Camaraderie

“Ae sun, main tera naam bhool gayi” (Hey there, I forgot your name). She remarked with cocky impudence, pointing her index finger in his face.

“Shukriya bhagwaan ka ki bhool gayi” (Thank God you forgot it). He spat back with matching distaste. Face deadpan. Eyes challenging.

Two seconds later, they burst out laughing. She slapped him on the back, and he jumped as though bitten by a snake. Smiling ear to ear, the two proceeded in opposite directions. She, the store GM. He, the pantry boy.

This is what the woman looked like, smiling and professional, draped in a perfect sari 

All this transpired in ten seconds, while I was waiting my turn for using the washroom.

Rewind 30 minutes. I was out shopping at this store in Connaught Place with my mother. We were trying (like all good Indian buyers) to get some discount on the stated price. That’s when we were introduced to this woman, the Store Manager. She heard us patiently on how we’d sworn by the store for the last 26 years. She assured us of support, went behind the glass doors, and came out with a pittance of an offer. We took it. She offered us coffee, and this pantry boy served us on her humble request. She maintained her warm-yet-distant demeanour with one and all. The pantry boy continued to serve guests like us with brisk and smiling efficiency. As always, this place was professionally run. Efficient and helpful staff. No-nonsense speedy atmosphere.

It was only after the billing that I went to use the washroom and tasted a slice of the inner work culture of that store. Judging by the strictly professional appearances of this store, one could not have guessed the undercurrent of informal and totally non-hierarchical camaraderie of this workplace. But it did exist. And I found another reason why I would remain loyal to this store.