more coherent. I spent some time rifling through my head to see what appropriate episodes or anecdotes could be used. A surprisingly large number popped up. If one were to take them all, many lessons would contradict others. A little bit of sifting and some stood out more prominently than the others. These may not have had much to do with textbook management, nor could they provide ground-breaking management techniques, but they were simple everyday lessons that may have relevance in our lives.
One thing that has been rightly ingrained in us is a deep respect and regard for our armed forces. That respect goes beyond the high regard for the uniform and includes the numerous institutions and bodies that are attached to this. One occasionally misused and sometimes maligned institution is the canteen. Needless to add, much fuel to the fire is added by civilians in search of cheaper (and ‘pure’) liquor. On principle, one has never accepted something from the canteen. It is not meant for us civilians and that’s all there is to it. Decades back, there was, however, a moment when there was a slip. A certain somebody was posted to town and wanted to let everyone know that he had arrived in more ways than one. Repeatedly, he would ask if I wanted something from the canteen. Whisky? Rum? My answer was a flat “no”. But then, one morning, his batman was at the door with two bottles of rum which I made the mistake of accepting and paying for. Those two bottles of cheap rum subsequently cost me more than the best possible single malt. Over the next several months, whenever that certain gentleman would meet me, he would call out (loudly, and preferably with enough people within earshot), “Did you get the bottles of rum I sent you?”
The time came when that person moved on and I learnt an invaluable lesson, “Never ever compromise on basic principles. The cost will be higher than you can ever imagine.”
Another lesson came from a fine set of worthies — who in their heyday were big shots in their own world. They were holding forth with convictions set in stone and worldviews that only retired worthies, with secure pensions, can hold. Sitting nearby was another person whom I’d met for the first time. He joined the conversation and asked a few simple but remarkably pertinent questions. One of the worthies turned to him and with great condescension asked, “And, what is it that you do?”
The gentleman named a company that none of us had heard of and said he was its managing director.
“Oh, never heard of it. Where are you based? Baddi or Barotiwala?” This was followed by loud laughter.
“We have operations in different parts of the world,” was the quiet gentleman’s reply.
“So, what do your different operations do?” This worthy wasn’t letting go. “We are into space technology and we launch satellites on behalf of various governments into space.”
Expectedly, this was met with suitably stunned silence. The bravado had suddenly vanished. Here was another lesson: never presume. Don’t think you are the biggest gun at the table. Some cannons are far bigger if not louder.
Do either of these incidents have any relevance, apart from a vague feel-good factor? I don’t know. All one can say is that there may be something to them, as both have become a fairly indelible memory.
