On
Thursday, November 22, 2018 I made an important decision. I wrote to the Dean Faculty at IIM that I
would not like to be considered for promotion from the rank of Associate
Professor that I am now to Professor or “Full” Professor that I would be if I
were to be promoted.
When I
first thought of writing this post I considered pasting my letter in this
post. Then I realized that this is after
all a public post. And the letter is a
serious official communication. I should
not diminish the gravity of the letter by pasting it on to a public post.
My
arguments in the letter essentially turn on three points.
One, in
recent years, promotion at IIMB has emerged as a reward for and recognition of
excellence in research. A few other
performance measures have been added essentially to address the clamour for
promotion from non-research active faculty.
As such, those promotions do not receive the same peer recognition as
the one awarded for research excellence.
Two, all
my life I have sought recognition only for excellence achieved. I have been reluctant to receive any
recognition that has been extended as a commiseration by the employer.
Three,
given that I have not been able to achieve excellence along the academic
dimensions that IIMB as an institution and my colleagues as a community value,
I would feel embarrassed to be promoted.
Such promotion would at best be a commiseration.
All of
these are my views and I recognize that they may be at variance at with the
beliefs that many others may hold. They
may also represent a certain interpretation of the institute’s policies that the
institute may not accept as accurate.
When I
first mooted the idea of this decision many months ago, Lakshmi my wife, who
has been generally supportive of all my career related moves so far did not
agree to the idea. Her argument was
pragmatic, as always: Given the nature
of the work of a faculty at IIMB promotions do not matter functionally. As such, you do not every have to wangle or
lobby for a promotion. But if the
institute thinks you deserve a promotion, for whatever reason, why do you want
to deny it?
It took a
fair amount of persuasion. I cringed
about how my sense of dignity would not allow me to imagine that I got promoted
without having achieved excellence by way of publication for reasons that may
not rank high in my employer’s ideals of academic excellence. And that tongues could possibly wag in corridor
gossip about my having been commiserated.
With a few years to retire, that was unacceptable to me at the fag end
of my career - call it false pride, ego, or whatever you like to.
And so in
the early pre-dawn hours of Wednesday, as I was running off to the airport for
an important meeting at Mumbai, I got her to reluctantly let me fire off that
letter. When on the next day I showed
her the draft that I planned to send she just said matter of factly that it was
well drafted. If she was unhappy it did
not show.
I shared
this letter with my siblings. They were
livid that I would do so something so silly.
They were just as sorry that matters had come to this pass in my
academic life. They felt sorry that for someone
who was considered to be the brightest in the family and on whom many a hope
had been pinned I would have had to finally write that I would pass up a
promotion because I thought I did not deserve it.
I had half
a mind to explain to them that it did not really matter. That this was the lesser among the many
reverses that I had suffered in my life.
That the email was just a final acknowledgement of failure in a life
that had been riddled with setbacks. Many
of them of had been of much larger magnitude. Some had even come in the way of
my fulfilling my responsibilities as spouse, parent, son and sibling. The brunt
of all of it was being borne by Lakshmi as she continued to silently the suffer
long tail of my many failings as a man and as a professional.
I decided
against. It did not seem to matter. How would I explain all of that to people with
whom I had not spoken about those so many other reverses?
My mind had
been in turmoil till I wrote that email to my Dean. I had hoped that it would be lighter after I
wrote it. In some sense I am at peace. I feel a certain lightness, as I said in my
email. I know when and what I will
retire as – unless I screw up even worse than I have so far.
But at
least on this blog where I reveal my some of my true feelings I must record
that I did break down once, quite severely, after I wrote that note, when I was
all alone in my office.
Was it out
of the disappointment that I would retire as an Associate Professor? No. Was it out of unhappiness that I would not
get what many other colleagues would or did, some decidedly superior to me as
academics and some probably just as good?
I do not think it was that either.
I think
the real reasons for the searing pain that I felt were two. One, that I did not make the cut of academic
excellence when, at the risk of sounding smug, I believe I had in me what it
takes to. Two, just as importantly,
there is a sense of sadness and disappointment that I allowed myself to be a part
of section of the institution that does not seem to be the most important or
relevant sections of the community in the eyes of the leadership, as I understand
it.
I distinctly
recall the meeting with an earlier Dean and Director a few years ago when the
policy of rewarding publishable research was unveiled to me. I was told that as part of emphasizing
research, going forward, the institute would promote people who excelled in
publication in three to five years. And
then as an after-thought I was told that those who did not would get promoted
too. But it would take them longer.
It did not
take a lot of imagination to realise right at that time that the two promotions
would never be the same. One would be recognition. The other would be what I will refer to as institutional
commiseration.
The
promotion policies at IIMB have come a long way since then. But every new twist and turn in these
policies has only served to reinforce what was first unveiled to me: That there will be those who publish. And those who don’t. The former will decide the future of the
institution. Their work will be
showcased – understandably - to the world outside. The latter will merely exist.
Some may
see this as an unfortunate change in the character or ethos of the institution,
from being an inclusive establishment where everyone seemed to matter. Those interested in research pursued it for
the joy and legitimacy in the larger world of academics that it gave them. The others contributed to the institution in
ways that they felt they could. The
latter admired the former who were endowed with the intellect and the inclination
to pursue publishable research.
And they
all moved up in the organization in some fashion that few seemed to understand.
They were all nominated into positions
that determined the future of the institution according to some
incomprehensible grammar.
So there
would be the inevitable angst about getting to those positions, followed by an
occasional round of anger or even resentment at having been passed over. But no one ever felt it divided them into
those that seemed to matter and those that did not.
I view
these vicissitudes more philosophically.
Such changes are but inevitable in a world that seems to look for change
qua change. More enlightened institutions
and leaders manage it in a way that is consistent with their ethos, especially if
that ethos has not been dysfunctional.
Others embrace more cataclysmic choices.
I am too puny to sit in judgment/
No matter what
the official line may be, to me this undeniable distinction will exist, as it
has from that forenoon of March 2009. Under
these circumstances, the least I believe I could do to preserve what I consider
my dignity is not to accept, let alone seek, an award that confirms that I
belong to the latter.
Surely the
pain will haunt me for many years, if not till the end of my life. But at least I would be able to say to myself,
when it is time for me to finally go, that I did not accept an award of
commiseration, ever in my life.
Nanni….Namaskaaram…
