Don't Tell the Governor

by Ravi Subramanian

  ‘How I’d love to hold freshly printed warm currency notes in my hand. Take me there please? Some day?’ He could almost see her childlike pout as she spoke.

  ‘This is not some roadside printing shop, Pallavi,’ he said, smiling, and then froze. He’d said her name. He needed to end the conversation quickly. ‘Outsiders are not allowed in there. And anyway, let me see the place first. This is the first time I am going there myself.’

  ‘Cool. When are you back?’

  ‘Tomorrow night.’

  ‘You must come home for dinner some day. Ghar ka khana,’ she said.

  ‘Would love to,’ Aditya said, before saying bye and disconnecting the call.

  After hanging up, his mind once again wondered at the familiarity that Pallavi Soni was demonstrating. They hadn’t known each other that long. Was there a motive behind her interest? Or was she really interested in him? The idea wasn’t without appeal. After all, Pallavi was extremely attractive and Aditya was alone. But then, he told himself, he was also the RBI Governor. He did need to maintain a certain decorum and avoid anything that could potentially turn into a public scandal. He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking of Pallavi. He opened the book he had been reading and tried to distract himself. The car sped on down the Mumbai–Nasik highway.

  ₹

  The towering gates of Security Printing and Minting Corporation of India Limited (SPMCIL) were open. Aditya saw a few officials waiting to receive him in front.

  He took out his towel and wiped his face, running his fingers through his hair to settle it. He pushed up the knot on his tie, took a deep breath and opened the car door.

  He was ready for them. Pallavi could wait.

  21

  July 2015

  NASIK

  That evening, Aditya went to the gym of Taj Hotel in Nasik. His security personnel were stationed outside and screened other guests before allowing them in. He was on the treadmill, about to complete his daily goal of six kilometers when a slightly portly man got on the treadmill next to him. The man looked at Aditya and smiled, and Aditya, wondering if he was supposed to know this person, smiled back. But then, he was a public figure now. Newspapers had covered him extensively. Maybe this was just a guest who had recognized him.

  The man said, ‘Aditya Kesavan? Right?’

  Aditya smiled again and nodded again. ‘Hi.’

  ‘My name is Danish Khosla,’ the man introduced himself and pulled out a visiting card from his gym pants, handing it to Aditya.

  The name made Adtiya reduce the speed on the treadmill and look at the card. Danish Khosla. He had heard of Danish Khosla. The man was the biggest fixer for the central government. Harsha Ranjan had warned him about Khosla. And Aditya himself had read about him in the report on the Panama Papers.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you are the one.’

  ‘Sir.’ Khosla smiled, bowing his head as if acknowledging a compliment. There was a smile on his face that Aditya realized he didn’t like one bit.

  ‘It is safe to assume that finding you here in Nasik at the same time as me isn’t a coincidence?’ Aditya asked casually, stepping off the treadmill. Khosla followed suit.

  ‘Not at all, sir. Definitely not a coincidence,’ Khosla confirmed. ‘I came here to meet you. In Delhi and Mumbai, the media follows one everywhere. There is no privacy. Nasik was perfect for a small tête-à-tête. I was wondering if I would meet you in your room, at a time convenient to you?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mr Khosla. I am not a sucker for trouble.’ Aditya was curt.

  ‘Can I then talk to you for a couple of minutes here.’ Khosla asked, looking around to confirm that there wasn’t anyone apart from the two of them.

  ‘Fine.’ Aditya stopped. ‘You have two minutes, and your time starts now.’

  ‘Can we sit?’ Khosla requested, seemingly unruffled by Aditya’s curtness. He pointed to a corner of the gym where they wouldn’t be seen even if someone entered.

  ‘There’s no need. Here is fine.’ Aditya was stern. ‘You are already twenty seconds into your two minutes.’

  ‘Le Da Spire,’ were the three words Khosla said in response.

  ‘What about it?’ Aditya asked, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘RBI, or should we say, the Government of India was the largest client of Le Da Spire. Till it stopped doing business with them, just because of some minor confusion,’ Khosla continued.

  ‘Minor confusion? I’m aware of the matter, Mr Khosla. I am also aware of the ongoing CBI investigation into the falsification of test results by Le Da Spire.’ Aditya stared hard at Khosla. He wanted the man to know that he was not intimidated.

  ‘They have confirmed that the damaged security paper was supplied to Pakistan. Not to India,’ Khosla said.

  ‘And how are we to know that that is the truth?’ Aditya thundered. ‘How do we know they aren’t telling Pakistan the very opposite?’

  Khosla laughed. ‘They don’t need to tell Pakistan anything. It is a country where every roadside printer prints currency notes.’

  ‘On paper supplied by Le Da Spire?’ Aditya countered. ‘And our issue is also that they helped Pakistan print counterfeit notes by supplying the paper. That is unacceptable.’

  ‘Sir, I have a request,’ Khosla said, as if he hadn’t heard what Aditya said. ‘Don’t push the CBI for the investigation report. I will manage the rest through the Home Ministry. We will transfer the people involved in the investigation. Let it die a natural death.’

  Aditya stared at the man standing before him. ‘So you want me to bury the investigation that Harsha had initiated?’

  ‘Sir, what has happened has happened. I will work on Le Da Spire to ensure that the quality improves from here on. I guarantee that they will do everything to your … satisfaction.’ It was clear that Khosla wasn’t referring to just the quality of the banknote paper when he’d said, ‘to your satisfaction’. Suddenly, Aditya was fuming.

  ‘Look, Khosla!’ he said, pointing his finger at the man. ‘I care a damn about who you are, or who you are connected to. And I certainly don’t care about Le Da Spire. All I know is that I am here to do a job, and I will do what I am paid to do by the Government of India. And now, if you don’t get away from me, I will be forced to call security.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother. They know me very well,’ Khosla said, his face calm. Aditya’s outburst hadn’t shaken him at all. In fact, if anything the man looked smug, an evil grin pasted on his face.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to say yes to what I asked, ’Khosla continued. ‘At least not today. Think about it. If at any point you feel it is worthwhile, please call me. My number is there on the card that I gave you. And let me assure you, my number is never tapped. And oh, do read the papers tomorrow. Once you get over the shock, you will realize what we are capable of in a country like India. What I delivered a few days back will be on the front page tomorrow. Goodnight, sir.’ With that, Khosla turned around and left.

  A fuming Aditya stormed out of the room minutes later. Outside, he saw that his security entourage had blocked access to the gym and prevented four guests from using the premises. So how did Danish Khosla get in? If he could infiltrate his security detail, he could walk in anywhere.

  The Governor would have to be careful.

  ₹

  The next morning, Aditya picked up a copy of the Economic Times, his curiosity piqued. The front page of the newspaper was full of praise for the Prime Minister. It spoke about the new banking licences that RBI was to grant soon. Aditya himself was quoted extensively in the article. There was another big news item about Ranvijay Malya having fled the country after defaulting on loans of over ₹9,000 crores.

  Nothing on the front page seemed to be what Khosla had been referring to the previous night. There was nothing in there about banknotes, currency or Le Da Spire.

  And that’s when it struck him. He wasn’t meant to look for news on any of the above. It was what Khosla was capable of that he was supposed to see. Aditya
read the Malya article again. And again. As per the article, the banks had complained to the CBI on 2 March. On 7 March, the CBI had issued a look-out notice to prevent Malya from leaving the country. And, according to this report, Malya left the country the day the case was handed over to the CBI, i.e. on 2 March. This essentially meant that someone had passed on the information to Malya.

  And this someone was clearly Khosla, who had wanted Aditya to see what he could do. He was showing off – letting the Governor know that he had his tentacles firmly within the Home Ministry and the CBI. He could manipulate anything and anyone.

  22

  July–October 2015

  MUMBAI

  Ranvijay Malya had escaped, defrauding the banks to the tune of ₹9,000 crore. While it had an immediate impact on the financials of the banks that had lent him money, his escape had another effect – one that many had not seen coming. It brought the NPA problem out of the closet and made it a subject of living-room conversations across the country.

  Before Mallaya, the biggest corporate fraud that people in India had seen was the Satyam scandal, when Ramalinga Raju had swindled over ₹3,500 crore using fraudulent accounting practices. But the Malya scandal trumped that, for at its centre was a man who had been seen hobnobbing with the powers that be. Malya was a Rajya Sabha MP, owned an IPL cricket team and had been hailed as an epitome of style and class. And he had taken everyone for a ride.

  The government knew that it had to act. After all, Malya fleeing the country was a slap on its face. It was time to confront the NPA issue head-on. Banks were instructed to become more aggressive with recovery efforts, and to make large-scale provisions for the bad debts in their books. Most importantly, for the first time ever, they were asked to provide realistic estimates of their NPAs.

  It was a known fact in the industry that most banks understated their non-performing assets in their financial reports. In fact, it was expected that most banks reporting an NPA of 3-4 per cent of the loans that they had given out actually had NPAs in excess of 20 per cent. Lower NPAs meant lower provisions for bad debt, lower write-offs for bad loans and hence, artificially inflated profits.

  But Ranvijay Malya had forced the government’s hand, and now, it had become necessary to fix this long-standing issue once and for all.

  ₹

  Over the next three months, a lot happened in the Indian banking landscape. The reports from the investigation into Le Da Spire severely castigated it. Aditya Kesavan was left with no alternative but to blacklist Le Da Spire. However, since it was more of a vendor-related issue, Aditya acted on the recommendation of his Deputy Governor and made sure that the matter was not made public. The media, too, seeing this as hardly a glamorous front-page story, more or less ignored the news.

  Aditya had made the move to blacklist Le Da Spire without consulting the Finance Minister, and the man was furious. He tried giving hints, but none of them worked. Aditya might have been willing to play to the gallery to an extent, but when it came to matters of critical importance, the new Governor followed the rules, as Siddharth Pande was beginning to realize. He was upright and strong-minded, and didn’t always toe the official line of the government. Increasingly, he began making both Siddharth Pande and the PM uncomfortable.

  Ranvijay Malya continued to cock a snoot at the Indian law enforcers, turning down one summons after another to come back and face the music in Indian courts.

  Charged with the responsibility of fixing the long- standing NPA problem of Indian banks, Aditya had one on-one conversations with the chiefs of public sector banks. That was when he met the head of the leading credit bureau – CRIBIL.

  Erwing White, the American CEO of CRIBIL, was waiting in the conference room when Aditya walked in.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Governor,’ he said, smiling, as he stood up from his chair and extended his hand towards Aditya. Aditya moved forward with a big smile on his face. Erwing and he were no strangers to each other. In fact, they were more than just acquaintances. They had known each other for over a decade, and Erwing had also taught a few courses in data analytics at Aditya’s university.

  ‘So good to see you again, Erwing. How is Donna?’ Donna was Erwing White’s wife, and had been Aditya’s colleague in New York. She had quit her job and moved to India with Erwing a couple of years ago.

  ‘She is fine, Adi,’ the American said, slipping into the informal address. ‘Though she misses her work at the university.’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ Aditya said. ‘It’s been a few months and I so desperately want to get back.’

  ‘And how are you?’ Erwing asked Aditya. ‘Any contact with Shibani?’ Shibani was Aditya’s ex-wife. Erwing knew everything about Aditya’s family.

  ‘No.’ Aditya shook his head. ‘I screwed up. And now I’m paying for it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Adi,’ Erwing said, genuine sympathy apparent in his voice. ‘So you stay alone here in that massive mansion of yours?’

  ‘My parents have just moved in. So now I’m not alone any longer. I have geriatric company at home.’ Aditya smiled.

  Once the friends had caught up, they turned to matters of business.‘Were you able to do what I had requested?’ Aditya asked.

  ‘Yes, Adi. I was. But word cannot get out that we helped you. I will be hung out to dry.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We have as much to lose. No one but the FM and I will know,’ Aditya said reassuringly.

  That seemed to convince Erwing and he let out a relieved sigh. He then dug into his leather bag, pulled out a folder and handed it to Aditya.

  On top of the folder was stamped in block letters: CRIBIL’S ESTIMATE OF BANK NPAS – A REALISTIC SITUATION ANALYSIS.

  Aditya thanked Erwing and opened the folder. The first page was just the table of contents. He flipped to the ‘Executive Summary’ and his eyes widened.

  ‘22 per cent?’ he exclaimed, and then looked up at Erwing. ‘Damn. This is trouble. It’s much worse than what I’d anticipated. I need to call the FM.’

  23

  September–October 2015

  MUMBAI

  MyBestDeal.com ran into trouble within three months of its launch. It was intended to be the prime online fashion, clothing and home store. But building a brand in an overcrowded marketplace came at a cost.

  The website’s model was to stock, sell and restock, unlike the marketplace model most of its big competitors followed. Almost all the suppliers to MyBestDeal.com demanded some advance to supply the huge quantities of home furnishings and kitchen appliances that had been ordered. Buying front-page ad space in newspapers proved to be an expensive proposition too. The venture was costing Vicky Malhotra much more than what he had anticipated. And to make matters worse, demand was tepid.

  ‘We should have used you as the face for the launch,’ Vicky said to Pallavi at the dinner table. ‘Cash flow is slow. Expenses are piling up.’

  ‘You started the business in my name. Why didn’t you use me to promote the channel?’ Pallavi asked. ‘Of course you can’t expect to sell bed sheets and kitchen appliances without my face on the channel.’

  ‘I wanted to use your name to raise money. You bring in the star quotient. People hear your name and are willing to fund. Mota Bhai insisted that you be on board. That’s why we started this business in your name. I don’t want your brand to be overexposed. We need to do something exclusive with you, a line which will give tremendous returns and something which is 100 per cent ours. Not something we want to share with Mota Bhai. So even though we started the business in your name, we can’t leverage it completely. It will dilute Brand Pallavi,’ Vicky reasoned. ‘We should do something big with you. IPL is big bucks. You lead that initiative. At least to the public, you are the face of that venture. I am the one standing by your side, and not the other way around.’

  ‘But the IPL is just a two-month affair,’ Pallavi argued. ‘We need to have a plan for the remaining ten months.’

  She got up from her chair and walked over to Vicky,
putting her arms around his shoulders and hugging him. She gave him a peck on the cheek and asked him, a bit worried, ‘Is something else bothering you, darling? I have never seen you in this kind of a mood.’

  Vicky’s face remained grim as he turned to face his wife. ‘The online store is showing no signs of picking up. Despite all the advertising we’ve spent money on, people are not coming to our site. They aren’t buying from us. We need to promote the channel. Through roadshows, TV ads, newspapers, celebrity endorsements … whatever works,’ he finished.

  ‘Then let’s do it,’ was Pallavi’s response.

  ‘Where is the budget?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘Well, let’s raise some money! There will be people willing to put money on us. What about private equity?’

  ‘If we approach a PE for funds right now, we will not get the valuations we need. We’ll have to dilute a bigger stake than we’d have needed to if we went to them with a successful business. Given the state we are in, they will squeeze our balls. And a PE investment comes with lots of controls. Mota Bhai is easy to handle. A private equity firm will not be so.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Pallavi nodded her head thoughtfully. She was not sure if she completely understood what Vicky was telling her, but it seemed to make sense. ‘What’s the other option?’ she asked.

  ‘We need to raise debt. Our initial investment has almost dried out. We need more money. Once we get some money, we will put it to good use and promote MyBestDeal big time. It has to catch people’s fancy for us to get anywhere with it.’

  ‘Let’s do that, then,’ Pallavi agreed. ‘Can’t Mota Bhai give you the money you need?’

  ‘I asked him. He doesn’t want to commit more, unless we show some results.’

  They discussed the modalities for some time and then stopped talking shop. Pallavi was grateful, because the whole thing was beginning to get a bit tedious. She was happy to help in promoting the site, but Vicky didn’t want her to. Every time she brought it up, he responded with the same answer – we will do something bigger with your brand.