The Old Man and His God Read online

  Murthy was touched by this predicament. He said, ‘It is an unfair system. Whether it is a communist or a capitalist country, issues like the choice of partner for marriage, or job, and the freedom of expression should not be curtailed . . .’

  All this time, a boy was sitting next to the girl. He had tried talking to her but she had not been interested. Murthy and the girl were conversing in French, and the boy had not been able to understand much of what they were talking. After listening to them for a while, the boy disappeared and came back with two burly, fierce-looking gentlemen. Without uttering a word, one of them caught Murthy by his shirt collar and dragged him on to the platform. The other person took the girl away.

  Murthy was locked up in a small, dingy room with hardly any ventilation. There was no furniture or heating and only a crude toilet in one corner. He sat down on the floor in a daze. What had happened? Why was he locked up like a criminal? What had happened to the girl? Gradually he figured it was the discussion on rights and duties of citizens in a communist country that had upset the boy and the cops.

  ‘What will they do to me now? If something happens to me, will my family ever come to know?’ he thought desperately. The very thought of his family in Mysore made him go weak with worry. His father was retired and recently struck by paralysis. He had to help his family in getting his three younger sisters married.

  Hours passed by. He was not aware whether it was day or night. His wristwatch had been taken away along with his passport and other possessions. He had not eaten anything in over ninety hours. He could hear several trains come and go. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Murthy was dragged on to the platform, put on a train along with a guard and told that his passport would be returned only after he reached Istanbul.

  ‘What was my offence?’ Murthy asked the policeman, holding the door of the compartment.

  The stone-faced sergeant said, ‘Why did you talk against the State? Who was the girl?’

  ‘She was just a traveller like me . . .’

  ‘Then why did she discuss her personal matters with you?’ another sergeant immediately raised his voice, not even allowing Murthy to finish his sentence.

  ‘What is wrong in that?’ Murthy protested.

  ‘It is against the rules of our country to discuss such issues’, the sergeant replied firmly.

  Murthy was curious about the girl’s fate, ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘It is none of your business. We have checked your passport. It is only because you are from India, which is a friendly country, that we are releasing you. Don’t try to do anything smart on the way. Just leave our country without any further mischief,’ said the first sergeant, forcing him to get in and slamming the door.

  The train started moving.

  Murthy was tired. He had not eaten or slept in four days. He managed to sit down at a window seat. He was again on a train but things had changed dramatically. Murthy had enjoyed discussing and arguing passionately about the ideals of Karl Marx, Lenin, Mao and Ho Chi Minh sitting at the beautiful roadside cafés of Paris. They were theoretical discussions done on a full stomach. But now, hungry and overwrought after his brush with a communist state, Murthy had to rethink all his ideals. So this was what it was like to live behind the Iron Curtain! The system dealt with ruthless efficiency even a single voice raised against it. It denied basic freedom to its citizens and treated travellers from friendly countries thus. He shuddered to think what might have happened to him if he were from a capitalist country. Watching the countryside go by, Murthy realized the value of freedom. He also realized that the only way to get rid of poverty was not by raising slogans or issuing diktats, but by creating more and more jobs. He vowed then and there to himself that he would generate wealth not only for himself but for many others, legally and ethically. He would see that India was known through the world not for her poverty but for the skills of her young people—that would be his contribution towards removing India’s problems.

  Armed with this new resolve, after returning to India he experimented with various jobs at different companies. He started his own small company Softronics for a while and went on to head the software division at Patni Computer Systems. But his greatest desire was to build an export-focussed company, with his values.

  Finally, in 1981 he started Infosys.

  The communist Murthy, over a period of time, changed to what he refers to now as a socialist capitalist.

  The rest is history.

  7

  An Officegoer’s Dilemma

  In the numerous software companies setting up office in Bangalore, the issue of corporate social responsibility is being increasingly taken seriously. I was once invited to speak on this to the employees of one such company. Like most other offices this one too resembled a five star hotel, with its marble and granite floors, chandeliers, paintings on the walls, the housekeepers sweeping and mopping incessantly and an extremely polite front office.

  I usually follow my talks with a question-answer session. I consider that the litmus test of how well my talk has been received. I have a theory that if people do not ask questions after the lecture, then it must have been either so good that no one has anything more to say, or so bad that no one has understood a single word and hence is quiet!

  This time, when the questions were being asked, I thought I saw Shanti among the audience. When she saw me looking at her she waved. As always, I was happy to see her. I have known Shanti ever since she was a student in my college. She is one of those people who seem to have boundless energy, always ready to talk and exchange views. She was also very conscious of her social responsibilities, and I know had contributed a portion of her salary to charity from the time she started working.

  When the talk came to an end and everyone started dispersing, I waited for Shanti to come up to me. ‘Hello Shanti, how are you?’ I was expecting her usual chirpy answer. Instead, I was greeted with a low, sad reply. I was taken aback. ‘Shanti, what is the matter? Did you fight with your husband? Don’t worry. If husband and wife do not fight then they cannot be called a couple. It is part of the deal. Come on cheer up.’ I joked to ease her tension.

  In the same low tone Shanti said, ‘No Madam, that is not the reason.’

  ‘Then is your project deadline approaching and you have not completed it? Shanti, I have always told you that in the software industry the deadline needs to be kept in mind and therefore project management is very essential. I still vaguely remember that you had got highest marks in that. Are you not practising what you learnt in college?’

  ‘That is not the problem. I have completed my project a little bit ahead of time.’

  ‘Then what is worrying you?’

  But Shanti did not want to talk there, instead she took me to her cabin. As we walked I noticed many other employees wishing her. By the time we reached her cabin I felt proud that my student was now the boss. The cabin was very well furnished and Shanti closed the blinds before settling down to talk. We each had a cup of coffee and slowly she started confiding in me.

  ‘Madam, I am very unhappy in this job. To an outsider it might appear that I have the perfect job. I get an excellent salary, my timings are flexible and the office is very close to my house. I do not have to put up with the stress of rush-hour traffic. I am leading a very good team where each person is committed to the work. But my problem is my boss. She is terrible. She has nothing but harsh words for me. I have not heard a single positive remark from her in the three years I have spent here. If I do a good job, she says someone else could have done it in half the time, and heaven help me if something ever goes wrong and things get delayed. She refuses to understand that sometimes things happen which are beyond my control.

  ‘Suppose I am travelling to Bombay, she will deliberately schedule a meeting at ten-thirty in the morning, even though she knows my flight is supposed to land only at ten. With the traffic it is impossible for me to reach the office in half an hour. By the time I reach she