I’ve been in Chennai for about a week now and tonight is THE big party. My business trip happens to coincide with the company’s holiday party. I’ve been to corporate fiestas before and I brace myself for the classic storyboard: food, drinks, boring speeches, and a few people under the influence of alcohol doing things they will regret for a long time. Been there, done that. As I ponder these thoughts, the MC kicks the party off: Bollywood-style dancers enter the stage and perform a full-blown dance show, with costumes and all. Wow! This is NOT like any corporate party I’ve seen before.
***
On stage Mansur, the CEO, is staring at me and pointing his finger. Shit! I am now a ‘volunteer’ to take part in the first ‘adult’ game of the evening (so far the games were for kids only – a cheap trick to make the grown-ups relax and believe they are off the hook). Each of us contestants gets a balloon and the point is to race across the stage holding the prop between our knees. Drop the balloon: you lose. Touch the balloon with your hands: you lose. Fall flat on your face: you look stupid in front of 50 digital point-and-shoot cameras. First we go through a practice run just to get the hang of it, and then we form a line for the real competition. Ready, set, GO! Watching a bunch of high paid executives walking like ducks with balloons between their knees gets the crowd cheering and laughing. Halfway across the stage, most competitors already lost their balloon… but I remain in the race, in a fierce battle with a coworker who happens to be my ride for the night. If I beat him will I have to walk back to the hotel? No time to think about consequences: the competitive me takes over. My knees work out a magic trick to hold the balloon firmly without popping it, and I sprint the 15 feet to the finish line. A world-class athletic performance! I collect my prize (a kit-kat chocolate bar) and return to my seat with a certain aura of victory mixed with a vague sense of shame. More important than candy, I won the privilege to designate one of the “volunteers” for the next game. Priceless…
***
Time for the CEO speech. Past the usual “it’s been a fantastic year” and “thank you everyone for your hard work and all the great things you have achieved” Mansur ventures into unexpected territory: he asks people not to work too hard. Like everyone else around me I tell myself “Wow, what a cool guy: he cares about us”. Hmmm… something smells fishy. I met this man less than a year ago yet he looks about 10 years older now, and so do all his close collaborators. This call to work/life balance feels like a beautifully wrapped package of lies. How can Mansur preach something when he and his staff are showing the opposite example by being workaholics? A word comes to mind: manipulation. By asking everyone not to work so hard Mansur bolsters the loyalty and morale of his employees, so he gets them to work their ass off – precisely because he’s not asking for it. I feel sick to my stomach. Something broke in me that cannot be fixed. I will never be a cog in the corporate machine again. All of a sudden I am out of place, like a fish out of water. Someone please take me home… or give me another Mojito, that will do!
***
Another set of prime time TV quality dancing acts, and the MC gives the dance floor to Mansur so that he demonstrates a traditional dance of his home turf. Very cool! More people join the stage and soon we have 20 to 30 folks dancing furiously. Half of them know what they are doing and the other half, including myself and most of the white folks, are desperately trying to follow the choreography. Alcohol definitely helps. This is really fun! Noone is being judged, everyone is having a blast. It seems that dancing is so deeply rooted in Indian culture that all inhibitions are instantly suppressed. I’ve never had such a good time at a corporate party, and this is one of the most fun I’ve ever had dancing ever. It’s Bollywood, baby!
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It’s late at night, time to go back to the hotel. The group of local executives who drove us to the party is regrouping for the ride back to the hotel. Except one that is walking back and forth in the hotel lobby, talking to his Blackberry. 5 minutes, 10 minutes, finally he is done… but now another guy is stuck on the phone. By the time he is done, the first guy is on another call. Roughly 30 minutes later everyone is ready to leave – thanks to cell phone batteries’ limited life. Don’t work too hard, Mansur said… I guess the dancers were not the only ones performing a well-rehearsed act tonight.
Cedric, 7/19/11
(Chennai trip in December 2010)
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