An
intermittent hiss was all that was left of the horrifying trade tragedy.
Tortured metal and dying embers lay scattered around the stunned space that
once held a thriving medical drug assembly line. Nobody had seen it coming.
Not only
did the labor torch their own factory and facilities, some of the senior staff
were manhandled by the workers of the Fortune 500 pharmaceutical company. One
senior manager and several supervisors had gone up in flames with their
offices, charred beyond recognition. Some rioters had been taken into judicial
custody even as the Trade Minister mouthed platitudes about continued faith in
the country’s ability to protect investments.
In all
the hullabaloo of the aftermath, an open letter had surfaced. It was addressed
to the General Manager, Human Resources.
Dear Sir
Ji,
I hear there is a search warrant in my name but I will be on the train
to somewhere as you read this.
It is presumptuous of me to write this note. You are a global businessman
while I am only an old faithful wanting to make one last good gesture to the company
that made me who I am.
For some time now, I had been trying to reach you about the change in
the air around us. It was not just the lock down after eighteen hours of work
that exhausted me. It was the looks of accusation from my subordinates that bothered
me more. I had begun to avoid the sales staff, fearing the resentment in their
eyes at overwork, bad pay, verbal slurs and sycophancy. I had come to feel
unsafe in what had been home for twenty seven years.
But nobody in the management was listening.
I know a thing or two about the good workers. They are so heavily
invested in their productivity, they have very little negotiating space. It is
the reason you must not push them over the edge. A tiny shift in the mental gears
and one of them can go ping.
Please do not bring up labour reforms or the politicization of trade
unions here. Human beings are fragile and a man can lose his will. I wouldn’t
have known this of myself but here is how I acted on automaton the day of the
fire.
I saw Ram Yadav on my way out of the factory. He was in a huddle with
three police constables outside the boundary wall, right next to our guard
room. They were signalling furtively
towards the service lane. Their body language frightened me and I skirted away.
Once safely inside my car, I turned back for a look. A tight knot of torch
bearers was hovering nervously at the far end of the lane. My hand went instinctively
towards my phone to punch your number. But then, guess what. My limbs took on a
life of their own. I reached for the ignition key and turned it, replacing the
instrument on the dashboard. Who was I to get involved?!
You have to admit. This was a massive management failure. I don’t know
if the board is every going to acknowledge or appreciate the ongoing personal
and economic costs to those injured and bereaved.
Goodbye Sir Ji. I will contact
you next when my workplace tragedy support group is ready. Who would have
thought?
No longer yours,
Deserter by design
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