2 States The Story Of My Marriage (18 page)

‘What favour?’ I asked without smiling.

‘See Krish, this job, my career, it is everything to me. I have given my life to
this bank.’

I nodded. Come to the point, buddy, I thought.

‘And you, as you will admit, aren’t into it as much as me. Don’t take it the

wrong way.’

He was hundred percent right. But when someone tells you to not take it the

wrong way, you have to take it the wrong way. Besides, I had spent the last three

nights working hard with only ATM guards for company. I deserved better.

‘That is hundred percent false,’ I said. ‘I’m dying from work. I do whatever you
want me to do. I sold that crap Internet …’

‘Easy, easy,’ Bala shushed me.

‘There is nobody here. We are not planning a James Bond mission that we

have to whisper,’ I said.

Corporate types love to pretend their life is exciting. The whispers, fist-

pumping and animated had gestures are all designed to lift our job description

from what it really is - that of an overpaid clerk.

‘I’m not doubting your hard work. But see, in corporate life, we have to look

after each other.’

‘What? How?’ If he didn’t come to the point in two seconds, I would slap him.

In my imagination, I already had.

‘I am your boss, so I can look after you anyway. But today you have a chance

to look after me.’

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I kept quiet.

‘The country manager is coming. They will ask how the Internet stocks sales to

housewives came about. I have to take the heat anyway. But if you could …’

‘Could what?’ I prompted, just to make the scumbag say it. He didn’t.

‘You want me to take the blame?’ I hazarded a guess.

He gave a brief nod.

‘Wow. That’s unbelievable, Bala. I’m a trainee. Why will they believe me

anyway?’

‘You are from IIMA. It is conceivable you had a big say from early on.’

‘And if I say it, my career is fucked.’

‘No, you are a trainee. I have to recommend your promotion. Consider that

done anyway. But if I am held responsible, I don’t get a promotion, ever.’

‘You are responsible,’ I stared into his eyes.

‘Please Krish,’ Bala said.

The boss-subordinate relationship had changed. Bala begged me for help. I

realised the power I could hold over him if I gave in. I could come to office like

sane people. I could leave early. I could snooze at my desk. OK, so maybe my

career at the Citi overpaid clerks’ club would get affected. So what?

I could have said yes then, but I wanted him to grovel some more. I kept quiet.

‘The country manager as it is doesn’t like me. He is North Indian. He will

forgive you but not me,’ Bala said. I wondered if he would cry. I could have

enjoyed the show longer but I also wanted to go home and rest.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I stood up.

‘Is that a yes?’ Bala said, his eyes expectant.

‘Good night, sir,’ I said, emphasizing the last word.

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22

My father never calls me. I have no idea why he did that night. I have no idea why

he did that night. I wanted to sleep before the misery of tuition and office began

all over again. But at eleven that night, Ramanujan knocked on the door.

‘What?’ I called out. Since the day Ananya visited, I hardly spoke to my

flatmates.

‘There’s a call for you.’

‘Who is it?’ Even Ananya never called me this late.

‘Your father. Can you ask him not to call at this hour?’ Ramanujan yawned.

I froze at the mention of my father. I prayed my mother was OK. Why would he

call me? ‘Hello?’

‘Am I speaking to my son?’

I found his addressing me as his son strange. We had never had a one-to-one

conversation for the last three years.

‘It’s Krish,’ I said.

‘That’s my son only, no?’

‘If you say so,’ I said.

Silence followed as two STD pulses passed.

‘I’m listening,’ he said.

‘To what?’

‘To whatever my son has to say to me.’

‘There isn’t anything left to say. Why have you called so late?’ I said in an

angry voice.

‘You sent your mother your first salary cheque?’

‘Yes,’ I said after a pause.

‘Congratulations,’ he said.

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‘Is mom OK? I hope you are not calling me for some guilt trip of yours.

Because if mom is not OK …’ I said, separating my words with pauses.

‘Your mother is fine. She is proud of you,’ he said.

‘Anything else?’

‘How’s life?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ I said.

‘Is this the way to speak to your father?’ he shouted.

‘I don’t speak to you,’ I said, ‘in case you didn’t notice.’

‘And I am trying to increase communication,’ he said, his voice still loud.

I could have hung up the phone right then, but I didn’t want him to take his

anger out on my mother. I kept quiet as he ranted about how I had let him down

as a son. He didn’t say anything he hadn’t in the last twenty years. I also knew

that once the monologue started, it would take a while to stop. I put the phone on

the table and opened the fridge. I took out an apple and a bottle of water. I went to
the kitchen, cut the apple into little pieces and came back. I had two bites and

drank a glass of water. Squawks came from the phone receiver.

After finishing the apple, I picked up the phone.

‘You have no qualities I can be proud of. These degrees mean nothing. Just

because you send you mother money, you think you can boss around. I think a

person like you …’ he was saying when I put the phone down again. I picked it up

again after I finished the apple.

‘I said, are you listening?’ His voice was trembling.

‘I am,’ I said. ‘Now it is late. Your bill must also be quiet high. May I go to
sleep?’

‘You have no respect.’

‘You said that already. Now, can we sleep? Good night,’ I said.

‘Good night,’ he said and hung up. No matter how mad they are, army people

still believe in courtesies. I am sure Indian and Pakistani officers wish each other
before they blow each other’s brains off.

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I came back to bed. I didn’t want my father’s chapter in my life again. No father
is better than a bad father. Plus right now I had to deal with another father, who

had folded his hands to keep me away from a daughter I so badly wanted to be

with. And I have Bala and loser flatmates and psycho landlord and horrible

sambhar smells everywhere in this city. A dozen random thoughts spilled out in

my brain right before going to bed. These thoughts swarm around like clumsy

fishes, and my poor little brain begged – guys, I need some rest. Do you mind? But

the thoughts didn’t go away. Each fish had an attention deficit disorder. The Bala

thought showed visions of me jabbing him with something sharp. The Ananya’s

dad thought made me think about a dozen post-facto one liners I could have said

when uncle folded his hands – But I love her, sir; But you should get to know me,

uncle; You realise we can run away, you Hindu-reading loser.

Some people are lucky. They lie down, close their eyes and like those like

those imported dolls your Dubai relatives give you, go off to sleep. I have to shut

fifty channels in my brain, one click at a time. One hour later, I had shut the final
thought of how I’d admit I taught housewives to play with radioactive stocks.

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23

‘Ready?’ Bala jollied me with coffee in the morning. Yes, Mr Balakrishnan, branch

head of customer services, brought me coffee in a mug. Too bad he didn’t carry it

in a tray.

‘Doesn’t take much preparation to present yourself as stupid,’ I said and took

the coffee. I noticed the mug had become wet at the bottom. Bala picked up a

tissue from my desk for me. I could get used to this, I thought.

We met in the conference room two hours later. Bala loaded up the

presentation. True to character, he had removed my name from the title slide.

Like all banking presentations in every department of every bank in India, it

started with the 1991 liberalisation and how it presents tremendous opportunity

for India.

‘As you can see, the IT space has seen tremendous volatility in the last three

months,’ Bala said, pointing to a graph that only went down.

Our country head, Anil Mathur, had come on the first flight to Chennai. His day
had started bad as he couldn’t get a business class seat last minute and had to

rub shoulders with the common people. His grumpy expression continued to

worsen during the presentation.

Anil was forty years old and seen as a young turk on his way up. Citi thrived

on and loved the start system. People introduced him as ‘This is Anil, MD. He is a

star performer.’

Again, there is nothing starry to do in a bank anyway. It is another thing Citi
invented to reduce the dullness of our job. However, when Anil entered the room,

some Chennai bankers’ eyes lit up, much like the auto driver who saw Rajni’s

poster.

‘And that in short, has led to the circumstances we are in today,’ Bala said as
he ended his hour-long speech. I couldn’t believe he tagged his talk this short.

Anil didn’t respond. He looked around the room. Chennai trainees avoid eye

contact anyway, especially when it comes to authority. He looked at Bala and

Bala looked at me. I nodded; I’d be the suicide mission today.

Anil’s cell-phone rang. He took it out of his pocket. His secretary had called

from Mumbai.

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‘What do you mean wait-listed for business class? I am not coming back like I

did this morning sitting cramped with these Madrasis.’

Apart from me and Anil, everyone in the room was offended. However, since

Anil is the boss, everybody smiled like it was a cute romantic joke.

Anil stood up with his phone. ‘And why do I have a Honda City to pick me up?

Tell them, I am eligible for BMW if they don’t have Mercedes … yes, of course, I

am.’ He said and hung up the phone.

He let out a huge sigh and rubbed his face. It is a tough life when you have to
fight for basic rights every day.

‘OK, focus, focus,’ he said to himself and everyone in the room straightened

their backs.

‘Sir, as I was saying …’ Bala started again. Anil had a flight back in four hours.

I guess Bala hoped if he kept presenting, time would run out for Anil to ask tough

questions.

“Bala, you have said a lot,’ Anil said. ‘All I care about is why have you lost

seven big customers in a month. In every other market we have grown.’

All of us studied the floor.

‘Two crore? How can retail customers lose two crore? They come to save their

money in the bank, not lose it,’ Anil said. Such truisms had led him to become

the star in the jargon-filled bank.

‘So, whose big idea was it to sell these ladies net stocks?’ Anil asked.

‘Sir,’ Bala said and looked at me. Everyone turned to me. I had become guilty

by collective gaze.

‘You are?’ Anil asked.

“Krish, sir,’ I said.

‘You are from Chennai?’ Anil said, puzzled at my accent that didn’t match the

rest of the table.

‘No, I’m from Delhi.’

‘Punjabi?’

I nodded.

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Anil didn’t answer. He just laughed. The sadistic laugh of seeing a fish out of
water gasp for life. ‘What happened? HR screwed up?’ Anil said. His phone rang

again. The secretary confirmed business class and a BMW pickup at the airport.

Anil asked her to make sure it is a 5-series at least.

‘Remember the Tata Tea deal we did with BankAm? I came back with that idiot

MD from BankAm and the car company sends me a Toyota and a 5-series for him.

Can you imagine what I went through?’ Anil emphasized again. The secretary

confirmed she wouldn’t make him slum it in a car that cost less than an

apartment. Calmness spread in the room as Anil’s mood improved.

‘Where was i?’ Anil said and looked at me. He laughed again. ‘Which college

are you from?’

‘IIMA,’ I said.

‘Salute, sir,’ Anil said and mock-saluted me.

I didn’t brag about my college, you asshole, I wanted to say. He got the name out
of me.