NOSTALGIA
It wasn't an ordinary day, nor an ordinary achievement. A new milestone reached, a peak conquered. Today we officially are a Billion Dollar Company. David has become a Goliath; from moving in markets, we are market movers, or rather, we are the market.
A unicorn, a billion-dollar tag, is like what 007 is to James Bond: a license to kill. Now we can kill competition, bulldoze all and sundry who pose even the faintest threat worth our deep pockets. It's a signal to the world: we are rich, we have countless resources, treat us with respect, and we will treat you with respect.
An air of festivity hung around the office. The best of flowers, imported from Thailand, and special lights from the Netherlands – no effort or money was spared in turning this into a grand event. Everyone was at their cheerful best, congratulating each other, smiling. I was far away and couldn't see what was happening in the congregation. I could only hear loud claps, bravos, and muffled voices and speeches as the beautiful bronze bust of the founder was inaugurated. Aha, the Founder used to be called "The King," the man who started this company in a small chawl in the old city. He slowly and steadily built his reputation. As his reputation grew, we moved here, to what was then a sleepy suburb. I still clearly remembered my first day. On arrival, I was whisked away straight to a space next to "The King's Office." He had a large rosewood desk with drawers and a cupboard filled with books on one side and large box files on the other. A noisy air conditioner that was rarely switched on; it was sparsely furnished, neat and tidy, with wooden floors. The company itself was a simple, one-storied building with large windows which were left open. You could hear the cawing of crows, an occasional automobile, the chirps of sparrows, and in the evenings, you could feel the salty sea breeze whistle past. I used to wonder if the breeze caught the saltiness from the sea or the sweat from the backs of the toiling masses.
"The King" was a man of words; I can still recall his voice, a voice that spread mutual respect contagiously. He would dictate his letters impeccably. He was particular about the words he chose; they were simple, direct, nothing ambiguous; they meant what they meant. He wouldn't tolerate a single spelling mistake, a misplaced comma, or a full stop. Every letter that bore his insignia was drafted and drafted again and again until it redefined perfection.
I was at the hub of all this; those were great times. Nothing of importance was done without it being run through my abode: contracts, agreements, purchase orders, appointments, tenders – every occasion, every event, I was there, going left and right and getting everything in line.
"The King" commanded authority; every buck started and stopped with him. He was a man of ideas and vision but tamed his ambition to walk with ethics and goodwill rather than run wild and chase profits at any cost.
Then came the Tsunami of change with the arrival of "The Prince." Yes, you guessed right, the hero of today who is creating headlines with the building of a Billion Dollar Conglomerate, the man of the moment. He is stylish, brash, and ambitious.
"The Prince" had just come back from abroad, armed with a fancy education at even more fancier universities from the Western Hemisphere. He was anything but a chip off the same block; in business, they weren't even from the same orchard.
The Prince was a man in a hurry. He started by redecorating the office, changed the logo to a modern one. Everything went by the clock: morning meetings, weekly meetings, review meetings, monthly targets, reports, and MIS, etc., etc. The list was long. Time suddenly was a commodity found in sparse supply; everyone was rushing from one deadline to another, one meeting to another.
Then the eventful day came. Around mid-morning, a deafening sound of someone falling over files and a cupboard came from The King's Office. The entire crew ran inside; I couldn't see what happened inside. There was yelling, horrific screaming for the company car; it was full of chaos. Then I saw the lifeless body of The King being carried away. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would have to key in his demise announcement to the world. I wished the keys choked me to eternity.
The next few weeks were the toughest; the entire company was soulless. A cocktail of fear, helplessness, despair, sorrow, grief, and anxiety seemed to run faster than the blood in the veins of everyone around.
A few weeks later, the Prince walked in to assume command. A large picture of the King now adorned the wall behind the chair from where he ran his command.
"The Prince" now ruled with newfound vigor, often saying he wanted to make his father proud. He had the quality of firmness and was ruthless. The ilk slowly understood his style of working: he demanded respect, rejected excuses, punished failures. He gave no time for any redemption; he wasn't waiting for any change, he was change.
One fine day, little did I suspect or expect, I was forced to share space with a green eye. I called him Boxie. He came with some International certification. Slowly all my work was distributed between us. Soon enough, by the time I realized, I was only doing unimportant ones. I was moved out: first sales, then purchase, then stores, then government forms, working with people that cater to the bottom of the hierarchy.
In the meantime, slowly the ilk of the "Boxies" with their fancy tags started occupying every post of importance. Soon enough, they were everywhere, in every department. It appeared like they had a network of their own, communicating in jargons or language I couldn't comprehend. They were now calling the shots. It was a familiar sight seeing a "Boxie" shoulder to shoulder with powerful people like Presidents, Directors, General Managers; a whole network was established.
I wondered whether the Boxies were taking instructions or everyone was taking instructions from them. The Boxies ruled; everyone depended on "Boxies" from Finance to Sales to Marketing to Research; it was all Boxies in one way or another. During the reign of The King, for everything he had one solution: "Take a Walk".
Want to increase sales? Take a walk to the bazaar and find out what is to be done.
Want to introduce a new product? Take a walk to people's homes and give samples.
Want to advertise? Take a walk, go where you can reach people.
But now, under the Prince, it all depended on the ability of data that these Boxies churned out. The "Boxies" weren't just like the old green eye; they were now in all shapes and sizes with specialized skill sets. They were the window through which the entire company approached the business.
However cynical I may sound of "The Prince," I have to admit and admire his methods, or "Boxies" have delivered.
The company had expanded; neighboring buildings were bought and demolished. A tall, multi-storied building stands now with factories and branch offices opened all over the country and abroad.
You can't hear a song on the radio, watch a soap opera, or a sports match without hearing a jingle of our company's products. Film stars, sportsmen all endorse or rather wait to endorse our products.
As for me, I am not complaining. I have had great years. I would have disappeared into oblivion if not for the architect of this monstrous glass facade building who wanted a touch of old times that reminds us how the company started in a humble way—a kind of nostalgia. He gave me a space in the lobby. Yeah, most certainly you would miss me. I do get a few curious glances once in a while, but I am comfortably perched on this showcase with a shining plaque written, "HALDIA TYPEWRITER OUR 1st ASSET".
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