“Listening is one of the powerful qualities of an effective leader. When we listen to people, there is an electric current that recharges us, so that we never get tired of each other.”
The Leadership program for top executives of our company was going on across the globe. The speakers, in this case two - one an Indian and the other a British - were doing an excellent job of it. It was the last day of our training program. The team leader, obviously the British, was delivering his speech.
The speaker continued “It is when people really listen to us with quite fascinated attention that the foundation of trust begins to take shape.”
I was repeatedly losing my attention. I could not forget the incident of the previous night. It was haunting me.
Again my son Koushik had ignored me. He had not answered my questions. He had just given me a blank stare, and then locked himself up in his room. His elder brother, Kamal, who had been successful in his studies and now had a great job, had also tried to help, but all our efforts had gone in vain.
Things had been different a few years back. During his school days Koushik had shown the promise of brilliance in his studies, as well as in the extracurricular activities. All his teachers had been full of praise for him. However, during the last two years of his school, he had become less attentive to his studies. In all the parent-teacher meetings we had only heard complaints. We had been worried about his future. Luckily he had got admitted to a reputed engineering college. That had relieved us. But again he had stopped paying attention to his studies. Although he was capable of getting high grades, his scores had been pathetic. But, that was not the real issue. It was that he had almost stopped talking to us. Last night had been no exception.
“I have a question”, a Korean executive asked the speaker. “If someone does not want to open up, refuses to talk, then what do we do?”The speaker took a deep breath and said, “You have to take proactive action in such a situation”. He paused and asked “Is there a specific case that we can discuss?”
The Korean said, “We have a problem with our teenage son. He does not want to talk to us. My wife and I have spared no effort, but fruitlessly.”
- “Is there anyone else, who is facing a similar problem with their teenage son or daughter?”
A few hands went up.
-“This problem is quite common in late teenage and early youth. As Asian parents rely heavily on the family bond, they are easily disturbed. May I know what kind of effort all of you have made?”
All of them said, “We have tried talking to them, showering our affection, and showing our concern.”
- “You may have only expressed your concern about their career, is it not? Has anybody tried to find out about their interests and likings? We all try to impose our preferences and likings on others, but we make little effort to understand and acknowledge their likings. Everyone in the world expects recognition. Sometimes we do recognize, but that is too mechanical and shallow. Have you ever appreciated your children for their interests, for the small things that they like, but you do not?”
...
Bimal, the other speaker, stepped forward, but paused to hear our response.
Bimal is settled in Mumbai, but twice a year he comes down to Kolkata to visit his mother and brother. Whenever he comes, he makes sure to have a get-together with us, Madhu, Kunal and I. We keep an evening free for him. Among our close friends, Bimal is the most successful in his life, both in his career and at home. His elder son, Kamal, was brilliant as a student, and is now well-established. The younger son, Koushik, too is studying at a famous engineering college. Bimal has been elevated to a top executive position in his company. Many among us envy him. In our hearts we are no exception in this.
Last year Kunal had been to Mumbai, and stayed with Bimal. He had then come to know about Bimal’s agony over Koushik. Later, from Kunal we had learned about the errant son.
...
After today’s session, as planned, we gathered in a pub near Dalhousie to spend the evening together. While ordering our drinks, Kunal enquired about Bimal’s son, Bimal said, with a grin,”Well, the matter is resolved.” We fell over each other, to ask Bimal to tell us how he had redressed the situation.
From the college days Bimal has been a great story teller. This time no exception, he soon got us so engrossed in his stories that we did not notice when we had downed our beers, until the waiter came over to ask, “Any more beer, sir?” Madhu asked for one more round, telling him, “After that is over, do not disturb us. Just bring a third round!” Kunal wanted some finger-food. Madhu ordered for fish fries – two plates of mourala and two plates of pomfret – and some chicken kebabs. Placing the orders, Madhu said, eagerly, “Bimal, please tell us about your son.”
It made me wonder, ‘Is Madhu also facing a similar problem?’
Bimal then told us his story, or rather the story of his son, thus.
The Leadership Program had got over, just as it had happened many times in the past. The participants had pledged to change themselves. The Program Coordinator had rushed to everyone’s desk to take a written feedback. As it happens always, all the feedbacks had said ‘Excellent’. What with the tea-breaks with assorted cookies, five-star lunches and one cocktail evening with a dinner by candle light, how could the program be anything but ‘Excellent’? During the cocktail participants had taken down the email-address and phone number of the speaker. I knew the tiny pieces of paper would remain in the pockets of the jackets till they went to the dry-cleaners. Participants would only remember a few names like Stephen Covey, Mark Robbins, which they would use at times with their subordinates. The MD and other senior directors would imagine themselves to be attaining the calibre of Jack Welch. But eventually, everyone would forget everything, till the next leadership program.
But this time a few words haunted me. “Find out his likings, interests ... recognise them ... try to talk to him.” At times, I have asked Koushik about his interests and other extra-curricular activities. But, his answer has always been short. Whenever I have enquired about his study or career planning, he has just said, “Sob thik achhe (everything is fine)”. He has never spoken a single word more. My wife and I have become frustrated, but decided to restrain ourselves from any kind of confrontation.
One Saturday there was a one-day cricket match. I went into the living room to watch it on the TV. I found Koushik was watching an EPL football match. Generally I do not take interest in the EPL, and similarly, Koushik is bothered in the least about the Indian cricket team. I sat down on the sofa near him. Glancing at me just once, he remained engrossed in the match. I asked, “How is the game? Which teams are playing?”
Koushik briefly replied “Liverpool vs. Sunderland ... goalless, so far...”
Then he looked at me closely, and asked “Do you want to watch the cricket match?” Usually my answer would be yes. But this time, something clicked inside. I said, “No, let us watch football.”
He looked at me, making eye contact, and asked, “Do you really mean it, or are you just kidding?”
I did not like the word kidding. But just then a voice whispered to me, “Shake off your ego. Try to be a friend of your son, even at the cost of your so called self-dignity!”
I said, “I got bored with Indian cricket. So, why not watch football for a change?”
He smiled, but kept his eyes fixed on the TV. Suddenly, he exclaimed in joy. The Liverpool team’s jersey number 7 had scored.
“Who was that?” I asked, wanting to inch closer to him.
Koushik was happy since his favourite team had eventually scored. “Suarez” he said.
“Is he British?” I asked.
- “No, he is from Uruguay.”
- “And, that black player in jersey number 15 who gave the final pass – he must be good and experienced!”
I wanted to establish myself as a football lover. I thought this should be the best way.
Koushik said, “He is Sturridge, a young player from Britain.”
Maybe I should have stopped there. But I continued, foolishly, “Liverpool is playing well. They are sure to become the champion this time.”
Now Koushik turned to stare at me. Unhappiness was clear in his eyes. He very clearly saw my ignorance. “No, Liverpool is in the sixth position, far behind the front runners.” Not allowing me to say any more, he got up, and said, “I have other things to do. You can watch your cricket.” He left the living room, and went and locked himself up in his room.
The same old story – I was back to square one. Again, I felt directionless, and retired to my bed room.
After dinner, finishing the household chores, my wife came to bed with a smile on her face. Her happiness was obvious. “Today I am very happy. After a long time, I saw you sit for some time with Koushik, watching TV and talking.”
- “Things started well, but did not end well, especially at the finish.” Then I narrated all that had happened. She said, “You should be more careful when asking him questions. Have you not noticed that he reads so many books? Have no doubt about his knowledge!”
- “Yes, I have seen that he reads Harry Potter, Chetan Bhagat, and Amish Patel. But, how would those books help him build his career... I do not know.” I said angrily.
- “You are making a mistake again. When I clean his desk, I notice the wide variety of books on his desk.”
I wanted to argue. But again the same whispering voice stopped me, “Although teenagers behave mysteriously, at heart they may respect you, and depend upon you. So, be careful in dealing with them. Do not expose your ignorance. That may worsen the relationship.”
I decided that I should gather knowledge of EPL and other European leagues and their footballers.
Bimal took a break. The fish fries were too good. Within few minutes the plates were empty. I said, “Why don’t we order for two more plates? Madhu said, “I saw Bimal eat very little. Maybe he did not like it.” Bimal interrupted him, “Only a fool would not enjoy such a delicious item. It is just that I was too engrossed in talking.”
Madhu ordered three plates, and said, “One plate is exclusively for Bimal!”
The beer began to cast its spell on us.
Kunal said, “So, you studied football. Did you two watch Liverpool play again?” His tone was mocking.
Madhu said, “Kunal, do not rag him. You may not understand it, but the topic is really absorbing.”
Kunal tried to protest, but I stopped him.
Madhu said, “Bimal, it’s very interesting. Please continue.”
All of us looked at Bimal. Bimal resumed his story...
After that incident more than a month passed. I started watching English Premier League matches. I familiarized myself with the players of a few teams. Many times, Koushik and I sat together to watch the TV, but our conversation remained nothing more than formal. I started digging into his bookshelf, and read a few of his books. I was pleasantly surprised to note his collection. Still, I felt hesitant to initiate our final dialogue – to restore his bond with the family and to mend him to be serious about his career. But, this time I did not want to take any hurried step. So, I kept patience, waiting for the appropriate time.
It was a Saturday, when my wife overheard Koushik talking to his friend about some football match the next day afternoon, in which Koushik would play. Monsoon being in full swing in Mumbai then, she became afraid for him playing football on a slippery ground full of slush. She informed me about it. I asked her to act as if we knew nothing.
She had heard the name of the ground where the inter-college tournament was being held. Sunday morning we decided to go there and watch the match, without letting Koushik know. He left home with his kit after lunch. We too left for the ground after an hour.
If he ever caught sight of us among the spectators, he never mentioned it. His reticence once again confused us.
Although we were saddened by this, we soon began to notice some changes in him. He stopped locking himself up, or closing the door of his room. Sometimes he asked to go out with us for shopping.
I remembered again those words, “Everyone likes recognition. You need not speak it aloud, but if you are sincere, the other person will automatically understand your appreciation, which may then become the turning point.”... “Appreciation is the golden key to relationships. Appreciation can make a day, even change a life.” These great quotations haunted me. And, I said to myself, ‘I have to take a chance now. The time has come!”
It was a holiday. I made sure that I would use the golden key to unlock the silence, the misunderstanding with my son. I knocked and entered his room. I sat beside him on his bed. He was surprised, but his reception was not cold.
“Son, I have come to borrow some of your storybooks.” I started. “Could you suggest some?” He remained silent for a few moments, and then said, “I am not sure of your taste.”
“I have no particular preference; I would love to read any good one.” I told him. After a pause, I continued “In fact I have read a couple of your books from here - Naga and Two States.
“How did you find them?” he asked solemnly.
“Good! You have a good selection here, I must say.” I felt happy. What I had wanted to do, I was able to do nicely. But, I still saw no change in the emotion displayed on his face, except for a twinkle in his eyes.
“So, you like both the writings of this generation, and stories based on mythology.”
He got up, took out two books, and gave them to me.
“I think you may like these.” he continued “Palace of illusions is based on Mahabharata, but from a different angle. The other is White Tiger, which is my favourite.”
I thanked him and got up, thinking that was enough for the day.
The opportunity for the final encounter for my planned talk with him presented itself soon, automatically. One weekend afternoon I was engrossed in reading Palace of Illusions, when Koushik came in, and handed me a book. “Papa, this is the third volume of Naga, which you have not yet read.”
After a long time Koushik had entered our bedroom. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw my astonished wife standing at the door, spellbound. Koushik pulled up a chair from a corner of the room, and sat near me.
“Each one of us has a distinct identity”, I recalled my friend, a clinical psychologist, saying. “Right from our childhood till our last breath, we keep on internalising many traits, characteristics, perspectives, ideologies, values and doctrines. Our mind processes all this information in a unique way, and builds what we known as personality.”
“Papa, may I ask you something?” Koushik asked.
“Of course, yes! You may ask anything without hesitation.”
Koushik said, “Nowadays, you do not enquire about my studies. You do not even ask me about my grades. Are you so much worried about my career that you have stopped enquiring?”
I had never expected to hear those words from him. I was shocked to becoming numb. ‘So, all my efforts have become futile! The lessons we have learned are merely theoretical? Should I start disbelieving all the words of the biggies like Stephen Covey, Mark Robbins... or is my son made of the most difficult stuff?’ I thought to myself.
Although I was clueless, I gathered all the strength of my mind, and told in a soft and affectionate tone, maintaining eye contact, “Son, you are always valuable to all of us. Yesterday and today are the same, and nothing will change in future too.” I took a deep breath and continued, “Earlier, we had never made any effort to understand you, or appreciate your interests and likings. Now we realize that it had been our mistake. So, we do not want to impose anything on you. We just want to see you happy.”
I saw a smile break out on his face. He started, “I understand Papa... You wanted me to become a scientist. Maybe, you dreamed that your son would one day be part of the NASA team. But, I could not do anything about it – why, I did not even move in that direction at all!”
“The human being is like a floating iceberg”, I recalled from the leadership program once again. “Only ten percent of the human mind is visible through his behaviour. The remaining part, which comprises the preconscious and subconscious, is submerged under water. These two, which play major roles, are developed from one’s experience, understanding and environment. When one comes closer, and becomes ready to expose oneself, one can appear as a totally different person.”
I said, with an unintended stammer, “Maybe I had overdone it. I had not tried to know your mind.” Then, in a more assertive tone, I told him, “But you had talent! You could have achieved that.”
He smiled again, and said, “Papa, I know at least twenty students in my college who are as talented as me, or even more. The actual number of such boys in my college is much more. Then again, just consider how many talented students India produces every year. You will be surprised to know that very few of them want to become a scientist. They are all happy to become an engineer or a doctor. Many of them will try to pursue an MBA from a reputed management school, and then forget science forever. “
“Is it due to financial constraint, or is it because of the difficult life of a scientist?”I asked.
- “Financial constraint? No, not for everyone. Among my friends few have financial constraint. A few of them are very rich, you could say ultra-rich. In fact, I too have no financial problem. I know you and dada (elder brother) would give me all the financial support I need.” After a pause, he continued “The fact is that I, like many of my friends, wanted to become a scientist. I used to read so many books apart from the textbooks. After I met with success in the Olympiad examination, I really dreamed of becoming a scientist.”
I exclaimed, “Then, what prevented you?”
He looked at me for a few moments, and said “Our social conditions and education system together emphasise too much on the textbooks and discourage independent thinking. All of us – the parents, the students and the teachers – are too preoccupied with textbook based examination, which kills the ability to think independently, kills inquisitiveness. We appreciate it when we observe inquisitiveness in a child. But, when the same child grows up, that quality becomes a curse for him. Teachers, even parents, discourage this quality, and it makes them angry. Earlier, I used to be frustrated with this attitude of my teachers, and to some extent yours too. But then, I realised that our problem is that we are borne in India, where the textbook is the bible of the education system.”
I saw deep frustration and sadness in his eyes. He remained silent for some time, perhaps to hide his feelings, and then continued. “Papa, I tried once to achieve my dream by appearing for SAT, to go out of India for higher studies. But, you did not agree to let me go abroad because of your strong attachment to me.”
I remembered those days, and felt very sorry.
After another pause, he spoke in a low yet confidant voice. “However, now I do not want to be a scientist, or to go abroad. I do not want to be far away from you. But, please believe in me that I will get a decent job in India, and nurture my dream, for it to be fulfilled by my children.”
I did not know how to respond to that. The managers of all the training programs on leadership or top management had never taught us that.
My son ended our discussion. “Papa, today the game is between Liverpool and Manchester United. It starts in another fifteen minutes. Let us watch it together.”
“I am going to make some pakora for you.” Turning around we found a loving mother standing nearby. My wife had put her affectionate hand on her son’s head.
Bimal paused here.
We were spellbound. I looked at him, to find teardrops in the corners of Bimal’s eyes. The waiter had appeared with the bill. Bimal reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his trouser. But, Madhu had drawn his credit card faster. He smiled, “For a change, this time let me pay the bill.”
Putting down his credit card on the bill, he said, “Bimal, thank you! You have helped me a lot by telling your story.”
It was then the time to leave. I asked Bimal, “So, what is the final result?”
- “This year my son’s CGPA has been above 9.5.” he said.
We left the restaurant, coming out to resume our routine life.
13th September 2014
© Manas K Ghosh - Member WaaS
