Shunted But Not Shaken: Your Guide To Handle An Exile

 

A colleague called me out of the blue. I was buried under work, so I gave them the classic professional "rain check."

"Sure Sir. I will wait for your call," they said, with the kind of ominous politeness that suggests something is up.

When I finally called them back, they were at lunch with friends. "Sir, I’ve received my transfer orders. I need to talk. But right now, I’m drowning my sorrows in biryani. Will call you this evening."

The news was - as expected - unpleasant: they were being uprooted from the lush, craft-beer-filled comforts of Bengaluru and shunted to the back-of-beyond boondocks. Their pleas for reconsideration had been met with the bureaucratic equivalent of "Do I know you?" The powers-that-be told her they had been in the city too long. Their replacement had already arrived, bags packed and hovering, leaving them no choice but to pack their own.

"Sir, you were exiled to the Andamans for two years," they said, voice betraying the emotion. "I need tips on how to manage the wilderness. I’ve been almost in tears since the letter arrived."

As they spoke, I drifted back to my own "vacation" in Port Blair. My transfer hadn’t cared about my parents’ health or my own post-surgery recovery. The System, I realized, is a blind machine—unless you know which gears to grease with networking.

I shook off the memories and told them, "Buckle up. I have a few tips." Here is the survival guide for the Reluctantly Relocated:

1. Work up a “Brave Face”

First impressions are like superglue—they stick. Do not land at your new station looking like you’re entering a funeral procession. It sends the wrong signal to your new peers. You don’t have to pretend you’ve won the lottery, but you shouldn't look like you’ve lost a limb either.

When I landed in Port Blair, I told people: "Look, this wasn’t my first choice, but I’m here, I’m ready, and if it wasn't me, some other poor soul would be standing here. So, let’s get to work."

2. Friendly Networking 

When you’re a consultant in a new organization, you need allies. You cannot let your "Transfer Anger" spill over into your emails or work files. You need people to support you when chips are down or when you need to host the bosses from Delhi.

I have always been lucky in this department all through my career’s tough days. In Vizag, it was Laxman and Praveen. In Bengaluru, I had Sirish, and in Jammu, it was Manish and Shahbaz. Kolkata had the sanctuary of Choten and Jaidev. In Port Blair, Senthil and Dilip - the officers in Andaman then - welcomed me with open arms . Even Abhi, a friend from my 2012-14 Bengaluru days, had moved back to Port Blair and became my evening anchor. Even the Chief of Staff, Admiral Sandhu, ensured my office after a much-needed facelift in no time. When the Secretary came calling, she was impressed with how we welcomed her, and sanctioned more money to spruce up the workplace on the spot! 

Pro-tip: Make friends with the people who have the keys to the kingdom.

3. Work Like You Mean It

Never let your displeasure reach your keyboard. Ensure those files leave the table before a phone call comes enquiring the status; take quick but judicious decisions. Weigh your words before you record your dissent. Make plans to improve. Write letters of progress. Pay attention to your team’s spirits. 

Vent to your pillow, your dog, or a trusted bartender but never into your files or PPTs. Show them you mean business, even if your heart is 2,000 miles away. 

4. Play The Explorer 

If you’re stuck in a remote location, you might as well see the sights. I turned the Andamans into my personal bucket list. I trekked to Saddle Peak (the highest point in the islands, and the northernmost too), stared at India’s only active volcano at Barren Island, and explored the seas until I was more fish than man.

I can now casually drop into conversations that I’ve been to Indira Point, the southernmost tip of India, released baby leatherback turtles into the sea, and seen the Sentinel Islands from close distance.  Can your Bengaluru friends say that between their traffic jams? Probably not.

5. Hobbies: The Antidote to Insanity

Weekends in the "wilderness" can be hauntingly quiet. I learned the hard way in Jammu and Kashmir that if you don't have a hobby, the walls start talking to you.

I picked up swimming, kept running, and restarted my blog. I even began writing short stories. I also continued photography, though the Andaman humidity tried its best to turn my expensive lenses into expensive terrariums for mold.

6. Build a “Second Home”

Your family will miss you, and the guilt can be heavier than your luggage. You can’t fly home every month unless you’ve discovered a secret gold mine, so do the next best thing: make your new home so nice that they want to visit you.

I had a record number of visitors in the Andamans. Parents, uncles, erstwhile colleagues, school friends, college buddies and even long-lost exes, all descended upon me. It turns out people are very happy to maintain a friendship if it includes a free guided tour of a tropical island.

7. Leave a Legacy for Yourself

Don’t just serve time; leave a mark. When you look back, you should be able to proudly relate a tale or two to your folks. 

In the Andamans, my office was a cramped corner of someone else's building. I pushed, pulled, and liaised until we got a place of our own. I couldn’t  make the ribbon-cutting happen, but I know my team is getting it done now. And, sure they all feel proud about what we collectively achieved. 

8. Don’t Kick the Dog 

Rule of life: Never pick a fight with someone who can’t fight back. If you’re feeling salty, take it up with someone your own size—or the boss. Never rant at the people doing the menial jobs. If the tea is cold, be gentle. People remember how you treated them long after they forget the dinner you hosted for them at the New Year’s.

9. Manage the "Moody Blues"

There’s a marketing rule: "If you like something, you tell four people; if you hate it, you tell twenty." Negativity is a parasite. In remote postings, you have too much "me time" to ruminate on perceived hurts.

If you don’t check your angst, it turns into depression. When you feel the spiral starting, take a walk by the sea, sing a song, or cook a meal. And a word of advice from the trenches: Stay away from that bottle of when you’re seething. Angry drinking just leads to a headache and more anger.

That’s my survival kit. It’s not a magic wand, but it’ll keep you sane until the next transfer cycle rolls around. To anyone else who has been "shunted" to the corners of the map: what helped you survive? I’m all ears!