God is a Gamer

by Ravi Subramanian

  Swami couldn’t say anything in response. But he was seething because his opinion in matters related to his business had been overruled.

  ‘In any case, if the cops manage to get to the bottom of this, some of the money may be recovered. That money will come back to the bank. Part of the 5 million will be made up. So cheer up. Hopefully, your bonus will be intact this year too.’

  The last part of Aditya’s comment made Swami smile.

  ‘You sure know how to make people feel good, Aditya. One must hand it to . . .’

  The buzzing of Aditya’s phone interrupted the conversation. He looked at his phone and back at Swami. ‘It’s Sundeep,’ he whispered. ‘Let me take this call.’

  ‘Hi, Sundeep!’ and he walked away from Swami to finish the call.

  When he returned, Swami looked at him curiously. ‘What happened? Hope all is well.’

  ‘The usual. Sales pitch not going well. RAK Bank had a large budget to migrate its credit cards processes to India. We were pitching for it. Infosys and Tech Mahindra are also in the fray. I was hoping we would get it, simply because I know our competitors can’t match our price. But Sundeep is not too hopeful. Let’s see.’

  ‘We had lots of fun when we were together at NYIB, Aditya. Do you think we can do something to recreate the magic?’

  ‘I’m sure we can. The timing has to be right though.’ Aditya smiled.

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  14

  New York

  It was a quiet, chilly winter evening in Queens, New York.

  Despite the chill, Rudra Pratap Ghosh was out in the cramped balcony of his third-floor, one-bedroom apartment. He never smoked inside the house. Sitting on a steel chair, the back of which rested against the wall, feet propped on the railing, Rudra was focused on the newspaper he was holding. His eyes were fixed on an ad he had circled.

  He dialled the number.

  ‘Hi. I’m looking for a one-bedroom or studio apartment. Your ad mentioned you wanted to lease out yours?’ It was time for him to move out. He couldn’t afford to stay in one place for long. Just in case!

  ‘I wish you had called a little earlier. Gave it away cheap.’

  ‘Cool.’ Rudra hung up.

  Walking back into his apartment, he pulled out a laptop. One look and he put it back in its bag and pulled out a different MacBook. He punched a few keys and, in a few moments, he was looking at Craigslist.

  He shuffled through a few screens and finally stopped at one and started typing an email. His fingers paused for a moment as he considered whether to mention his background in detail. The earlier part of his educational background was stellar, the more recent one was problematic. A graduate from the Indian Statistical Institute in Kolkata, he had dedicated a good part of his life to research and application of statistics and natural sciences. Even though he was a brilliant student, he had strong ideas concerning social justice. While at the institute , he was a member of the KLO—Kamtapur Liberation Organisation—a rebel organization formed in 1995. The sole objective of KLO was to fight for the rights of the people of North East India. Wanting to carve out a separate state comprising of Cooch Behar, Jalpaiguri, Darjeeling and a few other districts of West Bengal and Assam, the KLO soon emerged as a quasi-militant organization. Assisted by ULFA and a few militant offshoots in the neighbouring countries, KLO was soon waging a war against the country for independent statehood.

  Rudra was one of the top six activists of the KLO, who were trained to use firearms by the militant groups in the North East. Pakistan’s Inter Services Intelligence agency was also instrumental in providing advanced weaponry training to the key resources of KLO.

  Things turned hostile for Rudra after he killed a Communist Party of India (Maoist) leader at a rally in 2000. He hurriedly fled the country and flew to the US and never went back to India. That his name never cropped up in the investigation that followed the killing didn’t change his mind. He was now in the US, determined to pursue statistics full time. For a person with his academic credentials, it was not difficult getting into Stanford. A couple of years later he was at it again; he led a breakaway faction of students who formed the non-violent student protest body at Stanford. This body, quite in contrast to its name and ethos, spearheaded what was the first violent protest at Stanford in years. Their demand was that the US government waive a significant portion of the near trillion-dollar student debt. As a consequence, the entire student body was banned, and several students including Rudra were thrown out of the university. The authorities were possibly scared of Rudra’s increasing support base and his ability to influence the student community and garner support for whichever cause he espoused. The administration did not like an alternative power centre. After moving out of the university, the students had stayed in touch, though they had dispersed all over the country. Rudra interacted with many of them regularly through online forums that he had set up. No one knew what he did for a living.

  Finding an apartment was getting tougher, and he had to be constantly on the move. If he used his real name, anyone doing a cursory search would figure out his background. Landlords don’t like to give out apartments to people with a violent past. More so, to Indians with a history of violence in the US. Somewhere along the way, with help from his mentor and a few friends in seats of power, he acquired a new identity. His South American looks helped hide his true identity. Ghosh became Josh. And that’s what he came to be known as. No one could have said that he was an Indian. Josh Connelly was American now.

  His fingers tapped the keys again and he sent out a mail:

  Hi, I’m a 29 yo Texan man, well adjusted, clean/tidy. I do some currency trading and occasionally do freelance IT work. Mostly keep to myself, spend most of the time working, but enjoy going out and socializing from time to time. I’ve recently moved to the Queens area and need to find a place soon. Rent and location are both good for me. If the place is still available, please give me a number to call. Thanks, Josh.

  Within minutes, he got a reply:

  Thanks for the interest. It would be wonderful if you could come down and meet with us. Sometime in the next two days? Cathy and I are off on vacation later this week. Many thanks, Wilbert.

  Within the next few days, Josh moved into Wilbert’s two-bedroom apartment, which he shared with Stan, whom he had never met before.

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  15

  Goa

  Maurice Oboyo, the Nigerian ambassador to India, was in a rage. The death of a Nigerian citizen during the Goa riots had thrust him into the limelight and he was not happy about it. Managing Nigeria’s reputation as a country fraught with crime, fraud and money laundering was hard enough.

  The riots following the murder of Jacob Amaku, whose badly mutilated body was found in Mapusa, had been contained by the Goa police. The situation had culminated in the arrest of 123 people, mostly Nigerian.

  An upset Maurice called up Goa’s chief minister for an update on the safety of Nigerians in the state. This offended the chief minister. A battle of egos ensued.

  ‘Mr Oboyo, need I remind you that this discussion is in breach of protocol? All communication with the states of the Indian Union should be through the Ministry of External Affairs. I would not like to discuss anything regarding matters of state security with you.’ The chief minister was trying hard to stay polite.

  ‘A citizen of my country is brutally murdered. Your cops have no clue who killed him. You then have over a hundred of my countrymen arrested. And you want me to follow protocol, Mr Chief Minister?’ Maurice yelled into the phone.

  ‘Yes, Ambassador. That’s exactly what I’d like you to do.’

  ‘Fine! But let me also warn you that if the police does not stop arresting Nigerians and evicting them from their homes, thousands of Indians living in Nigeria will be thrown out on the st
reets. It will be up to you to explain the fallout.’

  ‘I will inform the central government of your intent,

  Mr Oboyo.’ The chief minister did not lose his cool. ‘Will that be all, Ambassador?’

  Maurice slammed the phone down.

  The chief minster called his aide and handed him a recording of the conversation. In no time, the Nigerian counsel’s threat was being broadcast all over television and social media.

  ‘While I empathize with the Nigerian counsel, I also must remind him that the law will take its own course. We do not have anything against Nigerians but we have to maintain law and order. And if we have to arrest Nigerians or, for that matter, people of any other nationality, to maintain peace, we will.’ The chief minister went on record on television. The Indian public loved the drama that was being played out.

  This episode embarrassed the Nigerian government immensely. Diplomatic channels of communication were opened up directly from Nigeria, Maurice Oboyo was immediately recalled, an apology was issued, and all efforts were made to assuage the sentiments of the Goans. The Nigerian government even offered to compensate the damage that the riots had caused in Goa.

  The issue was amicably settled. Once the paperwork was completed, 122 of the 123 people arrested during the riots were released.

  All but one.

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  16

  Mumbai

  Malvika woke up feeling very happy that Sunday morning. She looked forward to catching up on her sleep over the weekends. As the CEO of a bank, her social engagements kept her sleep deprived every day of the week. She looked around. The room was still dark. She had drawn the black-out curtains before going to sleep. On a working day, she would have left them slightly open, to allow light to creep in. But not on a Sunday morning. She glanced at her phone, to see the time. It was 9.42 a.m. That’s when she saw the missed calls. Five from the same number. Why was he calling her on a Sunday?

  She walked to the bathroom and stood below the shower. She did that every day, the moment she got out of bed. It was a habit which had stayed with her since childhood. As the shower jet hit her body, she shivered involuntarily. She was stressed out. The happy mood had disappeared. The missed calls worried her.

  She wrapped a towel around herself and came out of the bathroom. The screen on her phone was flashing. The ringer was turned off. It was the same number. She picked up phone and accepted the call.

  ‘Morning, Malvika. How have you been?’ A voice came through as soon as she answered.

  ‘Morning, Peter! Sorry, I missed your calls. The phone was in silent mode.’ Irrespective of the level one was at in any organization, the excuses for not taking a call remained the same.

  ‘I want to meet you.’ After a pause, he added, ‘Today.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes. Today. I’m in Mumbai.’

  ‘What? Why didn’t you tell us you were visiting?’

  ‘I’m on my way to the Maldives for a short vacation. I thought of this as an opportunity to meet you and took a detour. If you’re free, can we meet at the Intercontinental near the international airport?’

  ‘Oh!’ Malvika was taken aback. The CEO of a region visiting without advance notice. Something wasn’t right. Flights from Singapore didn’t stop over in Mumbai. It was a very clumsy attempt at lying.

  ‘Of course, Peter. When do you want me to come?’

  ‘Whenever you get the time. My flight out is only at 10.30 p.m.’

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’

  ‘Great! See you then.’ Peter hung up.

  An hour later, a worried Malvika’s Mercedes pulled into the parking lot of the Intercontinental. Peter was waiting for her in the lobby. As she stepped in, he welcomed her warmly, with a generous hug. This was not normal. Peter was not a naturally warm person. Malvika chided herself for reading too much into it and followed him into the coffee shop.

  A few pleasantries later, Peter came to the point.

  ‘I wanted to convey something to you in person, Malvika. That’s why I decided to make this trip to India.’

  Malvika leaned forward. She was trying to act calm but there was a tornado building up inside her.

  Peter guessed her state of mind but didn’t empathize with her.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he exclaimed, ‘Congratulations, Malvika!’

  Malvika blinked and sat upright, her arms dropping to her sides. ‘What for?’ She looked very surprised.

  ‘The group has decided to elevate you and make you chairman of the group in India. All the group companies will report to you, Malvika!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, Malvika. Congratulations! You are the NYIB group chairman in India.’

  ‘You can’t be serious, Peter. You really can’t be!’

  ‘I thought you’d be happy to hear this.’

  ‘Thrilled, Peter. Really?’ Malvika rolled her eyes as she said this. ‘Is this a promotion or a kick-up?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Every NYIB business in India reports to its corresponding head in Singapore. A CEO here has less power than his or her counterparts in Indian banks. One expects a chairman to have adequate powers to run businesses the way she wants. And to top it all, it’s a position that doesn’t even exist right now.’

  ‘After all that you have done in India, Malvika, we need to give you something larger. What better than the head of all businesses in India?’

  Malvika shook her head. She didn’t believe a word of what Peter was saying. ‘How much of this decision is etched in stone?’

  Peter’s expression changed. When he realized that Malvika had seen through the charade, he became serious. ‘I must confess this is a decision taken at the board level in Singapore. They will announce it the day after. I wanted to tell you in person. After five years as CEO of the Indian franchise, I’m afraid this is the only career option they have for you.’

  ‘Who is replacing me?’

  ‘Yet to be decided. Of course, you will be among the first to know.’

  Malvika was confused about what had just transpired. She was just being shunted out of her position into a parking slot. What should she make of it? A part of her thought that she should take it and relax. But there was another part of her that was in violent disagreement. Even after she bid adieu to Peter and left the hotel, the fog of confusion did not lift.

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  17

  Mumbai

  The announcement finally came. Malvika was now the chairman of the New York International Banking group in India.

  Along with it came another surprise. Matt Metzger was to be the next CEO.

  Apart from Malvika, there was one person who was not too pleased with this development. Swami had harboured hopes of taking over from Malvika. In fact, when he had returned to head retail banking in India, Peter Baron’s predecessor had promised that he would be made CEO after Malvika. But, in corporates, successors are not bound to honour commitments made before their time. What made it worse for Swami was that as head of retail banking he functionally reported to Matt, and they had not hit it off well. Things could only get worse with Matt moving to India.

  The breaking point was not too far. It came within the first few days of the new CEO taking over.

  As part of his regular orientation, Matt met with the various business teams, including retail banking. After a day-long session, Swami left Matt in the conference room and walked back to his cabin. Matt wanted to attend to some urgent emails. After

  fifteen minutes, Swami went back to check on him. His secretary was in the room, talking on her cell phone, but Matt was nowhere to be seen.

  She covered the phone with her hand, looked at Swami, and mouthed, ‘He’s just gone around the corner.’ She went back to her call and stepped out of the room
, leaving Swami alone. Swami didn’t quite understand what she had said and was about to walk out when he noticed that one of the papers in the pile, which Matt had been perusing earlier in the day, had his name on top. Curiosity got the better of him and he walked to the table to see what it was. His heart sank. He pulled out his iPhone and took a picture of the page and walked out of the room.

  ‘Bitch!’ he exclaimed when he met Aditya that evening and showed him the picture. It was Swami’s confidential report that Malvika had submitted as part of Matt’s takeover process. She had been extremely critical of Swami, to the extent that she had accused him of insubordination and incompetence. No one had ever written anything like that about him.

  ‘This kills my career in this organization, Aditya. Is this what one gets for loyalty?’

  ‘Hold it! Hold it, Swami. Relax. We will figure a way out.’

  ‘There is no way out, Aditya. I don’t know what her problem with me is. I really don’t.’

  ‘Perhaps she felt threatened by your intellect? She was insecure and saw you as a threat. She knew that you had been promised the CEO’s job after her. That would have only added to her discomfort.’

  ‘I have no clue Aditya but one thing is certain. I will make sure that Malvika is history. I will expose her inefficiencies to the senior management. I will do that 100 per cent.’

  ‘You think they don’t know? Why else do you think she is being made the chairman? They can’t keep her here. They can’t sack her. So they did the next best thing. Kicked her upstairs. At least she will be out of the way for a couple of years, by which time Peter Baron’s tenure as regional CEO will come to an end. Someone else will come and deal with the problem of how to remove her from the chairman’s post.’