A few days ago, I was going through a journal which threw up an interesting article written by Azim Premji. It had something to do with ethics, human values n so on. I began reading. In the middle of the article he had quoted an interesting anecdote.
There is a milkman, Mr.S, his assistant, Mr. K and a buyer, Miss. S. (Names are changed intentionally to allude to the intended audience)
Miss.S goes to Mr.S to buy milk every morning. And apparently, for reasons unknown, Miss.S can’t help herself being rude when asking for the Milk. It’s like trying to be in-your-face rude types. But Mr.S would always give the Milk without making much ado about it, much to the surprise of the on looking, Mr.K and at times Miss.S.
This keeps happening over and over and Mr.S continues to be totally calm and composed about it. One day, Mr.K gets curious and asks Mr.S why he continues to be so polite to her, in spite of the trash she gives him. Mr.S replies by saying that being rude is her part. That is something which is imbibed in her. Why should her behavior or character dictate mine?
This made me sit up and think what would I do in such a situation? Would I react the same way as Mr.S? I told this same story to one of my cab mates and asked how she would react in such a situation. She said that she would follow the same policy as Mr.S. I asked was she sure? She answered saying that her primary concern would be to not to lose a customer. She gave all the “gyaan” on customer satisfaction and its imperativeness. She even suggested that I should be attending a couple of sessions on customer satisfaction and so on. Well, alas, I couldn’t have expected anything less from a person who is going to a B-school soon.
But I bet a million bucks that she would react differently in the actual scenario. I believe, we all draw our lines on “how much is too much” and we all have a big ego to keep. Considering these, it would be really difficult to do a Mr.S every time. Period.
What would you do in this Hamletian quandary?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
9 By 9...
..is the dimension of my room.
But the memories I have of it, is a million times bigger than just 81 sq.ft.
Growing up, every boy needs to have his own room. I got mine pretty late but it wasn’t late enough, not that I had issues with sharing a room with my brother. That was fun alright, well of its own kind!
When we extended our house, there were be 2 rooms, one for each of us. One had the view of the road, and the other was slightly bigger. For obvious reasons there rose a lot of contention for the former. Eventually I got the “prized” room, although I don’t remember how. It was definitely not through a toss-of-a-coin, because they have never favored me much.
This room has seen a lot of things. My happiness, my sorrows, my ups, my downs, my thoughts, my dreams and some very important people of my Life. I share a special bond with this room. There is a sense of belongingness when I’m here. I connect to it. I’m just myself.
Whenever I come home, I just rush to my room. I just look around. Then my eyes rolls on to the rack when I have arranged my invaluables, VCDs, audio CDs and books. I can make out at a glance whether anyone has touched it. If they are in anyway rearranged, they are put back in place, diligently, which is a li’l “Monicaisque”. Sometimes, sitting back, I reminisce. The times when I got my first computer, the times when I used to tap my neighbor’s telephone line, the times when I was speaking on the phone with one of my “friend”, while dad was staring at me from the window, the times when I would just turn out the lights and look out the window at the empty streets, the times when I would watch an action movie with the 5 channel dolby surround on, the times when I would just lie on the bed and look at the stars, the times of my first ball dance, the times when I stuck Bipasha’s poster on the wall inviting the ire of my mom, the Times immemorial.
I don’t know what the future beholds, but where ever I’ll be, I’ll miss this part of my home, the most.
But the memories I have of it, is a million times bigger than just 81 sq.ft.
Growing up, every boy needs to have his own room. I got mine pretty late but it wasn’t late enough, not that I had issues with sharing a room with my brother. That was fun alright, well of its own kind!
When we extended our house, there were be 2 rooms, one for each of us. One had the view of the road, and the other was slightly bigger. For obvious reasons there rose a lot of contention for the former. Eventually I got the “prized” room, although I don’t remember how. It was definitely not through a toss-of-a-coin, because they have never favored me much.
This room has seen a lot of things. My happiness, my sorrows, my ups, my downs, my thoughts, my dreams and some very important people of my Life. I share a special bond with this room. There is a sense of belongingness when I’m here. I connect to it. I’m just myself.
Whenever I come home, I just rush to my room. I just look around. Then my eyes rolls on to the rack when I have arranged my invaluables, VCDs, audio CDs and books. I can make out at a glance whether anyone has touched it. If they are in anyway rearranged, they are put back in place, diligently, which is a li’l “Monicaisque”. Sometimes, sitting back, I reminisce. The times when I got my first computer, the times when I used to tap my neighbor’s telephone line, the times when I was speaking on the phone with one of my “friend”, while dad was staring at me from the window, the times when I would just turn out the lights and look out the window at the empty streets, the times when I would watch an action movie with the 5 channel dolby surround on, the times when I would just lie on the bed and look at the stars, the times of my first ball dance, the times when I stuck Bipasha’s poster on the wall inviting the ire of my mom, the Times immemorial.
I don’t know what the future beholds, but where ever I’ll be, I’ll miss this part of my home, the most.
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