<p>It is exactly 50 years now since I left HMT (in 1964). I had joined the company five years earlier, in 1959. A chance visit of a functionary, when I was recounting my experience of travelling from England to India with no money, created the job.<br /><br /></p>.<p> Incredible? Yes. I was just 24 and had a managerial job in a public sector company. That was a crucial time as I later learnt. A man called Aftab Rai was heading the company when Nehru came to visit. He was taken round the factory while Rai prided over the flower garden he had created. Bristling with temper, Nehru had derided him, “I came here to see machine tools, not flowers”.<br /><br />Soon enough, the man was replaced as usual by another government functionary, a joint secretary. All public sector undertakings trundle along managed by bureaucracy with the inevitable result — a huge burden on the economy. <br /><br />But this man was different. No management expert winning friends and influencing people. He was what Dale Carnegie would have eschewed. He was a reclusive bachelor who apparently had no social life. He would go round the factory with an eagle eye and then call the top executives and let loose at them in proper Billingsgate language! Quite simply, he managed by terrorising. The terror ran through the entire organisation. And it worked. Everyone on his toes, whether in office or in the afterhours at home thinking and planning, proving the adage ‘the best comes out of one under pressure’.<br /><br />They were from all parts of the country. When the factory had started, they had worked as understudies to the Swiss partner company — Reischauer. So, they had acquired not only a Swiss mind, but also a bit of Swiss English accent, never mind their diverse backgrounds.<br /><br />They ranged from one extreme to the other. One was a Kerala Christian, head of the department of inspection, never seen ostensibly working. He had perfected the art of delegation down to his finger tips which were busy with cigarettes with occasional recourse to the bottle. And he got results.<br /><br />The other was a head to toe working machine with a mind that analysed everything to its logical end, always on his toes, guiding everyone from department to department. He was a product of a Tamil Brahmin professor and a Polish mother who was holier than thou! And to boot, he was married to a vivacious Muslim.Between these extremes there were various shades of grey, each one marked by the strong loyal adherence to his lady private secretary who, they insisted, must go wherever they went.<br /><br />The production managers were bulls at work. I believe they were recruited for their stamina. They worked so hard, meeting the steeper and steeper production targets set by the top man. I believe most of them are now dead. In HMT, what mattered was the result, no matter how one achieved it. Shortage of components? No problem. They were airlifted from Europe. After all, the company worked on a cost plus profit basis in a sellers’ market. Higher the price, higher the profit!<br /><br />The administration was full of people who mostly had got transferred into their jobs. Whatever red tape was caused by administrative protocol was mercilessly cut when exigencies demanded, like when I was entrusted with organising a 150 bed hospital, or a canteen to serve 2,000 in 45 minutes, creating and running facilities for trainees from all around the country. I had to cut the protocol, time and time again, which elicited strong objections, but were simply ignored by the top man. I am sure this was the case with every one of the functionaries. Initiative was expected and lethargy was not tolerated.<br /><br />In the five years I was with HMT, it had grown from a two shed (Butler and Bellman) factory to a mother factory that grew a host of other factories not just in Bangalore, but all over the country. As a recruitment officer, this took me all over the country. Machine tools are masculine. A feminine partner was needed. Came the watches — with the Citizen Watch Company of Japan and this mother also had begun to have babies — even in Kashmir.<br /><br />All this in five years. But then, times were numbered. The secretaries in ministries were not too happy with the un-secretary like behaviour of the chairman. He, of course, had never cared for them as long as he had the blessings of Nehru. Nehru died. As if the hawks were waiting and biding time, they went for him.<br /><br />He gave up on April 1, 1964. The same day, I also quit. I had different reasons. HMT was becoming an addiction. This is how my days went. Both big and small, we all clocked in at 7.15 am. With a 45 minutes lunch break, the shift ended at 4.30 pm, but not for us, the movers and shakers. We continued beyond offices to the officers’ homes and continued company talk, adequately lubricated till late into nights. So, one kind of talked HMT, listened HMT, breathed HMT and began thinking that the world was HMT. I was 29, too young to pledge the rest of my life to one God!<br /><br />And yet, those were the days.<br /></p>
<p>It is exactly 50 years now since I left HMT (in 1964). I had joined the company five years earlier, in 1959. A chance visit of a functionary, when I was recounting my experience of travelling from England to India with no money, created the job.<br /><br /></p>.<p> Incredible? Yes. I was just 24 and had a managerial job in a public sector company. That was a crucial time as I later learnt. A man called Aftab Rai was heading the company when Nehru came to visit. He was taken round the factory while Rai prided over the flower garden he had created. Bristling with temper, Nehru had derided him, “I came here to see machine tools, not flowers”.<br /><br />Soon enough, the man was replaced as usual by another government functionary, a joint secretary. All public sector undertakings trundle along managed by bureaucracy with the inevitable result — a huge burden on the economy. <br /><br />But this man was different. No management expert winning friends and influencing people. He was what Dale Carnegie would have eschewed. He was a reclusive bachelor who apparently had no social life. He would go round the factory with an eagle eye and then call the top executives and let loose at them in proper Billingsgate language! Quite simply, he managed by terrorising. The terror ran through the entire organisation. And it worked. Everyone on his toes, whether in office or in the afterhours at home thinking and planning, proving the adage ‘the best comes out of one under pressure’.<br /><br />They were from all parts of the country. When the factory had started, they had worked as understudies to the Swiss partner company — Reischauer. So, they had acquired not only a Swiss mind, but also a bit of Swiss English accent, never mind their diverse backgrounds.<br /><br />They ranged from one extreme to the other. One was a Kerala Christian, head of the department of inspection, never seen ostensibly working. He had perfected the art of delegation down to his finger tips which were busy with cigarettes with occasional recourse to the bottle. And he got results.<br /><br />The other was a head to toe working machine with a mind that analysed everything to its logical end, always on his toes, guiding everyone from department to department. He was a product of a Tamil Brahmin professor and a Polish mother who was holier than thou! And to boot, he was married to a vivacious Muslim.Between these extremes there were various shades of grey, each one marked by the strong loyal adherence to his lady private secretary who, they insisted, must go wherever they went.<br /><br />The production managers were bulls at work. I believe they were recruited for their stamina. They worked so hard, meeting the steeper and steeper production targets set by the top man. I believe most of them are now dead. In HMT, what mattered was the result, no matter how one achieved it. Shortage of components? No problem. They were airlifted from Europe. After all, the company worked on a cost plus profit basis in a sellers’ market. Higher the price, higher the profit!<br /><br />The administration was full of people who mostly had got transferred into their jobs. Whatever red tape was caused by administrative protocol was mercilessly cut when exigencies demanded, like when I was entrusted with organising a 150 bed hospital, or a canteen to serve 2,000 in 45 minutes, creating and running facilities for trainees from all around the country. I had to cut the protocol, time and time again, which elicited strong objections, but were simply ignored by the top man. I am sure this was the case with every one of the functionaries. Initiative was expected and lethargy was not tolerated.<br /><br />In the five years I was with HMT, it had grown from a two shed (Butler and Bellman) factory to a mother factory that grew a host of other factories not just in Bangalore, but all over the country. As a recruitment officer, this took me all over the country. Machine tools are masculine. A feminine partner was needed. Came the watches — with the Citizen Watch Company of Japan and this mother also had begun to have babies — even in Kashmir.<br /><br />All this in five years. But then, times were numbered. The secretaries in ministries were not too happy with the un-secretary like behaviour of the chairman. He, of course, had never cared for them as long as he had the blessings of Nehru. Nehru died. As if the hawks were waiting and biding time, they went for him.<br /><br />He gave up on April 1, 1964. The same day, I also quit. I had different reasons. HMT was becoming an addiction. This is how my days went. Both big and small, we all clocked in at 7.15 am. With a 45 minutes lunch break, the shift ended at 4.30 pm, but not for us, the movers and shakers. We continued beyond offices to the officers’ homes and continued company talk, adequately lubricated till late into nights. So, one kind of talked HMT, listened HMT, breathed HMT and began thinking that the world was HMT. I was 29, too young to pledge the rest of my life to one God!<br /><br />And yet, those were the days.<br /></p>
