The Perfect Handshake

Meet Mr. Allan Pease. An authority on body language, human psyche and everything in between. The man has dedicated his life to understanding how people interact with each other and what goes on in the brain when someone shows their thumbs up! I had read one of his articles and remember buying into it which made me go to the Times Literary Carnival held in December in Mumbai. It was a lively interaction scheduled on a lazy Sunday afternoon between Mr. Pease and Ms. Bachi Karkaria, the no nonsense agony aunt. The discussion was promising and deliver, it did! The session was called – A Fish and a Bicycle – a journey into the man-woman relationship. Everything from why men cant multitask, to why women can’t talk less was dissected on the operating table before a lively audience. The laughter during the session had a sure gender to it..! Allan carried the audience with his sense of humour, wit and experience. I was in awe! I told myself that I have to speak to him and tell him how much I appreciate what I just saw. I get starry-eyed very easily and this made me go upto him after the talk. I was nervous to the point that I rehearsed my lines.

“Sir, thank you for that delightful talk about the opposite sexes.....”

A hello, followed by a compliment, followed by a quick handshake and I am out. I had it all in place.

I was very conscious about my own body language. After all, it was Mr. Allan ‘Body’ Pease.

As I waited for him to finish with a gentleman, I thought how silly of people to want their picture taken with this great man. A simple conversation would mean so much more. As they cleared the way, I approached the legend and....

“Hello Sir”

“Hello”, said the voice of God!

“Thank you for that amazing talk in there! It was delightful”

“So you liked it?”

“Oh yes Sir. Very much” with a wide grin which schoolgirls exchange with tutors they have a crush on.

Now all I had to do was shake hands and get out. I had learnt that a firm handshake is recommended between two men. As we got to the end of the conversation, I stepped forward and reached my hand out. But for some reason he just didn't realise that I had extended my hand.

The longest two seconds passed.

“Sir...” I muttered sheepishly.

“Oh!!” he went on spotting my hand.

A quick handshake and I was out of there thinking he is the leading authority on body language?? Him?? Really???

My first meeting with Mr. Jamshedpur!

As the train pulled into Jamshedpur, you could tell that it is an industrial town. Tall chimneys giving out smoke into the clouds, huge trucks on the road carrying all sorts of industrial material.

I had been informed that a car would be sent to pick me up from the railway station and drop me to the place where my accommodation had been arranged. This was the first time; I had a taxi waiting for me at the railway station which I needn’t be paying for. The greedy dream, of a middle aged man in spotless white uniform wearing a white cap with a board with my name across it, frequented my mind. As I lugged my baggage to the main gate, I realised the warmth, not the internal nice fuzzy feeling that you get when you see your mom after a long break, but the external one that makes you sweat like a pig without you having to move an inch, had got to me. I was a sorry sight, an Eskimo who had layers of fat stored to save him from the cold but who now found himself in the middle of a desert. It was hot! The dream turning to reality was also a mirage when I saw a gentleman in off white clothing at the main gate holding a board with the company’s name. My guess is this is how companies let you know that you need them and that it’s not the other way around. Suddenly expectations dipped and I was just glad to have found him there despite the train being a couple of hours late.

The next twenty minutes were spent in the back seat of the taxi recovering from the mild heart attack that I had suffered on platform 1 of Jamshedpur Jn trying to move my heavy luggage. The taxi pulled in front of GE Hostel where my accommodation was arranged. After some initial paperwork, I got my room. Room 312, which meant the 12th room on the 3rd floor. Weight reduction now looked like a breeze.

As I opened my room and entered, my jaw nearly dropped! Expectations again had a huge part to play. An air-conditioned room in Jamshedpur for a fresh graduate out of a premier B-school with stellar degrees was a decent ask. What I did receive was an ancient room with windows bigger than the door itself. Ancient, mind you, is not exaggeration. I strongly believe that Jamshedji Tata himself stayed in one of these rooms during the early 1900s while the Tata Steel plant was being set up. The room has tall windows with no bars, probably giving those frustrated with life, some relief by avoiding the trek to the terrace. The room has just one plug point for your limited electrical needs. The fan regulator seems to be the first of its kind. The very first, which cavemen used just alongside the black switch which has a toggle button to switch on a bulb over an aging basin. An old rusty iron cot in the centre beside an iron table with a wooden table made up the furniture. The room I have to admit was clean. When big factors disappoint, we tend to take shelter under small consolations.

But the feeling of independence hit me hard. I had earned this room, this city, this job. I had worked towards it and it was going to make me happy. No matter how much I complain about the facilities, few could brag about such facilities from the employer, especially for a new joinee starting from the bottom of the ladder. I had arrived in Jamshedpur on a warm Tuesday evening and I loved every bit of it. The feeling of starting a new phase in life manages to lift my spirits. New challenges await which lead to new learning. New people to meet, new places to see and new-old rooms to frown at, new expectations to disappoint, the whole package, just excites me!