The Hindu Business Line : The perfect boss

You might wonder whether what follows is a thinly veiled description of an Indian organisation led by an owner-manager. It is not, and it could be set almost anywhere in the world; any resemblance to Indian business characters or situations, therefore, is totally coincidental.

The title and the inspiration for this story is from a chapter At the court of the Sun God devoted to the whimsical leadership of the billionaire media-moghul Rupert Murdoch, by one of his most successful editors, Andrew Neil of The Sunday Times and later Sky TV, in an autobiographical book Full Disclosure.

Once upon a time there was a king. He was called Sun King, and his son was Sun King Two (no, this story is not set in China or Korea!). All those who wanted warmth and protection came to the King to work and worship. He was aptly named after the sun god: If they approached too close, they were scorched; if they stayed too far away, they shivered and froze. Those who knew how to come in from the cold and keep the right distance from him became known as the great survivors.

They made it a habit to watch his every mood alertly. Every frown and every twitch of a facial muscle was carefully noted and discussed in whispers in the corridors. A smile was rare and so, celebrated. Courtiers were forever trying to keep pace; in fact, two paces behind but no more, so that never, not even once, would he receive the impression that they were less than the desired distance away.

His favours were bestowed on some and not on others, and the list of favourites was deliberately ill defined. Indeed, the most popular game at the court was to guess who was in and who wasn't. Those who guessed right or happened to have their own names near the top list went around like cats that had licked the cream. Others sulked and often slunk away from the direct line of sight, especially if they had a reason to — such as fouling up a royal errand.

For any chieftain in a remote province the crowning event of the calendar was the royal visit. Those who wanted to reach the ears of the King eagerly awaited it. All too often, he would arrive on a Saturday, near bed time and keep the courtiers waiting in the anteroom, anxiously trying to keep awake — while he dispensed summary justice and gave rulings on sundry matters. Abrupt and arbitrary falls from grace, overnight transfers and sudden elevation to the inner circle could all happen in a half-hour meeting. He would storm through the streets inspecting here a farm, and there a school, or art gallery, dictating his views to a secretary running behind him to keep pace, open notebook in hand and scribbling away furiously, all at once. Nothing was too small to catch royal attention, no oversight beneath notice, for he prided himself on his eagle eye for detail.

In a rare moment of candour, the King was heard to tell one of his advisors, "Blow hot and cold. Keep them guessing, that should be a King's personal style as a matter of policy. Don't ever let them know for sure what would please you. Keep changing your preferences. Tell them one day that you did not want elaborate presentations but only the truth, bare and unvarnished. And the next day pull some one up sternly for doing exactly what you wanted. They'll soon learn."

Insecurity interspersed with spells of euphoria was thus their natural state. If anyone rebelled, he resigned and left. If he withstood the strain and stayed on, the longer he remained the more difficult it became to tear himself away. Some objective observers even said out loud that the king had managed to discover the rare secret of eternal loyalty: his core team became simply unemployable elsewhere!

The monthly durbar was the highlight of the calendar. At the end of every month, when the harvest from the previous month's efforts came to be recorded, there was nervous anticipation. Who would be found wanting next? Who would get the sweet surprise and who the 10-minute tongue-lashing, or worse, a transfer to the farther regions? Almost everyone of any consequence attended it. Not to be invited was disaster. To be expected and not turn up was worse.

People were seated in two tiers, in strict order of precedence according to the King's current favour. Free and open discussion was invited. Most meetings started with statement of platitudes, incontrovertible and therefore harmless because no one wanted to be the first to bear the bad news (as there inevitably was). General discussion and comments followed and, at times, the King would allow it to go on; he would be very tolerant of differences so long as they did not cross his path in any way. Courtiers of course knew instinctively which subjects to steer clear of unless the King himself opened them up. The frustrating thing for many was that while the King keenly watched the status of neighbouring kingdoms and their successes and failures, you never knew quite what he would applaud on any particular day. An appreciative comment could easily be pounced upon, not with anger but an ironic smile, "Well, if you were so enamoured of our friends across the river, I wonder why you have chosen not to emigrate?"

On other days any debate was scotched with a severe look as if to say, "Don't you know your place?". And on other days he might well turn around and contradict his own earlier directions. And God alone could help you if you had the gumption to point out this! "Will you jump from the ramparts of the fort just because I ask you to? Don't you want to use your God-given intelligence, assuming you have some?" This last was an attempt at humour inviting titters from the appreciative audience.

Response can be sent to life@thehindu.co.in

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