and low-key arrival almost punctured Ted’s annoyance. But of course it was all for show, all planned. Ted easily regained his sense of anger and injustice on behalf of the poor people of India.
He followed Ramesh through the swing doors and into a shabby corridor. They pushed through another set of doors into a large room. It was full of desks, computer screens, people and mounds of papers. They wove their way through the crowded units, with Ted trying desperately to avoid knocking down the paper towers with his bulk. The clerks smiled and wished the CEO and Ted a good morning as they passed.
They stopped in front of a desk no bigger than any others but considerably less cluttered. Behind it, on the wall, was a giant version of the bank’s logo. The bank’s title was in gold across the spreading branches. This time the tree was coloured green and the branches were studded with fruit. Its roots were as long and powerful as its surface limbs.
‘This is your office?’
‘I only need a desk and a phone you see. It helps to be with my colleagues. In the West you call it open plan.’
Ted thought that there was open plan and then there was ostentatious humility; something for visitors to see, especially reporters.
‘How do you motivate people if you can’t give them something to aim for?’
‘A big office is important in the West, not here. Every one of us – me included – will spend time working in the branches, setting up credit and collecting loans. Everyone is important. Everyone is equal.’
Ted was hearing sanctimonious bullshit, but he smiled and said, ‘In that case, call me Ted.’
Ramesh smiled back, then the civilities were over.
‘Why do you hate me, Ted?’
He asked it like he was asking if Ted took milk in his coffee. Ted blanked his face. He wasn’t the one who had to explain himself.
‘I don’t hate you. I hate what you’re doing. Your bank has a clever marketing angle to make money out of the poor. Your own government, the World Bank - just about any bank of repute in the world - they all think you’re pulling the wool over the eyes of people that can’t fend for themselves. My job is to expose you.’
Ted ’s voice took on the ringing tones of the righteous, the temple clearer. At that moment, he believed it. Ramesh looked at Ted quietly for a minute or so, until the silence had dragged itself out too long.
‘Sometimes even the most honest men reach views using incorrect information. That is why I am glad you have come. Unlike those who criticise from afar. My books are open to you. As am I,’ he added as an afterthought.
Ted had the grace to look slightly abashed at the noble motivation credited to him. A rivulet of sweat ran down his spine reminding him of his plans to get back to civilisation as fast as a 747 could carry him.
‘ Good. Do you mind?’
Ted brandished a small tape recorder at Ramesh. At his shake of the head, Ted set it between them and turned it on.
‘Mr Banerjee, why did you set up this bank?’
‘When I came back from the USA, I set up the investment bank operation for Kolkata Regional bank. We began to make good money from local businesses and from Western businesses coming into the city.’
Ted wondered why he omitted his stellar background; a first degree at Kolkata, then a post graduate course at Cambridge, England and an MBA at Harvard. Four years in New York with JP Morgan Chase. Why would anyone would want to come back to some crummy bank job in India at a twentieth of the salary?
‘But every day, when I came to work and when I went home in the evening, I saw what you saw, Ted, unless you were asleep in your taxi. I kept telling myself that I was helping to cure this, but that it took time. If I helped top businesses make money it would trickle down to the poor. Eventually. The Western model worked and it would work here.’
He took off his glasses and Ted could see the tiredness under his eyes. He could also see the intensity.
‘For five
He followed Ramesh through the swing doors and into a shabby corridor. They pushed through another set of doors into a large room. It was full of desks, computer screens, people and mounds of papers. They wove their way through the crowded units, with Ted trying desperately to avoid knocking down the paper towers with his bulk. The clerks smiled and wished the CEO and Ted a good morning as they passed.
They stopped in front of a desk no bigger than any others but considerably less cluttered. Behind it, on the wall, was a giant version of the bank’s logo. The bank’s title was in gold across the spreading branches. This time the tree was coloured green and the branches were studded with fruit. Its roots were as long and powerful as its surface limbs.
‘This is your office?’
‘I only need a desk and a phone you see. It helps to be with my colleagues. In the West you call it open plan.’
Ted thought that there was open plan and then there was ostentatious humility; something for visitors to see, especially reporters.
‘How do you motivate people if you can’t give them something to aim for?’
‘A big office is important in the West, not here. Every one of us – me included – will spend time working in the branches, setting up credit and collecting loans. Everyone is important. Everyone is equal.’
Ted was hearing sanctimonious bullshit, but he smiled and said, ‘In that case, call me Ted.’
Ramesh smiled back, then the civilities were over.
‘Why do you hate me, Ted?’
He asked it like he was asking if Ted took milk in his coffee. Ted blanked his face. He wasn’t the one who had to explain himself.
‘I don’t hate you. I hate what you’re doing. Your bank has a clever marketing angle to make money out of the poor. Your own government, the World Bank - just about any bank of repute in the world - they all think you’re pulling the wool over the eyes of people that can’t fend for themselves. My job is to expose you.’
Ted ’s voice took on the ringing tones of the righteous, the temple clearer. At that moment, he believed it. Ramesh looked at Ted quietly for a minute or so, until the silence had dragged itself out too long.
‘Sometimes even the most honest men reach views using incorrect information. That is why I am glad you have come. Unlike those who criticise from afar. My books are open to you. As am I,’ he added as an afterthought.
Ted had the grace to look slightly abashed at the noble motivation credited to him. A rivulet of sweat ran down his spine reminding him of his plans to get back to civilisation as fast as a 747 could carry him.
‘ Good. Do you mind?’
Ted brandished a small tape recorder at Ramesh. At his shake of the head, Ted set it between them and turned it on.
‘Mr Banerjee, why did you set up this bank?’
‘When I came back from the USA, I set up the investment bank operation for Kolkata Regional bank. We began to make good money from local businesses and from Western businesses coming into the city.’
Ted wondered why he omitted his stellar background; a first degree at Kolkata, then a post graduate course at Cambridge, England and an MBA at Harvard. Four years in New York with JP Morgan Chase. Why would anyone would want to come back to some crummy bank job in India at a twentieth of the salary?
‘But every day, when I came to work and when I went home in the evening, I saw what you saw, Ted, unless you were asleep in your taxi. I kept telling myself that I was helping to cure this, but that it took time. If I helped top businesses make money it would trickle down to the poor. Eventually. The Western model worked and it would work here.’
He took off his glasses and Ted could see the tiredness under his eyes. He could also see the intensity.
‘For five
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