When I rang Swami’s doorbell last Monday morning, he opened the door with the expression of a man waiting for a death sentence. His hair was unkempt, his shirt crumpled, and the dining table behind him was covered in scribbled notes.
“Not going to office? What is happening?” I asked.
“Going. It is appraisal season,” he muttered gravely. “The annual circus.”
Vidya walked past, unfazed. “He’s been writing and rewriting his self-appraisal all day yesterday. And early today morning. You’d think he’s composing a budget for the Finance Ministry.”
“I have to get the wording right,” Swami explained. “If I say too little, Raichand will say I did nothing. If I say too much, he’ll say I’m arrogant. It’s a tightrope.”
At that moment, his phone buzzed. A message from Manoj popped up on the office group: ‘Guys, relax. Just copy-paste last year’s achievements. Raichand never reads.’
Swami groaned. “That man treats life like a WhatsApp forward. Copy-paste, it seems! If only I could take things at work as lightly as him!”
Vidya raised her eyebrows. “You’ve tried for over fifteen years to no avail. You even takes his jokes more seriously that he takes his own work.” She placed a cup of coffee in front of him. “Drink this. At least your blood pressure should not get a raise today.”
Meera quipped in, “Papa, don’t worry, nothing will happen. We have mid-terms and tests every three or four months. At least when I start working, it will be just an annual affair.”
It didn’t calm Swami’s nerves. He simply groaned and glared.
By the time Jigneshbhai and I walked down with him to his car, Swami was muttering numbers to himself. “Twenty percent growth… exceeded expectations… team performance highlights… client appreciation emails…”
I stole a worried glance at Jigneshbhai, who just shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
At office, matters got worse.
Swami waited to be called into Raichand’s cabin. Manoj, who saw him sweating, came over first. “Swami bhai, remember to talk about strategic synergy. That word always works!” he said.
Chimpu who was in charge of deciding the order in which people enter Raichand’s room, walked across, and said, “Raichand sir only respects loyalty. Just nod at everything he says.”
Priya from HR who had dropped in to joined Raichand for some of the appraisals, smiled politely. “Don’t stress. It’s not a viva, it’s a conversation. You should know, after all these years.”
While Swami tried to recollect what he had decided to speak about, Manoj bounded over yet again. “Swami bhai! Don’t worry. I’ve already written four pages about how I improved team morale with my jokes. I even attached screenshots of my memes.”
Swami’s eyes bulged. “Memes?!”
“Boss appreciates creativity,” Manoj said proudly. “And anyway, HR just wants the form filled.”
By late afternoon, it was time for his appraisal meeting. He walked in like a man heading for surgery.
“Yes, Swami, come in, take a seat,” Raichand said.
Swami sat across from Raichand, file in hand. He handed over his self-appraisal form.
“Sir, I wanted to highlight—”
Raichand raised a hand, not looking up from his phone.
“Swami, you know, last year we closed three of the biggest deals in the company. Without me, the CEO and the board would have…” He waved dramatically. “Well, let’s just say chaos.”
Swami tried again. “Yes, sir, and in my team we managed—”
Raichand leaned forward. “Stretch goals, Swami! That’s what you need. Think big. Learn to be strategic. Look at me. Don’t just manage. Carry everyone. Lead.”
Swami opened his mouth, then shut it. For the next seven minutes, he only heard Raichand talking about himself and what his business unit had achieved. Raichand didn’t ask Swami anything about his or his team’s performance.
“Remember,” Raichand continued, scrolling through his screen, “vision is everything. And of course, hard work. You must think like a leader. Execution follows.”
“Yes, sir,” Swami murmured.
Raichand finally looked up from his screen, smiling thinly. “You have a lot of potential Swami. I have seen you over the years. But you must step up. I hope this talk has helped.”
“Yes, sir,” Swami muttered, yet again.
“Keep pushing. Bigger targets this year. Show me you can think beyond the ordinary.”
“Yes, sir.”
He finally glanced at Swami’s self-appraisal form, and wrote, ‘Room for Improvement’ before handing it back to Swami. He tapped his phone. “Now I really must take this call.”
Swami stood up, clutching his file, unsure whether he had just had an appraisal or attended a motivational lecture. He emerged; shoulders slumped.
That evening, at the café, he narrated it to us, still visibly shaken.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He barely glanced at my form,” Swami said. “He just kept talking about himself. And then at the end, he said, ‘Room for improvement.’ And then he signed.”
“So, it’s good? Or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me the rating. Everyone outside said HR will communicate.” Swami sighed. “Imagine. Months of work, reduced to a number hidden in an envelope.”
“I poured my heart out in that form. And what does Raichand say? ‘Room for improvement.’ Manoj was right, after all. A copy paste of last year would have worked fine!”
Jigneshbhai sipped his coffee calmly. “Hmm.. Now, on to the next year? New goals, new targets, new appraisals? A tense day at work comes to an end?”
Swami blinked. “Yeah, I guess. The annual cycle continues.”
Jigneshbhai and I looked at Swami. He seemed marginally better than the morning.
“But do you know what the best part of the tense day was?” he suddenly said, with a pleasant smile making a welcome appearance on his face.
Jigneshbhai and I asked him what it was, in eager anticipation.
“It was when I met the office peon, Ramu Kaka at the water cooler, after my appraisal meeting!” Swami said. “He asked me why there was so much buzz and tension in the office today.”
“And when I said, it was the appraisal day when Raichand will decide who gets how much increment, the old man casually remarks: “Sahab, in the end, increment or no increment, you still eat two chapatis. Not three.”
Jigneshbhai chuckled softly, then said, “Strange, isn’t it? The peon who got no bonus at all was the first to finish his appraisal.”
Swami and I tried to absorb his words and listened with attention.
“Meanwhile, executives with fat salaries and fat targets keep circling, waiting, fretting,” Jigneshbhai continued. “Perhaps he knows something they don’t — that the appraisal changes nothing materially, and peace doesn’t come from a manager’s rating.”
Swami looked at him, unsettled. He wasn’t sure if he’d just heard a joke or a truth. Maybe both.
Finally, Swami sighed, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Still, I hope HR fills my bank account properly this year.”
We all laughed. Jigneshbhai stirred his coffee, serene as always.
***