Corporate idioms!

In today’s corporate world, it has become common to work with teams spread across different geographies. With it, comes the challenge to communicate effectively. Workers in the US have a certain style of talking laced with figurative phrases. It creates comical situations as we relate to these idioms rooted in our own cultural moorings.

 A common American phrase is “let’s first knock off the low hanging fruits!” The intent is clear- when you have a large number of tasks to be completed, take care of the easier ones first. An Indian mind is wired differently. The moment you hear “low hanging fruits”, you immediately drift off. All sorts of fruits crowd the mind- juicy mangoes, tasty jack-fruits, tantalizing grapes and succulent guavas! You wonder which fruit this American team-leader has in mind. You feel like reminding him of a counterpoint- if the fruit is a coconut, the lowest fruit would be quite high! Wrapped in your world of fruits, the rest of the meeting is a blur.

 Another casually used American idiom is “you don’t have to boil the ocean” to do this task- there are simpler ways. The phrase yanks you away from reality. Mythical stories like the churning of the ocean gatecrash into the mind as you imagine the gigantic proportions of the burner and the vessel! “You do not want to reward diving catches alone” is a Baseball idiom. The corporate message is that an inconspicuous worker should be recognized as much as someone who steals the show. “Diving catches” is too tempting for a Cricket enthusiast. The mind takes you on a dream-ride of diving catches- from the days of Eknath Solkar to present-day Jadeja. Reality strikes when you are jolted from your reverie with a pointed question at the meeting, “Can you take that as your AI?”  

From the context, you understand some phrases. “You earn brownie points” when you volunteer to do some service that will help you at a later date. “The code is like spaghetti” is when the computer program is too confusing. “To pick someone’s brain” is to get an expert’s opinion. When something bothers you at work, you express it with the phrase “what gives me sleepless nights is...” To ensure something “does not fall through the cracks” is to pay attention to detail. And then, there are phrases you just cannot comprehend- “If push comes to shove, let’s do this!”

At the end of the meeting, the team-leader asks you in his cheery, accented voice, “Buddy! Just hang in there! You’re a happy camper?” You don’t know what he is saying and how to respond. The silence is awkward. You incoherently mumble, “I am happy”. Mercifully, the meeting comes to a close!

 

Tea and its many avatars!

Having a cup of tea at an upscale restaurant follows a protocol. You place the order and carry on with the conversation. One topic leads to another till you exhaust all topics. The tea is nowhere in sight. It is as if you are marooned on an island and forgotten. After an eternity, your tea arrives.

 The bearer is nattily dressed. His tray carries a porcelain tea-pot, a milk jug, slick cups and sachets of sugar. With finesse, he places each item on the table. After the cursory, “Do you need anything more sir?” he leaves you to make your cup of tea. With patience at tipping point, you take added care- lest you fumble and send the tea-pot crashing to the floor! The tea is now ready; you hold the cup with a certain poise and elan! A classy place requires a matching tea-etiquette! You like your tea piping-hot. This beverage is the opposite- damp and lukewarm. Half the cup and you give up. You pay for the tea and several times more for the ambience- with its mellow lighting and piped music.  

The highway tea-joint is in sharp contrast. It is a popular destination for all outstation buses. The place bustles with people. You observe tea served at the adjoining table. The crockery is basic- a utilitarian cup and a saucer to go with it. He deftly pours the tea into the saucer. Steam wafts off the saucer as he raises the saucer to the lips. Each audible slurp is followed by a clearing of the throat- it is evident the tea is strong and laced with ginger! As he laps the last bit off the saucer, satisfaction is writ large on the face!

There are others who cannot have tea in isolation. A packet of biscuit has to go with the tea. Before you bite the biscuit off, you get it to a soft consistency by dipping it in the hot tea! Alertness is of essence- for a little more in the tea and you are left with a biscuit stub! Rest of the time is spent fishing out the biscuit debris with a second biscuit. Soon, you have lost both- the fish and the fishing rod! In the end, you gulp the concoction in whole- a mix of tea, biscuit and a lot more!

“Matka-chai” is a delightful tea variant. The tiny clay-pot has no handle and is palmed in the hand. In addition to being bio-degradable, it has an earthy fragrance and taste. And with a dash of cardamom, matka-chai is in a league of its own!

Tea remaining the same, such variety in preparation, crockery, style, taste and ambience!  

Station names!

 Back then, there were no Self-Help books to tutor you on “speed-reading” techniques. You learnt to read quickly through a simpler method- by reading the names of stations as the train sped by! With elbows anchored on the train’s window-sill, forehead pressed to the window-bar, you had just a few seconds to read the station’s name. And if you had an elder sister on the adjoining window seat, it made for healthy and at times, ugly competition! 

The erstwhile Bombay to Madras rail route was filled with station names that were a mouthful! You grandly announced- “Yeraguntla” and “Tadipatri”, “Guntakal” and “Hadapsar” as the trains whizzed past them. Till the mid-1980s, the station boards had stayed unchanged for well over a century. You could faintly pick anglicized names like “Poona” and “Dhond” over which the new coat of paint had the revised spellings as “Pune” and “Daund”.

It was as if a mysterious world existed behind these stations you would never know. As you traveled through the Western Ghats, you wondered how “Monkey Hill” got its name! When it came to “Hotgi” and “Chiksugar”, it was as though they concealed a culinary past! 

Of particular interest was the station “Gooty”. You felt goofy to imagine that Gooty’s brother was perhaps Ooty! There were stations that had a special mention on their boards that announced- “Alight here to visit this ancient shrine”. You wondered if this advertisement had compelled a passenger to make a life changing decision to suddenly disembark from the train to explore these exotic places.

No station did you look forward to more than this one- “Venkatanarasimharajuvaripeta” in Andhra Pradesh. How could a station have such a big name? Imagination ran riot- how the sign-board artist had written half the name and fretted when he found no room to fit the rest! And how a tourist from outside India would stumble over the name, getting to “ven-kata” and thereafter, throwing his hands up in despair! 

A particularly delightful stretch was the one from Arakkonam to erstwhile Madras Central. On most occasions, the train was late by the time it hit this corridor. Like the proverbial hare-and-tortoise tale, the engine woke up from slumber and showed a sudden intent to make up for lost time. As the train raced away, it kicked up a cloud of dust over which you read the polysyllabic names- Tiruvallur and Villivakkam, Perambur and Ambattur. Just before Madras Central, came “Basin Bridge”- with its quaint English sounding name. 

They ask “What’s in a name?” But in the final analysis, we are left with just these names and through them connect to a distant past filled with fond memories!

Words from a bygone era!

Grandfather was a master story-teller! During summer holidays, we pestered him to talk about his school days. The trigger was enough and he spun a delightful tale centered on his childhood. Set in pre-Independent India, the stories were amusing. Though he narrated the stories in Tamil, his narration was peppered with English words that had crept into the local language. 

Recalling his stories now, the world has completely changed. Leave alone the backdrop of those bygone days, even the words have got erased. Grandfather’s school was so many “furlongs” from home. When he clarified “furlong”, grandpa did it in units like “yards” or “miles” that were equally uncommon! He was studying in “third form” when the most interesting school incident occurred. There was no “standard” or “class” back then! 

When grandpa studied at night, it was under the arc of a “hurricane light” or a "petromax". Occasionally, he got pocket money of a few “annas” from his father. The conversion from “anna” was in terms of so many “naya” paisa! With the pocket-money, grandpa bought “peppermint” (pronounced with Tamil overtones to the word!) or a glass of orange “crush” at the wayside shop. 

His days were spent in Thanjavur “jilla” that came under “Madras Presidency”. He was adept at playing “ball-badminton”. In those days, no one went to the hair-dresser to get a “crop” or a “crew cut”. Grandpa’s hair was combed back and knotted in a tuft! When he ran around the badminton court, it was in his white “veshti” that trailed till the ankles. There were no shorts; “nijaar” and “half-drawers” were rare. His ball-badminton opponent was a big “Emden”- he was huge like the battle-ship “Emden” in World War II. Unlike grandpa, his opponent wore a “Sandow Banian” during play. But grandpa used a mix of “twist-cut” and “touch-play” to win the game! 

If we wasted time during vacation, grandpa insisted we learn “typing” and “short hand”. That way, we could get a “stenographer’s” job at the “sub-registrar’s office”! An affluent person was either a “District Collector” or a “mirazdar”. A quarrelsome relative was someone with a “big prestige issue” who walked in a “right-royal” manner throwing all courtesy to the winds! Well after digital communication had taken over, grandpa asked if it was a “trunk-call” and made adjustments to his volume when he answered the phone call! 

Grandpa was a Cricket enthusiast. He spoke fondly of the 3 Ws of his time- “Weekes, Worrell and Walcott!” He was sure no modern cricketer could hold a candle to his heroes- “Mankad”, “Merchant” and “Manjrekar”! Those idyllic times are gone, never to come back. Not just the times, even an entire bouquet of words!

 

The whimsical vending machine!

Vending machines have been around for over forty years in India. The earliest recollection of a vending machine was the “weighing machine” found in railway stations. You inserted a 25 paisa coin and it popped out a card that showed your weight. When someone came back from a “foreign tour”, they spoke about machines that doled out a cup of coffee! We heard their tales with fascination and wondered how machines could be so sophisticated.

Our prayers were answered. Today, vending machines are found all over India in corporate cafeteria and restaurants, in cinema halls and railway stations. We now see these chameleons in their true colours.

Dealing with a vending machine is like feeding your one year old child. There are days when it is easy and then there are days when nothing works. You insert the rupee note into the vending machine and it instantly spits it out. You turn the side of the note. It rejects the note again. Perhaps, the note is too old and creased. You try a new note and the result is no different. By now, people in the queue get impatient. They break the queue and everyone gathers around the machine.

Out of the blue, one of the notes is accepted by the machine. But the eureka moment is short lived. The machine has digested your rupee, but does nothing more. At wits end, you try everything- insert your finger, give the machine a violent shake, but it stares back impassively. Now, someone wants to try his luck. Surprisingly, the machine is well behaved and issues the ticket. He casually struts away with his ticket. You cajole and coax the machine, but it stays adamant. Just as you give up and walk away, you hear a sudden clank! You rush back to see if it is your ticket. All you get back is one coin. It has ejected the pocket-change to reward you for the effort. In anger, you could manhandle the machine, but then, such boorish behaviour would not look decent in public!

We hear the future is going to be all about Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning (AI and ML). We wonder what these machines are learning. We learn from the company we keep. And in human company, we fear machines are picking up our negative traits. They learn to laze around and ape our whimsical behaviour. At least with a human, you can appeal to his goodness. He may relent. With a machine, it is like hitting your head against a stone wall!

Remembering a Mathematics teacher!

Mathematics is not easy for everyone. Some take to it naturally, as a fish to water. And then, there are others who plough through it as though serving a life sentence! Father Vincent Vaz, our Mathematics teacher in High School, endeared himself to both groups. Going back in time by four decades to erstwhile Bombay, Fr. Vaz was a pioneer in High School Mathematics. His books on “Modern Maths” were hugely popular.

Back then, the 10th standard board exam was a student’s litmus test. His entire future hinged on that single exam. And no subject was a bigger stumbling block than Mathematics. Fr. Vaz worked with us for an entire year, in addition to a crash course designed just before the boards. Dressed in his immaculate white cloak, Fr. Vaz was a master magician. Such was his command over the subject and the effortless ease with which explained esoteric concepts in Mathematics, Algebra and Geometry.

His classes were peppered with humour. “No answer is complete without proper units!” he repeated ad nauseam. To hammer home the point, Fr. Vaz cracked his favourite joke pertaining to units. A student had to make a sentence with the word “centimetre”. He wrote- “My mother was at the station and I was centimetre!” In an instant, the class was filled with laughter!

If it was too quiet, he had a way to liven up the class. “Students! You are half-dead! In English, you can also say, you are half-alive! But in Mathematics, let’s see what happens to this equation!” With that, Fr. Vaz wrote on the black board in bold strokes- “half dead = half alive”. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he grandly announced, “You can cancel half on both sides of the equation, and what are you left with?” He paused for effect and proclaimed, “Yes, in Mathematics, dead is equal to alive!”

In addition to Mathematics, Fr. Vaz gave 5 minute pep-talks on topics like- “How to study” just before classes started each day. The tips are relevant even today. His note on “recapitulation” for instance- a new topic taught in class should be revised within 24 hours. It will then be firmly committed to memory. “If you lose that window,” Fr. Vaz would say sternly, “You have lost that entire topic for good!”

He gelled with students as his anecdotes were often borrowed from the world of sport. Someone asked Sir Garfield Sobers how he became one of the greatest Cricket players. Fr. Vaz was transformed into Sobers himself! He held the entire audience in suspense before revealing the cricketer's secret in monosyllables, “I made mistakes, but I never made the same mistake twice!”

About a decade ago, Fr. Vaz passed into the ages. Sometimes, I search on the internet and stumble upon an old photograph of his. The mind floats back to those days in school, sitting in that class, surrounded by those faces, elbows perched on the desk, palms cradling the face and eyes glued at Fr. Vaz!

As we used to say, “There never Vaz, is, or ever will be...someone quite like Fr. Vincent Vaz!”

Spare a thought...

An “ashtaavadhaani” has an amazing skill- he can juggle with 8 different tasks at the same time. He can simultaneously converse with multiple people on varied topics, solve complex mathematical puzzles and even track inane details like the number of times a bell is tolled. His multi-tasking ability is awe inspiring. However, we forget that in our own midst, there are caregivers whose daily job demands similar skills and a lot more. We take them for granted- one such person is the railway ticket collector, the TC!

The TC’s entire life is spent on the move- hopping from bogie to bogie, from train to train, often at odd hours of the day and night. Checking tickets is only a fraction of his daily job. He is the single point of contact for any problem on the train. And the problems are plenty.

The start of the journey itself is mired with issues. The compartment is locked, the passengers cannot get in, and the train’s departure is imminent. The passengers panic and accost the TC. Before he can solve the problem, he is hemmed in with a different issue- a bogie has no lights and it is pitch-dark. Soon, he is beset with a third complaint- the latest reservation-chart is not on display and the confirmation of seats is in question.

Now, the train chugs out of the station. The TC squeezes his way through the tiny compartment aisle. Over-sized luggage blocks the aisle, forcing him to go around and at times, over the baggage. As the train picks up speed, the lateral movement is pronounced. With the balance of an acrobat, he pirouettes at each coupe and checks tickets. While some are ready with their tickets, others in deep slumber have to be prodded, some gently and some with lot more force!

At each coupe, there are multiple requests. An elderly man has got the top berth and wants the lower one. A family is split with members spread over different bogies who need to be united. Two passengers are at each other’s throat, both claiming the same reserved seat. The TC examines their tickets and finds the root cause- one of them has boarded the train one day too early! The water in the toilet has run out and needs action. The glass window is jammed and the rain water is seeping in. A passenger’s water-jug has accidentally fallen on its side and the entire compartment is a water puddle! Midway through the journey, there are more frantic appeals. Someone stepped out of the train to fetch water at the last station and is now missing. The family is in complete distress. The TC has to calm the nerves and plan for the course of action at the next station.

Any direction he looks, the TC meets more eyes that hound him, with a fresh set of requests that he must immediately handle. It is as if he is pulled from every limb. This is the TC’s life- to wake up each day on a moving train and to end it in one. Think about doing this job for one day. Now, imagine, doing this for an entire lifetime! Spare a thought for these silent workers, who rise above the call of duty. The next time you meet a TC on the train, acknowledge his tireless effort- greet him with a smile and a few words of heart-felt appreciation.