Lesson in how to manage a cosmopolitan work force

Most of the technicians in the factory had been trained in-house in the TTC (Technical Training Center) and they came from different corners of the country. However, the General Manager was a senior officer of the IAF and hailed from Kerala, it was but natural that a majority of the technicians were Malayalees.
Alongside them were people from Bangalore because that was the only place where people were available who had some sort of experience in manufacturing aircraft. Moreover, since the factory was in Maharashtra, there were many Maharashtrians. And then there was an assortment of technicians from others states like West Bengal, Bihar, UP, Punjab, Andhra Pradesh. It was a big cosmopolitan family and everyone worked as a team. Most of the supervisory staff was officers from HAL Bangalore and they joined hands to ensure that the work proceeded as per plans. The work was new to all of us and, hence, everybody cooperated.
Tea was served twice – once in the morning along with snacks. Snacks were necessary because most of the workers were unmarried and therefore had to have their breakfast in the tea time itself. Breakfast usually catered to the local tastes like batata wada, onion pakora, bread pakora, urad dal wada, sabudana wada, poha etcetera.
The second time tea was in the afternoon – only tea. No snacks.
Well – as is human nature, I became pally with the Bengali boys. They were technicians, I was a supervisory staff. But, when the tea came, we would have our tea, crack a few jokes and puff cigarettes together.
One day, my boss called me aside after tea time and gave me one of my first lessons in management. He did not make any reference to my taking tea with the technicians. He only smiled and said – ‘workers are like a source of fire. If you go too close, you will be burnt. If you stay too far away, you will miss the warmth. You must decide the distance.’
My boss had not graduated from any IIT, he did not hold any degree in Engineering but he was knowledgeable about the ways of the world and spoke from experience. (to be continued …)

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I go to Deolali for the first time

After landing in Nashik at around 3am, I walked down the road from the railway station with my eyes peeled for a hotel. It was the end of April and after walking some distance, I saw a two storied building with the name of a hotel. I climbed up the stairs and got a room – it was reasonably good one, at least for the night.
Next morning I walked down to the Old Distillery building – that is where HAL Nasik had its offices. It was an imposing building of the British era made of stones and resembling the interior of castles of yore – I expected a knight in shining armor to suddenly step out from behind a pillar to block my way.
I met the people of the personnel department and then the staff of the nearby medial department to clear the formalities. And then, after lunch, I was directed to my section.
It was nothing but one corner of a room where some dummy airframe structures were kept and the employees worked on them – some drilled holes, others countersunk the holes while others riveted the joints. They were all learning and, among them was their teacher. A very serious looking gentleman who had come from HAL Bangalore.
I was introduced to him and he asked me where I was staying. I told him and he directed me to another person who stayed in a nearby place called Deolali – it seems the place he stayed was rented by HAL from a shipping firm based in Mumbai. Well – he took me to his place, I saw it and loved it – the terms were super. The building was three storied and its total rent was Rs 422 which would be divided among the boarders. At that point of time there were around 24 boarders and I became the 25th.
Most of them were Malayalees and there was also a man of all seasons – he stayed in the outhouse with his family and did odd jobs for the residents.
I took a bus, returned to the hotel, paid off my dues and came back to McKenzie Bungalow in Deolali – why a three storied building was called bungalow was a mystery. (to be continued …)

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My job interview over a cup of coffee

When I came for interview to Nashik in December 1966, I was offered a cup of coffee at the interview. I had been waiting since morning and, when my turn came, it was 3pm and time for tea. Among other interviewees were people who had retired from the Indian Air Force, the Indian Navy and, of course, from HAL Bangalore. Most of them were older than me and appeared to be knowing someone or the other already employed in Nasik.
I was the only odd man out.
Anyway, the board members sat on the other side of the table and, while the bearer served them tea, one of them asked me what I would like to have. I replied coffee and so it was.
Then, as I sipped the coffee, I waited for their barrage of questions and was surprised when they asked me a few questions not related to any technical subjects.
One question I remember is – ‘Mr Ghose, you are so young, how can you control a group of workers? (I was 22 years old at the time.)
I replied that I had undergone a trainee Supervisor course in HAL Kanpur and had worked also there for a year. Hence, I was confident of my ability.
What I left unsaid was that the workers in Kanpur were much more aggressive and they carried knives with them which they would take out, if annoyed.
Then another member popped the question – Mr Ghose, you have dressed as if you are going to play cricket. Do you know that you would have to dirty your hands?
I looked at him, gave him a sheepish grin and nodded. I was wearing a light colored shirt, white trousers and a black belt.
My coffee cup empty – so were theirs. I braced for more questions that would be more technical in nature. But – no. They had no questions. My interview was over.
The Chairman of the board handed me a slip of paper and smiled.
Thank you Mr Ghose – our office will contact you further. Please go to the cash department and collect your train fare on the way out.
And – that is what I did. I pocketed the money, went to the hotel, packed my suitcase and came to the railway station. The train was at 11.30pm and I had to pay a porter to push me into a compartment through the window. The train halted for only a couple of minutes and I did not have any seat booked hence, getting pushed into a compartment was the only alternative. (to be continued ... )

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