If God were the Editor

If God Was a Banker

By Ravi Subramanian
Pushlished by Rupa & Co.
Price Rs. 195

When Chetan Bhagat wrote 5-point someone, he brought a refreshing change in the Indian writing scenario. Not only was his book non-intellectual and therefore could be read by everybody but it was also a short-n-sweet so that you it made a great bedtime or airport waiting time read. If you were an IITan you went nostalgic reading the book as you related to a lot of campus life aspects. If you were not an IITian, it offered a window of experience through which you see what you had missed. While he did create a revolution in the minds of readers as a first time author, his book seem to have been a harbinger of books with similar themes.
Harshdeep Jolly, one year my junior from IIMB published his book “Everything you desire” last year on similar lines. There is already a book out on JNU campus and now there is ‘If God Was a Banker’.

What happens when two boys from IIMs join a Foreign bank that has set up its retail operations in India? Sundeep is the typical city slick street-smart guy who is the jack of all trades and yet master of none. A natural glib talker, Sundeep from IIM-B impresses upon the India retail head using ideas from his intelligent but not street smart Tam-Bram Swami from IIM-A. Sundeep knows nothing about that area but Swami had given a discourse on that issue the afternoon before during their lunch break. And so, Sundeep impresses the hell out of his boss's boss. As Sundeep starts getting ahead with his career, he flouts compliance norms blatantly and receives favours (mostly in the form of sex) for helping in his junior’s career moves. While this helps him get ahead, it also creates trouble which he has to cover up, and in turn ends up getting ‘deeper into shit’.

On the other hand, Swami is a typical Tam-Bram, intelligent but honest; a doer but not a sucker. He is one of those who would very well fit the description of good guys come second when compared to the more successful Sandeep. For him, his family is the most important thing.

Sundeep has nothing against Swami to start with until enter Kalpana – his ‘hot’ classmate from IIM-B who decides to get married to boring Swami who probably never even held a girl’s hand before. Angry at loosing Kalpana to Swami, not because he loves Kalpana but because he always got what he wanted and Kalpana never even allowed him to bed her –even once, Sundeep’s passion and desire to get ahead becomes maniac-like. He vows to get ahead of Swami at any cost. And true enough, he does this through questionable means.

While the book started out on a good humorous note, less than a quarter past the book the author somehow gets too engrossed in the story-line rather than the story-telling aspect. The result is a Saas-Bahu serial outcome in the end with sleezy sex introduced in between.

I will caution the amorous reader that a lot of books have either an emphasis on the plot of book or on building up romance and sex scenes or a mix of both. Sydney Sheldon for instance has good sex and his plots are also quite thrilling. Mills and Boons (MBs) never bother about plots. But sex is steamy and as a reader you look forward to it. AJ Cronin never bothered about either but his writing has been a class apart. Edith Wharton has romance and sex in her books but written in such subtle ways and erupting in surprising places that you have to read it twice before you can believe it has happened. Of course her writing, as was Cronin’s belongs to an entirely different genre. This book disappoints on both counts.

Sex in the book is merely about when and where action happened. There is no building up of suspense, romance or tension in the description of whatever happened leaving the reader with a feeling that he has had salad without any dressing.

The story is simple but the ending comes across as a moral science story being told to a schoolboy leaving the reader disappointed.

My rating of the book 4/10

How a house-broker proposed to me and other incidents

The following incident happened more than a year ago when I had moved to Mumbai and was desperately looking for a house. Coming from Delhi, rentals were expectantly shocking but what really hit me the most was the quality of houses being shown by various brokers. I was also sick and tired of meeting owners who, in addition to the rental agreement demanded either or a combination of the following criteria –
a) Tenant could only be a Brahmin or Christian or a Gujarati or a Marathi – depending on the origins of the owner.
b) There were vegetarian colonies where the first question the broker asked was not whether you liked the house but whether you were a strict vegetarian.
c) Single women wanting to live alone were a ‘no-no’ for most owners. Where owners agreed to give it to single women, no men were to be allowed inside the house. One owner went to the extent of telling me that he would give me the house only if my mother would stay with me for the first one month so that I could prove that I was no characterless woman and that I was from a ‘decent’ family.
After more than a month of searching for the ‘right house’ in South Mumbai, I came across an advertisement in the Times of India classifieds that promised a fully furnished studio apartment in Colaba. I called the broker without too many expectations and what he said seemed rather encouraging - the house was a large 1BHK with kitchen and attached bathroom with a negotiable rental of Rs. 25,000. The landlady was willing to give it to any decent tenant without the usual fuss of asking my origins or what I ate. The broker said the rest of the terms and conditions were negotiable and could be discussed if I liked the house.
So off I went to meet the broker at Churchgate station. The broker, lets call him Mr. XXX (because he was like a villain straight out of a porn movie. A different matter that I no longer remember his name) was late since he had been showing houses all day. He said he needed coffee so off we went to a restaurant next to the station where he had coffee and he started asking me the usual barrage of questions that all brokers ask.
“ Are you single or married?”, asked Mr. XXX.
“ I am single”, said I.
“ Do you have a boyfriend?”, asked Mr. XXX.
“None.” I lied.
After having learnt the hard way in the past month that boyfriend is misinterpreted as boyfriends – in plural; by the owners and also tends to give an impression that you are a part time slut, I had decided that it was a better strategy to deny any kind of a relationship – no matter how platonic, with the opposite sex. Of course, no one thinks that a woman can be a lesbian (or a man can be gay) or at least they don’t seem to care if you are a lesbian.
“ How old are you?”, asked Mr. XXX.
“ 30” A lie again but for reasons that I did not want people to take me for a ride just because I look young. “But when are we going and seeing the house?”, I asked getting impatient since the guy seemed to be spending more time in the restaurant than required for a mere cup of coffee. Now he had even ordered battata-vada to eat.
He abruptly got up, paid the waiter and we took a cab to Colaba to see the ‘sea-facing studio’. I was taken to the first floor of the house and here was the much-touted studio- it was a 1BHK dump where space for a cupboard had been converted into a ‘kitchen’ (read space for placing gas stove). The bathroom had the main sink where the dishes were to be washed. This was Mumbai. I could not expect much with just Rs. 25,000 a month in Colaba! But this was exactly 5 minutes from my office.
“So do you like the place?”, asked Mr. XXX eager to get the deal going through.
“ I need to think about it. I do not like the house but it’s a stone’s throw from my office.”
“Really, where are you working?”
“Standard Chartered Bank”, I replied.
The name seem to have got him excited. “Oh! Given you are 30, you must be at some managerial level there then. So are you a branch manager? Anyway, do you plan to stay here alone? You know how tough life is for single women here. People are constantly interfering in their lives.”
“See, you are also single,” he continued, “and I am also single. I am sure you need some companionship. And I am from a very decent family. I own so-and-so building in so-and-so area. If you have not had a man in your life, you do need some support not just emotional kinds but otherwise. This house would be ideal for you. Anytime you need me, I will be there for you. This landlady is a very understanding Parsi lady. I am the lone son of my parents and I have a sister working in a senior management position in a PSU bank. ”
I was shell-shocked and speechless as he continued his tirade and started telling me about his sexual encounters in the past. “I want to tell you all about myself before we proceed. You do not have to tell me about your sexual exploits if you are uncomfortable. I will understand.”
Here I was in the middle of a supposedly cosmopolitan city which was considered a SAFE place for women. It was Delhi that is called the city of Rapists. Rapists lurk all over Delhi and the moment you get out of the aircraft; they pounce on you- that’s the reputation Delhi has had.
I muttered something about getting late and got into the nearest cab. Imagine the cheek the broker had to get into the same taxi from the other side of the cab saying that he too had to go to Churchgate. When we reached the station, I let him pay for the cab and ran into the nearest departing train.