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Strike



Most of them came from the same surrounding villages of Orissa to work in the hospital. These class four workforces were the best; any establishment would proudly possess.



Located in a posh locality of Metropolitan Calcutta the Nursing Home cum Research centre provided exclusive health care services to the affluent. Money an important factor to match, up to date medical treatment, were as usual globally expensive.



However, all employed in the institution, irrelevant of their job status were supplied complete health care, free of cost. A special perquisite that kept the staff glued in sincerity running the place, earning their livelihood.



It could boast of latest gadgets, qualified doctors, highly trained nurses, and an exceptional administration, under the leadership of corporate C.E. O. Mr P. K. Mukherjee. Its cleanliness would earn a Guinness record, had they applied for one.



The hospital; a pure white four storied strategic building; with flight of mosaic stairs leading to the Matron’s Office on first floor and Board Room just opposite; accommodated the accounts department, cash office, a housekeeping store and laundry office.



Dialysis department on the same floor found Gold medal Nephrologists Dr Subramanian Narayanan round the clock busy at patient’s beck and call. Sense of humour his; another free treats to “Laughter the best medicine” for patients suffering renal disorders.



Many miracles were observed by people working in this hospital. Patients totally at edge returned home restored pink. Well cared personnel in turn took care of others, nursed those sick and helpless diligently. Famous personalities sure would vouch the same, if enquired, how they were treated while they stayed at the hospital.



The corridors oozed health, wealth, happiness. It is no excess to express, behind this atmosphere were those positive strives of hands and souls; staffs operational at their best; from Kerala, U.P., A.P., Maharashtra, Punjab and all other parts of India.



The days demanding, eventful, each a story by the clock moves. Major hurdles, mini problems, break downs, accomplishments galore. Stuff for filmmaker’s; occasionally facts, stranger than fiction!



Therefore the unpleasant happened one morning while Mrs Sen followed routine laundry. The help hand a novice aged nineteen, learning cleaning techniques; an apprentice to apply for the permanent post of a sweeper appeared frisky and inattentive.



His name was Suresh. Rustic muscle never in a city before flabbergasted to find women upper class bosses the corridors; reacted in a typical late puberty. The lad was unruly; gave lots of trouble to the nurses as well others, mostly female employees.



Related to ‘Sardar’ the leader of class four workers, disobedient Suresh thought him untouchable vehemently refusing to take orders when required, rush to pathology with stool for urgent reports; behave abnormal removing sanitary napkins from female wards. Hideously boisterous, he was unaware that his job also could be at risk.



The Sardar a fifty one year old sensible, soft spoken man Keaston was a great resource; popular with own brigade and management as well. He understood, place of work hierarchy and was keen his uncle’s son Suresh trained well.



Keaston supplied manpower at the bat of an eyelid. Never reluctant to do extra labour, surely with overtime reimburses.



“Didi, I am not going to pick over-soiled pieces; send them for discard” the youngster Suresh uttered, cheekily.



“Only if torn, and these are not” disapprovingly answered Mrs Sen.



Kicking the sheets aside Suresh acted audacious. He pulled more linen, doing the same. Anticipating a harangue Mrs Sen changed assignment for Suresh leaving the sorting of linen with Harsh.



Suresh had to take clean linen from laundry to the floors. The Sister in charge was waiting to change sheets. She had called for immediate supply.



Suresh bursting into giggles as if tickled; wriggling like a worm all the while spoke in between linen counts making mistakes. That there was always an emergency; correct number right -- to avoid shortage on one floor and excess on another, was beyond his sense!



Much to Mrs Sen’s dismay, disruptive Suresh’s farther pranks annoyed her to the rim. Mrs Sen knew one thing; act fast check the boy, or he would, sure lose his bread. “Spare the rod spoils the child” she would not. Raising her left hand she gave Suresh a light but tight palm, strike that fell on his right cheek!



Yes, she slapped Suresh a class four worker. Taboo! Possible turn of events gave Mrs Sen’s colleague Latika Dutt goose pimples. Thoughts of the hospital union on protest flashed her mind. In record never a strike, this slap could ram one.



What had she done? Slapped a class four male utility worker? She will lose…! Polly Brown was the first to take sides against Mrs Sen with raised eyebrows – colleague jealousy perhaps!



An ego burst Suresh struck wild with deflated self-esteem; held his cheek; and threatened Mrs Sen, “Didi this is not good, not what you can escape, you will pay for this.”



“You slap on my cheek Didi, it will cost you heavily” Suresh trembled angry, eyes scarlet but lips careful to address Mrs Sen as Didi which means elder sister in family.



In fact nurses and all other women staffs were customarily revered the same way, while men addressed as Dada, a visage characteristic of the sub continent culture.



“Of that I’ll take care, now please continue your chore and ask your Sardar to come and meet me after you deliver the linen on second floor.”



“No, I will call him just now, and put you right” brawled insolent Suresh utterly disregard official manners.



“If you want to work do as spoken or else leave the premises, fetch your leader, shall only speak to him, before engaging you further” a firm Mrs Sen asked Suresh to follow instructions without word.



The message fixed Suresh a bit; he obeyed. However, gossip a grapevine, spread the incident quicker than any circulatory systems. The desk staffs around got the smoke, wondered outcome.



“Whose job was at stake?” questioned Asha the secretary to Mr P.K Mukherjee.



“Come what may there should be no strikes” almost rebuking Mrs Sen, behind closed doors of her cement protected compartment, Asha almost whispered.



They understood each other but Asha never could imagine handling such a situation.



The hospital was full and entirely depending on the utility workers in matter cleanliness and other important tough services. By all means under no circumstances, ‘Infuriate utility labourers’ were ever spun.



“Don’t worry” unperturbed Mrs Sen’s cool confidence knew her deeds and the results -- that which would find a responsible Suresh, doing his work seriously.



Mrs Sen emerged smiling from her glass fitted see-through chamber and Keaston followed. They took just thirty minutes to sort out the problems. Nothing was audible but all clearly seen.



What no strike? No complain! What did she tell Keaston? Keaston’s been bribed! Not possible, unlike Asha’s four fortified sides, Mrs Sen’s office walls were completely transparent.



Out of doors he was heard saying “Didi, please do forgive naïve Suresh and I shall see that he never repeats his unruly behaviour; this is a promise.”



“Good, then he will not be suspend from his duties based on your word”



“Didi, ignorant countryside uncouth bloke, needs time to polish coarseness; so please do bear with him” appealed Keaston.



How the latent volatile state of affairs in the hospital was kept under calculated control reveal the dealings between the boss and union leader as follows.



“Yes, Madam” Keaston had entered her chamber visibly agitated.



Anticipating his tension Mrs Sen spoke gently, “Keaston at work we practise decorum, and official hierarchy to the core, maintaining discipline.”



“Surely Didi” said Keaston



“Place of work is place of formal protocols.” Mrs Sen straight.



“Hundred percent” Keaston replied agreeing.



“Under these -- place of work -- formal circumstances Suresh has no right to address anyone as Didi but following protocol; Madam” she continued, “That we work as if in a joint family thus accepting the idea of relationship extended from the sides of utility workers, and appreciated by the rest.”



“Oh Didi, therefore we do work harmoniously and feel proud to belong to this large family” answered the Sardar.



“Exactly, on family grounds under level, personal relationship, a rude member, youngster, needed chides of the elder, with every right, a slap from Didi to remind his misdemeanours,” Mrs Sen logically.



Intelligent that Sardar was said “You are absolutely right Didi; on occasions I too have slapped my younger brother for misbehaving; I beg your pardon on behalf of Suresh” Keaston apologetic.



“Raw Suresh, needed equipment to chisel him fine” felt Sardar and thanked Mrs Sen for going out of the way to place Suresh in his correct elements.



Mortified Suresh humbled at Sardar’s added admonish pleaded forgiveness the very same day feeling relieved after Mrs Sen pardoned him.



Mrs Sen created unique tactful ways to deal with her labourers. Many found live wire Mrs Sen inspiring; truly concerned about the welfare of the workers as well the institution she worked.



She was an asset, instrumental in implementing the ‘Salary Savings Insurance Scheme’ having greatly convinced both parties - management and workers; without private gain; when Mustafa, a struggling insurance agent approached her.



Strike with palm, praise in the large family; extended upbeat, and no walkout, go-slow or stoppage but class four; manpower the best; any organization would feel privileged to possess.