The Great Divide

 

 ‘The safety, honor and welfare of your country come first, always and every time. The honor, welfare and comfort of the men you command come next. Your own ease, comfort and safety come last, always and every time.’

                                                                                                        Philip Chetwode

It was in July 2011 that I decided to finally hang my uniform after having served for twenty one years in Indian Army. Having given my youth to this excellent profession of arms, I set out to explore what lay on the other side of the hill.  The vagaries of civil life had been quite a popular subject during many a heated discussions; at the late night officer mess parties and time was now ripe to eat the forbidden fruit.

As my family settled down at Meerut, life brought me to Mumbai where I accepted a corporate job as a marketing manager. I rented a flat near my office as travelling in this city of dreams, especially during the monsoons, was a nightmare. As the basic wherewithal to fight a new battle fell into place, I marched ahead with a sense of pride since that was the only way I was familiar with.

At the workplace or otherwise, I always treated women (even though some of them were half my age) as ladies and men as gentlemen. My sincerity and commitment towards my job were as unquestionable as hitherto before. Most important, I still considered the organization to be of paramount importance in my scheme of things and looked upon everyone as part of a big family.

But the reality dawned upon me in a rather cruel manner.

A partial recession had set in early 2012 and the company decided to ‘cut the flab.’ In an unprecedented move, hundreds of employees were fired and rendered jobless. One of them was Gayathri, a shy and soft spoken girl who was part of my team. Her mother was scheduled to undergo a critical breast cancer operation shortly and she needed funds badly. Like a good soldier, I walked into my boss’s cabin and explained her situation to him. But his response was short and sweet: ‘ You should worry about saving your own job. As for her, she has to go.’

Her husband, who also worked there in a different business unit, was also thrown out the same day. As she got the dreaded call from the HR department, she broke down. I sat next to her, trying to sound positive, saying things which I did not myself believe in. The very efficient HR department took just thirty minutes to finish off with her. I saw her standing in the car parking alone, staring blankly at the office building where she had spent seven long years of her life.

After a while, I accompanied her to a nearby restaurant along with my team for a cup of tea. As the very quiet farewell drew to a close, she rose, thanked everyone and trudged away. As her tired body mingled with the great mass of humanity active on the road, she left behind a vacuum in which the reality of my new life struck me with full force.

This was not army where the organization supported the individual so passionately.

Later, I realized that employees also had no love lost for the organization. A few green bucks were enough to lure them away. Moreover, they were not very particular about growing as professionals. A large number of them carried on with their small 9 to 5 lives without any zest. They did not exercise, they did not play any games, they had no hobbies and they lived as if it was a formality. And however hard I tried to treat them as ladies or gentlemen, quite a few had no idea how to behave like one. There was simply no emphasis on grooming these youngsters the way a young army officer is groomed in his regiment.

Equally surprising was the fact that there was no importance whatsoever attached to cultivating relationships. Even if you knew someone for ten or fifteen years, he would never invite you to his home . Employees roamed around with each other, just for the sake of company, during lunch or tea time. Their associations were mechanical and superficial; without any depth.

I remembered with what zeal my soldiers cared for my safety when I was posted with a Rashtriya Rifle battalion in J&K, engaged in anti- terrorist operations.

Here, relationships were too weak for sacrifices of this nature. What to talk of giving up one’s life, here an employee would not even adjust a day’s leave if the situation so demanded.  It was a case of a strange union where neither the organization nor the workers felt for each other. The overriding factor was not to achieve a higher common goal, the overriding factor was only one – money, money and more money.

Heartless is the most appropriate word that I can coin for the way the famed corporate world functions. I still remember how the company went on to cut a substantial part of a teammate's salary as he was forced to move on additional leave since his father was critical and slated to undergo a heart surgery. And as he recounted later, to add insult to injury, a smug lady on the other side of the table, further clarified: ‘I have no time or desire to listen to your personal problems.’

Had it been army, financial help would have poured in without asking for it, apart from the tremendous emotional support that everyone gets there so unconditionally.

But I am thankful to God for giving me an opportunity to recognize and experience this Great Divide. Had it not been for this, I would have never completely realized the true worth of armed forces and the high moral and ethical standards they stand for, not to mention the enormous sense of belonging that makes them what they are.

Lastly, if I ask one of my corporate colleagues to rewrite the famous Chetwode Credo, he would probably reframe it like this:

‘My own safety, honor and welfare come first, always and every time. The honor, welfare and comfort of my subordinates doesn’t actually matter. And country? Are you kidding me?’’