IDHAR UDHAR KI BAAT 112- BOSS HANDLING Brig PS Gothra(Retd)

      “Your new boss is an a**hole,” my friend announced the moment he walked into my office.

     “Why do you say that?” I asked.

      “He never grades anyone as outstanding. He’s kaan ka kaccha (gullible). This is your grave.”

     “I’ll manage,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

     “Yes, yes, you’re one hell of a smart alec. How do you do it?”

      “Not difficult,” I replied. “One boss was convinced I had a relative who owned a mango orchards. Another believed my cousin had an apple orchard. A third was sure my brother-in-law controlled duty-free shops. And then there was a tough one—so I made his wife believe my family was in the diamond trade.”

    “That’s pretty unethical.”

    “What?”

     “Ch*t*ye ko Ch*t*ya banāne mein kya galat hai? (No harm in making an idiot out of an idiot)” I shot back. “If a man doesn’t know that apples are not harvested in  April to Jun it is his problem. Isn’t it?”

    “No, I mean some better guy may get left out.”

    “I’m not doing it at the cost of my work,” I said. “The problem is that people always want toppings on the cake.”

    “Still, don’t you feel bad?”

    “Yes, I did—initially,” I admitted. “When I learnt how to say ‘yes, sir’ three times in a single sentence. When I started bending like a spineless mollusc in front of the boss, especially when my wife and kids were watching. Or when I began scoring points over my peers. But then I evolved my methods…”

     "Saab ne bulāyā hai (boss has called you),’ said the messenger from my boss’s office.

    Like a compressed spring, I jumped up. At the door, I told my friend, “I’ll be back in a minute. The tea will be here.”

    When I returned, grinning from ear to ear, he asked, “What happened? You look too happy.”

    “Oh, the boss told me to draft a letter he wants to send to the higher-ups about his intention to grade me outstanding.”

    “What? Isn’t that supposed to happen after you’ve worked under him for a considerable time? You’ve been with him only fifteen days! How did you manage that?”

    “Simple,” I said. “I exploited his gullible nature. I found the names of the three people who act as his jaasoos(informers). Then I sang paeans about him in front of them.”

    “And what will you write about your achievements in these fifteen days?”

    “Lies,” I said.

    And just then, I woke up with a start—my wife had dropped a steel tumbler.
I glared at her and said, “I was about to get an outstanding report. You ruined it.”

    “Dur fitteh muhn!(an abuse in Punjabi to express high degree of annoyance or frustration on incorrigibility of a person)” she snapped. “Four years into retirement, and the old man still dreams of an outstanding report! They correctly judged that you are not suitable for the C Suite Level.”

Jai Hind.