The employer-employee relationship

And unfortunate side-effect of the Gaurav Sabnis – IIPM episode is the message it sends on the relationship between an individual and his or her employer.

From the beginning it seemed very strange that IIPM dragged IBM into the matter, in spite of being told (by IBM) that what Gaurav had to say was entirely his personal opinion which neither reflected the views of the company he worked for nor touched any area of business the company was involved in. This unreasonable strategy worked  –  Gaurav offered to resign, IBM accepted his resignation and IIPM thought they achieved what they set out to do. 

What if Gaurav had not resigned? Or if IBM had encouraged Gaurav to stay on, asking him not to worry about IBM’s reputation ? Would IIPM really have got down to burning laptops? Very unlikely, because that would have attracted the attention of mainstream media which would have led to more scrutiny of all of IIPM’s claims.  IIPM’s strategy has revolved around bullying weak targets (it assumed bloggers were in this category), and I doubt if it has the stomach to bring the matter into the view of the larger public. Even the legal notices were mere threats – they would not think of following up with legal action. As Dr.Amit Kapoor says, " If IIPM actually goes ahead with a legal recourse against Sabnis, they will end up axing their own foot. A defamation case eventually puts the truth to test."

But Gaurav did resign, which showed that despite dragging his employer into a matter completely unrelated to the employee’s role or the employer’s business, IIPM’s pressure tactics succeeded in severing the relationship between Gaurav and IBM. 

As employees, we have a contract with our employers. Breach the contract, and you are likely to be fired. But the corporate-individual contract has its borders, beyond which the individual is free to do as he or she wishes. What one does in personal life should not, normally, intrude into the official sphere and have an effect on the organization one works for (There are exceptions of course – a CEO’s action in the personal sphere can have an impact on the organization he leads).  By artificially linking the employee and his employer in an unrelated matter and succeeding in severing their relationship, IIPM has set a bad example.  And coming from a management institution – which probably teaches business ethics to its students – this act  cannot be condoned. Let us hope others do not follow the example set by IIPM.

IIPM’s behaviour

I’m still trying to figure out the bizzare behaviour of IIPM in the recent days.  The more I think about it, the more I wonder about the role – in this matter – of the perceived status of blogging. Would the same people – at IIPM – have come up with similar uncivilized threats if Gaurav Sabnis had published his views in mainstream media? Would they do it now, with the hindsight of observing the effects of all this on their reputation in the last few days? And does that mean this medium has finally come of age, and found a (collective) voice of its own?

People voicing strong opinions are bound to attract critcism and opposition, irrespective of the medium they choose to air their views in. However, the nature of critcism and the manner of opposition reveals how one party views the other. In the current episode, all the bullying by IIPM shows what they think of Gaurav in the role of a blogger – the perceived status of medium Gaurav used is behind the attitude adopted by IIPM. Is it any wonder, then, that we are all rallying behind him?

Customer Care

At the car service center today the service representative was courteous as always. He listened patiently to my broken German as I listed the issues to be checked during the service. Last Saturday, while reporting a problem with the front brakes, the other representative presented himself in a manner so cheerful that for a moment I forgot I had a problem on hand.

It has always been this way as far as I can remember. Customer service has been excellent with this carmaker: you are made to feel important, yet there is a simplicity to the approach that makes the care seem natural. The relaxed attitude of these representatives complements the discipline conveyed by the workmanship one sees in the product.

All this will make it much more difficult to switch brands when I have to decide on the next company-car a year from now. The options are many, but would I want to let go of this kind of service? 

Customer care is a very old formula for success in business, and its charm is hard to resist even today.

Seasons

It was a nice sunny Sunday, probably the last one before Winter set in. During the evening walk I spotted the church spire in the distance….

Church_in_oct

… and it reminded me of an image I’d captured seven months ago.

churchfromfar

We live in a place where seasons leave an impression.

Weight Watchers

Now that Wife has written about Weight Watchers, it wouldn’t be inappropriate to put down a few thoughts on the subject.

At home, weight is a weighty matter. We have a fair amount of diet related books that leave little shelf space for my literary tastes; the weighing machine is probably the most used – and cursed – device in the house; a number of weight-reduction schemes have been launched over the years (with limited success, as the shrinking waistlines of Wife’s jeans suggest).

So when a few weeks back Wife mentioned that she was registering at the Weight Watchers website, I groaned. “Not another scheme! And what’s this, you have to pay them for watching your weight?!”

She wasn’t asking me, and she registered anyway. Then began endless hours of meticulously recording how many “Points” (a registered trademark, apparently) she had consumed each day. The scheme, I learned, relies on quantifying the amount of food a person consumes and it tries to establish control over intake through a “points allowance” policy. Each day one is allowed 18 Points. The website offers a comprehensive service that maps foodstuffs to Points; even items like Idly and Masala Dosa have been covered.

An innovative idea for business, I thought. All they had to do was set up a website that offered users an interface to enter their daily intake and, on the click of a button, generate a chart showing total consumption over a certain period. The climbing consumption curve would serve as a watchdog: women would cut down their intake, reduce weight, and gladly offer a testimonial on how useful a service it was.

But Weight Watchers was more pervasive than I had assumed. Last week, at the food section of the local super market, I spotted small and neatly packaged boxes bearing the Weight Watchers trademark, and each item had a number highlighted in a corner: its value in Points. What next, I wondered? I imagined stickers on tomatoes bearing their Points value; ads like: “Buy 50 Points and take 5 free!”; an additional column in menus displaying Points for each dish… the possibilities were endless. Forget the Dollar – this was currency that would rule the world. Or at least half of it.

“Can you deduct Points as well?” I asked Wife. “By going to the gym, for example?”

“Yes,” she replied, “different activities have different Point values. A 4 km walk means something like 2 points less.”

I spotted an opportunity here. “And how many Points can you deduct for… well… you know what?”

“What?” She asked, absent-mindedly.

“You know…that.”

She shot me a strict glance. “No Points.” she replied.

“But you didn’t even check!” I protested.

“It isn’t listed.” There was a finality in her tone; the topic was closed.

These days Wife’s phone conversations – with her Mother and my Sister – are dominated by Points: how much was consumed, how much is left, what a pity Chocolate and Cheese are so Pointsy while Bread and Banana aren’t. A good amount of competition – healthy, fortunately – has sprung between Wife and Sister: the success of one (in reducing Points consumption) inspires the other to scale new heights.

Points, of course, are only a means to an end: less weight. And weight tracking is no less frequent in the daily routine. Wife and Sister constantly update each other on the latest figure revealed by the (mostly-untruthful) weighing machine. So on a recent weekend visit when Sister heard Wife’s voice from another room exclaim in an elated tone that “it has touched 55”, she was struck with disbelief.

“How did you manage to lose so much weight so soon?! Tell me – what did you do?!!”

“Weight?” Wife replied. “That wasn’t my weight. It was today’s Euro to Rupee conversion rate.”

Parineeta

We watched Parineeta early in September. The best thing I can say about the movie is that it contains some memorable moments, and delightful songs. Put together, these moments fail to convey the right effect. The problem with its narrative structure becomes clear at the end when we get to know that Girish is married not to Lolita but her sister. We are as surprised as Shekar is shocked – that is the intended effect – and it leaves us feeling a bit cheated, because unlike Shekar we have been following the movements of Girish and Lolita. Hiding from us that piece of information appears like a manipulative trick intended to surprise us at the end. Imagine the power of this revelation at the end had the whole narrative been based from Shekar’s viewpoint. I wonder how the book is structured.

This aspect reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo. In it, we are revealed something important the protagonist does not yet know. Why, you wonder. This matter, a subject of many discussions, was briefly mentioned in a recent article by Adam Gopnik in The New Yorker: he noted that Hitchcock is a master of suspense, not surprise. The difference is vital, and it seems not to have been grasped by lesser filmmakers.

The lack of narrative unity in Parineeta surfaces at other places too. The camera has no business following the rest of the gang to “Moulin Rouge” while both Shekar and Lolita lie at home. Even if it did, that interlude should have been interspersed with moments capturing Shekar’s anger and Lolita’s frustation – it is their story, isn’t it?

The movie did have a good result, though. It made me dig out my mouth organ (from the bottom of my bed-side drawer) and try out the “Piyu Bole” song, whose tune turned out ideal for the instrument and invited a comment from Wife that I did better than Shekar’s friend in the movie. Much relief.

But what I’ll remember long after I’ve forgotten its failings and misplaced its tunes is the one scene where Lolita becomes Parineeta: the camera, beginning at a low angle below the table – a voyeur’s delight – slowly glides up and settles down next to the two lovers softly caressing each other. With chants of Sanskrit shloka’s in the background lending a touch of divinty, I find myself sinking – as Shekar slides down Lolita’s blouse to reveal her lovely bare shoulders – into an enchanting trance suffused with melody when Wife turns to me and asks: “Her arms – they’re fatter than mine, aren’t they?”

Broken Flowers

Last evening: Drive to Heidelberg -> Park in P9 -> Stop at Potter Books for a couple of minutes, and buy E.B.White Writings from The New Yorker -> Meet G & D opposite Pizza Hut -> Pick up movie tickets and dine [ Garlic bread and “Garden Lovers” pizza ] -> Walk into Gloria [a cinema hall so small that if not for the heads in front you may consider it your own private movie room with a plasma screen] -> Ads begin [ a couple are campaign ads – aimed at upcoming elections – that draw raucous laughter from the crowd while we sit in silence ] -> Immediately after an Ice Cream ad a lady enters the hall with a basket, announcing ice candies for sale; crowd laughs at the timing; she sells a few candies and leaves with a loud “Viel Vergnuegen”, to which the hall responds with a “Danke!” -> Movie begins:

Brokenflowers

-> Brilliant film, abstract, gloomy and funny [ guy sitting next to me laughs throughout like a hyena with a sore throat ]; seems like Bill Murray is continuing from where he left us at the end of Lost In Translation -> Later, we walk down Haupstrasse -> Pick up ice cream along the way -> Perfect Summer Evening: the street is full of people young and old, walking energetically or chatting away in outdoor cafes; painters are busy sketching portraits of people who sit patiently waiting to see their images rendered on paper; a police car slowly rolls by, adding a feeling of security (which I’ve never found lacking in this country) -> We say Goodbye to G & D and drive back home, discussing aspects of the movie -> At home, I read the movie’s review that appeared in The New Yorker a couple of weeks ago [ David Denby is not impressed: “But it’s an art object without the energy or courage to be a work of art” ; that, I think, reflects a maturity and experience of movie-watching I do not currently possess, so I’ll stick to my interpretation].

This and That

The days are hot and evenings bring a warm breeze. September is turning out much warmer than the unusually inconsistent August that preceded it. It is warm in England too, where Mr.Stevens, narrator of The Remains of the day, slowly makes his way through England, enjoying the countryside and dwelling on his memories. I find myself quite taken up by Ishiguro: after A Pale View of Hills, which was both beautiful and sad, I’m now immersed in The Remains of the Day. I’ve seen the movie, and this adds a dimension of reality to the narrative. Mr.Stevens always brings up that image of the perfect Anthony Hopkins; Miss Kenton’s sharp sentences emerge from none other than Emma Thompson; and Darlington Hall can only be that magnificent mansion in the movie. I’ll watch it again, once I’m done with the book.

We were at the library yesterday, to return two movies I’d picked up last weekend: David Lynch’s Lost Highway (a typical Lynch – weird yet captivating), and Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor (the best of this director I’ve seen so far; epic in scale, yet intensely personal and touching). Walking back from the library, we stopped at Bismarckplatz to listen to some guitarists play outside Kaufhof. A small crowd had gathered, and there was a kid that kept going back to the open guitar box filled with coins, only to be pulled back by one of its parents. Night was slowly setting in, and a few lights had come on. A tram rolled into the square; people got down. We must spend the remaining summer evenings outdoors, I told my wife.

At work, I have the room all for myself. U has left for another team, and X is in the adjacent room this month. Last week we went out for dinner to celebrate – that is how U referred to it – the end of our association as a team. She decided on a restaurant in Schwetzingen, making sure they served vegetarian dishes as well. It was a warm evening, and the walk from the parking lot to the restaurant, through the quiet street next to the schloss, made me feel I was on a vacation: far away from home in a new place altogether. The restaurant was crowded outside, but U knew a quiet corner tucked behind; we found ourselves sitting next to a small pathway where people crossed occasionally – couples out on a stroll, young girls chirping merrily, an old lady with her dog…. The food was agreeable, and the relaxed atmosphere and conversation made it a memorable evening. U surprised us at the beginning with gifts for X and me – how typical of her to have thought of that, and how typical of us not to have! We spoke a bit about work, about her new team and how she found it so far. The conversation then drifted towards vacations we’d had – U spoke of her US tour back in 97, where on one occasion, when they were camping in a bear-inhabited region, they were woken up at night at the cries of excited tour members who had come out of their tents with their cameras to shoot the bear that had picked up one of their bear-proof-food-boxes. X spoke of his childhood in China, and patiently answered my questions on certain aspects of China I had gathered from my recent reading of Vikram Seth’s From Heaven Lake. Towards the end, when I mentioned that I had forgotten my camera so there could be no photo this evening, all of us agreed that we should use that as an excuse to meet again, just like this. On the walk back to the car park we stopped occasionally at shop windows displaying paintings or works of antique.

The room is empty now, and although it means less of discussions and interruptions, it sometimes feels like everyone is on vacation. Not the best of thoughts when there’s lots of work to do.

It is rather warm these days, as I’d mentioned earlier, and the heat this summer has led to an interesting pastime. Across the road, in the apartment where the young Russian couple live, the lady – she’s got pink cheeks, so I’ll call her Pinky – can be seen these days moving around in her brassiere. It reminds me of the post Alpha had written a long time ago about Nudie, a lady in the neighbouring apartment who stripped herself nude each evening and went about her normal household chores. (And on such evenings Pi – Alpha’s hubby – and a few other friends got together to enjoy the show, while Alpha went around distributing popcorn). But Pinky is no Nudie; she is far more conservative, which keeps things interesting. I’ve gotten used to it over summer, but my heart skipped a few beats the first time I spotted her in that state of undress. I must have stood transfixed for a while, for my wife warned that I’ll “get caught” doing what I was doing. Get caught for looking out of one’s own window? I asked her. Later she got curious as well, and wondered where Pinky bought such good quality bras from. Quality aside, she has a mixed taste for colour: I’ve spotted pink, burgundy and orange, apart from plain white.

Everyone these days seems to be talking about Rushdie and his new book (he’s all over literary blogs; he was on BBC last week; and the latest New Yorker features Updike’s review of Shalimar the Clown), but the new release I’m more excited about is Vikram Seth’s Two Lives. If the library doesn’t intend to acquire a copy, I’ll order one myself. But first, I must allow Mr.Stevens to finish what he has so elegantly begun.