<p>How do I even start this story? Let me take you on a little adventure I had at the Bengaluru airport recently. Picture this: I’m breezing through security, feeling like a million bucks, and after I clear the metal detector (thankfully, my belt buckle didn’t set it off this time), I casually scroll through my phone. That’s when I notice a woman sitting next to me. At first, I thought, “Who is this stranger?” But then it hit me like a tonne of bricks—I knew her!</p><p>Yes! It was none other than Priya, my coworker from the glorious 1980s. Can you believe it? The moment I locked eyes with her, she recognised me faster than I recognised my own reflection in a fun-house mirror. We ended up diving into a delightful conversation over coffee, and I couldn’t help but grin like a kid in a candy store.</p><p>As we chatted, we started reminiscing about the good old days when we were young, energetic, and probably a bit reckless at work. “Remember those protests we organised to raise our dearness allowance?” I asked. “Management just ignored our pleas like we were trying to sell them a used car.”</p>.India’s shadow classrooms: Who gets to learn after school?.<p>Priya nodded knowingly. “We came up with a rather creative protest to uphold our international company’s ethics. We called it ‘No DA, No Shave.’ The guys grew beards that would make Santa jealous, and the women wore the same outfit every day for an entire week.”</p><p>I asked her, “How did the women feel about wearing one dress all week? Wasn’t that a little… monotonous?”</p><p>“Believe it or not, everyone was on board! They thought it was the best way to protest. We kept it going for months.” </p><p>Then one fine day, our parent company sent visitors to check in, and our local administration practically begged us to stop the demonstration while they were there. But we flat-out refused, like a toddler refusing to eat their vegetables. The visitors were shocked by our unusual form of protest. They appreciated our sincerity but didn’t know whether to laugh or call HR. Meanwhile, we were steadfast, growing our beards and proudly wearing our matching outfits. Finally, after months of negotiation, our local management raised the dearness allowance to match the other branches. It was a glorious win for us!</p><p>I nodded, feeling a warm wave of nostalgia wash over me. Yes! Talking to Priya reminded me just how original and fresh those times were. It brought back so many memories, and I have to say, I never thought I’d miss the days of questionable fashion choices and even more questionable protest strategies.</p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em><br></p>
<p>How do I even start this story? Let me take you on a little adventure I had at the Bengaluru airport recently. Picture this: I’m breezing through security, feeling like a million bucks, and after I clear the metal detector (thankfully, my belt buckle didn’t set it off this time), I casually scroll through my phone. That’s when I notice a woman sitting next to me. At first, I thought, “Who is this stranger?” But then it hit me like a tonne of bricks—I knew her!</p><p>Yes! It was none other than Priya, my coworker from the glorious 1980s. Can you believe it? The moment I locked eyes with her, she recognised me faster than I recognised my own reflection in a fun-house mirror. We ended up diving into a delightful conversation over coffee, and I couldn’t help but grin like a kid in a candy store.</p><p>As we chatted, we started reminiscing about the good old days when we were young, energetic, and probably a bit reckless at work. “Remember those protests we organised to raise our dearness allowance?” I asked. “Management just ignored our pleas like we were trying to sell them a used car.”</p>.India’s shadow classrooms: Who gets to learn after school?.<p>Priya nodded knowingly. “We came up with a rather creative protest to uphold our international company’s ethics. We called it ‘No DA, No Shave.’ The guys grew beards that would make Santa jealous, and the women wore the same outfit every day for an entire week.”</p><p>I asked her, “How did the women feel about wearing one dress all week? Wasn’t that a little… monotonous?”</p><p>“Believe it or not, everyone was on board! They thought it was the best way to protest. We kept it going for months.” </p><p>Then one fine day, our parent company sent visitors to check in, and our local administration practically begged us to stop the demonstration while they were there. But we flat-out refused, like a toddler refusing to eat their vegetables. The visitors were shocked by our unusual form of protest. They appreciated our sincerity but didn’t know whether to laugh or call HR. Meanwhile, we were steadfast, growing our beards and proudly wearing our matching outfits. Finally, after months of negotiation, our local management raised the dearness allowance to match the other branches. It was a glorious win for us!</p><p>I nodded, feeling a warm wave of nostalgia wash over me. Yes! Talking to Priya reminded me just how original and fresh those times were. It brought back so many memories, and I have to say, I never thought I’d miss the days of questionable fashion choices and even more questionable protest strategies.</p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em><br></p>
