The boss is always right

It is generally an accepted fact today among employees, that the boss is always right. The old rule says that if you have any doubts about it, well, just don't, if you know what's good for you. It doesn't mean you have to suck up to the boss. That is a totally different category, and the people in it generally lead miserable lives, discontent in the knowledge that the boss can see right through their little game, but they are compelled by their very nature not to act otherwise.

In my case, however, it seems I actually do have a boss who is almost always right. And there is no more comforting feeling for your ideal employee, which I may not be but always strive towards. When you come from an office where you basically had a lot of seniors pottering about, each one more confused than the other, a boss like the one I have at present can hit you like a shock that takes getting used to. Your normal employee can be nonplussed at first, but I always endeavour to be as plussed as possible in any situation. Anyone who saw me walking in the first day would have seen a confident young man speaking in confident level tones and with a very slight saunter - the saunter of three years of experience in a newspaper. Even my boss's voice was softer than mine. I thought to myself, "This is one soft-spoken pleasant dude." And I'm usually the one called "soft-spoken".

The situation has changed now, as you can imagine. It is my boss, and a few others, who tell me they can't hear what I say. I move around blithely like a quiet mouse, slipping in and out of the shadows. My boss settled all my ill-conceived pretensions about my ability with the English language. I mean, heavens, I thought I was at least justified in thinking I had some degree of comfortability with the language. It is, after all, the only language I know and I believe I dream in it, so it would be wrong for me to think I was bad in it. Or so I thought. But only a few days into my job did I realise how wrong I was.

The first 'copy' I edited was done with a flourish and I walked in with a slight swagger induced by my new-found confidence and laid the print-out on his desk. He frowned at it and began the massacre. I got it back with pen marks all over - which re-awoke in my mind nightmares of my school days. And I thought I had got past them. Anyway, I continued my work, the clicking of the keyboard keys getting slower and quieter. Very naturally, my speed - never one of my greatest fortes - got even slower as I struggled to make fewer mistakes with my grammar.

But they continued. Each time I told myself to remember not to repeat a certain grammar mistake, I would make a new one. I began to realise my mistakes were from an indefatigable source that was self-generating. And the despair began to set in.

It was tough for the first few weeks. But now the good news. My mistakes are reducing. I am beginning to learn English all over again. Maybe it was that my boss had been an English teacher previously. But I found a profound respect for him taking birth in my breast, which grew - the respect I mean - with each new mistake I made. I began to realise the truth - my boss is actually always right - well almost always!

The realisation that he was still but human came to me one day when he emerged from his cabin brandishing my copy in his hand. "This is not English," he said, indicating a portion he had circled with his pen. I saw the sentence - "The Minister said his hands were tied." I blinked. I was confused. He went on, "What do you mean, 'Hands are tied'? Do you mean with a rope? (okay not a very good joke, but let it pass) Maybe you could say it in Kannada (and he launched into a string of Kannada that I understood the gist of but cannot repeat, simply because I don't know the language). But not in English." I don't know what it was then that made me squeak, "But sir, I thought it was an expression." I suddenly realised I had dared to question the boss and I waited for the blow to fall - "Do you even know English? You call yourself a sub editor?" But no. It seemed to strike him that what I said made some sense. So he quickly corrected himself, "Yes, but they don't use it in England... (eh?) It's avoidable. You could do without it." That's when the old wise saying first flashed through my mind - "The boss is always right! Quickly, nod your head." So I did. And he was happy. Incident over.

But I was glad it happened to me, so I can choose to remind myself of it whenever I get too overawed by his preciseness and Oxfordianness, which restores the balance in my work and increases my efficiency. But the respect has only grown stronger. The man is a genius. I know that 96.747 times he is right, which does unimaginable good to an employee's confidence. There is nothing like knowing that almost every time he points out your mistakes, he is right. It makes you careful like never before. And you learn along the way. I have suddenly felt in me a deep yearning to go back to the basics of English grammar, something that our education system seems to barely skim - as it now strikes me - and learn it proper. He has taught me to treat English like a science. All my dreams of learning Kannada in 30 days (yeah right) and Spanish in 90, and maybe French in 112, have suddenly found themselves being rudely pushed aside. He has stirred up my respect for English like never before. I mean, there is no language like it. The French may have tried to come close, but while trying to reach God on their babelic tower of tenses, they somehow got lost and have become a frustrated lot. But back to my boss!

I still remember one of the first lessons he taught me in grammar - "Even though there's a conjunction separating the two clauses, the subject in the second clause has changed, so you've got to put a comma before the 'and'." Immortal words. I have never made the mistake again.