Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) (14 page)

‘Haha!’ Richard laughed. ‘You really think so?’ And with a generous hint of ridicule in his voice, he added, ‘Peer review?’

‘Hmm …’

‘You have been around long enough to know that there is no bigger scam going around than peer reviews. It’s all about “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours”. James will manage excellent peer reviews and will get the paper published just as he wants it. After all, the people who write his peer reviews will come to him when they publish their papers. If they screw around with his peer review, he will bludgeon the peer review when it’s their turn. Which world are you in, Cirisha? I have seen James draft out his own peer review and send it along with his research report. No one ever dares to deviate from what James sends them. What he sends, comes back signed … Not a word changed.’

‘I guess I’m a bit of a prude in these matters. I am hoping that if James does screw around with the research, the peer group will take a stand. Michael will, for one.’

Richard smiled. ‘Michael will never get a chance to do the peer review. The researcher selects the peers who would review the findings. Why on earth would you send an important research report for peer review to a faculty who you know is antagonistic towards you?’

‘But Richard, you should not keep quiet if you see something wrong. You should stand up and raise your voice. Otherwise you become as much party to it.’

‘Not too sure if that’s the approach for me. If I play along quietly, there is a lot for me to gain.’ And he walked out of the room. ‘Keep in touch. Remember, people will miss you here,’ he said before the door shut on him.

That was the last Cirisha would see of him for a while. She was on to her next research assignment that would formally begin in a couple of months. It would take that much time for her to do the basic groundwork and get the research methodology approved by the sponsors. Slums were not the most exciting of places and the last thing she wanted to do was to complete her project and then figure out that her sponsors wanted her to do something completely different. Once it started, she would be in Mumbai for a long stretch—and that really excited her.

23

May–June 2007

MIT, Boston

Richard was Deahl’s pointperson in the NRA research. They had also taken on three research assistants, students who were majoring in Social Psychology, to assist them in data gathering.

‘The data for Chicago has come in,’ Richard announced as he walked into Deahl’s room.

‘How does it look?’

‘I need to drill deeper. On the face of it the data looks quite supportive of Lucier’s hypothesis.’

‘If it holds for Chicago, it is sure to hold everywhere. We will be able to prove the hypothesis in all the other regions. Chicago has one of the most restrictive gun ordinances in the United States of America. No civilian gun ranges. And gun shops are banned. No one can carry assault weapons or high-capacity magazines in public.’

‘And despite such stringent gun-control laws, Chicago has the highest gun-related homicide rate,’ Richard added.

‘Yes, Richard. And that’s why Chicago lends itself to such a wonderful analysis. By the way, what’s the source of this data? Published data or is it classified?’

‘Lucier and the Illinois State Rifle Association helped us get this data. While some of it is published, a lot of the core working data is not published by government departments. Nothing to suggest it is classified, though.’

‘Lucier badly needs this to work for him.’ When Deahl said this, Richard smiled.

‘When will you be able to run your analysis on the data?’

‘Give me a few days, James. There is too much of it.’

‘This will form the basis of our next course of action. Let’s get it out fast.’

24

July–September 2007

Mumbai

The suburban railway station at Bandra (West) was crowded. Gangu Tai got off the train on platform number ten and walked right towards the end. Two platforms to cross and she would be out of the station. She looked up. The asbestos sheet of the station roof was cracked. The sun filtered through a few tiny holes in the asbestos, exaggerating their size. The overhead walkway came in sight. She thought for a second and decided not to use the deserted walkway. Crossing the tracks would be dangerous, albeit easier. She jumped off the platform, dashed across two sets of railway lines and climbed on to the next platform. With swift steps, she walked across the platform, crossed two more tracks and in no time, she was next to the railing marking the boundary of the railway station. Manoeuvring herself through a gap in the railing, which had become a sort of a thoroughfare, she got out of the station and on to the road. A short walk from the station, across the Mithi river, was a civilization in itself. Dharavi. This was Gangu Tai’s world. Her name was Gangu Bai, but because of her age everyone called her Tai, an affectionate term for grandmother.

Almost half of Mumbai lived in slums, of which Dharavi was the largest. Gangu Tai was returning after delivering a consignment of four hundred bags. Her steps were pacy, their span large. She was getting late for a meeting with Cirisha, who was waiting for her outside a small roadside temple below the flyover connecting Dharavi to Mahim, the nearest suburb.

It was an emotional reunion for the two of them. Cirisha was seeing her after four years. Gangu Tai had aged significantly from the time that she left her job as a domestic help at the Raisinghania household—a job that she diligently did for three years. A strange reaction to a problem at home had made her return to her village, promising never to come back to Mumbai. But return she did, after two years. The lure of money in this big city was too strong to resist. She needed money to take care of her drunk and chronically ill husband back home.

‘Gangu Tai,’ Cirisha called out affectionately as she hugged her, unconcerned that her Marks & Spencer top was getting messed up. ‘How are you, Gangu Tai? How is my darling Kavita?’

‘She is fine, Didi. Helping my brother in his fields.’

‘After doing her BA?’ Cirisha asked. She was both angry and troubled that such a bright talent was being wasted.

‘What else could I have done? You are the only one who knows the state we were in.’

‘Yes, I know. And if I remember, I advised you against it.’

‘I didn’t have a choice, Didi.’

‘Hmm …’ acknowledged Cirisha as the incidents which had occurred four years ago flashed before her eyes. Kavita was the eldest of Gangu Tai’s three daughters. A smart and inquisitive girl, she was the darling of her teachers. Cirisha was fond of her. Kavita had just finished her graduation and was looking for a job. A few rowdy elements saw her one day while she was walking out for an interview and began harassing her. They began stalking her every day. The roads within Dharavi were narrow and congested. Taking advantage of that, the rowdies would collide with her while walking and often make snide, derogatory remarks. Kavita tolerated it for as long as she could and eventually, one day, she mentioned it to Cirisha in the presence of Gangu Tai. Aditya was also around at that time. He advised her to ignore it. ‘The guys would stop it by themselves,’ he said. Cirisha was appalled at such a suggestion and stormed out of the house with Kavita to the local police station to register a complaint. The cops, strangely, did not even bother to register a First Information Report, which they were obligated to in such instances, and instead, advised them to go back and talk to the rowdies and settle matters amicably. This only made the rowdies braver. When it became unbearable, Gangu Tai decided to leave Mumbai for good and headed back to her native place in Amravati. She returned to Mumbai within two years in search of a job.

Gangu Tai became Cirisha’s guide through the bylanes of Dharavi, an unending stretch of narrow, dirty lanes, open sewers and cramped huts. It had its own laws; every basic necessity was run by the mafia like a parallel government. The teeming slum of Dharavi, home to a million people, had become the hotbed of political lobbying thanks to its location. Situated right next to the biggest commercial hub of Mumbai, the Bandra Kurla Complex, Dharavi was prime real estate, which interested every single construction lobby in the country, possibly even the world. Gangu Tai introduced Cirisha to everyone who mattered in the administration of Dharavi.

Cirisha spent entire days with families that had migrated from rural India. Though over 40 per cent of Dharavi comprised second- and third-generation residents of the slum, she spent most of her time with people who had migrated to Mumbai from remote parts of the country, and largely, for cost reasons, sought out the solace offered to them by the big heart of the largest slum. Most of them, as she figured out, had migrated to the city for a perceived better life for their children. At times, their commitment to their children, even at the cost of their own lives, brought tears to Cirisha’s eyes.

Raghu was one such migrant from distant Amravati who had come to Mumbai at the behest of Gangu Tai. He had initially come to Mumbai alone, but three years back, his wife moved in with him. Now he had a two-year-old son who was born in the hustle and bustle of this urban jungle. Having sold off his land in Amravati before coming to Mumbai, Raghu was relatively better off than most of the other migrants. He had invested his savings prudently and started a small business. It had worked well for him, for he was now able to get more people from his village to come and work with him, for him. Working with familiar, loyal people was always better than unknown devils.

After spending a day with him, Cirisha went with Raghu to his factory, deep inside the guts of Dharavi. ‘There is no way I can find my way out of this,’ Cirisha thought as she made her way into the maze, led by Raghu. After a jumpy ride of fifteen minutes in a rickety autorickshaw, they reached a multi-storeyed building. The rotten smell of a tannery made her impulsively reach for her handbag to pull out a scented tissue. As she stepped out of the autorickshaw and walked towards the entrance of the building, she saw Raghu talking to someone.

‘Gangu Tai? How come you are here?’

‘Didi, I was the one who started this with Raghu.’

‘Gangu Tai!’ Cirisha exclaimed. A big smile lit up her face. ‘Wow! You never told me that you run a business.’ Cirisha was both surprised and amused. This was the same lady who used to mop the floor of her Pali Hill apartment.

Cirisha looked around. It was a large factory. ‘How many people work here?’

‘Around two hundred. And Didi, last evening you asked me what would make me go back?’

Cirisha nodded.

‘You only tell me, how can I leave these two hundred people and go back to my village? With the money I have made for myself, I will live comfortably all my life. What will happen to the lives of these people and their families if I go? I will never be able to. My conscience will not allow me.’ Cirisha was touched. Gangu Tai’s victory felt like her own.

She walked through the leather goods manufacturing facility. The ground floor was where they manufactured bags. Handbags, slingbags and laptop bags. She could never have imagined that a facility like this would exist deep inside a slum. They walked up to the third floor. Being fit helped; Cirisha didn’t puff and pant while climbing three floors. On the third floor was a dormitory where many of the workers lived.

Shoes were being manufactured on the second floor. Shoe tops, without the soles. ‘We don’t have moulding units. So we are not able to mould the upper of the shoe into the soles. That’s why we just make the shoe uppers and supply them to the company. Someone else does the moulding,’ Raghu volunteered. Cirisha picked a few of the uppers and looked at them. They looked absolutely top class. ‘In the case of leather-soled shoes, we make the complete product too.’ Raghu showed her some finished shoes. She picked one up and admired it. It looked like a branded product in a posh store. She brought the shoe to her eye level and looked inside.

She was handing it back to him when she saw it. Hastily she pulled it back and looked inside the shoe. This time, she carefully lifted the tongue of the shoe—the flap beneath the laces—and there it was.