Not at Nariman Point

As my friend’s office was moving to the suburbs, I went to help him. Ironically, he was the one who sniffed snootily years earlier, when he found out I was locating my office at a central suburb. Perhaps reading my mind, he gruffly said, ‘It is the issue of property taxes.’ I consoled him saying that all businesses have their ups and downs and we were in the middle of recession so no-one looses face today.

Amidst the packed boxes in his cabin, were seated a few worried visitors waiting for him. He waived me to the top of crate which thankfully took my weight with only a few creaks. One guest in a sports jacked broke the ice pleading to my friend not to vacate the premises. I summarized him to be the Landlord. ‘Please re-consider your decision’ he pleaded, ‘this place has a beautiful view of the sea and it has proved real lucky for you.’ How he realized the place to be lucky was evident cause my friend readily paid the increase in rent at the renewal of each eleven month contract. ‘But the property tax is too high and not within my budget’ countered my friend. Now the sports jacket tried to plea like an exploited person, ‘On the rent you pay me, I am already paying 20% TDS and also service tax. And at the end of the year, I pay Income Tax. Virtually half the rent you pay me is paid to the Government otherwise I would have borne it.’ He was so emotional about it that I bent forward to see if he had tears in his eyes.

‘Don’t make us the villain’ spoke the other guy. ‘We are bound by law set up in 1881.’ Now all of us started laughing. My friend observed, ‘Are you aware that we achieved independence more than 60 years after the law was set up and more than 100 years have elapsed after the statute was enacted? Situation has changed so much over the years and this city was not the same when the statute was passed.’ This made the man sheepish who replied, ‘I am a small man and not aware whether my seniors can initiate such a change.’ ‘But why are you here?’ asked my friend. ‘To persuade you to stay and not leave. After all, the Queen’s necklace is the landmark of the city and Nariman Point is the LOCKET of the necklace!’ He replied showing his visiting card stating he was the PRO. ‘What difference does it make to you?’ he was asked. Giving a PRO smile which seemed weird for a Corporation representative, he answered, ‘If everyone leaves this place then the corporation’s revenue will plummet. That is why my department was set up.’ I asked him, ‘Mr. PRO, instead of starting a department of Public relations, do you not think efforts would be better directed to making practical law or amending it to suit the present circumstances? After all, even the constitution of India has been amended so many times for the sake of practicality so your statute in comparison is less fundamental for the country.’

Looking over the packing list of his office, my friend pushed the ultimate threat, ‘If you hound us out off the city we may even shift to another state decreasing the revenue of not only your corporation but also the state itself.’ The PRO shrugged his shoulders saying that the politicians of the state were in a state of flux over the seat sharing so no-one was running the Government at the moment. The landlord had his hand in his head as he said that now his account with the Bank would be downgraded and there were many like him. Unfortunately that sent me into peals of laughter. All looked at me wonderstruck at my insensitive reaction to a person predicting his bankruptcy. Shaking off their misunderstanding, I said, ‘Over the last 2 decades the recessions have followed a heated (inflated) real estate market. Even the recent recession had the same symptoms. Now you are telling me that a property tax will be the cause of the immediate next recession? Perhaps only now, have we have grasped the power of real estate.’

Truth Thru Telephony (T3)

‘Go to the telephone company’ grunted my boss one day. I almost believed I was back in my junior days of a trainee when I was asked to visit the telephone company for disputed amounts in the bill. But a quick reality check brought me back to the morning meeting of the office and my chair just third from the Chairman. I started getting red in the face when the Strategy Manager of New Technologies stood up to explain that they were having problems with one telephone company and in such cases ‘we seniors’ always pitch in. ‘What is there to it? I agreed to visit them immediately as my mind scanned the names of my contacts who was a qualified telecom engineer at a senior level for some back-up.

The car stopped at a SEEPZ located building with the name of the company emblazoned on it. Underneath the logo was a quote from Mahatma Gandhi about Truth being all powerful. I acknowledge the logo of T3 and waved myself brazenly fast to the chambers of the CEO. ‘Our advertising company asked your help’ he introduced me to the problem. This confused me more because we were into strategy design and advertising agencies came much much later. I never realized that the tail could wag the dog. ‘Tell me more’ I barked trying to hide my confusion.

‘We were in the business of cellular telephony technology. We were developing products to extract more out of the bandwidth and increase the range of each tower to lower the costs of the service provider’ he started the prologue of his issue. ‘One day, the Directors asked us to develop some specialization to distinguish us from others as an IPO was planned. We went to the market and purchased the software which predicted the death of the caller to the emergency department’. ‘No commercial value’ I sighed as the market would be all government departments in all countries and they would not even let the company get the return on investment for next 100 years. ‘We knew that but our technicians wanted the source code to tweak it’. ‘Tweak it?’ I wondered it was an errant boy whose ears could be tweaked.

‘Tweaking is what we call when we innovate’ his words reminded me of a management lecture decades earlier. Here he was translating contemporary lingo into old terms for me, making me suddenly feel older. ‘If that is a legal issue then we are not the right ones to advice you’ I tried to get away from the assignment I had still not understood. ‘On the contrary, we were immensely successful’ he beamed pushing a file in front of me.

In that file was the history of ‘innovations made’ from the single application which could be used only by emergency departments. Now, if the client used their contraption between their telephone and ear, they could read on the monitor whether the caller was speaking the truth! ‘And the problem is?’ I asked him. ‘The agency cannot fathom what to communicate’ he replied. I laughed so much that I had tears and it was a long time since I had laughed so much without any alcohol. When I calmed down I realized that the problem was of plenty. The end uses were so much that our role of strategists was inevitable. I started jotting down for the client.

‘The maximum use and where there is not likely to be price sensitivity will be the Banks, and all Creditors which would include all businesses. When their customers or Bank borrowers say ‘cheque is in the mail’ their monitors will display NO CHEQUE DRAWN YET’ I drew the first campaign outline for a period of 2 months. ‘Next put your monitor in the shape of a heart and market it to the teens for finding out what truth their potential partners are speaking.’ Though I was on the roll, he interjected. ‘We can also tweak our product to translate the words of a female because we all know that females say one thing but mean another.’ Seeing my puzzled face he gave an example, ‘If the boyfriend asks if she will come for a weekend to Khandala, she would say no but the monitor would say, ONLY IF YOU BRING PROTECTION. This way we can even jazz up their romance.’ My jaw was still in the same open position.

I continued, ‘You can make the red telephone copy of what the US President had as hotline to the Russian Premier and ensure that at this high level diplomatic words are translated’. His eyes widened as he calculated mentally the number of countries in the world and said, ‘You mean that when the neighbor President promises to take care of insurgents the monitor will display FAR FROM STOPPING THEM, I WILL HELP THEM FIND ANOTHER ROUTE UNTIL MY SPONSOR PULLS ME UP.’ I sipped the lemon tea that his peon had brought in and reminded him that he would need to restructure his company as he was poised for a leap frog in growth to a multinational status overnight. If I were speaking to him on the phone he would see on his monitor, CALLER ENLARGING HIS PROJECT TO INCREASE FEES. But I was not on the phone and he appreciated my point as he asked me to send a proposal that would permit us to cover revenue of the next five years in one month.

As I left his office I started sweating in fear after realizing that this machine was beyond the truth serum or narco test. Each time I would answer my wife that I was busy in the office while sipping drinks at a bar, if she had this monitor I would be done for. Other cheating husbands would be in a fix as they would never convince their wife that their secretary was good at short hand only. I wondered if on the brighter side, this would make the society a bit more truthful and moral. But I was more confident in the imagination and ‘innovative’ spirit of man when some other company would develop a device that would convert all the signals conveying warning about untruth statements to truth. After all, more than three decades ago when the US police used laser systems to catch speeding vehicles, the speed lovers could buy devices that warned them of such speed checks before they were caught. The game of chess continues…………..

Chinese Chatter

When things seem hunky dory you have to get suspicious especially if you are an unlucky, exploited person as me is what I learnt. I was sitting in the cabin of the editor eating Chinese food with him which was an honour because on all previous occasions, I was in the cabin to be on the receiving end of his raving and ranting making me wonder why my teachers gave me so high marks in languages to spur me in the career of journalism. ‘You like Chinese food I hope’ he said in a grammatically wrong statement. I converted that statement in my mind to a clearly worded rhetoric and concluded that he wanted a ‘Yes’ even though I strongly suspected it was packed by a street vendor. I guess amy vinegar is strong enough to hide many culinary fallacies.

‘I am elevating your assignment’ he announced munching on a Gobi Bonda dipped in sweet and sour sauce pretending it is a vegetable ball. I almost did not believe my ears that after three years of merely copy check I was getting an assignment. ‘I hope your passport is still valid’ he added. Now I was beginning to feel faint with excitement. ‘Your passport says you were born in Hong Kong’ the Boss said. As they had taken a copy of it at the time of recruitment, they knew.

‘What is the assignment?’ I asked hoping I could meet Obama or even knock on 10 Downing Street. That is when my world came crashing. ‘You are to investigate the issue of Chinese Visa on paper for Indians’. I think after a 10 minute gap of shock I found my voice. ‘Sir, they give that visa only to border residents and I am not.’ That is when he started to guffaw. I had read the word ‘guffaw’ but never seen it in action. ‘Your POB is HK so that was on the border when you were born which is well inside their territory since last decade’. I realized that in the quest to a better assignment, boss had literally sent me in front of the firing squad. I was to specifically ask why the Chinese are upto these kind of tricks. Why they are stamping visa on a paper to be stapled to the passport instead of the pages of the passport designated for the purpose. I hoped the Chinese Embassy would not grant me a visa which unfortunately it did, prompting me to write my will which was simple as only my PF was to be bequeathed to my one and only.

At the Chinese customs, I noted a queer policy. While the Americans walked in with 70 mm movie cameras, journalists and any person remotely connected with the press of any nation was given the body search and all cameras and voice recorders were confiscated. ‘How do I record the reactions of your honourable officers?’ I asked as I bid bye to my small inexpensive Chinese made digital camera though bearing brand of another country. The officer pointed to my pen and gestured writing action in air. Wow I thought, these guys understand English but do not speak which made it illogical.

I had already taken appointment with the Bureau of Unrestricted Licensed Leavers, Settlers, Home people, Immigrants, and Travelers. It was easy to find with its English abbreviation written on the building in 10 foot characters as BULL SHIT. One must appreciate that long names have to be abbreviated no matter how the abbreviation sounds. Unlike other countries, instead of bureaucrats, this department was run by the Army which was easy to guess as all wore uniform. The receptionist was a gruffy male who looked at my paper of appointment confirmation as well as my passport. I wondered if he expected I would illegally come into the country to meet an officer of BULL SHIT. ‘Room 217 Comrade Lee Ping’ were the only words I could understand even though others were also English. I was escorted by a young marching soldier who left me in front of Room 217. I knocked on the door to hear something gibberish in Chinese and opened it. Addressing the only one visible behind a desk I asked, ‘Mr. Ping?’ He shook his head to indicate a no and pointed to the area not visible to me from that position and said, ‘I am Juan Pong he is Ping.’ I realized that this country has a reason why they created world class Ping Pong players – they were born for it.

I steeled in front of Mr. Ping. As I took out my pad for writing which was so graciously permitted by the customs, he took out a folder with my name on it. I asked him what it contained. He replied, ‘Answers to all your questions’. I was flummoxed. ‘But I have not even asked you a single question yet?’ I protested. ‘That is the problem with your country with that Right to Information Act etc. Here, we are ready with answers before the questions even germinate in your mind.’ he replied crossing out a line which I could read marked as ‘1’. Now I understood that they had taken tact to the next level.

I attacked the issue upfront. ‘Why are you not issuing visas on the pages of the passport instead of the via media of paper visa?’ He smiled and traced his finger on answer no. 9 of his sheet indicating I was jumping issues and answered, ‘there are few reasons for that. The first reason is that your paper is too small for our visa and it is of a quality that smudges our ink. Besides, when you seek our appreciators of visitors, you discriminate against them.’ I shook my head saying, ‘I doubt very much we have the habit of asking our citizens for their papers on the streets.’ ‘What about the border issues?’ I was trying to finish my job fast. Turning over the page his finger settled on answer no. 26 and replied, ‘Borders are lines on land that is continually moving in the Himalayan ranges. Your own geography books talk of moving plates of the continent. When the land moves, so does the line. But you do not seem to find that logical.’ That made me gawk at him mouth open. He misunderstood my expression as questioning his answer and said, ‘This answer has been sent to us by the Department Of General’s Bureau Assisted & Regularised Knowledge (DOG BARK)’. I was getting nowhere. My boss would have my hide if I persisted in this bureaucracy.

I threw my pad in the bag and said, ‘Let us go off the record’ hoping I would get some meaty matter which I would memorise and write later. Mr. Ping said, ‘Good’ and took out another folder. I looked at him with a questioning look and he answered, ‘this contains answers to your off the record questions.’ I sighed.

‘We feel you are trying to expand your territory-after Tibet Arunachal Pradesh?’ I risked getting shot. His hospitable demeanor predictably disappeared. ‘Can you not see that people of Arunachal have our eyes and not yours? You misunderstood what the British handed over to you and us. We are settling the issue slowly.’ He replied, slowly pushing some official photographs of their 60 year celebration across the table. ‘The world said you are intimidating the world with your strength much like what Germany did before the World War II.’ I intimidated him. ‘Do our comrade girls intimidate you and make you quake in fear?’ I stared at the skirted girls with hems 12 inches above the knee and admitted that emotion evoked was not fear but something else.

‘Let us not hide behind the hems of the skirts’ I protested. ‘What is your intention on the territory issue?’ In the second folder he turned over to the last page to answer me. ‘Why are you looking at the recent events only? We have plans that span decades. You are sleepy there. Why do you think your citizens are liking Chinese food? We are trying to acclimatize them to our way of life.’ I was aghast. ‘You mean the Chinese restaurants are your agents?’ ‘We prefer to call them ‘Agents of Gastronomy’ and they are our most important part of cultural export. In other countries we also send our circus.’ I was reminded of a Bond movie where the villain’s organisation was fronted by a circus. I spluttered, ‘You mean noodles are your Trojan Horse?’ ‘Don’t you love it?’ he asked. ‘We even introduced our Northern Province cuisine of Shezvan to appeal to your fiery tongues.’ ‘Do you think we will go down without a fight?’ my nationalist pride surfaced. He looked at me and I swear it sounded like the guffaw of my boss. ‘You are known as Diplomats and what Diplomats do is only talk. We are showing you the newly shifted LOC and what are you doing so far? Only talking’. His reply made me think un-parliamentary words for the persons working there. Now he chuckled and educated me, ‘You had mooted the WTO treaty and we flooded your streets with Chinese goods which the public had to lap up due to the ridiculously low cost items made by our comrades. You even welcomed us in your homes in the form of Fung Shoi Admit it, All of you are so used to Chinese things, that you will even appreciate Chinese Government.’

I think I must have fainted because the next thing I knew, I was strapped in a plane which was dark inside. I started sweating thinking I was being sent to a reforming camp in Mongolia. After the plane landed, the Chinese Air hostess helped me deplane. I closed my eyes trying not to see the airport’s name in Chinese Character. However, curiosity got the better of me and I opened my eyes slowly to realize I was in India. Frankly I did not know whether to be happy or not.

Line of Sight

It was a photo-op that photo journalists dream of. This was the thought in my mind as I saw the President staring at a derriere of a girl whose face we could not see. During the school days a friend and I had the dream of becoming photo journalists with National Geographic as the dream job just because we were under the innocent impression of the organization not having any budget for the camera equipment. While I had such innocent thoughts in my head, my wife thought otherwise. ‘You men are all alike. With such important event of the G8 meeting, only a man will let his mind wander.’ I smiled and reminded her that for a President, all work is important.

What intrigued me was the expression on the face of the French President as if he wanted to say ‘I pity your country where such visions may be rare. In nous (our) France we have such quality of derriere (a French word already used in English) as pure average’. That is what friends are for I guess. With friends like these, who needs enemies! Instead of preventing him from getting embarrassed, Monsignor stood back and joined us. ‘I am sure you guys in the office also do this all the time’ my wife broke my line of thought. ‘In the dusty world of an auditor, I can assure you that the guy who brings us tea is the only sight for sore eyes’ I assured her.

I mused to recall when was it that the last time I made such a glance and to tell the truth, I could not remember purely due to advanced age and loss of memory. But I have the nasty habit of staring into space when in deep thought. Though I have been careful where I stare, I have had some close calls when I may be staring at a female colleague or any part of her anatomy which may not be registering in my brain or even on my retina. However, the stared person would have no inkling of what is registering on my retina and may form a purely sexist opinion of what all men are. Frankly speaking, I think the President was very such victim of line of sight because the line of sight is not always the line of interest. I have heard people to search for inspiration at the unlikeliest of places. Not everyone is a saint to deserve inspiration under a Banyan tree. One programmer told me he found solutions while smoking a cigarette while another found benefit in a large cup of coffee which took 20 minutes to drink. One confided me that for solutions he normally went to the toilet.

‘Let us not crucify anyone by trial of press’ I chided my wife with the typical legal line. ‘A man is innocent until proven guilty. Let us see the other angle….. sorry view point …. Oops reason why his head may have turned in that angle.’ That sent my wife into raptures of laughter. I continued my defense for the President. ‘He was looking at a point behind the target’s body and not on her body.’ ‘Why would he do that?’ asked my wife immediately. Here is where I wished my brain were a computer which I could replace with a new one every six months for a faster clock speed. To answer her I needed a quadruple processor not the current dual processor. ‘He was looking at the wake of her walk which resembled the state of the world economy.’ The immediate answer froze her to the point of belief. ‘Huh’ Now I had the confusion advantage which lasted for precisely 5 seconds because pat came the retort, ‘what good will that do? Convince me scientifically.’

I racked my brain and remembered a colleague during my early days of employment. ‘Residual science’ I announced as if any fool would understand. From her expression I knew that I had to explain. ‘This is one statistical method of analyzing the data left over after processing data under any known process. The ‘residual’ data is like the ‘wake’ of a ship. From the wake we can determine the direction of the ship and its size even.’ Hands on hips she asked, ‘When a girl walks, where is the wake?’ ‘In the air’ pat came my reply. ‘Who can see it?’ she demanded. ‘Only men can see…. silly’ I closed the issue.

Precious Duty

It was just a routine budget declaration where the twist of the language is often practiced to give the impression that we are taxed less while a hole is nicely drilled into our wallets. The aspect of customs duty increase on Gold did not attract my attention until others pushed my head in that direction. ‘I should have got married before the budget’ my daughter cried one day. ‘Huh?’ I never knew she was in such a hurry. ‘Any boy I know?’ I asked fearfully about the affair that parents are always last to know. I braced for the worst as she said, ‘No-one special. I just wanted to get married so that you would not have to increase your marriage budget for me in the department of ornaments.’ Stunned with the unexpected answer, it took longer to comprehend her concern for her Daddy’s financial situation. ‘Full 100% rise in customs duty will raise the rate of 10 grams by around Rs. 200 according to the papers’ she educated me. I took her remark lightly and said, ‘As I am likely to shed a tear as I hand you over to your husband, I will shed another for the cost of your ornaments. So don’t change your whole life for some price of gold and end up with the wrong man in the hurry.’ A father’s lecture finally entered the conversation with a sprinkling of humour.

‘How come we have fish for the second time in the week?’ I asked my wife. Because of the recession, we had reduced the frequency of our non-veg menu days in the house. ‘The fisherwoman said the cost of her fish will reduce as her family boat has got some other side business.’ I wondered what side business a fishing boat can have in the course of fishing. My puzzlement must have reflected on my face as she dug her elbows in me and whispered to ensure our children did not over hear, ‘Gold smuggling has started again.’ I almost smacked my head in an attempt to clear the rust of honesty that even stopped me from realizing such obvious. Now I was happy that there is at least some supplier who passes on the benefit of lowering of cost and does not revel in his super profits at the expense of exploited consumers like me. My mind wandered like the documentary of the history channel to the fifties and sixties when gold smuggling in India was rampant. Everybody in the costal industry made tax-free money and built bungalows with scores of rooms that would put a hotel to shame. When that stopped due to parity of prices (lowering of customs duty) the poor guys boats had to be filled with the voluminous washing machines and televisions. Not only were they difficult to carry on landing but they also did not make sufficient margin per cubic centimeter as gold bars did earlier. I can imagine these people to rejoice the advent of their ‘golden’ period.

On the way to the office, I bumped into my neighbor who was currently struggling in his artificial jewellery manufacturing business. He did not have his usual grumpy face but possessed a carefree demeanor to the extent that I concluded he must have lost his mental stability due to work stress. ‘What is the good news bhai?’ I kept myself normal. ‘Did you not hear, the BGL line is raised so my market had widened!’ I knew BPL stood for below poverty line but BGL foxed me. He explained, ‘BGL means Below Gold Line means those people who cannot afford real gold. So these people are my market. By raising the duty…’ I raised my hand, ‘I know the rest. Congratulations.’ I wished him. Now I could see the future clearly that the handful car parking for guests in our building will be encroached upon by his cars purchased out of the super profits.
I was now beginning to see an antithesis of how increase in duty or tax actually creates wealth for the people in addition to the Government. I shook my head. All the rust in my head was making me think the scary logic that tax was good for the people and the more they paid, the more they earned. So is high taxes the ultimate win-win situation? That surely must have been the thought of the Finance minister when in the early seventies the marginal rate of income tax was a whooping 98%. Why did we not see the logic then? Does liberlisation create such a great difference? While people around me were celebrating the impact of increase in Gold price due to Customs Duty, I grew depressed as none of the drops of fountain of possible benefits would ever fall on me.

My company economist played the role of a counselor as he heard my story over a cuppa. He smiled as if I overlooked an obvious advantage. ‘You forgot the savings you will have due to price reduction of your fish’ he reminded me. I was one up on him. ‘You always told me to look at the net effect as you look as the net profit of our company. So, I calculated the excess money I will have to shell out for my daughter’s wedding jewellery and to compensate that by the savings in fish, it will take 145 years as per my calculation.’ His face fell as he searched for some argument in his mind to counter mine. Then as an instant flash he blurted, ‘You will play the critical role of catalyst of the economy. All the money you will be spending will circulate in the economy and that is what Lord Keynes had advocated.’ Wow now I felt like superman on whose shoulder’s rested future of world economy. I could visualize popular news channels like BBC, CNN, Times Now, Headlines Today etc. all clamoring to ask me how I saved the world. But in a flash I realized that my economist friend who was now heading for the elevators had pulled a real fast one on me.

Slippery Mode

‘Sir, the prices have risen last week. You are calculating on the old rates’ the petrol pump attendant said returning my bundle of cash. In one sentence he turned me into Rip Van Winkle who had slept for 20 years. I had to challenge this otherwise polite attendant. ‘I watched the international news channel and I clearly heard the oil prices to fall to an eight month low and if you feel that the news has not reached India, let me assure you that at least the financial papers carried the news’. He smiled as if he was about to teach complicated table manners to a village bumpkin. ‘You may not be aware that the prices in India have nothing to do with the international prices’ he replied. That sent me into peals of laughter until I had tears rolling down my cheek. I finally managed to gasp out to him, ‘how can cost of purchase not be linked to sale price? Have you no commerce sense?’ He still had the smug look of a know all teacher as he lectured me, ‘in India, the Ministry of Petroleum sets the price and all oil distributing companies have to follow’. Now my tears created by laughter rolled down in sadness at the socialistic market intervention.

‘You must appreciate that the Ministers at the Centre are busy usually domiciled in other states. By the time they reach their office in Delhi, the market has changed. So, though any price rise can be dictated over phone from as far as Mumbai, they normally take their time for price reduction’ the attendant fed me realism. As I counted the additional bundle, I told him, ‘any Management student knows that efficiency is not a one way street. If they are efficient to react to price rise, the same system should react with equal speed to reduce prices.’ ‘Unless they want to offer the opposition a chance to agitate and get some mileage. And later, the governing party gets a better mileage by the publicity and the reduction in the price they should have done half a year earlier’ the attendant gave me his parting shot. As I eased the car out off the petrol station, I realized that by postponing the sale price reduction for such a long time, the processing company in India which has four major ones, is raking in the profits of a massive scale. All they have to do is sit back and hope the Minister sits back and relaxes too.

With all this talk of liberalisation of the 90’s, this aspect of social interventions seems to have been forgotten. Since the same ministry also controls the cooking gas prices, you and I are not critical. It is only a matter of time that this sector will also see liberalisation and I shall dream for that day. Just like the airlines industry in India went from a 2 biscuit distribution mode of air lifting to a plush 5 star comfort with ultimate dining and entertainment of even live Television signals, I wondered what the scene will be of this industry if one of the Kings of Liberalisation ventured into a competitive mode. Surely, the prices would change perhaps even intra day! I would profit from the timing of my filling the tank and they would have even the ‘happy hour’ prices between midnight and 4 a.m. to attract people to their petrol pumps. Now how would the gas delivery system change? I did not have to think much as the sweaty greasy delivery man would give way to the excess personnel of the cabin crew laid off during the recession and for a change, the men folk in every household would even take a holiday from work to ensure the cylinder is delivered in the middle class household. They would even print a calendar of their best delivery personnel which would be a collector’s item every year.

When I reached the workplace, I attacked my work with gusto but the absence of the bundle of cash in my pocket gave me a nagging feeling. Though I ticked off the expense vouchers already vetted by my junior my mind was in the petrol tank of my car. Even with the most energy efficient car in India, I was worried. Just then the Marketing Director’s bill caught my eye. Lunches and Dinners with prospective clients are a sin-qua-non for this department so, the liquor bill was no surprise. What was a surprise was the calculation that went in my head. The bill mentioned the rate for Beer and my mental calculator started ticking. Beer was actually cheaper than Petrol! All we have to do is adjust something somewhere (I am auto-mechanically challenged) and voila! We have an alternative to fuel price controlled by some Ministry. I am aware that this would trigger protests from tipplers who would later end up as Beer station attendants dutifully testing or tasting the sample every hour to make sure the customers get pure stuff. With beer as a fuel alternative (or alcohol) the system of checking intoxication of the driver for DUI (Driving under influence) would have to change as each driver would have the plea that the fumes of his/her gas tank influenced the old meter and the reading had nothing to do with what the driver of the vehicle had ingested. I certainly hope the liquor barons wake up to this fact and even sponsor the research for engines to run on beer.

As I passed the petrol station on the way back, I stopped there to hand him a large piece of paper I had printed. It was something I had found on the internet. I told the attendant to display it on the window as it represented the correct price whatever it may be.

Secure your Borrower

I was shivering with nervousness as I punched the phone number on my cell phone. My voice trembled enough to let the receiver of the call know that I was subjected to third degree. My friend the lawyer on the other side said, ‘why is a white collared person reacting like a common criminal? Have you done something for the Economic Offences wing to pick you up?’ ‘No’ I tried to assure him, ‘I am in a Bank trying to get a loan and he is asking me so many details and taking so much assurances that I need your advice.’ Knowing him to be a typical middle class, I braced myself for the inevitable advice. ‘Never borrow so that you can sleep well. If you needed some money to tide over some crisis, you should have asked me.’ ‘Thanks’ I answered him, ‘it is a housing loan for a house in Mumbai and you certainly would not have lent me one crore Rupees.’ ‘Oops’ he stuttered at his folly.

‘What is the precise issue with the Banker?’ asked my lawyer friend. ‘I have to sign lots of papers which I have never heard before.’ I answered. ‘For example, there is a sheet that I have to undertake not to divorce my wife before I settle the loan.’ Hearing this, my friend was audibly startled. ‘I never knew your marriage was in such a state.’ ‘It is not’ I assured him, ‘but they want double assurance of no division in my assets which would be divided under a court order in case of a divorce.’ ‘That is one hell of thinking in advance’ my friend observed as I heard him shuffle some papers or books. ‘Here it is’ he screamed, ‘in the case of Commercial Bank of Rajasthan vs. Mishra & Misra of Rajasthan High Court, when the borrower defaulted, his assets which were adequate at the time of borrowing were not sufficient at the time of settlement as property was divided between him and his wife under court order. The borrower also could not be held for fraud as the property was transferred by a court order. Therefore the Bank wanted to recover from the Court.’ I was appalled. ‘You mean the taxpayer’s money was ultimately used to settle his loan?’ My friend lawyer was shocked at my ignorance of the times, ‘do you mean to say you have not heard of the term ‘BAILOUT’? It was referred so many times when the US Government used taxpayer’s money to bail out Banks, Car companies etc. during the recent recession."

‘I am willing to sign any paper but my wife too has to sign it and she is not willing’ I lamented. ‘What is she saying?’ my friend asked. I quoted her verbatim, ‘Why should I close my options as no-one can predict where any relationship will lead and when any relationship will sour.’ There was silence at the other end as there was no argument to a universal truth.

‘There are more funny papers’ I continued. ‘Take the example of a will that the Banker is forcing me to write in his format. Initially I thought the Banks assumed the loan conditions and installments will give me enough tension to kill me and that is what they expect. The Bank claims that by this paper my survivors will get my property but only after the Bank’s claim is first settled. In this paper I would be also appointing Bank’s department of ‘Executors’ as administrator of my estate and this service will be given to me free!’ Was I now supposed to dance and clap my hands in glee at this free service which was nothing but their insurance to control their claim?

Talking about insurance, they also made me subscribe to a life insurance policy from their own subsidiary UCUC BOMBARD though I had sufficient policies from the good old LIC corporation. Of course the settlement would be made to the Bank is what I had to sign. Along with the policy application was a paper that I had to undertake to not commit suicide since no life insurance claim is settled for suicides. I had paused here but the Banker persisted that to ensure that claim is settled, this paper is a must. Also, as evidence that I was continually of sound mind and not depressed enough to commit suicide, they needed proof for which I had to visit their panel psychiatrist every half year at my cost. Whew. Talk about securing their loan!

After securing my mind and body for their loan as well as my future generation through my will, they still had the gall to shove another paper under my nose. My face turned beetroot red as I read it. It was an undertaking to ensure that I did my job diligently at my place of employment to ensure I was not fired and also did not go wayward in any way to jeopardise my chances of promotion and thus my increment. The universal truth about promotions being politically driven was not considered in this paper. Even my employer who would have best benefitted by such an undertaking had not taken such from me or anyone else. By this time I was so tired that I was willing to sign even a blank paper. ‘Do you think any person purposely would get himself fired?’ I asked the Banker. ‘No; but we know that but some people take the risk which backfires and they land up without a job which makes our loan account a NPA (Non performing Asset).’ It was then that I noted the second para of a single line that in case I wished to change my job voluntarily, I would have to first seek the permission of my Banker.

I was chained and shackled to my Banker just because I took a loan. You must have heard the phrase of persons who make super profits ‘Laugh their way to the Bank.’ Now I think it is time for the other phrase for people who take loans from Banks as ‘Cry & Cry their way from the Bank and thereafter forever.’