Becoming Joe

Making the switch from tea to coffee to silence my feelings.

“Four more days to go,” said Raju, making ghastly faces while sipping black coffee on the rooftop. “Can’t do this ‘Wait for Friday’ bullshit, dude,” I said, dipping Parle-G biscuit in my chai (tea). “That’s how most corporate people live — come to work on Monday and wait for Friday.” “I can’t…” I said, challenging his ‘Make it to Friday’ theory. “You’re eating a commoner’s biscuit, but you won’t accept the basic rule of the working world,” Raju contended. “Bro, leave Parle-G out of this — it’s my go-to biscuit to feel better on blue Mondays,” I argued. “And you’re drinking black coffee to quell your emotions till you get to Friday,” I raged. Raju snatched the last biscuit from my hand, dipped it in my cup of chai, took a bite and said, “I want to break free.” Parle-G brought out the real feelings in Raju. The genius of Parle-G is that it spurred genuine conversations between people.

Raju was my first colleague at Madman. He and I would play car racing games on our desk when everyone else crunched numbers on their computers. He was three years older than me and had prior corporate experience with another investment bank. Raju had this innate ability to adapt to any situation. He didn’t enjoy work either, but he could adjust his mindset to cope with the blues. His love for good food was far beyond anything else, but he could talk about anything from cricket to politics, religion to science, cars to women, marriage to breakups, drugs to sex; he just knew it all. KIAL (Know It All) displaced his surname Rajendran; Raju KIAL became his work name.

Raju didn’t have mastery over the English language but sometimes would use long and less heard words like ‘farrago’ and ‘rodomontade’ in his presentations that would befuddle people who had known him for his simple vocabulary. It was only later that we would know that he idolised Shashi Tharoor, an Indian politician renowned for his exotic speech. He resembled Kumara Sangakara and sounded like Mahela Jayawardene, the stalwarts of the Srilankan cricket team. Raju had a weird dressing sense; the team conferred the title ‘King of Quirky Outfits’ upon him for his Ranveer Singh-type style statement: eccentric and bold choices, which included neon tee shirts, floral print shirts, printed suits, monochromatic outfits, Jodhpuri kurtas and bootcut jeans. The floral print shirts he wore to work would sometimes brighten up my Mondays. Raju was a ‘farrago’ of personalities, and his unconventional ‘rodomontade’ style earned him a lot of attention.

Raju had transformed into his true self after taking one bite of tea-soaked biscuit. “You’re right, bro; I’ve been having black coffee to tolerate Monday better by suppressing the real emotions that tea brings out,” Raju admitted. “I knew it! I noticed that you had chai and Parle-G only on Fridays,” I said. “But let me give you a statistic: Most of the people who quit within two to three years are tea drinkers. The black coffee drinkers go on to complete at least five years,” said Raju, gulping the last few sips of black coffee in his mug that had ‘Not everyone’s cup of tea’ printed on its circumference. “So, you mean to say, black coffee is the secret of corporate longevity?” “Kevin, Group Manager, seven years at Madman; Ashok, Department Manager, eleven years at Madman; Madhan, Middle Office Manager, six years at Madman. What do these men have in common?” asked Raju, raising his eyebrows till I gave him an answer. “They all are managers?” “Rightly so, but they are all black coffee drinkers who’ve made it beyond five years,” he said, leaning back on the chair like he had cracked the Da Vinci code.

“Ahh, this might be a coinciden — ” “Sheela, three years; Jerry, four years eleven months — both tea drinkers, who didn’t pass the five-year mark,” said Raju, citing names of tea drinkers who defied the black coffee theory. “So, what’s your point?” I asked. “Parle-G and chai and all are good, but it won’t get you beyond five years,” he guaranteed. “I don’t believe in relating the length of one’s work experience to the type of beverage one drinks.” “Suit yourself. It’s up to you to decide, but black coffee is the key to white-collar success,” he said. “This is a secret that only a few people know, so please keep it to yourself,” continued Raju. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, vowing to put the black coffee theory in the vault. We stood up from our chairs and walked downstairs.

The clicking sound of our shoes came to an abrupt end when we entered the carpeted second floor through the fire exit. For the first time in eighteen months, I noticed more coffee mugs on desks than teacups. Maybe Raju’s theory was indeed true. We reached our enclosed room and sat down on our chairs. Raju suddenly sprung from his seat and breezed past me to the main door. It had to be the black coffee stimulating the muscles in his digestive system. I switched on my computer and scanned through five hundred unread emails. It took me close to twenty minutes to clear out my inbox and flag the important emails. I started work at around noon. Raju had returned from the restroom, and he looked ready to take on Monday. The blues hit me hard when I saw the volume of breaks. Raju was unaffected by the hundred-plus discrepancies that flashed in red on the reconciliation system. Should I have drunk black coffee? Was I going to be a part of Raju’s example of tea drinkers who didn’t make it beyond five years?

I fought through these feelings and started reconciling breaks between Loan Ranger and Loan Data — two outdated data processing and information management systems. So whenever there was a mismatch between these systems, I had to resolve the inconsistencies in information and ensure both systems were up to date with the latest, accurate data. Raju would assign breaks daily and read articles about Milind Soman after allocating them. He was a die-hard fan of the “Iron Man” of India. “Dude, Milind runs barefoot because he feels it’s refreshing for his feet,” said Raju, tilting one of his screens towards me, interrupting my concentration now and then by telling me about Milind’s new race or workout routine. I’d nod and continue solving breaks. At a quarter to one, Ashok broke through the door, shattering the focus of everyone inside. Raju minimised the article and stared at his screen like he was solving sudoku puzzles since four a.m.

Ashok was our group manager, so everyone in the team reported to him directly or indirectly. He was at least six-foot-five and towered over people even when he slumped on his chair. His receding hairline made his forehead appear larger than usual. He was the round, portly version of Lurch, the gigantic, shambling butler from The Adam’s family. Ashok would use his deep, resonant voice to intimidate people when they made mistakes at work. Unlike Lurch, who had a profound loyalty to his employers, Gomez and Morticia Adams, and parental affection for their daughter, Wednesday Adams, Ashok was just rude, and his frightful voice made people tremble. His nature was like The Fleshlumpeater; the most awful of all the giants in Roal Dahl’s book The BFG. Fleshlumpeater was the biggest, meanest and dumbest of all the giants. He would travel around the world at night and eat children. Ashok would strike in the daytime, broiling us in a meeting room when we missed deadlines or sent inaccurate reports.

Ashok sat on the seat opposite Raju and me. An aluminium frame separated us and also functioned as a shared bulletin board where we pinned post-it notes for meeting reminders and market cut off times. Ashok slurped on his coffee and bit his nails to improve focus on whatever he was reading. “Raju, why are they so many breaks today?” asked Ashok. “Which report, Ashok?” “If I remember correctly, there’s only ONE reconciliation report?” said Ashok, standing up from his seat, looking down on us from the ceiling. Raju’s hands were trembling, and my heart was racing. “???” Raju sent me a hat-trick of question marks on Office Communicator, our internal chat application. “New deal set up on Friday… enrichment is still pending, that’s why,” I typed and hit send at once. “Enrichment is puh-puh-pending on a new deal that was set up on Fuh-fuh-Friday,” said Raju, his voice breaking just like the hundred new system breaks.

Ashok didn’t respond. He switched his attention to Gursimran and asked him why the documents for enrichment were still pending. That’s how Ashok put stress on teams. He took information from one group and pressurised the other team, which created conflicts between colleagues. “Which doc?” Simran messaged Raju and me. “The Sainsbury docs,” I replied. “Thx,” replied Simran. “I’m following up with Tony from London for the docs,” answered Simran. “Gushimran, make sure we get the docs today,” Ashok ordered. Ashok never got Gursimran’s name right, and that’s how Gursimran came to be known as “Gushi”. Raju got on a call with Toni and Gushi, and I continued writing emails to colleagues in New York, London and Bangalore to resolve breaks as soon as possible.

We broke for lunch at two. Raju got lunch from home, and I exchanged a coupon for lunch at the cafeteria. The lunch was quite tasty at Madman. There were myriad options to choose from, but I usually picked Indian. “What you got?” I asked Raju. “Fish curry and rice,” he said, taking a piece of chicken tikka from my plate. Since the morning, I had eaten only a couple of Parle-G biscuits, so I filled my plate with rice, chappatis, chicken tikka, and two bowls of daal. Gushi joined our table ten minutes later. “Ashok grilled me about the documents again,” he said, pulling his chair closer to the table. “Hahaha,” Raju erupted in laughter, looking at the cold look on Gushi’s face. “I have a one-on-one with him today; he’s going to make it all about the document delay,” said Gushi, seeming concerned about his monthly catchup with Ashok. “By the way, Jojo is putting down today,” whispered Gushi, “he’s had enough of Ashok’s abuse.” Jojo was also a part of the docs team. He was one of the senior analysts who had been around for close to four years.

“Are you serious?” asked Raju. “Yeah, he didn’t get promoted this year despite being the top performer in the docs team,” explained Gushi. “Another tea drinker bites the dust,” said Raju, looking at me. “He knows?” asked Gushi. “He knows,” nodded Raju. “Had he switched to black coffee, he would’ve accepted not being promoted as something trivial and gone on about business as usual,” said Gushi. “Yeah, look at Pallavi… no promotion for four years, but she’s unfazed by it, courtesy black coffee,” Raju echoed Gushi’s thoughts. “Zakki, you better make the switch to the dark side, too,” suggested Gushi. “I can’t leave the white side just to accept Ashok’s atrocities as normal,” I said. “You won’t be with us too long then,” said Gushi, getting up from his chair to wash his hands.

Gushi and Raju had stuffed my head with how black coffee boosted the chances of running the rat race for much longer. I couldn’t think of anything else after we returned to our seats. Raju had started fixing breaks after quickly going through his emails. “How was your weekend?” he asked. “Partied on Saturday and slept through Sunday,” I said. “Where did you go on Saturday?” “Friend’s house, his birthday party,” I said. “Nice, I’m glad at least one of us is having fun,” he said, focusing his attention on a document to interpret the legal language before advising the servicing team regarding a break. “Haha, I’m sure you’re having a lot more fun than me,” I said. Our conversation was interrupted when Ashok yelled out Jojo’s name. “Shall we?” said Ashok when Jojo arrived at his desk. They both stepped out of the room.

“What do you think will happen?” I asked Raju. “It depends on how many cups of tea Jojo has had today. If he has had more than three cups, he will stick to his decision. If he has had two cups or less, Ashok might be able to change his mind,” said Raju, still maintaining his position on the black vs white hypothesis. “Huh?” I asked. “Let’s wait and watch,” said Raju, looking at the clock above the main door. After nearly half an hour, Jojo and Ashok walked back into the room. Jojo seemed quite relaxed. “I think he’s done it,” I pinged Raju on Communicator. “I don’t think so,” responded Raju. “How do you know?” I asked. “He went out bare hands and has returned with a coffee mug; he’s made the switch to black,” said Raju. “That just rubbish,” I said. “Let’s find out,” said Raju, pinging Jojo asking him for details. “Jojo, how’d it go?” “I’m no longer Jojo; I’m now JoeJoe,” he replied, referring to how Ashok had gotten him over to the dark side. Will I also become an average Joe? I thought to myself as I got back to reconciling errors on my screen.

Average is what I’ve always been — average student, average boyfriend, average degree, average friend, average son, average brother — all in all, I was just another brick in the wall. “What are you thinking about?” asked Raju, noticing the void on my face. “I don’t want to be average,” I said. “What are you good at?” asked Raju. “I haven’t found out yet,” I said. “Tsk-tsk…” Raju disapproved and continued, “that’s what all ordinary people say. I advise that you accept this job as life and try to become exceptionally good at it so that your chances of becoming successful are high,” said Raju, confronting me with reality. My heart sank, and I couldn’t imagine doing this for the rest of my life. But the fact that I had no other unique talents and bills to pay meant I had to make my stay at Madman more comfortable. I heeded Raju’s advice and tried to find passion in reconciling system breaks. The more I forced myself to like it, the more I hated myself. That’s when I realised that I had to kill my innate feelings by switching to black coffee. Black coffee helped me deal with the monotony of work that didn’t reconcile with my soul. Work meant trading off my favourite beverage, tea, for black coffee. Raju had changed the way I approached work by getting me on the dark side. I had become Joe.