Over the next few days, Vicky approached various banks. After knocking on tens of doors, a small Cooperative Bank agreed to fund them, but it wanted personal guarantees from both Pallavi and Vicky. Vicky vehemently argued against the personal guarantees, because that meant the couple being personally liable in case of the business going belly up. But the bank was adamant. Finally, they settled for only Pallavi’s personal guarantee since on paper, she was the sole owner of MyBestDeal. The papers were executed and the loan disbursed.
MyBestDeal.com was back in business.
The day the ₹30 crore-loan came into the account, Vicky Malhotra took Pallavi out to Wasabi, the most popular, expensive and stylish restaurant in south Mumbai, to celebrate.
Pallavi looked at the man sitting across from her and felt proud. She knew Vicky was a shrewd businessman, and she felt happy knowing that. It wasn’t like they couldn’t have put in thirty crores of their own money into the business; it wasn’t a big amount for them, but Vicky knew how to keep personal assets and business cash flows separate. In him, she saw someone who would achieve success far greater than her ex-boyfriend – the one who had married her best friend. She had still not forgotten that heartbreak. Her friend, another talented actress, had given up acting after marriage and settled for a career in interior decoration. She often wondered why most star wives selected interior decoration as a career option once they gave up films, but then shook her head, bringing her thoughts back to the present moment. This wasn’t the time to daydream. It was a day to celebrate.
At Wasabi, while they were waiting for the wine, Pallavi looked at Vicky, eyes full of admiration, and he smiled back at her. They looked like the ideal couple to anyone who saw them together. She placed her right hand on his and slowly patted it. ‘Out with it,’ she said, as softly as she could.
‘What?’ Vicky asked, surprised. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I said, out with it,’ Pallavi repeated. ‘You wouldn’t bring me to Wasabi just to celebrate a bank loan.’
Vicky looked like a child whose prank had been caught. ‘Okay,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘I give up.’ He turned and looked at the restaurant manager who was awaiting instructions.
‘Close your eyes, he said to Pallavi. Only once he was sure she had her eyes firmly closed did he signal to the restaurant manager, who immediately brought a big package to their table.
‘We are now ready for the next big thing I was talking to you about,’ Vicky said, touching her on the cheek lovingly.
‘And now, baby, you can open your eyes.’
24
October 2015
DELHI
‘How reliable are these estimates?’ Siddharth Pande asked Aditya Kesavan the moment the Governor walked in. ‘You worry me.’
‘Well, quite,’ Aditya responded.
‘And how did you arrive at these estimates?’
‘Sir, all banks report delinquent customer data to the credit bureaus. Normally this is raw data, which is pulled out by the credit analytics/IT teams and sent across. I asked CRIBIL to use the raw data that banks submit and arrive at some projections for the NPAs. If you look at the way banks operate, the tampering with the NPA numbers is normally done at the end of the financial year by the finance team at the behest of the senior management and the board. Hence, there is no correlation between the data submitted to the credit bureaus and what eventually ends up getting reported in the financial reports.
‘The document that I sent you is what the credit bureau has arrived at based on their analysis of months of data. Their estimates, in my opinion, are more accurate than what the banks state in their annual reports. If I were to go by their claims, these numbers are best-case numbers. The actual figures could be even worse off than these. But definitely not better off.’
‘Damn.’ The FM was worried. ‘You know, Aditya, this is what happens when you have an RBI Governor who tells the government that bank managers and staff should be protected from unnecessary overseeing by the CBI and CVC on the loans they give out.’ It was an obvious allusion to Aditya’s predecessor. A year ago, the CBI had started harassing innocent bank managers when a few high-profile loans had gone bad. And at that time, every lending decision taken by a banking official was looked at with jaundiced eyes. Bank managers had got to a stage where they were scared to take calls regarding loan applications. This prompted a rebuttal from the then RBI Governor, Harsha Ranjan, wherein he asked for providing bank managers immunity from prosecution in case the loans that they had granted went bad.
‘Well, I don’t think that correlation works here, sir.’ Aditya came to the defence of his predecessor. ‘If I recollect correctly, what he had said was that as long as a bank employee invested the effort in taking the right decision and followed the due process, he shouldn’t be held responsible for how the loan performs. Sometimes, the performance of a loan depends on external factors one cannot foresee or control. And honest mistakes do happen. You can’t castigate bank managers for such mistakes and right decisions gone wrong. If you do that, they will stop giving loans. And if they stop that, access to credit will stop. Investment will come to a standstill. That’s the worry, sir.’
‘Trust one RBI Governor to come to the rescue of another,’ Pande said wryly.
Aditya smiled. ‘That statement is not always true.’
‘Well,’ Pande moved on. He stared at the report Aditya had given him. ‘So you are saying that 22 per cent NPA is the best case scenario. It can get worse. Well, if out of a hundred rupee loan outstanding in the books of banks, twenty-two rupees are delinquent, then these numbers throw up another angle.’ The FM went into a pensive mood. ‘At these levels, the NPA of the banks erode their entire net worth. Is that what you are saying?’
‘You may be right, sir,’ Aditya said. ‘The real valuations of most of the banks will go into negative territory. Their stock will not be worth a dime. The entire system has been butchered by politicians and incompetent management.’
Siddharth Pande raised his eyebrows. He didn’t like the mention of politicians in the same breath as incompetent bureaucrats. However, he let it go. He got up from his chair and walked to the window, looking out at the Rashtrapati Bhavan. ‘They should have been better managed,’ he said softly, almost to himself. ‘We have a big problem on our hands.’ He turned and looked at Aditya. ‘If word gets out, there will be a run on the bank. Our banking system will collapse. Our sovereign rating will go down. We will become the laughing stock of the world.’
‘The world knows that we have a problem with our NPAs, sir.’
‘Knowing something is different from the government confirming the information.’ He shook his head. ‘We cannot make this public, Aditya. This cannot get out.’
‘We have to do something about it, sir,’ Aditya said.
‘What do you recommend?’
‘Drastic steps, sir. We must merge the underperforming banks with the performing ones. It will be like punishing the better banks, but so be it. We will have to trust people’s money with banks that handle it well. Privatization of public sector banks, improvement of staff performance through proper training, performance-linked compensation, less political interference and a bigger push for growth–that’s the only way to reform the entire banking system. We need to infuse more capital into the system. The money that we will raise through privatization of the banks can be partly used to recapitalize them.’
The FM didn’t seem impressed. ‘Spoken like a true academician, with little or no connect to reality.’
A stunned Aditya stared at the FM. As far as he was concerned, every word he’d spoken was relevant and thought through. He had known that the FM would ask him this question and he’d come prepared with the answer.
The entire time the FM and Aditya had been talking, the Financial Services Secretary, Ranjeet Kumar, had been present, listening quietly to the tête-à-tête between the two. He spoke now. ‘The world over, banking, like health care and education, is a service that th
e government provides to its people. Banks keep growing, keep lending and keep managing till a time comes when they can manage no more. That’s the time when you infuse capital into the banks. Recapitalize them. Press the reset button. And the whole cycle starts again. Haven’t you seen this happen in the US, in the UK, in Europe?’
Aditya was shocked. ‘You can’t be serious about what you are saying, Kumar.’
‘Look guys,’ Pande, who knew that Aditya and Ranjeet Kumar did not get along, interjected, ‘I am going to talk to the PM about it. We need to consider the political ramifications of all that you are saying. Banking is a big industry. It employs the maximum number of people. We cannot do anything which will adversely affect the employees of banks and the unions. They have lot of faith in us. We have to take care of their interests. So mergers, large-scale privatization and pay linked to compensation are all out of the window. These things have to be handled sensitively. Leave it with me for some time.’ He turned to Ranjeet Kumar and added, ‘We will fix it, Kumar.’
Aditya Kesavan walked out of North Block feeling miserable. He felt that the resolution to the NPA problem was being overshadowed by political compulsions. When he got into his car, he looked at his phone and saw that there were three missed calls from the same person. Pallavi Soni. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
25
November 2015
DELHI
Le Da Spire was like a fish left on the shore by the receding tide. It was desperately trying to get back in favour. But Aditya Kesavan had made sure that Danish Khosla was barred from entering the RBI. He had personally ensured that the Deputy Governor in charge of currency did not entertain the man, and and when the FM had called him to discuss Le Da Spire, he had manoeuvred the he conversation in a manner that even the FM could not push its case.
‘You need to be patient,’ Khosla told Carlo Pinotti on a call. ‘The RBI Governor is the only one who is preventing Le Da Spire from getting back into bed with the Indian government.’
‘Well then, do something about him,’ Pinotti thundered. ‘Accidents do happen on Indian roads, don’t they?’
‘That’s not the solution, Carlo,’ Khosla argued. ‘We will find a way out. Don’t worry.’
‘It is quite a strange situation, Khosla. The government, more specifically the RBI, refuses to deal with us. But in all the currency presses in India, machines supplied and maintained by us continue to print notes for them,’ Carlos said
He was right. Not only was Le Da Spire the supplier of banknote paper to the world, a group concern also supplied and maintained currency printing machines. The ones installed in three out of the four presses in India had been supplied by Le Da Spire. In fact, after the blacklisting, the government had cancelled the order they had placed for another Le Da Spire installation in a new press that they were opening down south. However, that press had not yet been commissioned.
‘Quite strange indeed,’ Khosla agreed.
‘I am heading out for two weeks. Hope this gets resolved by the time I am back.’
‘Where are you off to? Vacation?’
‘Vacation, yes,’ Carlo Pinotti confirmed. ‘You know me. I don’t like to discuss my plans. We will connect when I am back.’ You better have some good news for me by the time I come back…’ he added just before disconnecting the call, leaving an ‘or…’ hanging in the air, unsaid but obvious.
26
January 2016
MUMBAI
Pallavi Soni had just woken up. She walked out of the bedroom into the living room and saw the day’s newspapers lying on the table. She picked up the Times of India and kept staring at it for a while. Blood rushed to her cheeks. She put the paper down and picked up the Hindustan Times. Same result. She picked up DNA next. One by one, she opened out all the newspapers – eight in all – and arranged them neatly on the dining table.
By then, Vicky Malhotra had followed her into the room. He slowly tiptoed up to her, stood right behind her and wrapped his arms around her. From over her shoulder, he looked at the newspapers spread out on the table in front. ‘Don’t you look adorable, my baby,’ he said as he tightened his arms around her.
Even before Pallavi could respond, the phone rang. She hurriedly picked it up. It was her mom. ‘Oh my god Pallavi! You look so beautiful!’ her mother’s voice came over the phone, shrill and excited.
‘Thanks, Mom,’ Pallavi said, a smile breaking out on her face. ‘If I had a dollar for every time you called me beautiful, I would have been a millionaire by now.’
‘That you are, in any case. Anyway, I’d just called to say that. I’m hanging up now, I have to wake up your dad and show him the newspaper.’
After Pallavi’s mother had hung up, Vicky looked at his wife. ‘You do look stunning, darling. Today, the whole nation will be talking about you. You will be the most googled celebrity. Pallavi Soni has arrived,’ he declared as he picked up the newspaper again.
On the front page was a full-page ad, a photograph of Pallavi Soni in a traditional ghaghra, designed by Sabyasachi, wearing every conceivable piece of gold jewellery – heavy necklaces, earrings, nose rings, bangles, waist band and more. There was so much gold on her that one could hardly see the ensemble she was wearing.
At the bottom of the page in big bold letters were the words ‘SUYOG GOLD – MERA GOLD PLAN’.
Pallavi’s thoughts went to the previous evening, when they had launched Suyog Gold with much fanfare at a press conference attended by Bollywood, finance and lifestyle journalists. Everyone was curious to find out more about Pallavi and Vicky’s new move.
At the conference, Vicky had taken the lead. ‘I am pleased to announce Pallavi’s new venture, Suyog Gold. This is a gold purchase plan, which makes buying gold cheap and easy. Now, for ₹50 a day, you can buy and accumulate gold. Our aim is to make it easy for you to acquire gold by investing small amounts regularly. I am happy to also present to you our Pay Now, Take Gold Later scheme, which gives you the option of buying gold at a discount of up to 40 per cent, depending on how much you are willing to wait. We want the dreams of every Indian to be fulfilled through this scheme.’
Vicky’s speech had been pitch perfect. He’d gone on, ‘Under the programme, customers looking to buy gold can pay 80 per cent of the gold value today and take delivery two years later, without paying anything more. If they are willing to wait for three years to take their gold, they can pay 70 per cent today and take delivery three years later. Those willing to wait for five years need to pay only 60 per cent now. Ten grams of gold cost ₹30,000 today. You can either pay ₹24,000 today and take ten grams of gold two years down the line, or pay ₹21,000 today and take your ten grams three years later. The best scheme allows you to pay ₹18,000 today and take ten grams of gold five years from now. If gold prices rise, that’s our problem, not yours. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the My Gold Plan and Aapka Sapna Sacha Sona, schemes by Suyog Gold, a firm promoted by our very own Pallavi Soni.’
The audience had burst into applause Pallavi while stood there, posing for the camera. It had been an evening like none before. The only evening that rivalled this one was the night when she won the Big Survivor contest in London.
Now, she turned to her husband, her eyes shining. ‘You are a genius, Vicky,’ she said. ‘How did you even think up such a scheme?’
‘Well, it was not too difficult,’ Vicky said. ‘There are only a few things which work in India – films, gold, discounts and sex. And in Suyog Gold, we have the first three coming together. We can’t go wrong with that.’
A few miles away, Aditya Kesavan’s coffee almost slipped out of his hands when he saw the front page of the newspaper. Pallavi looked breathtaking. He wished she were with him now. He had been quite lonely ever since he had come to India. Every move of his had been watched. The media had become a bit of a pain. His celebrity status didn’t help in protecting his privacy. So even if he wanted to be with Pallavi, it was hardly possible without cooking up a scandal. But the
re was no reason not to call and congratulate her. After all, they were friends. He picked up the phone and dialled her number. When she picked up, he complimented her on the newspaper ad and said that she looked ravishing.
On the other end, Pallavi blushed visibly. Vicky Malhotra noticed, but ignored it for the time being.
‘I am sorry. You had called a few days back. Apologies. I couldn’t return your call,’ Aditya said.
‘Oh yes. I was trying to reach you because I was shooting for this ad in a studio in Parel. Not too far from Carmichael Road. So I’d called to ask if you were free to meet. I was feeling very bored after the shoot. Vicky was also travelling,’ Pallavi said.
‘I apologize again,’ Aditya replied. ‘But even if I’d wanted to, I could not have met you. I was in Delhi on that day.’
‘No wonder you didn’t pick up my call.’
‘Don’t worry. I will make it up to you.’
‘That sounds like a promise. Next time Vicky is travelling, we will meet for dinner.’
‘I’d love to,’ Aditya said and hung up. Only once he’d done so did he understand the import of Pallavi’s last line. She wanted to meet only when Vicky was travelling. Why? What was going on in her mind?
But for now, he decided to drop the matter. There were too many other things to think about.
At Pallavi’s house, the moment she put the phone down, Vicky Malhotra spoke, ‘This man seems quite taken by you.’
‘I don’t know. Does he?’ Pallavi smiled.
‘Well, these quieter ones are the most dangerous. We have to watch out.’
‘Or, instead of playing safe, maybe make them dance to our tune?’ Pallavi said as she walked up to Vicky and gave him a peck on his lips. ‘And anyway, are you really jealous?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t.’
‘Ah! So do you think that he is a threat?’ Pallavi teased him.
‘Well ... threat? Maybe not. An opportunity? Definitely.’ And like a hungry animal spotting a prey, Vicky Malhotra licked his lips.
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