Sampati's Observations

Format is born out of status quo. Structure is born out of action.

I was waiting for the elevator on the ground floor, already running late for my early morning meeting. It was my misfortune that I caught the peak hour.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, a swarm of people barged in, packing it as tightly as a Mumbai local train. With some effort, I managed to squeeze my way inside. Thankfully, a kind soul near the button panel noticed my predicament and pressed 20 for me.

After enduring Boss’s sarcastic comments and a few raised eyebrows from my colleagues, I was finally in the meeting.

The purpose of the meeting was expense budget allocation. Our Boss had secured some extra funds for the rest of the year and wanted to hear our ideas on how best to utilize them.

As expected, my colleagues and I quickly turned the discussion into a competition, each of us eager to pitch the most innovative and offbeat ideas to justify our respective asks for a larger share of that budget.

Our Boss, sat quietly through this chaos. Just as his assistant showed up to remind him about his next meeting, he simply said –

“You all have good ideas. Now, please do the following:

First, tell me how you are going to implement it.

Second, confirm whether you have the necessary resources.

Third, outline the timeline for completion.

Fourth, show me the financial give-get –  ROI, break-even period and payback period .

Please send me your proposals by this evening. I’ll review them and share my feedback. Whoever gets a share of the budget will need to integrate it into their goals, and performance will be evaluated at year-end.”

With that, he walked out. The moment the meeting ended, my colleagues and I bolted from the conference room like sprinters at the starting gun—no one wanted a late start, and no one wanted to miss the medal.

It had been a stressful day—crunching numbers, securing resources, and, most importantly, writing an impactful proposal to win my Boss’s approval.

This was more than just a budget pitch. This was an opportunity to solidify my presence and position within the larger team.

By the time I got home, I was utterly exhausted— brain fried and drained. As I sank into my chair, a thought crossed my mind, “Am I even paid enough to endure this rat race day after day?”

Just as I changed into something comfortable, my phone rang. It was Maango.

“What’s up?” he asked as soon as I picked up.

“Don’t ask…” I sighed, launching into a full narration of my day—the intense competition, the exhaustion, and the endless confusion. I shared it all.

Maango listened without interrupting, letting me vent. When I finally stopped, there was a deep sigh on his end. Then, silence on both sides.

For you, the reader, I should clarify—this was during a time when Maango had already moved on to his first expat assignment.

“You know, I actually miss it,” Maango finally broke the silence.

I was a little surprised by his reaction. Miss it?

“Yeah, now you would say that,” I shot back with sarcasm.

“No, I really mean it,” he insisted.

He paused for a moment before continuing, “Do you remember how excited I was when I first came here? How amazed I was by the structure I saw in this market”

I remembered that story vividly. On his very first day at work in this developed East Asian country, he had an interesting experience.

People there actually stood in a neat queue in front of the office elevator, patiently waiting for their turn. No pushing, no desperate jostling—just quiet and orderly.

This was far unlike the chaotic rush we were accustomed to in our beloved country.

It seemed my dear friend Maango had stood in the same spot for a while, waiting for the next elevator, even though he could have moved up. The people ahead of him had already stepped into their respective elevators.

The elevator was taking time, longer than expected. After a few minutes, Maango just turned his head for no particular reason. That’s when he noticed it—the queue had grown much longer. People at the very end were now standing outside the lobby door, spilling onto the street.

Seeing this, Maango immediately moved up, allowing those at the end of the queue to step inside the lobby. He felt bad about his own callousness, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but admire the discipline and respect for order that his fellow officegoers displayed.

“Yes, I do…” I told Maango.

“You know, that impression is fading pretty quickly,” Maango said, his tone contemplative. “What I once saw as respect for order and discipline is now starting to feel like just a deep sense of comfort in following a set format.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, unable to comprehend what exactly he was complaining about.

Had he forgotten the smell of sweat, the suffocation, the unspoken battle to keep a well-tucked shirt intact?

How would you feel if you walked into a meeting called by your boss, and there was no scope for speaking up?” Maango burst out in frustration. “Imagine being in a room where only the senior-most person—the boss—has the right to speak and present his wish list, and you simply take it as an order, carrying it out without question, without using your brain. How would that feel?”

He had put me on the spot.

I didn’t know what to say. Yes, the competitive environment wore me down at times—it drained me, exhausted me. But as I listened to Maango’s last question, a realization settled in. I wasn’t ready to discard it from my life.

“But how is performance assessed at the end of the year?” Somehow, I managed to find a question that seemed pertinent.

His response was brief – “Perception, and the feel-good factor.”

During my current boss’s regime, I had almost forgotten what those terms even meant. So, I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Who followed the prescribed format provided by the Boss the best. Who spent weekends playing golf with him…” he began, and then the list went on—networking over drinks, nodding in agreement at the right moments, mastering the art of polished but meaningless presentations.

“But this isn’t sustainable, right? The business will tank,” I interjected with a piece of my wisdom.

“Who cares about business results?” he lamented. “As long as the Boss’s prescribed formats are neatly filled out on PowerPoint slides, and the reasons for not getting results are well-articulated, you get a free pass here.”

I didn’t know how to take it.

Was it easy money without a challenge? … or… a mundane work ethic leading to disaster.

Finally, I got to the real question—the one that mattered.

“How does it bother you?” I asked.

“It makes my life difficult when it’s time to find my next job. No new learning to upskill myself, no real accomplishments to show,” he replied pointedly.

I wondered which one was better…

A pre-formatted, standardized approach—where following the script mattered more than actual results, offering stability and a stress-free life?

Or a chaotic, competitive approach that led to a constructive structure – linked to specific goals with accountability.

An easy life with good money, or a tough life to earn it?

What do you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please share them in the comments section below.

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