*How is it going?' he whispered, quite unnecessarily as people had already left for the day.

*Fine. I sent you the presentation. You approved, right?' I said. He had given me an OK in the afternoon. The last thing I wanted was another night out.

*Yeah, that's fine. Listen buddy, I need a favour from you.'

Bala had never called me buddy. The room smelt coconutty and fishy. The coconut came from Bala's hair, the fish from his unspoken intention.

*What favour?' I asked without smiling.

*See Krish, this job, my career, it is everything to me. I have given my life to this bank.'

I nodded. Come to the point, buddy,I thought.

*And you, as you will admit, aren't into it as much as me. Don't take it the wrong way.'

He was hundred percent right. But when someone tells you to not take it the wrong way, you have to take it the wrong way. Besides, I had spent the last three nights working hard with only ATM guards for company. I deserved better.

*That is hundred percent false,' I said. *I'm dying from work. I do whatever you want me to do. I sold that crap Internet ...'

*Easy, easy,' Bala shushed me.

*There is nobody here. We are not planning a James Bond mission that we have to whisper,' I said.

Corporate types love to pretend their life is exciting. The whispers, fist- pumping and animated had gestures are all designed to lift our job description from what it really is - that of an overpaid clerk.

*I'm not doubting your hard work. But see, in corporate life, we have to look after each other.'

*What? How?' If he didn't come to the point in two seconds, I would slap him.

In my imagination, I already had.

*I am your boss, so I can look after you anyway. But today you have a chance to look after me.'

I kept quiet.

*The country manager is coming. They will ask how the Internet stocks sales to housewives came about. I have to take the heat anyway. But if you could ...'

*Could what?' I prompted, just to make the scumbag say it. He didn't.

*You want me to take the blame?' I hazarded a guess.

He gave a brief nod.

*Wow. That's unbelievable, Bala. I'm a trainee. Why will they believe me anyway?'

*You are from IIMA. It is conceivable you had a big say from early on.'

*And if I say it, my career is fucked.'

*No, you are a trainee. I have to recommend your promotion. Consider that done anyway. But if I am held responsible, I don't get a promotion, ever.'

*You are responsible,' I stared into his eyes.

*Please Krish,' Bala said.

The boss-subordinate relationship had changed. Bala begged me for help. I realised the power I could hold over him if I gave in. I could come to office like sane people. I could leave early. I could snooze at my desk. OK, so maybe my career at the Citi overpaid clerks' club would get affected. So what?

I could have said yes then, but I wanted him to grovel some more. I kept quiet.

*The country manager as it is doesn't like me. He is North Indian. He will forgive you but not me,' Bala said. I wondered if he would cry. I could have enjoyed the show longer but I also wanted to go home and rest.

*I'll see what I can do,' I stood up.

*Is that a yes?' Bala said, his eyes expectant.

*Good night, sir,' I said, emphasizing the last word.

22.

My father never calls me. I have no idea why he did that night. I have no idea why he did that night. I wanted to sleep before the misery of tuition and office began all over again. But at eleven that night, Ramanujan knocked on the door.

*What?' I called out. Since the day Ananya visited, I hardly spoke to my flatmates.

*There's a call for you.'

*Who is it?' Even Ananya never called me this late.

*Your father. Can you ask him not to call at this hour?' Ramanujan yawned.

I froze at the mention of my father. I prayed my mother was OK. Why would he call me? *Hello?'

*Am I speaking to my son?'

I found his addressing me as his son strange. We had never had a one-to-one conversation for the last three years.

*It's Krish,' I said.

*That's my son only, no?'

*If you say so,' I said.

Silence followed as two STD pulses passed.

*I'm listening,' he said.

*To what?'

*To whatever my son has to say to me.'

*There isn't anything left to say. Why have you called so late?' I said in an angry voice.

*You sent your mother your first salary cheque?'

*Yes,' I said after a pause.

*Congratulations,' he said.

*Is mom OK? I hope you are not calling me for some guilt trip of yours.

Because if mom is not OK ...' I said, separating my words with pauses.

*Your mother is fine. She is proud of you,' he said.

*Anything else?'

*How's life?'

*It's none of your business,' I said.

*Is this the way to speak to your father?' he shouted.

*I don't speak to you,' I said, *in case you didn't notice.'

*And I am trying to increase communication,' he said, his voice still loud.

I could have hung up the phone right then, but I didn't want him to take his anger out on my mother. I kept quiet as he ranted about how I had let him down as a son. He didn't say anything he hadn't in the last twenty years. I also knew that once the monologue started, it would take a while to stop. I put the phone on the table and opened the fridge. I took out an apple and a bottle of water. I went to the kitchen, cut the apple into little pieces and came back. I had two bites and drank a glass of water. Squawks came from the phone receiver.

After finishing the apple, I picked up the phone.

*You have no qualities I can be proud of. These degrees mean nothing. Just because you send you mother money, you think you can boss around. I think a person like you ...' he was saying when I put the phone down again. I picked it up again after I finished the apple.

*I said, are you listening?' His voice was trembling.

*I am,' I said. *Now it is late. Your bill must also be quiet high. May I go to sleep?'

*You have no respect.'

*You said that already. Now, can we sleep? Good night,' I said.

*Good night,' he said and hung up. No matter how mad they are, army people still believe in courtesies. I am sure Indian and Pakistani officers wish each other before they blow each other's brains off.

I came back to bed. I didn't want my father's chapter in my life again. No father is better than a bad father. Plus right now I had to deal with another father, who had folded his hands to keep me away from a daughter I so badly wanted to be with. And I have Bala and loser flatmates and psycho landlord and horrible sambhar smells everywhere in this city. A dozen random thoughts spilled out in my brain right before going to bed. These thoughts swarm around like clumsy fishes, and my poor little brain begged a guys, I need some rest. Do you mind?But the thoughts didn't go away. Each fish had an attention deficit disorder. The Bala thought showed visions of me jabbing him with something sharp. The Ananya's dad thought made me think about a dozen post-facto one liners I could have said when uncle folded his hands a But I love her, sir; But you should get to know me, uncle; You realise we can run away, youHindu-reading loser.

Some people are lucky. They lie down, close their eyes and like those like those imported dolls your Dubai relatives give you, go off to sleep. I have to shut fifty channels in my brain, one click at a time. One hour later, I had shut the final thought of how I'd admit I taught housewives to play with radioactive stocks.

23.

*Ready?' Bala jollied me with coffee in the morning. Yes, Mr Balakrishnan, branch head of customer services, brought me coffee in a mug. Too bad he didn't carry it in a tray.

*Doesn't take much preparation to present yourself as stupid,' I said and took the coffee. I noticed the mug had become wet at the bottom. Bala picked up a tissue from my desk for me. I could get used to this, I thought.

We met in the conference room two hours later. Bala loaded up the presentation. True to character, he had removed my name from the title slide.

Like all banking presentations in every department of every bank in India, it started with the 1991 liberalisation and how it presents tremendous opportunity for India.

*As you can see, the IT space has seen tremendous volatility in the last three months,' Bala said, pointing to a graph that only went down.

Our country head, Anil Mathur, had come on the first flight to Chennai. His day had started bad as he couldn't get a business class seat last minute and had to rub shoulders with the common people. His grumpy expression continued to worsen during the presentation.

Anil was forty years old and seen as a young turk on his way up. Citi thrived on and loved the start system. People introduced him as *This is Anil, MD. He is a star performer.'

Again, there is nothing starry to do in a bank anyway. It is another thing Citi invented to reduce the dullness of our job. However, when Anil entered the room, some Chennai bankers' eyes lit up, much like the auto driver who saw Rajni's poster.

*And that in short, has led to the circumstances we are in today,' Bala said as he ended his hour-long speech. I couldn't believe he tagged his talk this short.

Anil didn't respond. He looked around the room. Chennai trainees avoid eye contact anyway, especially when it comes to authority. He looked at Bala and Bala looked at me. I nodded; I'd be the suicide mission today.

Anil's cell-phone rang. He took it out of his pocket. His secretary had called from Mumbai.

*What do you mean wait-listed for business class? I am not coming back like I did this morning sitting cramped with these Madrasis.'

Apart from me and Anil, everyone in the room was offended. However, since Anil is the boss, everybody smiled like it was a cute romantic joke.