A Suitable Boy(583)

‘It will take time to build trust,’ said the sole-paster philosophically and maddeningly.

‘Well, what would induce you to produce more?’ asked Haresh.

‘Ah.’ The man looked at his fellow-operators.

After a great deal of indirect discussion, Haresh came out of the meeting with the sense that if the workmen could get two assurances – that no one would be thrown out and that they would earn considerably more money than they were earning – they would not be averse to increasing production.

He next visited Novak, his old adversary, the fox-like head of Personnel. Would it be possible, he asked, for the workmen on his line to be rewarded with a higher grade – and thus a higher income – if they increased production to 400? Novak looked at him coldly and said, ‘Praha cannot up grades for a particular line.’

‘Why not?’ asked Haresh.

‘It would cause resentment among the other ten thousand workers. It cannot be done.’

Haresh had learned about the elaborate, sanctified hierarchy of Praha – it was worse than the Civil Service: there were eighteen different grades for workmen. But he felt that it could, without unhinging the universe, be given a tiny nudge here and there.

He decided to write a note to Khandelwal explaining his plan and asking for his approval. The plan had four elements. The workers would increase production to at least 400 pairs a day on the Goodyear Welted line. The management would raise the grades of these particular workmen by one level and thereby increase their weekly pay-packet. Beyond the figure of 400 pairs, incentives would be paid in proportion to any extra production. And instead of sacking anyone, a couple of new workmen would be hired at points where it was genuinely difficult to operate at the 400 pair level.

As it happened, about a month earlier, Khandelwal had sent Haresh on a two-day visit to Kanpur to help solve a labour reconciliation matter. An uneconomical depot was to be reduced in size and some workers laid off, and though Praha was acting strictly according to the new Labour Manual, they had run into trouble; all the workmen had gone on strike. Khandelwal knew that Khanna had been at CLFC and was acquainted with affairs in Kanpur. He therefore sent him to help sort things out; and he had been pleased with the final result. Haresh had told the workmen who were to be laid off that they should accept Praha’s offer. He had said, in effect: ‘You idiots, you’re getting good money by way of a settlement; take it and start your lives over again. No one is trying to con you.’ The CLFC workers, who trusted Haresh and had been sorry to see him go, talked to the workers at the Praha depot; and matters had been settled amicably.

Haresh knew that he had won access to the Chairman’s ear, and he decided to use his access immediately. He went to Calcutta one morning (before Khandelwal had had time to get to his whisky at the club) and placed a single sheet of paper in front of him. Khandelwal looked it over, followed the pricings, the costings, the benefits of the scheme, the loss of customers if production did not increase, the necessity of giving the workmen a higher grade. At the end of two minutes he said to Haresh: ‘You mean to say you can actually double production?’

Haresh nodded. ‘I believe so. Anyway, with your permission, I can try.’

Khandelwal wrote two words across the top of the paper: ‘Yes. Try,’ and handed it back to Haresh.





16.9


HE SAID nothing to anyone; in particular he avoided the Czechs – especially Novak. Bypassing him – a step for which he was later to pay – he made a surprise move: he went to the union   office and met the top union   leaders of Prahapore. ‘There is a problem in my department,’ he said to them, ‘and I want your help in solving it.’ The Secretary-General of the union  , Milon Basu, a man who was corrupt but very intelligent, looked at Haresh suspiciously.

‘What do you propose?’ he said.

Haresh told him only that he proposed a meeting the next day with his own workmen in the union   offices. But it was not necessary to mention the matter to Novak until something had been worked out.

The next day was Saturday, a holiday. The workmen assembled in the union   office.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Haresh, ‘I am convinced that you can make 6oo pairs a day. It is certainly within the capacity of your machines. I concede that you might need a couple of extra men at crucial points. Now tell me – which man here says that he cannot make 6oo pairs?’

The sole-paster, who was the professional speaker, said belligerently: ‘Oh, Ram Lakhan cannot do it.’ He pointed to the strapping, mustachioed, good-natured Bihari who did the welt-stitching. All the toughest jobs on the conveyor, as well as elsewhere, were performed by Biharis. They stoked the furnaces; they were the policemen on night duty.