After I received my university degree, I went to work as an intern for a tire company in India. They sent me to a large plant to learn the manufacturing process. I knew nothing about business – people in my family were doctors, teachers and lawyers – but I was keen to learn.
The first day in the factory I noticed two signs everywhere: Danger and Safety First. Our bosses said Safety First meant keeping the workers’ life and limb safe was the first priority of the company. I felt a little skeptical though how just plastering the Danger signs would accomplish that. How could these protect the workers from the ubiquitous huge fabric cutting shears, giant milling machines and steaming red-hot molding presses? The employees not only had to work on these machines, they had to do it at a furious pace, producing their shift quota in eight relentless hours, with a short, solitary break. Every day they walked past these machines on dirty, slippery floors, worked with worn gloves and scarcely had time to don protective gear to save their eyes or ears.
My friend, Adi, another intern, to whom I voiced my concern, scoffed at my unease. “Are you a woman?” he asked. “All men’s jobs have minor risks like that. You have to watch out for those.” He concluded, “A job like that makes you strong.”
Three weeks later, I was scalded by an accidental contact with a steam pipe and observed that the pipe wasn’t insulated, as it easily could have been. Adi chided me instead on my carelessness and put the injury down to bad luck. “It certainly didn’t threaten your life or limb,” he said with finality.
The first day in the factory I noticed two signs everywhere: Danger and Safety First. Our bosses said Safety First meant keeping the workers’ life and limb safe was the first priority of the company. I felt a little skeptical though how just plastering the Danger signs would accomplish that. How could these protect the workers from the ubiquitous huge fabric cutting shears, giant milling machines and steaming red-hot molding presses? The employees not only had to work on these machines, they had to do it at a furious pace, producing their shift quota in eight relentless hours, with a short, solitary break. Every day they walked past these machines on dirty, slippery floors, worked with worn gloves and scarcely had time to don protective gear to save their eyes or ears.
My friend, Adi, another intern, to whom I voiced my concern, scoffed at my unease. “Are you a woman?” he asked. “All men’s jobs have minor risks like that. You have to watch out for those.” He concluded, “A job like that makes you strong.”
Three weeks later, I was scalded by an accidental contact with a steam pipe and observed that the pipe wasn’t insulated, as it easily could have been. Adi chided me instead on my carelessness and put the injury down to bad luck. “It certainly didn’t threaten your life or limb,” he said with finality.
A couple of months later, Adi was learning how to mix rubber compounds with chemicals on a two-roll mixing mill, when the mixing knife slipped from his hand and started going into the compound. Instinctively he put out his hand to retrieve the knife, and the rolling rubber sheet promptly trapped his hand and started dragging it into the nip of the two massive cast-iron rolling mills. By the time the charge-hand heard his scream and pulled the tripwire to stop the mill, the larger part of his arm had been ground into the mill.
A surgeon saved Adi’s life, but it took him months of treatment in a hospital and years of practice with a prosthetic device to return to normal life.
I wasn’t surprised to read years later in the company’s journal an article by Adi, emphasizing the need for safety awareness and advocating installation of better protective devices to safeguard workers.
I wasn’t surprised to read years later in the company’s journal an article by Adi, emphasizing the need for safety awareness and advocating installation of better protective devices to safeguard workers.
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