‘Who are these guys, Nalin?’
‘Who? The guys with Saif?’ Aditya nodded. ‘I don’t know much. They came scouting for some loans. Fifty crores. Quite a large sum for us to consider lending to a new customer. Saif requested me to meet them and see if we could help raise some money through our network of investors.’
‘Doable?’ Aditya queried.
‘I don’t know. More importantly, it’s not part of our target list of companies. No one knows them or has dealt with them in the past. So corporate bank is not interested. But it’s too small for our business. Even if we help them arrange an investment of fifty crores, we will hardly make any money. At best a 2 per cent arranger’s fee. Not worth the effort.’ He rolled his eyes, took a deep breath. ‘It’s OK. Saif feels that if we help them now, he might be able to get some business from them at a later stage.’
‘If that’s what you think, Nalin, why do you want to waste your time? I will deal with them and let you know if it is genuinely worth your time and effort.’ Aditya sensed an opportunity and moved in. Nalin fell for the bait. He didn’t resist. ‘Cool. Call me in if you need me.’ The jacket went back to its original place on the chair. Within fifteen seconds, Aditya was at the door of the conference room. Standing outside, he drew a deep breath, calmed himself, opened the door nonchalantly and walked in.
‘Good morning.’
‘Hey Aditya! How are you?’ Saif had a surprised look on his face. He was expecting Nalin when the door opened.
‘Nalin’s not been able to make it. He’s asked me to step in for him.’
‘Oh! No problem.’ Saif turned, looked at the visitors and said, ‘Please meet Aditya Raisinghania, a senior member of the investment banking team.’ A round of introductions followed. Saif introduced all the men and finally came to the girl in red. He seemed to have forgotten her name so he introduced her as the daughter of the dark man seated to her left. No names. Not wanting to make it too obvious, Aditya moved on. ‘So gentlemen, how can we help you?’
‘They have an interesting project proposal, Aditya,’ Saif began.
‘Emu. Have you heard of emu?’ asked the father, looking at Aditya. Aditya shook his head. The electric trains in Delhi, where he had started off his career as a Xerox salesman over a decade ago, were called EMU (Electric Multiple Unit) trains.
‘Not heard of emu? The bird. The big emu bird.’
‘Australia? That one?’ Aditya asked, raising the index finger of his right hand subconsciously, like a schoolkid.
‘Yes, yes. Same thing. We want to get into emu farming.’
‘OK,’ Aditya acknowledged. It was more of a question. He had no clue what they were referring to.
‘Emus are very popular in Australia for their eggs and meat. Even for their skin and oil.’ Hardly had the father spoken when music started playing in Aditya’s ears. ‘Big birds. They can’t fly. Are quite productive too. In one season, the emu hen lays about twenty to fifty eggs, and they are productive for over twenty-five years. The demand for emu meat is quite high. Supply is low. Guess that’s because of its low-fat, low-cholesterol meat—contains less than 1.5 per cent fat. Whatever fat there is, is used to produce oil which goes into cosmetics, dietary supplements and therapeutic products.’ For the first time the girl spoke. What a sweet voice! The nasal twang made it seductive to Aditya. It surely couldn’t have been the result of her Coimbatore education. Her command over English was a cut above the others. ‘An emu egg can feed many. It’s large. And at two thousand rupees an egg, it’s very expensive too. Even the meat retails at two thousand one hundred rupees a kilogram,’ she said.
‘Sounds very interesting.’ Aditya nodded his head.
‘A year ago, we imported a few emu chicken from Australia and started rearing them. What started small has now grown to over two hundred and forty emus—all of them at our farm on the outskirts of Coimbatore. Emu farming is a great opportunity. Untapped potential. We want to grow that business now. That’s why we need the money.’
‘Fifty crores? Isn’t that a bit too much for the kind of business you are talking about?’
‘Sir, I’m not sure how much you know about emu farming. It’s an expensive business to run. We need to acquire land to build these farms. These birds need space because of their size. Until we develop scale in this country, we will need to import chicken from Australia. To start with, even the feed needs to be imported. Poultry insurance costs are staggering. Overall they are high-maintenance birds, but the returns on them are very good.’
‘Hmm.’ Aditya nodded. The girl was irritatingly cute.
‘That’s not all,’ the girl continued. ‘We need to set up plants for extracting and storing oil and beauty products manufactured from the meat and eggs. All of which costs money.’ The girl then stood up and extended a spiral-bound set of papers towards him. ‘Here’s the project report. It outlines the investment and the potential returns. If you give us some time, we would like to present this in detail to you.’
Regular poultry was always seen as a high-risk business by most banks on account of the susceptibility of livestock to diseases. But emu farming seemed to be something different. He skimmed through the pages. It was extremely detailed. The concept was beginning to fascinate him.
‘Thank you. I will go through this and come back to you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Raisinghania. When should we connect with you again?’ Aditya was very impressed with the finesse and class the girl oozed.
‘I will call you back as soon as I am ready. Are your contact details in this docket?’
‘They are on the last page.’ Instinctively Aditya turned the page to check for her contact details. And there it was. He read the name twice. What a lovely name! Even the name was unique. There was clearly nothing run-of-the-mill about her.
‘Thanks, Ms Narayanan,’ he said and stretched out his right hand. Her extended arm hurriedly met his in a very feeble handshake. ‘I will revert to you soon,’ Aditya added.
‘Sure. We’ll wait.’ With that, the entire team stepped out of the conference room, leaving Saif and Aditya behind. ‘Does it look doable?’ Saif asked.
‘Saif. Oh my dear Saif.’ Aditya sighed. His right hand moved up to cover his heart. ‘If we don’t do something for her, who will we do it for? I will discuss with Nalin and get back to you.’
That evening Aditya came to meet Saif in his cabin. ‘Nalin feels it’s a small business for us to take on. But I convinced him. We will take it up.’
‘Wonderful!’ Saif beamed. ‘Now will you call them or should I let them know? In any case you were the one who seemed smitten by that girl.’
‘Kirisha. Her name is Kirisha. She is pretty, isn’t she?’
Saif just smiled. ‘If you call her that, she will throw whatever she lays her hands on, at you. The name is spelt with a C, pronounced with an S … Cirisha Narayanan. It is Sirisha not Kirisha. She took pains to explain this to me but I forgot about it when making introductions. You will thank me one day.’ Aditya bowed his head in gratitude, smiled and walked away mumbling something to himself.
‘And by the way,’ added Saif. Aditya turned back. ‘They are in Mumbai until the day after tomorrow. You might want to meet them again to take this forward.’ Aditya couldn’t stop grinning.
It was seven in the evening when a freshly showered Aditya, smelling of Armani Acqua Di Gio, tossed his car keys to the valet at Taj Lands End Hotel in Bandra, Mumbai. Saturday was a day off for him. He had been sitting at home the whole day, waiting for this moment.
Cirisha had suggested that they meet at the hotel where she was staying. He saw her as he walked in. She was standing in a corner of the hotel lobby, waiting for him. Big eyes. Shapely lips. Perfect face. Her dress sense was subtle. Regular denims. The red top had given way to a purple shirt. An unpretentious handbag. She didn’t look like the daughter of an affluent businessman. That said, every inch of her looked modest, unassuming and very pretty.
After the initial pleasantries, Ad
itya led her to the twenty-fifth floor, to Taj Chambers—the rooftop private lounge for members. Since it was only seven in the evening, the lounge was empty. They settled on the sofas in a cosy corner on the terrace. There was a slight chill in the air because of the soft cool breeze that wafted over from the Arabian Sea.
Cirisha was a teetotaller. She ordered an iced tea. Without sugar. It surprised Aditya—it’s not like she had to watch her weight, he thought. Aditya picked out his favourite single malt. He also figured out the secret of Cirisha’s accent. She had spent a significant portion of the last few years studying overseas. After completing her undergraduation in Coimbatore, she had pursued postgraduate studies at Oxford, specializing in Social Psychology. She even worked for a year at Oxford before a nearly fatal heart attack that struck Mr Narayanan made her return to India. Her mother had died of acute diabetes a year and a half ago.
‘I am so sorry,’ was all Aditya could say when he heard about her mother. ‘Are you planning to give up your career in Social Psychology and be in India for good?’
‘Never. It’s my first love.’ The answer was definitive. In line with the way she had behaved all along. Very confident and sure of herself. ‘I came back because of my father’s illness. Now that he is fully fit, I am considering going back. I’ve written to a few universities. Something will be finalized soon.’
‘I am sure you will land a great job.’
‘Well, I wish I do. I have decent references and have been interviewing at a few places too. Let’s see.’ She smiled. Her dimples became more pronounced. Aditya’s heart sank even further. ‘Anyway, Mr Raisinghania. Enough of my story. What do you have to offer? What do I tell Dad?’
Aditya was blank for a moment. What was she talking about?
Sensing his confused state, Cirisha added, ‘About the funding. The fifty crores!’
‘Oh yes. Yes. Emu farms!’ Aditya had completely forgotten about it. Why did she have to bring the deal into all this? ‘I wanted to speak to you about that too.’ He lied. It showed on his face. Cirisha was smart enough to see through it. She smiled.
‘Ms Narayanan,’ Aditya began.
‘Cirisha will be just fine.’
A mild laugh ensued. ‘Cirisha. It’s an interesting business. We will be putting this forward to a few people in our investor community. I’m hopeful that we will be able to generate interest.’
‘That’s nice to hear. How do we go ahead? As in, the next steps.’
‘Give me three or four days. I will get back to you with a detailed plan. My intent today was to communicate to you that we are willing to help you raise funds.’
‘How much will GB2 charge us for that, Mr Raisinghania?’
‘Well …’ Aditya hesitated. ‘We can worry about that later.’ This was at variance with his standard operating procedure. Commercials were always discussed upfront. This was a different deal—definitely not a commercial transaction for him.
The next round of single malt was ordered. Cirisha decided to go slow on her iced tea. Aditya was very curious. He wanted to know everything. ‘Tell me, Cirisha, how did you get into this space?’
‘As in?’
‘Social Psychology. Now emus. Totally unrelated spheres. How come?’
‘To be honest, I didn’t know anything about emu birds. We are a family with an interest in textiles. We have mills in Tiruppur, the textile town neighbouring Coimbatore. Dad stumbled upon this emu idea on one of his trips to Australia. Since I am here, I am helping him with this project. He is a brilliant businessman. But he is more of a man of the street. He has never walked into a foreign bank. Its glitz and glamour intimidate him. So I decided to come with him to Mumbai to present the project to your business banking team. GB2’s Coimbatore branch helped a lot.’
‘Good you came.’ And he paused. He was surprised at her candid approach. ‘Otherwise how would I have met you?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m glad we met.’ It didn’t seem like their second meeting. They kept chatting away like old friends. By the time he left the place, it was midnight.
Four days later, Aditya called Cirisha to give her a progress report. ‘I spoke to a few private equity firms. They haven’t shown too much interest. But I did speak to a few HNIs who are willing to invest small sums. Three of them are people who work in my bank, including my boss. I have commitments for about five crores. I am confident that over a period of time we will be able to raise the balance. You don’t need the entire amount at one go, right?’
‘Yes. Sounds good. I will inform Dad.’ Cirisha didn’t sound too interested in emus. ‘I was in any case going to call you.’
‘What happened?’ Aditya was suddenly excited.
‘I have been shortlisted for the post of adjunct faculty at MIT.’
‘Oh wow! That’s awesome.’
‘That was not very convincing.’ Cirisha had seen through his forced enthusiasm.
‘Well, I don’t know how to react. The first time I met you was five days ago, and now you are going away. So I’m not as thrilled as you are, I guess.’ Aditya couldn’t camouflage his thoughts any longer.
‘Hmm … I’m in Mumbai tomorrow for my visa interview scheduled for the day after. I’ll see you then.’ And Cirisha hung up, leaving Aditya wondering if he had said anything inappropriate.
Aditya was travelling with Nalin the next day and couldn’t meet Cirisha when she landed in Mumbai. He met her after the visa interview.
‘When do you have to leave?’
‘If all goes well, three weeks.’
‘That’s like … very soon.’
‘Yes. I’ve already had three rounds of interviews through videoconferencing and now they have asked me to meet their head of the department in person. It’s more of a formality. If I get the job, it will be wonderful. It will be the best of both worlds for me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they need someone who can manage their research in India and the region.’
‘As in? Where will you be based?’
‘If they do give me a job, I will be contracted for ninety academic sessions in a year. Boston will be home.’
‘That’s it?’ Aditya squealed. It didn’t take too much math to figure out that ninety sessions a year meant seven and a half sessions a month.
‘Yes. Only ninety classes. It’s a well-known fact in academia—the focus is more on research than on teaching. In a month, I will be required to spend one week at MIT to take care of my academic commitments and the rest of my time I can be in India and carry out my research projects.’
‘You can do that?’
‘Of course. Almost all the overseas faculty members at MIT do that. And you know the best thing about this? I will have to fly in and out of Mumbai or Chennai.’
Aditya was suddenly excited at this proposition. ‘At least I’ll get to see you.’
‘Yep!’ nodded Cirisha. She was beaming. ‘Come, let’s celebrate today. Tomorrow I will be back to the depressing, voiceless emus in Coimbatore.’ She held Aditya’s hand and pulled him towards the car.
For the first time, she had held his hand. Aditya was over the moon. They partied the night away. From south Mumbai to Bandra, they covered all the pubs. What joy she, a teetotaller, got out of a pub, Aditya didn’t bother to ask.
When he finally dropped her back, he felt like going up to her room, but controlled himself. Cirisha was honest. Honest to herself. It was not the fear of rejection as much as the feeling of impropriety which held him back. He didn’t want to get carried away and do something which would lead to all the memories of the day being wiped out. He bade her goodbye and walked back to his car. His mobile phone beeped. It was a message. ‘Thanks for the best day of my life. I have never laughed so much.’
A year later Cirisha and Aditya were married in a simple ceremony in Coimbatore. Cirisha was against extravagance of any kind and didn’t want an elaborate wedding. It was a court marriage followed by dinner for a few close friends.
Early next
morning, they left for Ooty for their honeymoon, a hundred kilometres from Coimbatore. They had planned a trip for a week. Hotel Savoy, the only five-star hotel in town, was running at full occupancy and hence they had to check in to Sterling Resorts, a timeshare holiday home.
Three days went by in a jiffy. They only stepped out of their room for lunch and dinner. After three days, on Cirisha’s recommendation, they decided to do some sightseeing. ‘If people ask us what we saw in Ooty, we at least need to give them some credible responses,’ she said coyly one morning. Aditya smiled and agreed. A hectic day of sightseeing later, Aditya suggested that they stop somewhere for a drink.
‘Have it in the room. Order it through room service.’
‘The resort’s selection of whisky is horrible. I can’t drink any of those.’
‘Drop me back and go and buy your drink. I am tired.’
Aditya dropped her at the hotel and went off to buy some alcohol. As luck would have it, it was a dry day. None of the wine stores was open. He went all around Ooty trying to find a shop that would give him a bottle of single malt. After half an hour of searching, he found a shop with its shutters half down. He walked up to the shutter, bent down and peered inside. An old man, sitting behind the counter reading a newspaper, looked up and smiled.
‘Laphroaig?’ Aditya asked.
‘Dry day,’ the old man replied. ‘No sale.’
‘Need one bottle.’
The old man waved his hands, indicating that he would not supply. ‘If I sell today, I go to jail.’
Aditya reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out three hundred-rupee notes. ‘Will this help?’ By then he had entered the store.
‘Make it five hundred. Then maybe it will. But I don’t have Laphroaig. Only Chivas.’ The wine shop owner was surprisingly candid.
Aditya smiled, pulled out five hundred-rupee notes and placed them on the counter. ‘Seventeen hundred more for one bottle,’ the shopkeeper demanded. Aditya paid the amount, picked up the bottle, hid it in his backpack and walked out of the shop.
Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) Page 2
