Exotic Desk. Exotic Name. Exotic Work.

Jaggery Haircut entered the scene 2 weeks ago. Maybe he's the reason I haven't kept you guys updated for quite some time. [Apologies] Nonetheless, here's the trail of events leading to the rendezvous in question.

9.30 AM. I'm getting my first coffee of the day. My tummy is already showing signs of breaking free of my buttons. I should really add one sugar cube less, I tell myself. Enter NP.

"Adithya. I've spoken to J. As we spoke, maybe you should spend some time on his desk. He'll be pulling you around for the next couple of weeks."

Pulling me around. Weirdly conjuring up images of myself tied to a unicorn's horn and being dragged through the filth and flesh of killed elephants on the Fields of Pelennor, I walk back to my place with a coffee in hand, and not any the wiser. The actual experience, as it turned out, was not too different.

11 A.M. I walk to JH's place. He's there. Thankfully.
"Excuse me, sir." I venture. "Errr....."
Look of recognition on face of JH. "So NP spoke to you?"
"Yes sir."
"OK I'll call you when I get the time." I trudge back to the work DD and EM have given me.

2.30PM. JH signals with a flick of his index finger. I almost topple over trying to catch him to the meeting room. He uncannily reminds me of Snape. Abridged versions of future conversations follow.

"So here we have this .... and you have to price it. I want you to do a)... b)....c)...."

I look on, dazed.

"I'm a busy person. I don't have time. If you don't do a, b, and c in time, we won't really be looking at anything great - and this is your homework. I need it back fast."

I'm still figuring out what a) means. "You can refer to Hull , if you want." He says. "Just get me the price."

Two hours later, I go back to him, well versed in Hull and his little problems, and venture to ask him a doubt. Trust me, greatest amount of courage it ever took me.


"Look - I really shouldn't be giving you any hints at all. If I held a gun to your head and told you that I would kill your family if you didn't give me the price - will you ask me a doubt or give me the price?"

Before the Smart Alec answer that left my brain leaves my mouth, he continues. "You will give me the price. So just do that." The French accent is reminiscent of the Merovingian.

With every effort the human brain can ever put, I go ahead and struggle out some numbers on the notebook (which by the way I discovered was distributed free to us - I never knew there was so much stationery in that shelf). Needless to say, it's wrong.


"See - I think you should realize by now, that my sole aim here is to make you struggle and suffer. And because of that you will now prosper in your relationship with Monte Carlo. So I want you to go through that amount of suffering, and try and understand why and how things actually work and why we do all of this............."

Some guy. He taught me swaptions like my dad taught me swimming, I tell NP at the coffee machine the next day.

A very delayed post

Some random day in the first week of May. Definitely not May 1st, for that was a self declared holiday. But some other day. I arrive at my terminal - and ironically find that the ever regular LW is not at his desk. His terminal is locked. Late, DD will mutter, I think and key in the password on my terminal. It's almost become mechanical now. Frida Chan would be proud.

I swivel round to find DD on my left. As usual he's his business self. And he's got a suitcase packed. That reminds me. It was before the 1st of May. DD planned a four day vacation by taking Friday off too. Yes, people bunk in banks too.

"Yaays. I'll be there awn Mundayy. Haws it goin'?" I'm used to the Aussie accent by now. "OK!"

I turn back to my system, to find that "Mother" has mailed me. Please send me your mid-term feedback, from both your hiring managers and your mentor. I will be sitting with you next week to discuss the same.

I dash off a mail to my mentors - and get back to work. My camera lies in my bag. I decide to ask bossman for permission to take pics.

"Hey NP. I hope you have NP with me taking a few pics around."
"Eh? Pics of what?"
"Ya....like I want to show these four screened computers, and huge trading floor and all that to my friends." I put on my most kiddish smile and my most pleading eyes ever.
"Yeah. I guess that's cool."
"By the way, I mailed you regarding the feedback..."
"Yeah I got it, let's sit down...."

I went back most sheepishly to my place. Generally you expect people to respond to such questions with "Oh, really?" or "I haven't had the time to look at it....". Here was a boss who actually saw your mails and remembered them. Quite stupid I felt. And more so when "mother" read out the following lines in her heart to heart discussion the next week.

"You get paid not for showing up but for doing trades."
"You need to ask more questions and get more hooked to this."
"You do tend to hustle people up, which can be a pain later."
"You're high maintenance and you ask too many questions."
(Identity of the commentors has been purposefully concealed.)

Anyway there was nothing new on the MK front, except that we convinced good old EM to mail us the key rates update everyday, promising to teach him how to work around Excel. And JJ is still wearing his pink stuff. Nothing much has changed. Except, of course....

Goodbye, LW. I'm sure Merrill made a mistake.

One night at i-bank (contd)

So where were we? Yes, I recall. The ground had just started shaking, as I realized that the whole "finance" prospect of being a mathematics guy and not worry about colorful and convincing presentations was coming crashing down. As Dumb Charade opened up some old presentations of similar nature for us to imitate, I could not but help wonder why we learn some of the stuff at B-school.

"Yaar - kitne fraud ppts hain yeh - ek mein bhee dhang se formatting nahin hua hai..." Naivety is written all over my face, as I struggle to disguise the obvious with the vernacular.

"Haan yaar - college mein toh itna mast fight maarke ppts banaate hain - chalo inko kuch kar dikhaate hain". I cannot help wonder at Macabre Kolkattan's scary enthusiasm and the laborious vibe he was sending out.

"Theek hai - dekhte hain jaldi jaldi karte hain aur nikalte hain - raat ke 12 baj gaye". Amidst fears of too much Hindi arousing some suspicion, we quickly get to work.

"So what font do we use?"

"What else? We just use the template he sends us. " I can think of no shorter cut. "That way it will be the way he wants it right?"

MK is fast. By the time I have decided on how I want to structure my slides, he's through to the 3rd slide. Overjoyed, I ping him on the online chat client.

"Hey you've done the first 3 slides re - just send them over I'll continue from the later slide - that way things will finish fast."

"Hv alrdy sent 2 him. U carry on." comes the reply.

"Of course. Sure. " I realize that my high school teacher was right when she said there's no substitute for hard work. Not even team work. So much for you, OB prof.

So here I was designing this huge presentation, with all the effort in the world, and finally it gets done by around 12.30. By when, MK has already progressed to explaining a lot of doubts to everyone, and has assumed a near -God status in the vicinity.

"Hey. I just mailed you my ppt. Shall we go over it? "

"Hey yeah man - I saw it - seriously, good stuff man. There's one last thing, and I hate to ask you to do this, but we have to translate this into Chinese, and these guys are doing it. I think they might have some doubts - in understanding what you've written. Can you guys like, hang around for a bit." As I nod my head, I shudder to see that DC has busied himself undo-ing all my formatting, and converting all of it into pictographs that look like roadside signs.

I venture, knowing that I will not be pleased with the answer. "Hey, incidentally, why'd you undo all the formatting? "

"Yeah man - it's honesly awesome, but these guys won't..." and he shakes his head.

"Appreciate it?" I suggest. He shrugs, and I'm not happy. Expected, nonetheless.

Next Morning. The digital timepiece reads "11 AM HONGKONG. 11 PM NEW YORK. " as I stride in to the desk, brimming with confidence and a sense of happiness that I have a kind and considerate boss who lets me make up for the sleep I've lost. That feeling of goodness, though, doesn't last long as I settle down on the desk and check my email.

Unread messages: 12.
Time : 8.00 AM
From: DC
To: MK
CC: MR

The fear that grabs me turns to dejection as I realize that I am too late. MK's like Bilbo Baggins. There and back again. Hell, who cares - I got more sleep than he did - and DC's still not come back to office.

I lock my terminal and walk down to Starbucks for an espresso.

(Concluded)

One night at i-bank

I don't believe in using the word 'dumb' for those who are physically handicapped - that fate pressed the mute button on them is trauma enough. Referring to them by such paronomasic words feels uncomfortable. The converse, however is not true.

That said, I don't believe I have introduced you to Dumb Charade. DC is one of the powers on my desk - and has indeed been an extremely encouraging guide and mentor. Incidentally, he's been dishing out work to Macabre Kolkattan and me ever since last week. And last night, that reached pretty much an all time high. No surprise then, that I'm typing out this post at 2 a.m. in the wee hours of the morning, after I've just returned from work.

It's 7 pm, and we've been at work for the last 11 hours. People around me are beginning to pack their bags, and the interns on other desks order food for the night. as they begin to depart. The huge hall of multi-screened computers, that resembles a school computer lab by a large extent, begins to look more like an empty trading floor. The television in front of you that shows stock prices and the whole plethora of financial news, babbles on - and no one seems to care. I begin to realize that the quest for developing this model will claim my life.

DC is the one to speak next. "You guys are really smart man. Your model is so cool man. But the client has to be convinced hard and so we need these graphs man. Can you just think of something? "

"Yes sir. We can do it sir. Sure sir. Anything sir." MK was never much of an attitude person.

I grimace. It's taken me hours to do this stuff. And I doubt DC can even go through the stuff in the time it's taken me to make it. But no. We are "IIMs". We must deliver on demand. And we must "put PPO". Cliche.

"Sir, that's theoretically possible. What we also need to keep in mind is the practical implications. We might do all the research in the world - the question is the depth of the detail to which the client will look into. That's important - else all our effort will be wasted." Words very commonly heard at B-school, and hence delivered effortlessly.

EM sitting next to me is dazed. The guy's done a degree in Economics and Politics, and has had work experience in a consulting firm. DC is, like, his godfather. DC looks at him.

"See that? These guys are really smart man. And they're fast." Ya right, I say. Some consolation.

With great effort, I drag myself to my desk and put together whatever I've done. I don't understand what the objective behind the whole exercise is, but I know the minor details - precision, some would say. And I guess that's what they want. Hoping for a let - off (we've been around for half a day, literally now!!) approach DC - saying that my work is over.

"Hey, we're done man. We've mailed you the files."

"Cool man. " DC's eyes flit around for a second. "Hey, so now that you've done all this we need to sell this to the client - so can you kind of, put this into a presentation".

"Sure sir. Anything sir. Whatever you say sir. We'll do it sir."

I can feel the ground move from under me. The blackberry on DC's table buzzes, as both of us get irritated. For different reasons ,though.

To be continued ...

Opening credits

So, week one over at last. In fact the weekend's over too - but I guess writing this a little late won't really matter as the lovely weekend sleep and the trip to Discovery Bay made up for it. On the work front however, as things stand, it's been an interesting week, to say the least.

Friday last. I walk into office without a business suit for the first time. We have the A and C guys to thank for that. So much for you guys talking up "Mother" and getting to dress up all week. My desk guys told me they don't give a damn what I wear as long as I get the job done. So, ha ha.

Deadly Dealer's at his table already. I curse under my breath for catching the 8.30 am shuttle. Should have come earlier. DD of all people likes orderliness and punctuality.

"Hello man! What's up?". DD is unusually cheerful today. Surely he's got some unwind up his sleeve. Some client's in for it.

"Hey man. Just got in. I'm just going to look at some of the stuff you gave me last afternoon." That's it for the morning. DD is back to his three-screen-terminal. He's really fast.

Enigmatic Mandarin is also on his table. He's definitely younger than me. He never ceases to be amazed by the IIMs - as they call us here. EM is as usual very hard working, what with it being his first year here and all that. He's more discernible over the internal chat client though. MChat can speak a thousand words, at least in China. But not today. Amazingly busy everyone today is, Yoda would say.

Arbit Barter's the next one to come in. With origins similar to mine, it's not surprising he comes in as late as I do. Though he sits right across me, we have like 6 computer screens between us. AB is one of the most dedicated people on the dask, and I like to think he's smart. Not because I'm particularly impressed, but because I'd like to say that the Indian MBA education system actually makes some sense for all the rigmarole it puts you through. AB doesn't say anything more. Not of consequence anyway.

The 8.30 shuttle brings in Macabre Kolkattan. With no work experience, and just three years of graduation, he's the only other intern on the desk. You'd think I'd treat him like the new kid on the block. Turns out he's over 3 months older than me. Damn prep school for admitting me early. He comes in, with an irritated glance at me for coming early, accusing me of what can only be called relative grading. Thank god though, for someone who speaks Hindi on the desk.

"Oye kab aaya be?" MK is not pleased.

"Yaar...8 baje waali shuttle se aaya. Sab log pahunch jaate hain, achcha nahin dikhtha haina late aane se? " I try to be diplomatic and nonchalant in my reply.

"Hmm..ab kyaa kar raha hai?"

"Bas aise hee kuch ppts study kar raha thaa yaar - tu bata, baat karna hai kyaa kisi se kaam ke liye?" (See, I'm a good person. I waited for him :P.)

"Ruk jaa - mail check karne de." Surprisingly, that's also the last time we talk before lunch.

The only people left to come are LIBORated Wholesaler, No Pardons and Pink Panter. No Pardons is Bossman. He's probably in Korea at the time. I've already introduced you to LW. Pink Panter is like the most fun guy ever, and he's also the guy who keeps smiling all the time. NP told me once that they had to move him to the end of the desk because everyone who was walking up and down the floor kept stopping by to talk to him. Interesting, though by looks he seems no where close to a structurer. Pink shirt. Pink Pants. Pink tie. Pink all. Pink Panter.

So long...
Midget Rogue

A little too many!

Leonard Wong sits next to me on the structuring desk. Like every other male of his race - he's got those enigmatic thin eyes, and the second-long smile that accompanies every sentence. But he's a nice guy, I decide. After all, he had expressed involuntary surprise at hearing that I'm between years at my institute where I'm doing MBA...and that to most of our kind is a shot in the arm.

So back to Mr. Wong. Lunchtime is just over and I'm at the pantry again, looking around for something to wash down the footlong sub with. He asks me, Subway? Again? I respond with my usual "veggie" lament and the fact that the Chinese didn't actually think of us coming in 5000 years later when they drew the boundaries of their country. And thus the conversation goes to China.

ME: So you're Chinese?

LW: No, I'm Malay. My family's back in Malaysia. I get to see them once or twice a year only.

ME: Wow. That must be some life. (inside, I'm like shrieking away)

LW: Haha

ME: Hey just tell me the difference between the Yuan and Renminbi?

LW: It's the same thing. But in Chinese, Renminbi means money of the people, which is like a 3 letter word. Yuan, on the other hand, is like single letter in our alphabet.

ME: How do you know all that? You're Malay right? You wouldn't know Chinese...

LW: No no. I'm Malaysian Chinese. So that technically means that my ancestors would have been Chinese, though that really seems distant as I graduated from London.

ME: Hey by the way how many letters do you guys have in your alphabet? There must be like a zillion of them!!!

LW: Ya - too many.

ME: So by what age does a kid learn all this stuff?

LW: I don't know. You kind of pick up stuff on your own - and when you're a kid there's pretty much nothing else to do.

ME: (why didn't I think of that?) So what - there'll be like 1000 letters? Wildly guessing?

LW: Way,way more than that. (he googles, then wiki's) See - there are about 56000 characters in the Chinese language. But then we hardly use more than 20000 of them, so that's a reasonable approximation.

ME : So it must take like very little words to say anything in Chinese, and I quote that on my hotel's address card, the English address is like a whole 2 lines, whereas the Chinese address is in 1 word!!

LW: That's common. But I don't know how true that is elsewhere. 'Cos I've seen Chinese translations of English books, and they're almost the same thickness.

ME: (deciding it's time to show off my math skills) So let's assume that on an average every word in Chinese has like 5 letters, each of these could be one of those 20000 letters, or a blank, which would account for most of the less-than-5-letter-words. So that's like 20001^5 words which would be an upper bound...and the same calculations for English give me 27^10, assuming that on an average, English words have 10 letters. No where close, is it? So that means the languages must have a major disconnect in their vocabulary. That is, something that takes very little time to say in English, must take a lot of verbosity to express in Chinese, and vice versa. Maybe that's because the language is so specific about every minute detail, that every shade of meaning is a different word altogether.

LW: Ya, that's true. We read English translations of Chinese material, and it makes no sense...and then we read the original...and we're like Wow, now it makes sense..

<there are titbits of this conversation, not really important, that I don't remember, so I'm not going to type some things out. Our conversation trails off into nothingness, with me getting back to going through interest rate swaps, and Wong going back to his Bloomberg terminal>

Interesting conversation at an I-bank, I must say ! Be back with more.

Day zero

They always said banks would be fun for a math whiz. If you always topped your class in math, or did that extra equation that made you the apple of Ms Fernandes' eyes, well then yeah, banking is the place for you. So when your "summers preparation" starts, focus on banks and crack a day-zero bank as they call 'em in the IIMs. That is what they always said.

They being the people who we look up to, or rather, are supposed to look up to. Role models, been-there-done-that's, call them what you will. They told us you can retire by 35 and go on a lifelong cruise of the Pacific if you took banking. Sounds queer, yet interesting, ain't it?

The funny thing about a bank is that when you enter you are greeted with all the smiles in the world and all the welcomes, especially from the people at leadership and talent management...in particular this person who for all practical purposes I shall dub "mother". So mother greets us on the 15th floor in this conference room, where of course she begins to carry over from the colorful and gregarious presentation Mother's counterparts in Mumbai made. Of course there's the regular chat about the fish drying and other Oriental practices that appear weird to most of us and nauseating to some. (go veggies!)

But then the real roller coaster ride starts. Mother calls us out of the team room one by one, which is by now ominously resembling a slaughterhouse, where some rep from the desk we're on comes to "escort" us to our place.

Desk. That's a new word, jargon for people new to banks. It's bankese for department, and basically has this bunch of 6-8 people sitting on a desk (no points for guessing how the name came.) So here we are on this long table, seated amongst about 50 other people, so technically there are like 5-6 desks in a row, and 2 -3 rows in a room. First thing that strikes me - why are they so hard pressed for space? Even software companies in India have cubicles.

Anyway, as Mr. Bossman preparesto go to Korea, the rest of my desk is giving me its hellos and all that - and looking at me like a strange creature from a gazillion miles away. Nonetheless, it appears mother has taught them well, and they promptly bombard me with study material enough to go through till Mr. Bossman returns and approves my projects. At which point, I settle down, with shady glances to what people are doing and interestingly looking around for signs of what "they" told us would be lovely about a bank. Not too much greenery around, I observe.

And oh yeah, I'm just an intern.