God is a Gamer

by Ravi Subramanian

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  10

  Mumbai

  Aditya stepped into the plush new sixteenth-floor office of Indiscape Gaming Corporation. Eighteen months since it was launched, Indiscape.com had grown to become one of the most frequented gaming sites in India. As he walked in, to the right was a huge board featuring one of his quotes: ‘Keep them easy and interesting. Focus on entertaining the customer. Once he likes what he is playing, revenue will come.’ Above it, in bold, were the words: ‘We are here to entertain.’ That summed up Aditya’s ethos and the operating model for his company.

  The past six months had been particularly good for Indiscape. It had seen significant traction from international markets, particularly the US. A big victory had come when a game called Mafia Dons catapulted to the #10 position in the list of most popular games in America. Aditya had become the darling of the private equity community.

  Indiscape operated on a free-to-use model. For the consumer, playing games on Indiscape.com was free. Revenue pumped in by advertisers kept the company going. While profitability was not huge, what excited the investors was the fact that the number of monthly active users, or MAUs, on Indiscape was high. More significantly, it was consistently high. Consumer loyalty and retention at Indiscape was best in class. All you had to do was play an Indiscape game once and you were hooked as if it were a drug.

  That day, Aditya was addressing a town hall meeting for which two hundred and eighty employees from all his offices had gathered. Sundeep was there too. He managed international sales for Aditya’s BPO business and had also helped him set up Indiscape.

  ‘Friends, we have seen phenomenal growth over the last three quarters. No gaming company across the globe has moved this fast. This would not have been possible without your support. I am thankful to all of you, who have given blood and sweat to make Indiscape a part of your family. Thank you!’ Aditya’s speech was inspiring. He connected with his people brilliantly.

  Once the question-and-answer session was done, Sundeep walked Aditya to his room. ‘We had downtime for two hours yesterday.’

  ‘Two hours! Here?’

  ‘No, no, at eTIOS.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Between 9.14 p.m. and 11.10 p.m.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Someone tried to hack in. DDOS attack—distributed denial of service. Our firewalls proved to be a strong enough defence. We have checked and sanitized everything now.’

  Aditya pondered for a second and responded, ‘Wonderful. So nothing to worry about.’

  Sundeep nodded. ‘Not on this front, for sure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Aditya looked up. ‘What’s bothering you, Sundeep?’

  Sundeep hesitated a bit. But then there was no point. He was as much a stakeholder in the success of the business as Aditya. ‘Our numbers for last month have come in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Our MAUs have dropped for the first time in the last twelve months. Some customers have logged off our network. They are not playing our games as much as they used to.’

  ‘What do you think happened?’

  ‘Not too sure. But it’s not very worrying and the drop is not very significant. It’s just that I don’t like to see even a small drop. Period.’

  Aditya smiled. ‘I know. In any case, dig deeper. We are in the process of raising more capital and cannot afford to lose customers. They are the only hook we have for investors. We don’t have much revenue to show,’ he said, and after a brief pause added, ‘as of now.’

  ‘Yes, Aditya.’

  ‘Also find out where they are going. We have their email IDs, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we do. In fact, a mail has gone out this morning to all customers inviting them back to Indiscape. The bait is a preview of our new game, Townsville, when it is ready. And an opportunity to sample it before the world gets to see it.’

  ‘Task your design team. Tell them to work overnight on Townsville. It needs to be as addictive as Mafia Dons.’

  ‘Working on it, Aditya. What about charging the existing lot to play on our website? Introducing a fee to register . . . Perhaps a monthly fee?’

  ‘Are you joking? We’re losing customers here and you’re recommending that we charge them! As long as I’m around, we will never charge our customers. I want them to be our ambassadors.’

  ‘Social media?’

  ‘Early days yet, Sundeep. You know that as much as I do. Going on social media will impact the Indiscape brand, I feel. Our competitors have tried it, haven’t they? Let’s see how people respond to their games on social media and then take a call. Let’s first build our brand before we look for alliances. The moment we partner with Facebook and the others, we will lose our identity. And don’t forget, we don’t have any revenue to pay these social media partners and advertise on their networks. Let’s focus all our energy on two things: developing new, exciting games to get our MAUs up, and figuring out what made us lose our customers in the first place.’

  Sundeep didn’t quite agree with what Aditya had said. He didn’t have a choice though; Aditya had a great track record of making the right decisions.

  Aditya spent a few hours at Indiscape. As he was leaving the office and heading towards eTIOS, he stopped at the conference room and called out to Sundeep.

  ‘Coming up?’

  eTIOS’ office was in the same building two floors above Indiscape. Sundeep and Aditya’s cabins were next to each other there. However, when he was at Indiscape, Sundeep operated from the conference room.

  As he stepped out to join Aditya, the latter asked, ‘You seem too exhausted. Do you think you need help to run the business?’

  ‘Pardon me?’ He was shocked that Aditya had even suggested this.

  ‘Do you need help in running the company? We can hire senior people to pitch in. A few days from now, Townsville goes live. And I’m worried about the success of the game if we cannot hold on to our existing pool of customers. A lot depends on this game. If it does well, we can take the company to the next level.’

  ‘As of now, I can manage, Aditya. You know I will be the first to tell you in case I am unable to.’

  ‘Okay!’

  Aditya got into the elevator and pressed the button to go up two floors, to the eTIOS office, which was in the same building.

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  11

  Mumbai/Goa

  Tanya was on her way to the Goa airport. Her flight took off in three hours.

  She was in a horrible mood that morning. After the rendezvous by the beach, Varun had disappeared again. He had escorted her back to her room and walked away without a protracted goodbye. No note, no number, no promises to stay in touch. He had disappeared almost as abruptly as he had arrived, and without a trace. She had waited in the hotel lobby for almost an hour and a half, hoping to catch a glimpse of Varun, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Tanya was rudely jolted out of her thoughts by the wailing sirens of a convoy of police vans. Tanya looked out of the bus window. She counted three police vans and two fire engines, driving down the wrong side of the road. They were clearly in a hurry. Traffic had almost come to a standstill. She looked at her watch, worried she would miss the flight.

  The bus stopped. A few of her colleagues got off to figure out what the problem was. To make things worse, it had even started to drizzle. Within ten minutes, her colleagues returned.

  One of them explained. ‘Last night, there was some rioting near Tito’s Pub. Two gangs fighting over territorial rights for drug trading. Apparently, the Indian and the Nigerian gangs have clearly demarcated territories within which they operate freely. The Nigerians started selling drugs in the Indian area, which is a violation of an unwritten code of conduct. The Indians beat up some members of the Nigerian gang. The management of Tito’s called the
police. Everyone dispersed. But this morning, a few Nigerians retaliated. In the street violence, one Nigerian was killed.’

  ‘Okay, but why the traffic jam?’

  ‘The entire Nigerian community is out on the roads, protesting the murder. They are turning violent. Two police jeeps have also been torched. The cops are struggling to bring the situation under control. We should turn back.’

  ‘Shit, that’s bad,’ exclaimed Tanya, ‘but we have more than two hours for the flight. Let’s wait it out.

  Her colleague responded, ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to make it across the blockade. And it is not safe to sit here and wait. You never know when these Nigerians will come this way and attack our bus. Let’s head back.’

  Everyone except Tanya agreed. She desperately wanted to reach Mumbai. Her mother would be waiting. Tanya had just completed her postgraduation abroad and signed up for specialization in her field. Her course began in another four months. It was only on her mother’s insistence that had she come back to India in the intervening period.

  Thankfully, by late evening, normalcy was restored. The police arrested everyone involved in the rioting, mostly Nigerians, and promised to bring the murderers to book.

  When Tanya and her team learnt that the blockade had been lifted, they rushed to the airport and managed to catch the last flight out of Goa.

  They arrived in Mumbai at midnight. By the time Tanya took a taxi and reached home, it was well past 1 a.m. Not wanting to wake her mother, she opened the door with her key and tiptoed into the house. The house was a mess. It seemed as though all three maids had been given the day off. She walked up to her mother’s bedroom. Her mother was sprawled on the bed. Clothes in disarray, face down, motionless . . .

  Fear gripped Tanya. She rushed to her mother’s side. She was about to roll her over when her mother groaned, stretched in her sleep and turned. Eyes shut. Probably had one drink too many, Tanya concluded. She was relieved, but annoyed as well. Leaving her mother on the bed, she walked out. There were two plates on the dining table with crumbs of food. Two glasses of whisky. And a plate full of wasabi-flavoured nuts. Her mother loved those. A glass of whisky was never as good for her mother without wasabi-flavoured nuts.

  So he’d come home. Tanya scowled and stomped off to her room.

  Not that she had a problem with anyone in her mom’s life. She had a problem with ‘him’.

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  12

  Mumbai

  The conference call with Singapore was a disaster.

  Malvika conveniently laid the blame on Swami’s shoulders. ‘We should have had the foresight to recognize the problem when it first occurred and taken preventive steps,’ she said. Swami was aghast. Rather than standing by the India businesses, she was sucking up to the global team. The Times of India cover story became a sore point.

  ‘Swami, clearly someone from your team has spoken to the media. You have failed to keep your team in check,’ Malvika said on the call. Swami was surprised. The media article was something Madhuri, the PR head, should have been accountable for. But Madhuri was close to Malvika. That was probably why Malvika was defending her. Whereas Swami was an orphan without a godfather.

  ‘Give us a day, Matt. We will come back with some concrete action points,’ Malvika told Matt Metzger, the regional head of retail banking. ‘Until that time, please manage Peter Baron.’ Matt’s friendship with Peter Baron, the CEO for the region and Malvika’s boss, was not lost on anyone. The two of them went back a long way.

  ‘Let me try,’ said Matt before he hung up.

  Swami was very angry. The impression that Singapore would have got after the call was that Swami was the spineless head of retail banking, who had no control over his business or his team.

  *

  After he disconnected the line, Matt dialled another number.

  ‘Peter Baron.’

  ‘Peter, got a minute?’

  ‘You can take two, Matt. Go on. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘India.’

  ‘India? What about India?’

  ‘We have a CEO of the country who has no clue of what goes on in retail banking, but believes she knows everything. And we have a head of retail banking who is just about okay but doesn’t seem to share a great rapport with the CEO.’

  ‘Put it down to my old age but I can’t understand what you’re getting at.’

  ‘A leader who puts down her own people in front of her superiors can never be an inspiring leader. Malvika did just that to Swami.’

  ‘Are you pissed off because Swami is in your direct line of control and Malvika took him apart? Is that what happened?’

  ‘You know me better than that, Peter. I’m taking a hard look at Swami. Someone has to take responsibility for this phishing fiasco. They couldn’t have done much about the scam but they could have been more responsive. Not only have we lost money in the fraud, but our brand value is at risk of much more erosion.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘You may want to consider looking at an alternative to Malvika in what is the biggest emerging market for us.’

  ‘You mean . . . sack her?’

  ‘That’s an easier way of saying it. Yes.’ Matt smiled.

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Can’t or don’t want to?’ Matt enjoyed these cheeky conversations with Peter.

  ‘You heard me say can’t, didn’t you?’

  ‘Purely out of academic interest, and with no intention of questioning your authority, Peter . . . why?’

  ‘Many reasons. The most important is the fact that the woman is well-connected. Sacking her could land us in trouble.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘I’ll tell you over a drink sometime, Matt. It will suffice for you to know that we can’t take a chance. At least not for another year.’

  ‘By then she will fuck up the entire franchise,’ Matt lamented. ‘The way she was arguing her case today bordered on the ridiculous. As if the phishing scam happened in a world entirely divorced from the world she manages. Had she not been the CEO of a country like India, I would have let myself go at her.’

  ‘I know. You’re telling me all this today. I’ve wanted to get rid of her for almost fifteen months now. I don’t have a choice.’

  Matt thought for a long time.

  ‘Matt, you there?’ Peter asked.

  ‘You said you don’t have a choice. Well, you may have one now.’

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  13

  Mumbai

  Five million dollars.

  That is what the biggest phishing scam in the history of Indian banking cost NYIB’s customers. The unwitting victims had played right into the hands of a few suspected Nigerian criminals.

  Mumbai cops followed standard operating procedure. As with every other phishing scam, they raided Nigeria Wadi, a small, nondescript neighbourhood in the distant suburb of Mira Road. It was not without reason that it was called the hub for all phishing scams in India. These scams were often the handiwork of a small group of Nigerians, who stayed in cheap, one-room rented tenements, available to them at 100 dollars a month.

  A few Nigerians were rounded up but had to be let off eventually because there was no proof—neither tech nor money trail—linking them to the scam. The cops had just acted on impulse and suspicion.

  Even though it was not obliged to, NYIB refunded its customers every penny they lost in the scam, much to Swami’s displeasure. Peter Baron had made this decision.

  ‘Your profits are just a rounding off number for me. I don’t want service issues arising out of this scam to sully the atmosphere at the annual general meeting.’ There was no way the NYIB brand could be allowed to suffer in India. Malvika had agreed without a fight. Swami had tried to argue but he was bludgeoned into submission.

  ‘Why should we
refund the money and take a hit on our bottom line, Aditya? The customers must share some of this pain.’ The day Peter’s diktat was conveyed to NYIB, Swami met Aditya in the evening.

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Aditya agreed. ‘But, Swami, in banks like

  ours . . .’

  Swami looked up.

  ‘. . . okay, okay, in banks like yours . . .’

  Swami smiled.

  ‘. . . it is always important to not get into a conflict with regional offices. They can kill you professionally even before you realize it. If they want to refund the 5 million dollars to customers and take a hit, it’s fine. They don’t really expect you to make it up from some other business. They will push you for sure. So play along and take it as it comes.’

  ‘Aditya, would you have quietly agreed to the regional office’s diktat?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t have.’ Aditya was candid.

  ‘Then why are you asking me to do this?’

  ‘Because those days were different. When I was head of retail banking fifteen years ago, I could have got away with murder. A lot has changed since. In those days, I could have spun the “India as an investment destination” story. A country of one billion people made global bankers salivate and put in money year after year in the hope that profits would come some day. People these days don’t have the appetite for that. There is no room for dissent. Indian teams of multinationals these days are just expected to execute not think.’

  Swami shook his head in disgust. He didn’t want to agree with Aditya.

  ‘You will realize this one day, Swami. The rules of the game have changed. Career longevity is more important than career enhancement. Jobs are few and there are many people chasing them. Your first priority should be to save your job. If you live, you get to fight your battle another day.’

  Swami looked the other way.

  ‘And the regional office may not be wrong. As Peter says, the profits that India gives him may not be good enough for him to fight the battle at the board level. Imagine an idiot at the annual general meeting standing up and questioning NYIB’s security systems and data integrity by citing the India example. It will take the sheen off their success in other parts of the world. Remember that the pain potential India holds for them in terms of customer complaints, senior management escalations, etc. is enormous. So they are effectively shutting off all of those by paying 5 million dollars. When you look at it from their perspective, you can’t argue.’