Sunday 5 May 2013

Life of a Salesman


"Thieves do not have a conscience. The whole notion of them being in possession of any sort of honour is a charade designed by society to provide some comfort letting politicians rule. There may be some who stole a bread to survive, but having prevailed over the chaser once, they steal and run forever, sometimes, even ending up stealing and running the country. Watch Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye if you don’t believe me.”
Thus rambled my boss, with a mix of deep philosophy and quirky references. It was an impeccable style I must admit. With so much abstraction thrown in, you could never really counter the reasoning and rebut the argument no matter how right you think you are. For no man in his right mind would question his boss’ philosophical outlook or the taste in movies. The real point however, goes for a toss and by the time you go around that barrage of words, the decision has been locked and stocked with your boss holding a couple of smoking barrels over it.
Before I stray any further, not unlike the Boss, I must orient the uninitiated over the situation at hand. And you will need the orientation if you are not from my line of work. Here I am, a Sales Officer for an FMCG giant, looking after the sale of my products in Punjab. You will understand my role a tad better if I explained the functioning of the sector. The lowest cadre is the salesman, who goes shop to shop, booking orders for his company, depending on the shopkeeper’s needs and his targets. It isn’t an easy job as the shopkeeper wants to keep less while the salesman wants to sell more– typical conflict of interest there. You see that shampoo in the shop even before the ad has appeared on TV, that’s a good salesman. The shopkeeper is out of your brand of toothpaste? That’s an incompetent salesman, and in my view, a retarded shopkeeper for who in his right mind, would not stock my toothpaste in his shop. That thing sells more than Rajni’s movie tickets.
My role is to ensure that the salesmen visit the shops regularly and the distributor supplies regularly to shops. I also go around on these ‘beats’ with my men to ensure things are ship-shape.  My boss, as you may have guessed is the Area sales Manager and manages a handful of officers like myself. Having taken over just a week back, she is on a travelling spree, hopping from one Officer’s territory to another’s, working long hours in the market and acquainting herself with the distributors.
 The above statement came about a fortnight back. After yet another long day’s work that included “working the market” in the blistering heat, noting down the distributor’s stock and inspecting the stock condition and inspecting stock unloading that had just arrived from the depot, we had just settled to have a cup of tea with the distributor. They had only begun to exchange formal introductions when the manager entered with a worried look on his face. As it turned out, one piece of a very expensive cream had gone missing from a shop during our visit to that shop earlier during the day. The shopkeeper was sure for he had only kept three and had only allowed us inside his shop today; after all, an ASM’s visit does warrant an invitation for a tea.
To my mind, it could either be the shopkeeper or the salesman. Both had motive and I could trust neither. I weighed my options; the shopkeeper was my biggest business opportunity in the town while the salesman was only a week old and easily replaceable. I knew I had to pacify the shopkeeper if not return his money but could not bring myself to rob a man of his livelihood on mere suspicion. It was then that my Boss uttered those words and freed me of my guilt. On hindsight, it did not really implicate the salesman but at that point I was more than happy to relieve myself of the burden of my guilt.

I did wonder about the salesman for a couple of days. But his memory, like everything in life, too subsided. It was yesterday when I received a call from a colleague while in the market. The act of calling is not unusual in our fraternity as we develop a strong bon homie with our colleagues and also like to keep ourselves abreast with the goings on in their territory. It was, but, the situation and the content of the conversation that utterly shocked me. After the usual greetings and inquiries he asked me if I could refer a salesman for he is one short. While he was telling me how he had to fire one on suspicion of stealing when the Boss came visiting, I saw my Boss chatting up a shopkeeper, while she inconspicuously slipped a men's perfume in to her purse.

A Nocturnal Affair


“Nice chap, that Anshuman”, thought Kriti. Anshuman, like Kriti, was one of the graveyard shift employees at the company. It’s been about three weeks since he had joined as a lateral hire but he rarely interacted with anyone and seemed to have no interests outside of work. In fact, everyone thought of him as a rather snobbish social recluse. That was until last Thursday. On Friday though, Kriti had started viewing him under a whole new light.

Just as Kriti had arrived for her shift, she received some bad news; her little sister, who has never been a very healthy child, was again down with fever. Normally, temperatures are usual in a child and not something an elder sibling should worry about, but it would not be a story if everything were, indeed, normal. It so happens that her mother undergoes bouts of anxiety every time that happens. And as always, she was already wailing by the time Kriti spoke to her. In between hiccups, she, yet again, asked Kriti to board the first Delhi bound flight and be with family. Now, her father had been handling her mother’s hysterics for the past 20 years and would have done so now as well, had he not mixed his scotch with a dash of driving about a year back. Since then, Kriti has been the man of the house.

As Kriti hunched in her chair, pondering over her situation in her cubicle; this would be her third leave in the past two months and the boss was not exactly supportive the last time around; she noticed a pair of legs approaching her. Looking up, she saw Anshuman hurriedly walking towards her with a look on his face, she could have never associated with him; a look of concern.

The feet now stopped and the torso was leaning over to Kriti, a bit too close for comfort. “He has absolutely no etiquettes about personal space”, thought she. “You look worried. What’s the matter?”, he enquired. Kriti was in no mood to turn her personal worries in to office gossip, much less share it with a virtual stranger like Anshuman. “Go away”, she muttered. “You can trust me, I want to help. Just look at me once”, pleaded Anshuman.

Heavens know if it was the vodka or plain dilemma, once her eyes met his, words just tumbled out. She spoke about everything from the bully in sixth standard to her father’s rather ill-timed demise. By the time she realised having spoken too much, she had already told Anshuman about her dilemma; to stay here and let her mother suffer or to be with her and risk losing the job. A call centre job is not exactly lucrative but that’s all her qualifications allow her to do.

To her utter surprise, Anshuman offered to cover for her while she visits her family. She could never have imagined anyone ruining their weekend for her, much less him. All through the travel, she kept thinking about the conversation and those eyes, which compelled her to tell everything. His eyes. She had made up her mind and was excited to return.

On the day of her return, she arrived a while earlier than the rest. Making sure that nobody’s looking, she placed a note on Anshuman’s desk, using the keyboard as paperweight. She once again checked if it expressed her emotions;
“I wonder how will I ever repay you.
You have been guardian angel.
But there’s more to the situation,
I have fallen for you and that’s the real trouble”
Dinner on Friday, watsay?
-          Kriti
"Corny, but this will have to do", Kriti said to herself.

She keenly observed Anshuman as he arrived at his desk. Those eyes of his! Moving around, observing everything. There was a casual glance and the piece of paper smoothly found its way in to his pocket. Anshuman then focused on the screen, without even a nod of acknowledgement in her direction. Kriti was barely done cursing herself for being so stupid when she spotted that little piece of paper under her keyboard. Her curiosity turned in to elation as she read the content;
“Marathalli Circle, 11 PM. Don’t tell anyone.”

On Saturday, a jogger spotted her lying on the side of the road. Her blood drained out, she appeared unnaturally white for a human. Her eyes were wide open, focusing hard on something, as if hypnotised to a tranquil state. No signs of struggle or resistance, noted the autopsy doctor. She however, yet again, noticed those eerie holes digging deep in to her neck, but as per instructions, did not mention it in her report, just like the past five times, lest chaos breaks out.