Humour

Letting users bloom

T A Balasubramanian writes about knowledge workers in Moghul Corporation

Back at the Moghul Corporation, the ancient enterprise that is known more popularly as the Moghul, the durbar is holding another session. It is once again the lot of Baba Bahadur, the genteel and soft-spoken CIO of Moghul, to deal with the open house and the many questions that keep popping up inside these royal chambers.

The CEO of Moghul, the reigning king Aurangazeb, is referred to in the vast halls and corridors of the Moghul as Moghul-e-Aura, or simply, the Aura. In the course of these prolonged ritualistic meetings, Aura is present bodily, but his mind is often elsewhere, looking through the shining faces of his underlings. In this courtly environment, Aura is represented by the wily Nana Findaloo, Moghul’s irrepressible CFO and Chief Vizir.

Today, Baba Bahadur has been given the onerous task of putting up a plan to restrict the constant upsurge in the population of PCs across Moghul—since Findaloo has gleefully noticed that these PCs are costing his treasury much more each year—which, to a CFO, is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. The intrepid Bahadur makes notes of the proceedings of the session in his own words in this narration.

In his usual pugnacious way, Findaloo has come up with a dark and ominous opening salvo. “I would like to draw your attention, Bahadur, to these demands that your IT department makes for more PCs. Now, just a few years ago, if you recall, you tried to keep the PCs out. They put too much power in the hands of our ignorant users, and you said that they could not be trusted to do serious computing on them anyway.”

“Yes, Nanaji, I do recall,” you concur agreeably. “I made both arguments, simultaneously, but I do have my reasons to revise those arguments.”

“And those reasons are?” says Findaloo, belligerently.

I make an attempt to be brave, even a little light-hearted. It has been a staggering week, where I have been besieged by endless requests from users for PC upgrades and brand new PCs, all intended to add more volume and punch to the Word and PowerPoint files that Moghul’s teeming masses seem to love generating in vast quantities.

“PCs muscled their way in despite my best efforts to keep the slim terminals attached to our mainframe. And as you know, we had to finally sell the mainframe two years ago, along with the terminals. Distributed computing came in too, and there was nothing we could do to stop the PC invasion. The economics made them unavoidable.”

“Well, Bahadur, you are doing little to change the economics. Many pundits in our court claimed that we would soon go back to the era of the mainframe, and that the terminals would come back. But we have not seen that happen. We have seen the PCs becoming fatter and fatter, more bloated with software.”

“Indeed, huzoor, that is still happening. Vendors keep loading new features to ‘fatten’ every new generation of PC as users want to have more word power and pizzazz in their letters and more punch in their presentations. This is the new generation that likes to have more of everything—more storage, more bandwidth, more action and more bells and whistles.”

“They also complain more about your IT, Bahadur. Why is that?”

Aura wakes up as if from a deep nap. “Nanaji, there is an old saying that my grandfather, Akbar used to repeat to me. He said that a citizen who is objecting or complaining while working is also using his brain at work. Because the one who does not care generally says nothing. It is good to hear that a lot of users are complaining about IT, Bahadur. Encourage them. It keeps their brains ticking.”

“Ah, I will, huzoor,” I say, thankful for the king’s intervention. “It is my pleasant duty to offer them my ear.”

“That is good,” says Aura, and then loses interest in the proceedings, his attention drawn to the lotus bloom in his hand.

“But then, what happens when you put too much power in the hands of users?” says Findaloo, glaring at me as if to assure me that none of Aura’s salve would help me here.

“Things have changed, Nanaji,” you say dolefully. “The PC is now in every user’s home. They are used to installing whatever they like, and in spite of what the pundits tell you, very few run into insurmountable problems, and those who do coyly ask their teen-aged children to help them. Their teenagers give them the same pitying look they get from my staff at work, but much better service.”

“Hmm. I know what you mean,” says Findaloo suddenly softening. “My teenage daughter fixed my printer yesterday.”

This is unexpected good news—an opening in the enemy’s flanks that I would be foolish to ignore.

“You see, Nanaji? Even you can appreciate what I say, eh? But there is more. The PC gives them a sense of self-worth. For our users, their job, in addition to being a way to earn a living, is a space for many things—for social interaction with the durbar members, for developing the self-esteem that comes from creating value and achieving important things. It is also for making sense of work, for structuring time and for actually doing work. And finally, it is for exercising their brains and keeping them from becoming rusty.”

“All right. So you have these smart users who know all about PCs. What about those who do not?”

It is time for you to get your final shot into the enemy’s lines.

“Nanaji, I am of the opinion that in the present durbar, a knowledge worker who does not know how to competently operate a PC, a keyboard and a mouse is better called an ignorant worker. There are, of course, exceptions—such as the court jester, who can be forgiven for remaining addicted to his abacus. For the most part, a knowledge worker who cannot operate a PC is like a royal messenger who cannot handle a scroll or read from it.”

“It is a different world today, Nanaji,” says Aura, shaking his head a little sadly, as he sniffs at the lotus. “We have no need for messengers. These PCs have forced them to retire. E-mail has sealed their fate.”

“These users know more than all our fathers and grandfathers knew,” says Findaloo, wonderingly.

“True, huzoor,” I say. “And preaching to them that their PC is a business tool, to be used only for business is not working any more. They know something even we in IT often forget.”

“And what is that?”

“The PC is not really a computer—it is a gateway to a world of exciting possibilities. And they will find ways to explore any gateways they see. So why not be benevolent and give them the freedom to do so?”

“Ah, freedom for the subjects,” says Aura.

“Just think of how they work, Nanaji. In the durbar, they create reports and presentations, look up their investment portfolios, answer all kinds of e-mail related to friends or work, make phone calls to anyone. Then, when they are away at home, they think about the reports, edit presentations, and do virtually all the same things they do at the durbar. Now, where is the need to instruct them?”

“Like the lotus, let them bloom,” says Aura, getting up to close the session.