Last evening, I stood in the smoking area outside my organization, with my first manager who was quitting. As I stood there, I was reminded of my first day in my first project. My manager had taken me that day to the very same spot.
That first day. That first conversation.
"I want to know more about you. Tell me about the things you are really passionate about" he asked me, lighting up his cigarette. I was surprised. A few hours earlier, I had spoken about my hobbies when I had been asked to introduce myself to the team working on my first project.
I suspected that my manager had not paid attention when I had mentioned my interests. I started explaining him my field of passion and its reason. He listened patiently, with a tinge of wonder visible in his eyes. I expected him to interrupt me and put forward his opinion. He did not. I continued talking. He continued listening. "You should interrupt now! You should want to say something! You are a manager!" I kept thinking, as I talked on. He never interrupted me.
I did not understand. I was a kid fresh out of college, still unsure of even his Facebook profile picture. And he was a manager with 3-and-odd years of experience in my organization. What was he doing, spending his valuable time, listening to a kid blabbering about French and Italian cinema?
My brain was burning out faster than his cigarette, in confusion.
And then he started talking. His response showed how genuinely he had listened to me. I was taken aback. I was also glad. How many employees can boast of having had their first manager as someone who knew how to listen and was genuinely invested in each and every member of the team?
That evening, after that 30-minute conversation, I seriously considered taking up smoking just so I could become his smoking-buddy.
****
After I had decided to type a post about my first manager, I was unclear as to the structure or narrative. There were memories aplenty from his beloved Microsoft mobile to the balcony-entrance of his ground-floor flat to his secret crush on 9GAG. But an all-joining thread was required.
Strangely, before the narrative could fall in place, the title began barking at me. I tried shoo'ing it away saying that I needed the content first. But it continued barking. I then paused and listened to the title. The barking made sense.
The earlier post where I had used the title had been a piece about Robin Williams.
My first manager is a Robin Williams in his own way.
The enthusiasm of an Adrian Cronauer of Good Morning, Vietnam or of the Genie of Aladdin. The urge to inspire of a John Keating of Dead Poets Society. The patience and care of a Sean Maguire of Good Will Hunting.
Also, the words of Whitman's poem keep coming back.
..The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won..
..Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding..
My manager was never a man to stay behind for the laurels. He stepped aside after doling out enough inspiration.
A teacher to the truest sense.
****
Last evening, I stood in the smoking area outside my organization, with my first manager who was quitting. In the brief moments of silence that lingered amidst reminiscing the old days, I remembered the effort he had put in to make this shy, silent, introverted kid get comfortable with his team. That had made all the difference between me loving/hating a job I had accepted not because of my want, but because of my need.
As it was time to finally part, I shook my manager's hand and said, "All the best".
My final words to him have been troubling me since then.
I should have said "Thank you".
He deserved it. And a lot more.
That first day. That first conversation.
"I want to know more about you. Tell me about the things you are really passionate about" he asked me, lighting up his cigarette. I was surprised. A few hours earlier, I had spoken about my hobbies when I had been asked to introduce myself to the team working on my first project.
I suspected that my manager had not paid attention when I had mentioned my interests. I started explaining him my field of passion and its reason. He listened patiently, with a tinge of wonder visible in his eyes. I expected him to interrupt me and put forward his opinion. He did not. I continued talking. He continued listening. "You should interrupt now! You should want to say something! You are a manager!" I kept thinking, as I talked on. He never interrupted me.
I did not understand. I was a kid fresh out of college, still unsure of even his Facebook profile picture. And he was a manager with 3-and-odd years of experience in my organization. What was he doing, spending his valuable time, listening to a kid blabbering about French and Italian cinema?
My brain was burning out faster than his cigarette, in confusion.
And then he started talking. His response showed how genuinely he had listened to me. I was taken aback. I was also glad. How many employees can boast of having had their first manager as someone who knew how to listen and was genuinely invested in each and every member of the team?
That evening, after that 30-minute conversation, I seriously considered taking up smoking just so I could become his smoking-buddy.
****
After I had decided to type a post about my first manager, I was unclear as to the structure or narrative. There were memories aplenty from his beloved Microsoft mobile to the balcony-entrance of his ground-floor flat to his secret crush on 9GAG. But an all-joining thread was required.
Strangely, before the narrative could fall in place, the title began barking at me. I tried shoo'ing it away saying that I needed the content first. But it continued barking. I then paused and listened to the title. The barking made sense.
The earlier post where I had used the title had been a piece about Robin Williams.
My first manager is a Robin Williams in his own way.
The enthusiasm of an Adrian Cronauer of Good Morning, Vietnam or of the Genie of Aladdin. The urge to inspire of a John Keating of Dead Poets Society. The patience and care of a Sean Maguire of Good Will Hunting.
Also, the words of Whitman's poem keep coming back.
..The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won..
..Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding..
My manager was never a man to stay behind for the laurels. He stepped aside after doling out enough inspiration.
A teacher to the truest sense.
****
Last evening, I stood in the smoking area outside my organization, with my first manager who was quitting. In the brief moments of silence that lingered amidst reminiscing the old days, I remembered the effort he had put in to make this shy, silent, introverted kid get comfortable with his team. That had made all the difference between me loving/hating a job I had accepted not because of my want, but because of my need.
As it was time to finally part, I shook my manager's hand and said, "All the best".
My final words to him have been troubling me since then.
I should have said "Thank you".
He deserved it. And a lot more.
