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Those who hate officialese are well-advised to skip this post, for though I know it is not good form to use it, I cannot avoid it while narrating this story.
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The concluding lines of any important letter from the boss and most circulars from the Head Office usually are: ‘Please confirm having noted the above instructions for strict compliance’. To the best of my knowledge and belief, nobody has ever confirmed having done so, but such a confirmation is implied and presumed. The notice calling for your explanation for having done (or not done) something would read: ‘In contravention of the instructions contained in our circular No. … dated …’
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After a couple of years of service, this strict-compliance-business can get into your blood. Not only your blood, but of those around you, as the story of Kurien demonstrates.
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I was relieved from the Head Office on a July Saturday with instructions to report to the Manager of Chalai branch as Accountant. When I went there, he was not present. I was told he had been admitted to the hospital. Anything serious? No, I was told. He had been bitten by a dog on Saturday night. Not to worry, it was his own pet and there was no fear of rabies.
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A few days later, Kurien resumed duty. During a lunch recess, for want of anything else to talk about, I asked him about the canine assault he ad suffered. He said, ‘Oh, that? It was a Head Office dog.’ That was an inscrutable response, if there was one. Pressed for a reply, he elaborated.
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After office-hours on that Saturday afternoon, Kurien had boarded a bus for Kottayam. He had a rubber plantation in the suburbs of the nearby Palai which, in his absence, his man Friday took care of. He had to go there, visit the plantation and see how well his directions were being implemented. He would stay there for the weekend and return on Monday morning. He would be back home only in the evening on Monday, he had told his wife.
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There was nothing unusual in this. His family – wife Mariyamma, son Roymon and daughter Reenamol, why, even his dog Tiger, the scion of a cross between a mongrel and an Alsatian – was used to Kurien being away from Saturday morning to Monday evening during several weekends.
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Mariyamma had an early dinner and tucked the children in the bed. She locked the wooden gate to the compound and unchained Tiger so that it could go round the house. Then she went to bed.
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Monsoon was in full cry and the rivers in full spate. Somewhere between Kottayam and Palai, a bridge had been washed away and the bus Kurien was travelling by would not proceed further. The only option was to return. Which is exactly what Kurien did.
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It was past midnight when Kurien reached back
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Presently, Kurien reached home. The gate was, predictably, locked. Only after instinctively pressing the calling bell on the compound wall did he realise his foolishness in doing so when there was no power.
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He knocked at the gate several times, but in the downpour, the deadened noise the wood made was not carried to the house. Kurien repented not having paid heed to Mariyamma’s advice to replace the wooden gate with a metallic one. The sound made by pounding on it would have woken her up.
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Kurien called out, ‘Mariyaamme, Mariyaamme, Eti Mariyaammo … Ronmone, Eta Roymone … Reenamole, Eti Reenamole …!’ No response. If it was today, he could have used his cellphone to call them up, but we are talking of the 1970’s. All of them were under the blankets, in deep slumber,
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How long to you wait in front of the gate of your own house, soaked to the undergarments, with no sign of let-up in the unremitting shower? Kurien made the big decision: he folded is mundu, and flinging his handbag and umbrella into the compound, he scaled the gate and jumped in.
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The thud of the handbag had alerted Tiger. As soon as Kurien landed, Tiger pounced on him and thrust his incisors into Kurien’s left calf, Kurien concluded his story.
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‘But then Tiger is your own dog, Mr Kurien?’
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‘Yes, Mariyaamma had instructed Tiger to attack anyone who jumps into the compound, particularly in the night. Tiger was like branch managers who are supposed to ensure strict compliance with the instructions from the Head Office.’
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That was how Kurien who had attempted a rather unconventional entry into is residence was punished by his own pet.
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4 comments:
in a recent meeting it was told that one bank had90% false confirmations
Charge was that 11111 Register was not maintained. Accused explained that there never was any 11111 Register at all in the business.
Enquiry Officer said, "We dunno. Otherwise, they would not have put in such Charge. So, what do you say, Mr. Prosecutor?"
Prosecutor says, "Sir, we need not bother about whether there is any such Register. I know there is not."
"But Mr. PO, how can I write that the Charge is wrong? They'll have my head."
PO says, "Sir, what is the Charge? That he did not maintain such a Register. Mr. Accused, did you maintain such a Register?"
"No, Sir. Because there is no such Register"
PO tells EO, “Sir, he himself admits that he did not maintain the Register. Charge is proved"
EO finds the Charge proved. Accused misses his Promotion for 6 years as penalty.
This is how confirmation of strict compliance is done.
Bureaucracy: What started as a reasonably effective form of organisation has become synonymous with decaying status quo. Authors of such official circulars can never pull themselves out of this quagmire.
Imagine this. One of such circulars was to advise the branches (of banks, of course) to attend to certain works / pass certain entries on the day of the ensuing annual closing of accounts. The closing date was about twenty days away and ‘fast approaching’. The circular ended thus: Confirm compliance by RETURN FAX !
Circulars and office notes reflecting such shallowness could be found in abundance everywhere. Consider this story as well: The corporate office building needs to be fumigated to get rid of the rats roaming around. A note requesting for authorisation of the work went to the boss and came back with a query: “How many rats are there?” Was he at his sarcastic best? No not at all. He was damn serious, mind you.
A Stoic’s story of 11111 register is not an exaggeration. Nowadays, not looking at the crystal ball could even be a charge.
I downloaded a good perspective on Charles Lamb recently from http://www.soulshelter.com/fulfillment/time-for-everything/ . Though the context is altogether different, I am tempted to quote Lamb here: I had grown to my desk, as it were; and the wood had entered into my soul…
Yes the wooden souls (wooden heads, rather) behind such circulars won’t ever die. Thank you for remembering these immortal souls.
Enjoyed reading the post and the comments made before mine. This hilarious piece tackles serious issues. Stories are legion that tell us about hapless common men at the receiving end of an unthinking bureaucracy. This story tells us about those who "are" the bureaucracy, the people who are turned into nothing better than guard dogs themselves.
The Syndicate Bank has a dog as its logo, along with the words "faithful, friendly". They "would be well advised" to read Mr. Kurien's story and add "and dumb" to the logo.
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