The Day a Poultry Joke cut Short a Review Meeting

— A tale of tiger humour from my Hyderabad days (2010–2015)

In the years I roamed the corridors of our Apex Training Institute in Hyderabad as a faculty, we had a monthly ritual that could drain the life out of even the bravest faculty member,  the review meeting. It began at 5.30 pm sharp and usually ended only when the staff’s collective will to live had evaporated, somewhere around 9.30 pm.

The meeting was presided over by the Director (a General Manager designate), flanked by two Dy General Managers (DGMs), the admin crew, the e-learning team, hostel staff, librarians, and around a dozen faculty members. In all, about 40–45 people packed the room, a crowd large enough to start a political rally but unfortunately gathered for a review meeting instead.

I had missed the two previous reviews due to illness and deputation, so when I walked in 30 minutes late that day, the mood shifted. A few heads lifted, eyebrows danced in recognition, and even the Director paused mid-sentence to acknowledge my entry. After all, I had a reputation, I spoke my mind without worrying about hierarchy, and most times, my suggestions were acted upon too.

(That combination alone is enough to give any Director, a heartburn.)

Barely had I settled when a young colleague,  who clearly wanted to inject some adrenaline into the dull atmosphere, piped up, “Sir, Amar wanted to say something.”

Now, I had wanted to say nothing. But with the Director encouraging me and forty pairs of eyes expecting wisdom, I did what any self-respecting faculty member with a WhatsApp inbox full of forwards would do.

I cracked a joke.

In hindsight, I should have sifted through the mental folder labelled Slightly Safer Joke Options. Instead, I dove straight into a Hindi joke,   that  went something like this: 

A retired General Manager of a public sector bank starts a poultry farm with 100 hens. By force of habit, he gives each hen a budget to lay 2 eggs per day. At the end of Day 2, during the review, he finds that 99 hens have met the target but one has laid only one egg. He demands an explanation.  The terrified hen says it will try harder the next day. The GM snaps, “If the other 99 can lay 2 eggs, why can’t you?” Cornered, the hen blurts out, “Sir, with this kind of peer pressure I somehow managed one. Actually… I’m a cock.”

The DGM sitting next to the Director nearly fell off his chair laughing. A wave of laughter rolled across the room like monsoon rain finally hitting Hyderabad.

Except at one corner.

Where the Director sat very still.

Very, very still.

Suddenly, the four-hour marathon meeting found a miraculous shortcut and ended in barely the next 30 minutes. On our way out, the DGM muttered at me, “Why did you tell that joke?”  I, blissfully naïve, replied, “Your laughter caused more damage than my joke.”  He shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

Back in the faculty room, the atmosphere resembled the silence after a tiger has accidentally growled at the zoo director during feeding time. One senior faculty member finally broke it: “The Director took the joke personally. That’s why he ended the meeting early.”

Fair enough.

The joke had feathers.

But it had flown in the wrong direction.

Still, I’m not someone who lets a misfired joke roam freely in the jungle. The next afternoon, during a vendor presentation with the Director, DGMs, and faculty all present, I sensed an opportunity to make amends.

So I stood up and announced, with all the innocence I could muster:

(The other faculty members silently prayed I wouldn’t make things worse.)

“Sir, I realise yesterday’s joke may not have been appropriate. I should have replaced the General Manager in the story with an Assistant General Manager (that was, my designation).”

Every jaw in the room dropped.

The DGM glared as though I’d poked a sleeping bear.  “Yesterday it was a joke. Today you are rubbing it in.”

Everyone held their breath and turned to the Director,  waiting for the verdict.

The Director leaned back, slowly smiled, and delivered a line that restored his kingdom with effortless authority:

“My job is to give the budget of laying two eggs. It’s up to Amar to decide whether he wants to be the cock or the hen.”

The room exploded again, but this time with relief.  The tiger humour had been tamed.  The Director had reclaimed the punchline.  And the jungle was peaceful once more.

Humour can misfire, hierarchy can bruise, but a leader who can laugh,  truly laugh,  restores dignity for everyone, including the tiger who told the joke.

Stories, not instructions. Experiences, not advice—medical or otherwise. Data, only what the internet quietly gathers anyway. Proceed with equal parts curiosity and common sense.