Mr. Kumar

By Mrinal Rajaram

It was overcast that day. Large clouds enveloped the sky in a shroud of grey, like a dull blanket. Stray droplets of rain descended languidly from above as they pattered onto the windshield. Some nagging thought in his head distracted him from using the wipers. Mr. Kumar was on his way to work, earlier than he had ever been before. Today was the day it all came to a head. If his suspicions were to be proven right, that is.

He was forty-three years old. No family worth speaking of. Only a couple of close friends he met over the weekends. He was, apart from many things, a man of few words. But when he got down to it, people around him tended to listen. Loneliness had become a staple of his life. If the last few years were any indication, the status quo would remain unchanged for a long time to come. The closest he ever came to forging a long-term bond was with a woman who had eventually left him for someone much older than herself. She was unhappily married with two children now.  

The clock struck nine as Mr. Kumar parked his car in the designated space. The sky now pelted down heavy drops that thudded noisily against the roof and bonnet of his mid-size sedan. He scurried with his umbrella towards the entrance of the multi-storied office building, taking care not to get his suit wet in the downpour. No one was around to greet him, barring the elderly security guard who was engrossed in the day’s newspaper. After receiving and responding to the man’s customary salaam, Mr. Kumar made his way to his office, closed the door behind him, and sat down. All he needed to do now was wait...until the summons came. He had gotten used to waiting on senior management officials over the years, learning a valuable lesson in patience, in the bargain. Last week’s email had stated that the Chairman, the Vice-Chairman and two board members were interested in having a meeting with him, today. Instinct had told him what it was about. A reason was never provided for the sudden call. It was to this effect that he had assumed the worst.  

Ensconced in a thick oak wood frame, at a far corner of his large desk, was the photograph of his late father. The shot had been taken by someone who had captured him just as his head turned in the direction of the camera. An ironic smile rested on one corner of his small face. The photograph would never have been as good had he been asked to pose. Besides, his father had detested all those group images he was forced to be a part of for the periodic family reunions. Oddly enough, the same image that now found itself on his son’s desk, was taken by an eager relative at one of those reunions.

Mr. Kumar had looked up to the man in the photograph ever since he could form his first complete sentence. The senior Kumar, an honorable public servant, had fought the system unsuccessfully for the greater part of his Government career. His struggles against the tainted and the powerful had reduced his already short life span by a decade. A pyrrhic victory, his wife called it. Thanks largely to that stubborn yet remarkable man, entrenched within Mr. Kumar, was a strong moral code. “Truth,” his father had once told him, “is the only absolute.” He could not have been more right. In his formative and impressionable years, he was taunted for having a clear sense of conscience. “What are you trying to be...some modern-day messiah? It will never work,” was the vibe he would get from people. He was even labelled judgmental by some. How did being honest or having a set of clear-cut ethics make you judgmental? But as he was to soon find out, having principles would only succeed in creating more enemies than friends. It was harder for him to hold on to a regular job if he refrained from playing the game of self-deception and hypocrisy.

Mr. Kumar was not a man who could be easily bought. This made him atypical. Highly principled people are difficult by nature, and have a darkness and cynicism that often surround them. Dark and cynical he may have been, but there was no denying he was an exception to the rule. It was this unyielding approach that allowed him to stay true to his innermost ideals. With the passage of time, he had found a work environment that would accept and respect him for these qualities.   

A stream of co-workers started pouring in as the clock struck ten. Annette, his amiable secretary, waved as she saw him leaning against the door to his office. He caught a glimpse of sorrow in her pleasant smile. He called her in as soon as she had placed her bag in the tiny cubicle.

“Keep everything on hold today, Annette. I’m expecting an important call to come through,” he said, in his usual formal tone.

“Should I let the call come through to you directly?” she asked.

“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

His line rang at the stroke of ten-thirty. It was the secretary to the Chairman.

“Mr. Kumar, the Chairman is waiting for you in the conference room,” the man said.

After replacing the receiver, Mr. Kumar adjusted his ash-grey tie and checked his hair. Within a minute, he was heading down the corridor at a brisk pace. Something strange struck him mid-stride. He felt the gaze of many eyes as he walked the entire length of the marble hallway. They couldn’t have known, surely?

He knocked on the dark brown door of the room that held his superiors. The Chairman stood up and greeted Mr. Kumar with an extended handshake. To his surprise, it was the Vice-Chairman’s daughter and not her father who was present for the meeting. The two board members (whom he was acquainted with) nodded to him as he entered.

“You’ve met Ms. Chhabria before, haven’t you Mr. Kumar?” the Chairman asked, as an afterthought.

“Yes, Mr. Narayanan. I have.”

He shook her hand when she offered it to him.

“Anyway, she will be standing in for the Vice Chairman on account of his ill health,” the Chairman continued. “The two board members I’d like to introduce to you are Mr. Ahmed and Mr. Das.”

“Good morning,” Mr. Kumar said, acknowledging both men. He had sat in on prior meetings that involved these two members of the board, but never corrected the Chairman’s usage of the word introduce.

“Mr. Kumar is one of our finest employees,” the Chairman said, addressing the coterie. Whether he truly believed in that statement or whether it was just another way to ease into the real conversation, no one could tell. The group seemed to play along with the whole thing too. Seasoned in the art of small talk.   

“How long has it been since you first started working here? Five, six years, I’m sure,” the Chairman asked, with a smile.

“This August will make it eight years, sir.”

“Oh my! That’s mighty impressive, Kumar! We are all glad to have you!”

At this remark of his, the trio nodded and made the general sounds of approval.

“Please take a seat,” Ms. Chhabria said, motioning in his direction. It was the first time that somebody other than Mr. Narayanan had spoken. Mr. Kumar took his place across the four people bearing down on him. To the untrained eye, it may have seemed like just any other meeting, but that was hardly the case. After some vacuous remarks concerning the ghastly weather, the Chairman got right down to the point.

“Mr. Kumar, the company finds itself in quite the predicament, you see. The last fortnight has not been ideal for us. I do hope you know the chain of events I am referring to?” the Chairman said grimly.

“I am aware of the situation, Mr. Narayanan,” he returned quietly.

“We cannot let this unfortunate incident cripple us in the current economic environment.” It was Ms. Chhabria’s turn to speak. She gave him a searching glance once the sentence was over.

“As you are the head of the department under which this alleged offence was committed, it is only but natural for us to have your co-operation in the matter,” the Chairman continued.

“I do not quite follow, sir. What co-operation do you speak of?” he said, without a hint of hesitation.

“If word were to get out, it would lead to drastic consequences for the company. The stock price would take a major hit. And let’s not forget the advantage this will give our competitors,” said one of the members of the board.

The Chairman leaned forward and said, “The party involved in the matter is a highly influential person in this company. We are under obligation to protect his interests. Are we not, Mr. Kumar?”

Mr. Kumar stayed silent and smiled.

“Do you find something amusing?” Ms. Chhabria asked, raising her thin, shapely eyebrow in a subtle sort of manner. The faintly derisive expression never once left her face. She was known in official circles to be as clinical and ruthless as her sick father. It was a daunting prospect to go up against such a person.

“No ma’am, I do not. It is just that the Chairman may not be fully aware of the facts.”

The Chairman frowned. He was not used to being spoken of in mildly disrespectful terms, even. He did not like the use of his title without a Mr. in front of it, either. “I keep myself abreast of all the goings-on in this company, son. Your sarcasm does not sit well with me.”

“If there is something you need to ask me, please do. But my request from you is to be precise about what you ask.” The statement was addressed to the whole group in front of him. They consulted with each other in hushed tones before the second board member said, “An independent committee has been formed to investigate the matter. It has none of our people on it. But we need to know – are you on our side or not?”

“On your side or not?”

“You will be questioned extensively during the enquiry. Are you willing to withhold certain sensitive information?” Ms. Chhabria said. She was the first among them to stop beating about the bush.

“Are you asking me to lie to an independent committee about the facts I am privy to, madam?”

“We’re not asking you to lie, Kumar. We do not want you to volunteer information; that’s all,” the Chairman cut in on Ms Chhabria’s behalf, the rising impatience in his voice clear for all to see.

“That is something I’m not willing to do, Mr. Narayanan,” Mr. Kumar said, laying emphasis on the words not willing. It was pointless being subtle with these people.

“There must be some way we can change your mind, my good man. There is no need to get so serious about the whole thing,” said the first board member.

“But we are dealing with a serious matter, aren’t we?”

The attitude of his interlocutors had taken a new turn, all of a sudden. Intimidation had given way to jocularity. Their tone changed to one of bargaining.

“You have played your cards well, Kumar,” the Chairman continued. “You have us on the mat, literally.”

“Figuratively.”

“What!” Narayanan retorted.

“Never mind.”

The Chairman resumed his rant. “So, what is it that you want? Money? A promotion, perhaps? You ought to view this as a great opportunity. Name your price, son, and you shall have it. All you need to do in return is to help us out of this unholy mess.”

“Every man has his price, surely,” chimed the second board member.

“A rising star like you has much to gain by way of co-operation. Not everything is black and white, Mr. Kumar. Compromise, so long as it’s for the right reasons, is the mark of an intelligent person,” said Ms. Chhabria, adding her own two cents.      

“No, sir. I do not wish for anything that you offer. I seek something of greater value,” Mr. Kumar stated with a half-hearted, cynical smile. He addressed only the Chairman, choosing to ignore the others in the room.

“What in the world could be greater than power or money, my good man?” said the first board member, at which all of them laughed.

Mr. Kumar remained reflective, opting to go the way of silence.

“Principles can only take you so far, son. Success is bending the rules every now and then. The sooner you realize that, the better,” the Chairman bellowed. There was a hint of odiousness in the man’s voice.

Just as the exchange began to get heated again, the office boy, dressed in the depressing grey overalls accorded to him by the establishment, made an entrance. For some reason, he did away with the customary knock. For a brief moment, all eyes in the room turned towards the intruder. He held in his hands a tray containing tea and biscuits.

“No, no, no, no,” the Chairman yelled, gesticulating wildly as if to prevent a stray, unwanted animal from trespassing into his backyard. “We don’t need all that here now, boy! Leave us!”

Guddu scuttled away before he could receive the whole dressing down.     

Over the next hour, they tried reasoning with him. When that failed to make an impression, they resorted to a series of pressure tactics. Through it all, Mr. Kumar stood his ground - resolute. He had been bribed and threatened before. All that was old hat. Somehow it seemed strange that they kept persisting despite his uncompromising stance on the matter. Finally, they were left with no choice but to throw in the towel. But Mr. Kumar's unwillingness to co-operate had proven too costly. His future in the company was finished. The Chairman stated in no uncertain terms that Mr. Kumar’s services were not needed any longer. He was to get a full month’s salary (including the year’s bonus) and was forbidden from carrying out his one-month notice period. He was given time to clean out his office by the end of the day. Mr. Kumar could have pored through his contract and protested the unlawful termination of employment. He could have attempted to sue the company. But all that was farthest from his mind in those moments. The words never stoop to their level kept ringing in his ears, as he left the conference room and his tormentors behind.

He cleared the contents of his office with a heavy heart that day. Annette was on the verge of tears when the news was broken to her. There were other colleagues who had stormed into his office with their emotions running high. He was advised to report the company for attempting to cover up the fraud, and buy his silence in the bargain. But Mr. Kumar had not thought that far ahead. He was still coming to terms with the immediacy of his situation. The people who had barged in with suggestions would not be spared for their allegiances, either. Mr. Kumar’s thoughts went out to them, first. That touching gesture on the part of his co-workers would remain with him for a long time to come.       

He picked up the large cardboard box that contained his things. He studied his father’s picture pensively. You would have been proud of me if you were around to see it, his eyes seemed to suggest. Mr. Kumar had worn his finest suit to work on that fateful and blustery morning. It was an unusual pick on his part, but he wanted to look his best even on the day he was to be fired. He walked steadily through the office, his eyes focused solely on the elevator. A sea of people followed him. There was Annette, his affable young secretary. There was Guddu, the youthfully exuberant office boy who supported his impoverished family with that pittance he received. There were others who had come to him over the years...for advice...for help...to tackle ethical dilemmas. The salt of the earth. Mr. Kumar turned back one final time to study the crowd that had assembled. Not a word was spoken. Many had tears in their eyes, others indignation. The man would forever hold a special place in their hearts. However, it was the look they gave him that affected him the most.

Averting his face to hide his emotions, he entered the elevator. And the doors closed in on him.

THE END

Author Bio: Mrinal Rajaram is an independent writer from Chennai, India. His fiction has appeared in The Madras Mag, The Madras Mag Anthology Of Contemporary Writing, Sahitya Akademi's Indian Literature and The Bombay Review. His nonfiction may be accessed from the pages of The Times of India, The Economic Times, The New Indian Express, Firstpost and Silverscreen. He was longlisted for The Bombay Review’s inaugural Creative Writing Awards for Fiction in 2021. A cross section of his work may be viewed at https://mrinalrajaram.wordpress.com/blog/. He tweets @mrinalrajaram85.

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