Devi, Suresh, and I eventually moved base to Satyam Technology Center (STC), which is several kilometres outside of the city and far away from our beloved Raj Bhavan Road city office branch, when Mandeep, Shiv, and GG departed. Balaji too moved to STC.
So it was in 2001: as all my colleagues began to leave, I remember being quite heartbroken by the move I had to make, unwillingly, to STC — it felt like the end of a long-standing relationship with someone or something I loved so much for three incredibly formative years had come to say a silent goodbye. We might not see each other again: that was a personal setback, and I'm not sure how I would handle it going forward. I was on the verge of tears those days after my colleagues parted from our Raj Bhavan Road office. Sitting alone in our beloved roaming division cabin with no one for company, I felt emotionally saddened and somehow felt considered like a shunned denizen pushed into some quarantine miles away in an uncaring alien zone. For the first time in my professional life, I felt no purpose.
Things began to seem indifferent and heartless: perhaps after three incredible years with my beloved colleagues, the harsh reality of the corporate world was finally catching up with me. Our days of laughter, fun, and friendship were over. If I wanted to keep the job, I had to move too. With great reluctance and heartbreak, I finally moved to STC to join Devi and Suresh, leaving behind something of a legacy that we were wonderfully a part of during our time in the roaming department.
Renju and Gnana, whose precious association I've missed ever since, pulled up stakes from our beloved workplace to a different office branch, as did Revathy and Rafi, whom I (and Mandeep, I think) could never meet (nor work) with again after 2001. And how could we, because 2001 was the decisive year for all of us: to ship out. Each of us has gone into history that may remain unknown but never forgotten.
Friendships hurt because we lost touch with each other years ago. I wish I could turn back the clock and rekindle all my cherished friendships with people from the Satyam era. Even though those bonds are still intact, I understand that my Satyam friends are more involved in their current lives, and their inclinations differ and vary. Everything changes, including friends, priorities, and things. Keeping up with life has also been a constant struggle for me — as if circumstances have begun to cast too many nostalgic aspersions on me, perhaps the same way as my former friends.
And since that day and ever afterward, Satyam's office branch on Raj Bhavan Road has always remained on my mind; the scenes play out in my head; I can still hear the voices and see the familiar faces: GG's come in bold-faced, double-chinned XXL (double XL). Throughout the years, those memories have always tugged at my heart. The truth is, I often reminisce about the years we worked there in that fifth-floor office, which brings a smile to my face but also a deep longing to relive those days again as I yearn to go back in time. With the roaming division closing, I couldn't shake the feeling that an era was coming to an end. It was an era, our era, indeed.
+*+*+*+
(I no longer visit this part of the city where we used to have our Satyam office. These days, I try to evade the surge of sad emotions that make me tear up in heartbreak if I drive through that cherished avenue of my earlier life, yet I always find myself in its unrelenting pull. Deep memories come flooding back: the memories of our time in that office tower are too much to bear — three years of fulfilling work life, enough to make them last for a lifetime. But not long ago, I had to ride along Raj Bhavan Road. I saw that our former workplace, the balsam-brown, T-shaped TSR Towers, was still there and had not been reshaped or remodelled like so many other structures these days, holding up nicely the harmony of the passage of time, albeit bereft of gleaming Satyam offices on the ground, first, fourth, and fifth floors. The old Peepul (Fig) tree that stood inside the compound wall where I used to park my motorbike... more than two decades ago... was still there, much wilted but offering plenty of shade and tranquillity. The building looked gloomy and mournful, agonized, as I stopped my motorbike in front of it for a minute or two, perhaps to take one last look at my former workplace.
Ever since the day we stopped going to our Satyam office, which had been on the fifth story of the TSR Towers on Raj Bhavan Road, I couldn't shake the feeling that the building itself felt our absence, had been as though silently awaiting us all these years, longing for the camaraderie that once filled its halls. It struck me that the hallways, corridors, passageways, walls, Nescafe coffee machine, green-marbled entrance lobby area, cubicles, cabins, and conference rooms, once vibrant with the laughter and energy of our team, seemed to yearn for our former group to return and work in its midst, just like in the old times when we would park our motorbikes under the Fig tree and walk briskly through the entrance to take the elevator to the 5th floor, where we had our shared moments, immersed in our memories of work, friendship, and learning. That day, as I looked up at the building and the familiar long-lived Fig tree, I wept tears of longing for my former office life that no longer exists. Everybody is gone, moved on to different worlds — Renju, Devi, Gnana, Mandeep, Suresh, Revathy, Rafi, Shiv, Balaji, and other familiar friends we met and shared an enriching IT experience at Satyam. Alas, time doesn't go back in time; I wish it had. We miss you too, TSR Towers, we do. But those days will not return. Be well and secure from the tough times we are living in. I rode on, leaving my beautiful past behind, my eyes tearing up. Those were the finest days. Oh, the magic of those days.)
Jagannath R. (shortened as Jagan) and Khan S. (Khan, shortened of course), two additional team members, had also left Satyam for good to find new opportunities. Jagan has relocated to Chennai to work for a multinational corporation, embracing the vibrant city life and career prospects it offers.“Tum mujhe bhul gayi ho lekinmai tumhein ab bhi yaad karta hoonmai tumhein ab bhi yaad karta hoon…Jinhain ek pal ko main nahi bhulapana chaha sada jinhain phir seJinki yaadon ko pujta main rahapaya aur kho diya unhain phir sepaya aur kho diya unhain phir se…Samay ka dariya behte jayebehte-behte kehta jayeJeevan ek sanghursh haiJeevan ek sanghursh hai”
Meanwhile, Khan boldly ventured on a new professional journey to New York and was never heard from since. Khan: tall and dandy, thin and randy, good-humoured, always with a broad smile from ear to ear, with white permanent teeth gleaming in the lights of the cubicles of the roaming department, all 32 of them jam-packed side by side in an assembly line, piano keys all so white that not a single one was black. Khan of that Satyam era, of that brief span of a year or so that he worked with us (around 2000-01), could not get in touch with us, nor was there any available means for us to reach him. Losing touch with him was a bummer, and the absence of his landline phone number made it regrettably so. Twenty-three years have passed since he escaped to New York, likely to become the next Warren Buffett! And maybe ghostwrite a book, the title of which could be — Khantastic: My Escape To New York, fervently dedicated to Chicha, alias GG! Chalo enjoy! (Khan got in touch many years later. He phoned Mandeep, and there were plans for us to meet (with Shiv included), but it never materialized).
Mandeep called me many years later, most likely around the time Khan returned to India in 2006–07, to tell me that Jagan, who had relocated to Chennai after we had all sadly witnessed our roaming division's gradual expungement from Satyam Computers in 2001, had passed away in a Chennai hospital from a severe illness brought on by compulsive smoking and chewing hazardous gutkha pan masala. He leaves behind his wife and two children. That was the sad end of Jagan, our former Satyam colleague. There was no way of knowing whether Balaji, GG, or other Satyam colleagues who knew Jagan ever got to know about his demise.
Suresh and Devi, the financial experts, had perhaps spent more years in the company as Suresh shifted to the Vikrampuri branch while Devi continued to work at STC. As for me, it wasn't until I had worked for two more troublesome years, first at STC and then at the 'fish market' Vikrampuri branch, that I decided to quit Satyam.
+*+*+*+
Mandeep suddenly found himself drawn to the high financial compensation GG offered him if he joined the new company where he headed the division he helped expunge from Satyam. He decided to switch, permanently leaving Satyam.
After clocking in two and a half years of work experience, Mandeep did well envisaging his professional calling and quit our beloved company to pursue it elsewhere. I vividly recall his last day in office: after that day, he was not to return to Satyam.
[Except once, very briefly in 2003, when I tried to recommend him for a senior position in Project Management for a Management Information System (MIS) function in Satyam's 'fish market' Vikrampuri branch, where he would be planning, scheduling, delivery, monitoring, and reporting, as well as briefing business unit leaders and providing stakeholders status reports/updates, among other deliverables on the completion of IT projects.
Sitting in the front office lounge, he waited for an interview. In a short while, he went through it. Eventually, he didn't see it through to the end. He and I felt that something was lacking; there was not much enthusiasm for the specified role as there had been earlier at the Raj Bhavan Road branch under the authoritarian leadership of GG, a man whom we called — let's say, as lovingly as could be possible, — Chicha. In retrospect, I thought it was a good thing he didn't take the job because, after a few months, I had put in my papers for good.]
+*+*+*+
Khan and Jagan had quit. Shiv and I were holding up tight. He and I were experiencing a period of apprehensiveness we were not habituated to: about how rapidly events had developed in just a few days, and we were still none the wiser about what may come. GG had already resigned and left, and Mandeep was about to. (Kavitha left a long time ago, becoming a part of an unsung history in which we all will have a chapter each, including GG's own).
Mandeep's turn had come, and he seized it. Balaji, the thinking man, moved to pre-sales at STC after having an acrimonious fallout with GG, which we knew was inevitable. Earlier, Renju and Gnana had also been transitioning to other projects, and when tomorrow comes, Devi and Suresh will follow suit. Renju's roommate Elizabeth and their bosom chum, Marilyn Thomas, were not seen or heard from again, as though everybody began to disappear altogether: There was never a chance to say goodbye to one another. (Maybe it's not always necessary to be so formal. Friends move on without saying farewell, and time passes...).
Before long, Shiv announced that he would put in his papers too and move on to other vistas, thoughtfully telling me to consider resigning. I promised to think about it, but he knew I was not too keen to quit Satyam yet because of how good things have been and how much the past years have meant to me as a young software professional, as a Satyamite. Shortly after, Shiv exited.
Taken away by GG and his opportunity-seeking organizational coterie, our beloved roaming division, which gave us a great deal of professional prestige and learning, ceased to exist. I found myself alone, missing the companionship of my dear colleagues with whom I had worked for three long years, equally allegiant to Satyam company just as I was. By 2001, everyone had left, and I felt lost and lonely without them and missed the work we did.
GG happened to extend job offers to Devi and Suresh, but both quickly responded that they were not interested in taking up and turned them down. GG was unwilling to offer me a job position in the new organization he was running. If he had offered, I'd have turned it down outright, no question. Who would want to work with a gnarled and crusty man like him? Nobody. Once bitten, twice shy.
(To be continued…)
By Arindam Moulick
Click on the above link to read.
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