Where Angels Prey

by Ramesh S Arunachalam

  The office building is one of those modern glass-and-steel structures that typically house IT companies. Although the plush appearance befits their status as the country’s leading bank for the poor, Sri has her reservations. The building, or rather its dubious history, makes her uncomfortable.

  As they get off the elevator on the eighth floor that houses the offices of the board members and the senior management, she decides to voice her doubts.

  “I don’t know why, Nilesh, but I’ve been having a sense of foreboding ever since I heard that this building used to house the offices of Vishwa Computers. One day they were market leaders with international standing, and then, overnight, they were reduced to corporate and social ignominy!”

  Nilesh gives her a funny look.

  “Sri, don’t tell me that you believe in all that Vaastu nonsense?”

  Sri bristles before snapping at him.

  “Don’t call it nonsense. It is based on scientific fact!”

  “Yeah, sure. Like the moon is made of green cheese!”

  Sri glares as Nilesh guffaws.

  “Let’s see who has the last laugh. You know, the chief actually sits in the same room that was used by Vishwa’s head honcho, Bhaskar Reddy.”

  Nilesh shrugs as he retorts.

  “So what are you worried for? An organizational collapse or that the chief will end up behind bars just like Bhaskar Reddy?”

  Sri is not pleased, and her expression makes it evident. Not that it deters him from continuing.

  “Come on, Sri! Silly superstitions cannot trigger organizational collapse. Only people and policies can!”

  He pauses as a thought strikes him.

  “But if coincidences spook you, then let me add to the list. One of our company’s independent directors, Vijay Reddy, sits exactly where his guru, Prof Venkat Parikala used to while he was an independent director at Vishwa!”

  Sri shakes her head,

  “That is certainly not comforting. You do know that Prof Parikala, who was the head of Corporate Governance at the famous Jackson University was actually asked to resign from the board of Vishwa? Vijay put in his papers just last week for reasons unknown.”

  Nilesh is slightly irritated.

  “Sri, we’ve had a historic IPO and are sitting pretty on over a half a billion dollars of cash. We’ve been crowned the largest micro-lender in the world. And all you can think of is Vaastu and silly coincidences. I mean, what could possibly go wrong now?”

  “Don’t tempt fate, Nilesh. More importantly, don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumblings from the ground?”

  Nilesh does not get a chance to respond as Prasad Kamineni walks in just then.

  “Good morning guys, is the board room ready?”

  “Yes sir, everything is in order.”

  “Wonderful. So has Venkat Murthy garu come in yet?” Kamineni directs his question at Nilesh—Venkat Murthy is his boss.

  Just as Nilesh pulls out his phone to call him, the man in question makes a hurried entry. Kamineni waves jauntily at them before walking towards the boardroom. After cursorily acknowledging their presence, Venkat Murthy follows Kamineni.

  While both men are in their mid-forties, their personalities are a study in contrast. A slim, well-groomed man dressed in a well-cut kurta pyjama, Kamineni exudes ethnic chic, as opposed to the corporate dressing favoured by Murthy. In keeping with their style of dress, Kamineni is more informal and approachable while Murthy maintains a formal demeanour at all times.

  As they are about to walk into the boardroom, Kamineni turns back and calls out to Sri.

  “Sri, I may need you to stay late today. Will make sure you get dropped home, of course.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she responds as she exits and shuts the boardroom door behind her.

  Kamineni makes a pretence of studying the papers in front of him. He knows, and Venkat probably does too, that he is just buying time. The papers are hardly relevant to the discussion. They are merely props on the stage that Kamineni has set up. Venkat eyes him warily as he waits for him to initiate conversation. He had been looking forward to a relaxing Sunday at the club before Kamineni’s phone call. Working on Sundays is nothing new but something about Kamineni’s tone made Murthy just a little edgy. Kamineni’s rather affable manner is just a front for his bulldozer personality.

  Kamineni looks up from the papers he’s been scanning.

  “Venkat, I would like you to tender your resignation,” he says in a rather matter-of-fact tone.

  Venkat is stunned. He feels completely blindsided. Kamineni had never been one to share the limelight and was a known control freak. And yet, given what Venkat had achieved for the company, he never thought he would actually be ousted!

  He weighs his words carefully before responding.

  “This is a bit of a surprise, Prasad. Before anything else, could I have the privilege of a reason for your request? At the risk of sounding boastful, I have just led this company to a historically successful IPO. I wouldn’t be too wrong if I say that I have delivered the goods and more!”

  Kamineni raises his eyebrows, looking perplexed.

  “Frankly, you being surprised comes as a surprise, Venkat. I thought this had all been agreed upon. After all, when you received that rather fat bonus of ten million rupees in the first quarter, we had agreed that you would relinquish your responsibilities post-IPO. Between you and me, I was actually inclined to overlook that, had we managed to achieve peaceful co-existence. Unfortunately, our management styles are just too different. I would like you to opt out as soon as possible. I think it’s in the best interest of the company to do this quickly and amicably.”

  Venkat is not inclined to give up without a fight.

  “Yes, there was an agreement. But given the spectacular success that I made of the IPO, I think there should be some reconsideration. Particularly in the interest of the shareholders, who have invested in the company because of my credentials and experience?”

  Prasad has a smirk on his face as he responds.

  “Venkat, the shareholders have served their purpose. I don’t think we need to bother too much about them or their sentiments from here on.”

  Venkat can’t believe what he is hearing. He’d always known Prasad was ruthless but the extent of his cold-bloodedness surprises him still. “Damn the shareholders! Is that your sentiment now that we have their money?”

  “You may interpret it as you choose. The fact of the matter is that the board has lost confidence in you. They find your penchant for rigid banking type systems and processes irksome. I believe I need to take over day-to-day operations now; it is in the best interest of the company.”

  Venkat feels nauseous. His stomach has been churning and a part of him seems to be observing what is happening from outside his body. He can see that Prasad is not going to waver and suddenly, it doesn’t seem worth fighting for. A wave of tiredness washes over him as he capitulates and says, “Okay then, but I need some time. I hope the company will accept that it owes me that, at the very least!”

  Prasad pushes back his chair as he stands up.

  “I’m giving you a month, Venkat. But any more and I will be forced to....”

  “Will you publicly kick me out?”

  Prasad shrugs his shoulders.

  “I have no propensity for drama, Venkat. I was just going to say that I will have to ask the board to dismiss you thereafter. Have a good day.”

  Kamineni turns on his heels and leaves.

  Venkat is left feeling as if he has just been run over by a truck. He looks around at the scene of the crime, the boardroom which he has presided over for so long, and takes comfort in the thought that his case is not unique. This is the feeling one has when one realizes it’s all meaningless, the rat race, the struggle for power, the ultimate loss of power, the feeling of being redundant. It is a play that has been enacted before, only this is the first time he is the character being eliminated. An inevitable reversal of roles.

 
The security guard does not stand a chance against the irate mob. He is just one man against the strength of a hundred plus. And all he has to defend himself with is a baton. He quietly moves out of their way without even token protest. The incensed crowd moves into the office lobby and deposits the pallet it has been carrying on the floor. Nilesh, who comes running down the stairs on hearing the commotion, is horrified to see the corpse of a middle-aged woman. Her face seems strangely familiar.

  “Where is Annayya Garu?”

  One of the men, clearly in an inebriated state, shouts at Nilesh.

  “Why have you brought this corpse here? Who is she?” Nilesh stutters in response.

  “One of Annayya Garu’s sisters!”

  CHAPTER 3

  NEW YORK, 5 SEPTEMBER 2010

  If purchasing power is any indicator of economic health, then the crowds thronging Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue certainly do not indicate a limping global economy. It is the world’s most expensive retail address and looks every bit its worth. Bob and Priya amble along the street, lulled by the balmy weather and the heavy meal they have just consumed. Unlike her shopaholic friends, Priya loves to stroll around in one of the numerous parks or spend time pottering around any of the various museums, whenever she has time off. They walk past Bijan, the men’s clothing boutique where a doorman ensures entry only for those who have an appointment and can afford the $1,500 price tag for the dress shirts.

  “Our investors range from formal financial institutions,the commercial market, right down to the poor woman in thevillage who raises cows.”

  Snatches of the TV interview echo in Bob’s mind where the germ of a story idea has firmly implanted itself. He is already composing the brief he needs to shoot off to his editor. So caught up is he in his thoughts that he does not even hear the gruff voice calling out to him.

  Priya suddenly clutches his arm, breaking his train of thought. She is not given to public displays of affection and hates even holding hands—a possible fallout of life in a patriarchal society where she was constantly chaperoned and on display. She hates drawing attention to herself.

  He looks at her in surprise and then in the direction she points towards.

  A nattily dressed, black-haired Indian man in his mid-thirties waves enthusiastically at Bob from across the street. He smiles broadly as he waves back in return.

  “That’s Mayank Sharma, an acquaintance who works with James Jordin,” Bob says to Priya as he watches Mayank walk briskly towards them. His opening volleys always remind Bob of staccato gunshots. No wonder people in the west call Indian English “machine gun English”.

  “Hey Bob, haven’t seen you around in a while! How have you been?”

  Mayank shakes Bob’s hand enthusiastically, looking curiously at Priya from the corner of his eye. Every time an Indian man meets an Indian woman with a white male, there’s always an unhealthy need to define the relationship and establish boundaries. Sometimes, Priya wonders if she really is living in twenty-first-century America.

  “I’m good, Mayank. Hope you’ve been well too. Meet Priya Jothi, a friend and Fulbright scholar at Columbia.”

  Mayank looks impressed.

  “Good to meet you, Priya. Bob may have mentioned, I am a senior consultant with a company called James Jordin.”

  Priya’s polite smile leaves him unprepared for her smart-aleck response.

  “Who doesn’t know James Jordin, Mayank? You finance guys are constantly in the news these days for your role in triggering off the global economic collapse.”

  Although taken aback by her directness, Mayank does not let it show.

  “Touché!”

  He smiles at her before turning to Bob.

  “Would you guys like to join me for coffee? Unless, of course, you have other plans...”

  Bob shrugs.

  “Not particularly. We were just out for a leisurely stroll. Coffee sounds good, as long as you promise not to mix arsenic in it!”

  Mayank is surprised.

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Well, that was not exactly a flattering reference that I made to James Jordin in my last report!”

  Mayank gives a shout of laughter.

  “It’s my day off. So you have nothing to worry about.”

  Bob turns to Priya.

  “I hope you are up for coffee, Priya?”

  “Would it be okay if I joined you guys in some time? I have a book I need to pick up.”

  “Sure thing. We’ll be down at Café Sta.”

  Priya nods before hurrying away towards the bookstore across the street.

  The waiter has a pencil poised over his pad, ready to scribble down their order.

  Bob quickly settles for a cappuccino but Mayank takes his time picking from the variety of exotic items listed on the menu.

  “I am sure you crack deals quicker than this!” Mayank’s eyes twinkle.

  “That’s just my day job.”

  Bob chuckles and goes back to drafting the note to his editor on his tablet.

  “I’ll have a Mocha Java, thank you.”

  The waiter nods his approval, making a note of his choice before he moves away.

  “So what next, Bob?” “Mulling over a few ideas. You tell me, what’s brewing on Wall Street?”

  Mayank gives him a dour look.

  “Look elsewhere for your next scoop!”

  Bob responds with a broad grin.

  Mayank takes a peek at the menu again.

  “Fancy splitting an apple pie?”

  “No way. After an incredibly heavy lunch, Priya tempted me with my favourite butterscotch ice-cream for dessert.”

  Mayank looks at Bob speculatively. Bob can almost hear the wheels in his head turning. He is not inclined to offer him any explanation though.

  “Come on now, Mayank. You can surely give me some dope without going into specifics!”

  Mayank shrugs.

  “I’ve been travelling extensively for the last month or two. Hardly had my ears to the ground.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “All over, actually. I’ve been handling the emerging markets division.”

  “That sounds interesting. I assume you are talking about emerging investment opportunities. You should know all about the microfinance rage then?”

  Mayank’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “Tell me the truth. Was your question a coincidence or are you following up on a lead?”

  Bob is curious now.

  “What lead? I was just watching an interview with this chap, Prasad Kamineni on one of the networks. You must know of the guy, he was even featured in Newsline.”

  Mayank looks at Bob wryly.

  “Of course I do. But, more interestingly, I was part of the James Jordin team that put together a status paper on the microfinance sector.”

  Bob shakes his head. “Shit man! Is this providence or what? Mayank, can you share that paper with me?”

  Mayank nods. “I guess I can. I mean it is not classified information or anything.”

  Just then, Priya walks towards their table, carrying a bag containing at least a half a dozen books. Bob promptly gets up and pulls her a chair.

  “Kid-in-a-candy-shop syndrome?”

  Bob smiles warmly as Priya gratefully drops down on to the chair.

  “Yeah well, there was a sale!”

  Mayank nods in understanding.

  “No true blood Indian would miss out on a sale.”

  “Or American or French or English for that matter. Buying cheap is encoded in our collective DNA!”

  Mayank guffaws at Priya’s observation.

  “What will you have, Priya?”

  Priya shakes her head. “Nothing, thanks. The bookstore is run by a friend. We just had a cup of tea together. Are you guys done catching up?”

  Bob grins.

  “Priya, Mayank met your manavalu last month!”

  Mayank looks at Bob.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh that’s jus
t Bob’s way of showing off his Telugu. I presume he is referring to someone from Andhra. Prasad Kamineni would be my guess.”

  Mayank nods at Priya.

  “Yes he is. So you’re from Andhra Pradesh too?”

  Priya nods. Mayank turns to Bob.

  “That is where much of the action is!”

  Priya’s gaze shifts from Mayank to Bob.

  “What action?”

  “We were talking about the microfinance sector. They’ve gotten Wall Street excited and that is something.”

  Priya looks at Mayank.

  “Significant Wall Street investment in there?”

  “Does a billion dollars in the last three years qualify as significant?”

  Bob lets out a low whistle.

  “So, has there been an exponential growth or is this a sudden spike that we are talking about?”

  “Definitely a spike. Till three years ago, the global market investment in microfinance stood at around 30 million dollars.”

  “And India is the preferred destination?”

  “Once again, I leave it to you to interpret the figures. In the last three-year period, global microfinance investment in India was around 860 million.”

  “Very impressive! Correct me if I am wrong, but this is an industry that primarily serves the poor and the marginalized who have limited access to formal financial services. Why is Wall Street so fascinated with India’s poor?”

  Priya’s smile barely hides the sharpness of her words.

  “Wall Street obviously concerns itself with numbers,

  Priya. And India has half a billion poor who are in need of every kind of financial service, making it the world’s largest captive market.”

  Bob nods at Mayank’s response.

  “Makes sense. But what makes it even more intriguing is the boom period that you are referring to. I mean this more or less corresponds with the global economic crisis!”

  “True. In fact our paper highlights April 2007 as a watershed, for that is when the first lot of social equity investors started getting interested in microfinance, and in India to be specific. Of course the commercial investors soon followed. The growth has been so significant that specialists have actually described microfinance as the preferred sub-sector within the financial sector for investment bankers.”