The Bankster (Ravi Subramanian) (8 page)

‘Sir, unfortunately I don’t have a single hot-looking RM in my branch.’

‘You have to change your hiring policy, my friend. Hire smart, young women—even if they are thick-headed. You will do well in your life as a Branch Manager.’

‘But sir, how will we get work done? Won’t customers lose faith in us?’

‘As if customers believe you today. Customers make their own decisions my friend. We bankers only execute those decisions. And if they get a sexy chick to meet them and help them complete their banking transactions, they will never move away from you. A Reliance mutual fund will give the same return if the customer invests through you or through HDFC bank or through ICICI Bank. However, a Zinaida meeting the customer once in three days will make it sweeter and more enjoyable for him as compared to any other bank. Spending twenty minutes with her every week is the next best thing to having sex with her, don’t you agree?’ Anand just nodded at this candid conversation. Though he remembered the conversation the day the MT’s had landed, when Nikhil had said just the reverse—that customers will buy whatever one wants them to buy. After all, Nikhil was the boss and he had the right to contradict himself.

The conversation was cut short by another call from Nikhil’s driver. ‘The plane has landed, let’s go,’ said Nikhil, opening the door of the car. ‘Painful work begins,’ he said, as they walked towards the arrival area.

They drove Pranesh’s parents to his Thane residence in Nikhil’s car. It was an extremely traumatic experience for both of them. Pranesh’s mom broke down on seeing Pranesh’s body, and wept the whole night. He was their only son.

Sub-Inspector More landed up early next morning to meet Pranesh’s parents. He brought with him a copy of the post-mortem report. It was unambiguous. Pranesh had died of injuries caused by the impact and because of uncontrolled internal bleeding. There was no trace of alcohol in his blood, so drunken driving was ruled out. He hinted to Nikhil and to Pranesh’s parents that the police were likely to close the case, as they had no clue or witness who could lead them to the culprit. The only question SI More wanted to ask his parents was whether they suspected anyone and whether Pranesh had any enemies at work or outside. When they replied in the negative, More left. Anand, who was standing next to More when he was talking to Pranesh’s parents, had a weird feeling Nikhil was trying to say something. Nikhil walked up to them a few times and then went back to talk to his team members, who had assembled there. This happened a couple of times, but Anand ignored it. He thought he was just imagining things.

Nikhil and Anand returned to their jobs the next day and took turns to meet the parents. A week later, Pranesh’s parents left for Vizag, vowing never to return to the city which had snatched their son away from them. In a month, Pranesh was forgotten and it was business as usual for the Bandra branch. Vikram, who liked to project himself as a messiah, a true leader of people, didn’t bother to meet Pranesh’s parents even once.

7

Devikulam

June 2011

When Krishna Menon walked onto the makeshift wooden dais, in front of him were six thousand people. People from all walks of life had braved the pouring rain to participate in the agitation. There were even a few people from Singur, in West Bengal— people who had successfully taken part in the battle against the acquisition of their land by the state government of Bengal— who had also come to participate in this protest against what they called a unilateral decision by the government. It had taken Menon a lot of courage to organize such a large protest, albeit with the support of three large non government organizations (NGOs).

Krishna had been working for years to mobilize public support against the project. But for a long time, nothing moved. Despite being the face of the protest, he had struggled to achieve anything of significance. And this had a lot to do with his lack of political acumen. Despite having the desire, not having the requisite financial muscle had been a big deterrent in his ability to take his protest to the next level. Whatever he did with his limited resources had not been successful thus far.

All that changed the day he met Jayakumar at a congregation of Rotarians. That day, Krishna was standing in a group of five people enjoying his single malt when Jaya walked in. Diminutive and of frail build, clad in a kurta-pyjama, he wandered straight to the other end of the hall and mingled with a few locals. Krishna’s gaze followed him as Jaya went from one person to the other, laughing and joking, at times holding serious conversations. There was something different about him. Something intriguing. His face conveyed an intensity Krishna had never seen before.

For over ten minutes Krishna tailed this intriguing gentleman, wondering who he was, and that was when he saw Ramadurai, the local political satrap walking towards him. Ramadurai’s right hand was on Jaya’s shoulder and he was dragging him towards Krishna.

‘Meet Jayakumar,’ said Ramadurai, as he came within a few feet of Krishna, ‘A person of impeccable values and great commitment to the society at large.’ Krishna smiled out of courtesy. A politician talking of impeccable values was a bit odd. Ignorant of Krishna’s thoughts, Ramadurai continued, ‘Jaya is the founder of CNRI.’ Seeing the blank look on Krishna’s face he turned to his right, looked at Jaya and asked, ‘What’s the full form?’

‘Conservation of Natural Resources through Innovative use of Technology. We are an NGO based in Satara. It’s about hundred kilometres from Pune.’ He extended his right hand towards Krishna. His handshake was firm; to Krishna it communicated firmness in purpose.

‘Oh, welcome to Devikulam.’ Anyone with a little bit of knowledge of geography would know Satara was a semi-rural place in south-west Maharashtra and to Krishna, Jayakumar hardly looked like someone from that background.

‘Jaya, this is Krishna Menon, one of the oldest members of the Devikulam Rotary club. He has a plantation on the outskirts and runs a very popular resort. Lots of foreigners come there. He is a very popular man.’ And he looked at Jaya and added, ‘Not just popular, he is also a very good human being.’

Krishna was embarrassed. He patted Ramadurai on his back and just smiled.

Jaya was very well-travelled and quite a voracious reader too. He could talk knowledgeably on any topic from the tsunami in Japan to Vladimir Putin’s affair with a Russian gymnast half his age; from corruption in African cricket to the railway budget, Jaya was an expert on almost everything. Krishna immediately connected with him. His intellectual compatibility was quite stimulating.

Eventually that night, almost as if it was pre-planned, the two of them got down to discussing the nuclear Non Proliferation Treaty, the threat of the Pakistan’s nuclear programme going rogue, the unabashed aggression shown by the Iranian president in defying the world with his own nuclear plans. It was not long before they meandered towards their own neighbourhood, the Trikakulam nuclear plant. Jaya was very worried, like Krishna, about the aftereffects of any natural calamity on the safety of the people in the vicinity.

‘God forbid if any calamity hits this plant, it will render not only this neighbourhood, but entire town of Devikulam uninhabitable for hundreds of years, not to mention the loss of flora and fauna. It will spell a disaster of magnanimous proportions,’ Jaya said.

‘Yes, but what can we do? No one seems to be interested. I have been fighting a lone cause for years now. The plant is not too far away from being commissioned. There’s little we can do at this stage, don’t you think?’

‘You can’t give up, Mr Menon. If you have been fighting for so long, now is the time for your struggle to bear results.’

‘Yes but I am beginning to think it’s a lost cause. And more so, I don’t even have the resources to battle the strong reserves of the politicians.’

‘What is it that you need? I can help you with that. People who work with CNRI will be interested in working with you on protecting the natural resources of your region—the same natural resources which will be rendered useless if what happened in Japan were to happen in Devikulam.’

Krishna’s eyes lit up. Was that possible? Would someone help him with the required means, enable him to keep the battle going? He desperately wanted to stall the nuclear plant from going live. The research behind the choice of the plant’s location was shrouded in secrecy. The government had not made it public. The relocation plans for people in the catchment were still to be announced. Krishna was not against it, but he wanted the government to come clean on the project and convince the people that everything had been thought through and taken care of.

‘Is there a place where we can sit and talk in peace? This party is getting a bit too crowded.’ When Jaya said this, Krishna led him out of the hall and drove him straight to his resort. Their discussion went into the wee hours of the morning. After all the frustrations and disappointments over his crusade, for Krishna this visitor seemed to have arrived from heaven.

By the time Jaya left, promising to contact him in the next few days, Krishna was fully rejuvenated. He was charged up and ready to kick-start and add fire to his protests against the nearly complete Trikakulam Nuclear Power Plant.

And today, when he stood on the dais, he reminisced over the past few months. The chance meeting with Jaya, the late night discussion at the resort, the promise of Jaya to help him raise funds, the quick-fire way in which Jaya had fulfilled those promises, the discussions with other like-minded NGOs that Jaya had prompted to help him mobilise people and garner support in his battle against the commissioning of the nuclear plant.

He quietly walked up and took a vacant chair at the centre of the dais. Before sitting down, he looked at the person sitting on the right, folded his hands and paid his respects. Jaya looked at him, smiled and reciprocated his gesture. The friendship was sealed. In fact, the friendship had been sealed the day Jaya’s emissary delivered thirty-two lakh rupees to Krishna Menon’s resort. This was the first of many such instalments, meant to take care of the expenses incurred in educating villagers on the impact of the nuclear plant, mobilizing their support, transporting them to the protest rallies and managing politicians. Krishna’s hands were massively strengthened by the contribution from Jaya’s NGO.

By the time the rally ended, amidst a mammoth gathering of the people of Devikulam, a protest for a clean life was re-ignited—the war against the nuclear plant intensified.

8

GB2 Offices, Mumbai

July–Sept. 2011

Vikram forwarded the e-mail from Tanuja to all his cluster managers. It was a list of all the management trainees who had been allotted their respective branches. When Nikhil got the mail, he scanned the list from top to bottom, looking for one name. . .and there it was. . .at number eight, Zinaida Gomes— Bandra Cluster.

‘Yaaaay!’ he exulted softly. As per the mail, not only was Zinaida allocated to his cluster, she was posted to the Bandra Branch, right under his aegis. He had to share his excitement with Anand. Picking up the intercom, he dialled Anand’s number.

‘Yaar, she is going to be in our cluster!’

‘Who, boss?’

‘Zinaida, you dickhead. She has been allocated our cluster.’

‘Wowwww. That’s wonderful. Is she the only one, or there are others too, boss?’

Nikhil suddenly realized he was so thrilled about Zinaida’s allocation he hadn’t even bothered to scan the list for other names. ‘Wait. . .wait.’ After a long pause during which he reopened the email from Vikram, he replied, ‘One more. . .some idiot from Rajasthan called Kalyan Rathore.’

‘Great. So two of them.’

‘Yes. And as per this list, both of them have been allocated to you. Let’s plan Zinaida’s role. I will talk to you in the evening.’ Nikhil hung up. He suddenly realized he was too excited about Zinaida’s assignment, a fact that he had revealed to his subordinate. Anand, when he hung up, wore a wicked smile. ‘It’s always nice if the boss likes someone from your team. You can use them to get things done,’ he said to himself, as he stepped out of his cabin and headed to the restroom. He splashed some water on his face, combed his hair, tucked in his shirt and walked out of the branch. He was getting late for a call.

The meeting was in Taj Lands End, a favourite venue for all Bandra branch meetings, primarily on account of its proximity. It was a mere ten-minute drive from the branch and was the only five-star hotel in the vicinity. Anand was meeting the accounts officer of the US Embassy in India. Harshita Lele, his relationship manager who handled all the large value accounts of the branch, was keeping him company. Vidur Jagtiani, Nikhil’s counterpart for the South Mumbai Cluster, had set up the meeting. He was to accompany them, but something had come up.
Everyone these days has started behaving like Vikram
, thought Anand, when Vidur’s secretary called to convey that Vidur was stuck at work.

Three Americans were waiting for them; Harshita identified them the moment they walked into the lobby of Taj Lands End. She had met one of them earlier.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ said Anand, slipping out a visiting card from his shirt pocket and handing it over. ‘I run the Bandra Branch of Greater Boston Global Bank.’

‘Very good afternoon.’ The American held his card with both his hands and handed it over with the slightest bow. Anand looked at the card that read ‘Tim Cook, Director, Financial Control’. ‘Meet my team,’ he continued and introduced the other two. They were inconsequential, a fact Anand figured out when neither of them made an attempt to hand over their visiting cards to him. Tim was the one driving the discussion.

‘As you are aware, we currently have all our accounts with your bank in South Mumbai. In the next sixty days we will be shifting our consulate from Breach Candy to Bandra Kurla Complex (BKC). Have you seen our new building?’

‘Yes sir, I have. It’s a beautiful building,’ Anand lied. The last time he had gone to BKC was over sixty days ago.
Does one have to perfect the art of lying if one has to become a branch manager?
Harshita wondered. She made a mental note ask to Anand on the way back.