Kishore Singh: An endless queue of goodbyes

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Once, when departures from office were somewhat rarer, a farewell meant a chance to party complete with music and enough booze to drown a ship "" leading to a few moist-eyed speeches "" and for those who could still manage to hold the tune, a somewhat bucolic rendition of "...jolly good fellow". Backs were patted, gifts exchanged, and a place promised for the departing one, should he (or she) likely return.

That was then. Now, with the economy in a boom and more jobs than takers, there's a part of the office that forever doubles up as an event management team to oversee the entertainment on offer for those queuing up to quit office. Even if the parties themselves are a little jaded now (how many times can you feign tears?), there's still the unenviable task of collecting funds, the inevitable task of discussing venues, menus and gifts, and the fine line of dishing out invitations (the must-nots more important than the musts).

From a tragic loss of colleagues ("Oh no, who's leaving?") to simply a tragic loss ("What, another party? How much is it this time?"), the years have seen a decline in the spirit of sharing and caring. Colleagues who haven't filled their seats for at least a few years, are simply passed over with cake and coffee during an office break. Those that merit a full-fledged but increasingly infrequent party are probably those who, in the past, have contributed to so many farewells, that not to invite a contribution for them would seem highly insensitive.

The end result is a lightening of wallets and a darkening of moods. No longer are there volunteers who will offer home, hearth and salad for the next farewell party. When it comes to going around with the basket for collecting funds, there's a discernible lack of volunteers. "Why don't we just have a farewell fund?" said a colleague uncharitably "" perhaps because he hadn't been feted by his last company, but more likely because he was being asked to drop yet another contribution into the bowl.

It isn't just those leaving the company who're causing dipping fortunes in their colleagues' wealth. Some do it by getting married. Others have babies. There are bachelor (and bacheloress) parties. Some buy homes, and throw in a housewarming into the bargain. A few decide on higher education. And there are the others who simply contribute to these funds.

The collections department is fairly ruthless, if not selective. Everybody must pay, goes the diktat, the cabins twice, even thrice, the going rate. Calculations are precise. Beer and kebabas "" that'll be Rs 250 per head. A gift too? Add another Rs 100 each to the kitty. Been around a long time. Okay, dessert too folks, Rs 50 per head. Calling in former colleagues? Another Rs 100 each. Sigh. Multiply that a few times over, and there's every reason to wonder if those of us left behind are subsidising those who've moved on.

The process is just as mechanical. Who's got an empty apartment this week end? (In-laws, kids' exams and VFRs "" visiting friends and relatives "" provide good excuses to cry off from having to provide any space.) If earlier a great deal of thought went into what the gift should be, it's been whittled down to a standard gift voucher now. Books. Linen. No more choice.

However, not everything is dismal about departures. There's reason to be delighted too, as more seating spaces open up ("The corner seat!" somebody will squeal delightedly), or a better computer is cannibalised before the replacement fetches up "" to a whirring-gasping PC that will in all probability hasten the any new colleague's date of departure. Pass the hat around again, guys.