1 The value of praise reaffirms one's faith in the corporate world

An aarti is a ritual in which lamps are waved around the deity so that light falls on the glory of the god or goddess. This is often accompanied by the singing of bhajans, the lyrics of which praise the deity and draw attention to the deity's great accomplishments: the killing of demons, the rescue of devotees, the admiration of all beings. And when the aarti is done and the bhajan concludes, everyone bows and gets to the business of seeking grace and blessing and boons. Why is this not done before the ritual? And what is the point of praising a deity? Isn't divinity all-knowing? Why does a god or goddess need reminding of his or her own achievements? The ritual of aarti and bhajan draws attention to the value of praise. Everyone likes to hear good things about themselves and their work. It reaffirms one's faith in oneself. It makes one feel validated. It makes one feel acknowledged. It makes one feel alive. That is why rewards are always accompanied by recognition. Everyone wants to be noticed. In temples, aarti is not restricted to the presiding deity. Aartis is done to all the subsidiary and satellite shrines, even to the doorkeepers of the shrine, to the consorts and to the vehicle or vahana. Everyone is acknowledged, everyone is praised. This increases the chance of divine intervention. The same is true of the corporate world. In the sea of systems and processes and people, we all like being a face in the crowd, once in a while. Rangarajan the team leader of a media company knows the value of praise. He introduces each member of his team as 'an expert', 'a stalwart' or a 'key member'. He remembers every little achievement of his team. When Rupesh walked into a meeting, he beamed when Rangarajan says, "Here comes the guy who stayed back late last week to get the files downloaded for the presentation to the client." Swati, the trainee, was in heaven when she heard Rangarajan declare, "The way she maintains records of client meetings is something enviable." Through these words, Rangarajan empowers his team, makes them feel valued and important. It reveals they are not invisible performers of tasks. They are people who matter. His praise fuels them and they go that extra mile at work. But just as bhajans do not work without bhakti, praise does not work unless it is genuine. Whatever Rangarajan says is true. None of it is a prepared speech. He constantly looks at what to admire in every person he meets. No person is perfect. But everyone has something of value to offer. It may seem insignificant to others but it becomes significant when noticed. That Sirish always calls his wife at lunchtime has no corporate significance. But Rangarajan turns it into office fuel when he remarks in front of everyone, "I wish my daughter gets a husband as caring as Sirish." It makes Sirish blush. He feels happy. And in happiness, he delivers more. Is an aarti and bhajan strategic or sincere? Is praise by bosses strategic or sincere? We will never know. What matters is that it makes a difference to the subject being admired. No one ever complained when occasionally they found themselves being praised. So go ahead - do someone's aarti today, or sing a bhajan in someone's praise. And not just of your boss.

2.Designations don't make the man, character does

There were two twin brothers, Rohidas and Mahidas, who had to walk a long way every day to their farm. So they begged their father to give them a horse or a bullock cart to travel comfortably. After much deliberation, the father gave Rohidas an elephant and Mahidas a donkey. Both boys were happy with their respective gifts. But there was a problem. The road to the farm was narrow. Rohidas, on the elephant, demanded first right of passage. Mahidas refused to give it, so Rohidas got his elephant to simply nudge the donkey aside and claim the road. Mahidas and the donkey tumbled to the side and watched Rohidas move majestically ahead with a sneer on his face. That evening, Mahidas complained about Rohidas to his father. The father said, "Tomorrow Mahidas will take the elephant and Rohidas will take the donkey." Mahidas chuckled and Rohidas whined, but the decision had been taken. So the next day the two brothers set out for the farm. This time Mahidas on his elephant claimed the narrow road and walked ahead, nudging away his brother, forcing him to follow. He was happy. That evening, on learning the day's events, the father said, "I am disappointed in both you boys. Your personality depends on what you have. When either of you had the elephant, you tried to dominate the other. When either of you had the donkey, you whined and complained. Clearly you have no inner character; your behaviour is a function of what you possess. That is the sign of a weak man." When Sundar was promoted to senior manager, everyone expected him to behave differently: buy a new car, not join the juniors for lunch, be more dominating and demanding. But he remained the same person, gentle and mild-mannered. "Why should a change in designation and responsibilities make me a different human being? I define my job, my job cannot define me," he said. But another senior manager, Rangarajan, had a very different view. He felt that he should keep a distance from juniors or they would take him for granted, ask for favours and take him for a ride. He advised Sundar to buy a fancier car worthy of his designation, preferably with a driver. He also suggested Sundar eat only in the officers' lounge with other senior managers. Sundar disagreed, "If anything, I feel a person in a senior position needs to behave with more grace than authority. Juniors know that I am senior and I have power. I have no need to demonstrate it unless it is required. I refuse to confuse myself with my job. If my job gives me my self-esteem, then I have a serious problem." Sundar was very unlike Rohidas and Mahidas. He did not let the elephant or donkey determine who he was. His identity did not come from his possessions. He was not a weak man.

3. Responsible managers behave like Ram instead of Pandavas in Mahabharata

It is curious that the forest-exile is central to both Ramayana and Mahabharata, the twin epics of India. In the Ramayana, Ram goes into exile so that his father can keep his word to his step-mother, Kaikeyi. In the Mahabharata, the Pandavas go into exile following an agreement with their cousins, the Kauravas, when they lose their kingdom in a gambling match. The reaction to the exile in both epics is startlingly different. In the Ramayana, Ram keeps saying that neither Kaikeyi nor his father should be blamed and the moment should be accepted as an act of destiny. In the Mahabharata, Pandavas keep blaming Kauravas and their uncle, Shakuni, for fraud and trickery. Ram looks calm and peaceful, even though he is clearly the victim of palace politics. The Pandavas on the other hand are angry and furious, never once taking responsibility for the fact that they gambled away their kingdom. The loss of kingdom and exile into the forest is a metaphor for misfortune. But the approach to it distinguishes Ram from the Pandavas and makes the former a king worthy of worship. Managers can be classified into Ramayana Managers and Mahabharata Managers. The former take responsibility for a situation, even if they are not to blame. The latter do not take responsibility for a situation, even if they are to blame.

Ramayana managers typically internalise the problem. Focus on what they can do to manage and resolve the crisis. Mahabharata managers typically externalise the problem and spend a lot of time and energy finding people and processes to blame. Two days after Raj moved to his new office, his entire team resigned. He was not the cause. A series of events had taken place before he joined the team and he was witnessing the exit process. Since Raj represented the senior management, on the second day of the job, he had to take exit interviews and hear all the outpourings of negative emotions of those leaving. He had to hear all the terrible things the organisation had done and how the person before him had betrayed their trust All Raj could do is go through the process, endure the irritation of the exiting team. He did it stoically, never getting angry for the awkward position he had been put in by the management, never complaining to his superiors, never regretting his decision to take up this new assignment, never feeling he had been duped into an unpleasant situation that was not of his own creation. In the large organisation, few knew that he had no role in the crisis. The system revealed him as the manager on duty at the time the resignations were tendered. That somehow made him the cause of the unpleasant effect. Raj took this all in a stride as the reality of corporate life and focused on what he could do, rather than what he had no control over. Sachin, on the other hand, is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His predecessor's mess had created havoc and he was expected to handle it on the day he joined as the boss of the local branch. Customers were screaming, subordinates were yelling and Sachin did not know what to do. So he picked up the phone and complained to the HR department and then the boss who had hired him for not warning him of the