The Snake Pit

As a newly appointed recruit, I had no idea of the snake pit I had walked into.

The Odeon Cinema was not just one of the five theaters in New Delhi that belonged to the chain, but it was also the corporate office. I had not only the captain of the ship to please, but I was also under the microscope of the admiral and his entire crew.

Several people hated me because I had replaced the fired assistant manager, their long-time cohort. And, practically everyone perceived me as the owner’s eyes and ears. Not a happy prospect.

After a month, the owner called me and told me that my predecessor would soon be returning, having used up his vacation days. “He will tell you a bunch of lies and try to win you over,” the owner said. “I don’t want you to have anything to do with him. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Each day after that, the fired assistant manager was the first person to come to the office. He was always dressed in a spotless, well-pressed white safari suit, spoke to no one, and ate his tiffin (sack lunch) at his desk. He did not even bring anything to read except the daily newspaper. He just sat there all day, staring off into space, and then dutifully left a few minutes after 5 p.m.

No one greeted him or talked to him. Total ostracism was in force. Though he had spent a good part of his life there, he was now a living ghost in this place where his best friends could not even smile at him. To me, this shunning seemed inhumane, even beneath animal behavior.

Soon I got my opportunity. One afternoon, he and I were the only two on the floor. I listened for any nearby sounds. There was pin-drop silence. I looked all around to make sure no one was there, and then I quickly walked into the assistant manager’s office. I drew up a chair and introduced myself. 

“I know who you are,” he retorted solemnly.

I had seen him many times, but this was the first time I heard his voice. It was calm, calculated, and firm.

I explained to him that I had not known the circumstances under which I was hired. I was sincerely sorry that his misfortune had to be the cause of my good fortune. I would gladly resign, if it could get him his job back. I was sorry that circumstances did not permit us to be friends. It was simply a role we had to play, not my desire, I said. I told him I would smile at him each time our paths crossed, so he would know the respect I held for him as a human being.

I told him I was at his mercy since he had been there for a long time, while I was anari (a total amateur). He and his friends could destroy me without him even lifting a finger.

He thanked me for coming to talk to him. He understood that it took a lot of courage on my part. Then he acknowledged my youth and inexperience and proceeded to provide me with some sage advice.

“Trust no one here,” he said. “Even those who are nice to your face will be holding a dagger behind their backs. The walls have eyes and ears. Watch your back.”  

We shook hands and parted.

As soon as I slipped back into my office, fear gripped me, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. Standing at the door, I looked around. There was not a single soul on the floor. I kept listening for any sounds … not a squeak. My secret was safe—or so I thought.

The next morning, the summons came. Seth Sahib’s chaprasi (office boy) came to fetch me. From his tone, I could tell there was something wrong.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked the office boy.

“Bahut (much),” he whispered under his breath.

Seth Sahib, the cinema owner, greeted me with fiery eyes and crossed arms. “You promised me you would not have anything to do with the assistant manager. You disobeyed my command and went against my wishes—an unforgivable act!”

“Yes, Sir,” I confirmed without apology.

“What transpired in that meeting?” he sternly demanded.

All my senses were on full alert. I felt alive. With my head held high, I told him exactly what I had shared—except that I did not tell him about the warning, “Even the walls have eyes and ears.” I was now experiencing the truth of those words.

“Why?!” Seth Sahib roared.

“Sir, you have hired me as a manager. In giving me that title, you have assigned me the responsibility to make decisions in your absence. In a way, you have asked me to protect your interests. I shall do exactly that. My job is to clear your path, not to become a thorn instead. By not talking to my predecessor, outsiders may have perceived that there was hostility between us. Even though, on the surface, it may seem that I was not following your instructions, I believe I am doing what you have really hired me to do.”

Those words came to me spontaneously, from somewhere or something I still do not comprehend. Whatever it was, it was powerful. I could only catch a glimpse of it.

Seth Sahib just sat there, looking at me. We had both experienced something. Whatever it was, it was real and deserved attention, including mine. I believe something beyond words took place in that moment. Seth Sahib was staring at me, and I was totally comfortable with his look because it had nothing to do with me.

After a few moments he said, “Thank you, I understand.” Then he nodded his head, a sign that the meeting was over.

As I opened the door, I surprised his office boy, who was sitting on a wooden stool with his ear glued to the door. From the look on his face, I don’t think he expected me to come out alive.