It wasn't the money

I once worked for a large, well-known organization. The department I was part of was underperforming, and the industry wasn’t doing much better. Layoffs, low growth, and overall belt-tightening had become the norm. That year, no one received good increments. Including me.

But it wasn’t just the numbers that stung. What hit harder was the silence.

The first time around, my leader didn’t even have the courtesy to face me. No conversation. No context. Just a system-generated email, like I was just another line item on a cost sheet. Not a human being who had worked hard all year. I took it in my stride. I thought, "May be I am yet to prove myself. May be I need to work even harder. May be this is how it works at this organization". deep inside, I knew this wasn't right - but I rolled up my sleeves and doubled down.

The second year, my leader called. He gave me his well-rehearsed script, “Your increment is X%.” I told him - calmly, but directly - that this doesn’t even beat inflation. That every year, my purchasing power was declining. That it felt like I was being penalized for staying.

A heavy silence hung over for a few moments. The leader spoke with a tinge of resignation in his voice. “The market is bad, Aparajita. I can’t do anything.” And that was it.

A few weeks later, when I resigned, the same leader pleaded with me to stay - he promised a compensation correction. He promised future opportunities.

But by then, it wasn’t the compensation. It was the culture.

No correction could restore my trust or re-ignite my investment in that team.

Fast forward to my new organization. The market hadn’t improved. When I joined, I was barely eligible for that year’s compensation review cycle. I also knew I’d been hired at the upper end of the band - so I wasn’t expecting much.

When my new leader gave me the figure, it was… abysmal. But I wasn’t surprised. I had long stopped romanticizing increments.

What did surprise me was what followed. She said she felt embarrassed - that this number didn’t reflect how valuable she thought I was. That in a better economic environment, this wouldn’t have been the outcome. That she had made a mental note to revisit this next year.

She didn’t offer excuses. She offered acknowledgement.

I didn’t contest the number. Just accepted it. Her empathy and recognition made me trust her - that she had already tried her best and if she could have, she would have.

But a few days later, she called again. She told me she had spoken to her boss and gotten a slightly higher increment approved. “It doesn’t change your situation by much,” she said, “but I just wanted you to know - you’re seen.”

It was a tiny improvement. Almost negligible. But to me, it felt like a vote of confidence.

The difference was not in the number. It was in the nuance. One conversation made me feel invisible. The other, seen.

One was about excuses. The other, about effort. One made me resign. The other made me want to stay.

Money matters. But meaning matters more. It is important to bring every day empathy into everyday moments - but if you cannot (why wouldn't you, though?) - make sure you do it at least in the moments that matter to individuals. Compensation conversations. Reviews. Promotions. Life milestones. Years later, your team member might not remember the projects you worked together on. But they will remember these conversations.

Flowers are one of my favourite indulgences