Bhavna Rai - Fate, Fraud & a Friday Wedding

Fate, Fraud

And

A Friday Wedding

Bhavna Rai

To all those whose lives did not turn out as planned

and to all those who were unlucky enough that it did.

Acknowledgements

Fate, Fraud and A Friday Wedding would not have been possible without

• Rajiv, whose spirited discussions on the plots twists and turns encouraged me to look not just at the black and white but at the grey as well
• My children, Trisha and Dhruv, whose unconditional love always reminds me whats truly important in life
• My mom and dad, for the wonderful and unique childhood, for letting me make and live by my own decisions and for their infinite guidance and support
• My school, DPS R.K.Puram and my college, SRCC that I am so proud of and the lifelong friends I made there
• My colleagues, past and present, whose lives and successes have been an inspiration to me
• My publishers, Rohit Gupta and Cedar Books who helped me fulfill my dream
• And the Internet, for transforming the lives of an entire generation.

Preface

The word offshoring was added to the Oxford English dictionary
in 2006.

Five years before that, when I made my first sales pitch for an IT outsourcing project, I spent several minutes on slide number 3 (the first two slides being company name and agenda). The slide showed India, and Delhi in particular, highlighted on the world map. Pitch India first and capability later was the mantra as most American and other international clients didnt even know where in the world Delhi was!

Just a decade later, the number of jobs, contracts and support calls coming into the booming economy has ensured that the world has not just stepped up and noticed ... it has also begun to depend on us.

The world changed and I witnessed it.

Aggressive growth targets, stiff competition and success on the world stage are characteristics of this industry, today.

Add to all this, the globalised new world order, which is forcing companies to reassess what work they do where, the reverse brain drain of Indians returning home, the improved purchasing power driving the mall and coffee culture, and the stark reality that no matter how many mobile phones we now have (more mobile phones than toilets 600 million and counting), at its core, India is still a developing country.

And there you have my story.

At the end of the day, its the people who are part of this industry, who have made it successful. And I am not talking about the founders of Infosys or the people at Nasscom. I am talking about all the software developers and call center staff who have had an impact on the economy and whose lives have been impacted by it in return.

This is a story about a generation of urban Indians who are intelligent, confident and ambitious. They know what they want and they put themselves first. They make their own choices and those choices dictate the lives they lead.

This book is inspired by the journeys, experiences and transformations I have seen in the past thirteen years while working in some of the top IT companies of the world.

**

Prologue

8:45 p.m., Maurya Sheraton, New Delhi

For several moments, the world stood still.

She must have been shrieking, but she couldnt hear herself. There was pain; a stinging, piercing pain in her arm and she looked down
in horror at the skin that had been torn off. Her hand moved instinctively to cover the jagged wound but her legs gave way and she felt herself falling.

Ive been shot, she knew instinctively. Im going to die.

It was a fact as clear as the moonlit night shed been admiring just minutes ago. She fell to her knees and watched helplessly as the blood trickled past her fingers and stained the bright pink lehnga she was wearing. Her hand could not hold back the blood as it oozed out
and began to seep into the grass, merging effortlessly into the earth beneath her.

The fear was leaving her body as fast as the blood was. She began to think of falling into long deep sleep.

And then, just as suddenly as it had happened, the moment passed and the world was no longer still. She heard screams and calls for help. She could see people rushing for cover. The world was spinning around her. There must have been hundreds of people at the wedding, but there was no one next to her.

She collapsed, her head falling clumsily on the ground.

Seconds later, her attackers face came into view. He stood there, towering over her, sneering, his eyes reddened with hatred and contempt. The face she had once adored was now her worst nightmare.

And then he kicked her. She felt the full force of his foot smash into her stomach and all remaining life was knocked out of her. She no longer had a voice. He kicked her again. She could no longer think. Blood began to spurt from her mouth. He pulled her up by her hair, and she didnt know if she looked pleadingly into his eyes, or numbly, devoid of any leftover emotion. His lips were moving. He was saying something to her. She could not fathom what.

And then finally, finally after the longest few minutes she had ever known, he let her go and she fell down again, still bleeding profusely.

Several men began pulling him away and he fought them off furiously, still eager to give her more of his venomous battering.

Then someone rushed to her side and lifted her head.

Suman, Suman!!

She could hear her name being called, but she did not know who it was. She did not know if there was anyone who could help her. She lay on the cold ground, not sure if she was still breathing, still conscious still alive.

She only knew, that this was worse, far worse than the day she had lain crouched on the toilet floor, thinking her life was over.

7:30 a.m., Stamford, Connecticut

The shrill ring of the phone in the early hours of the morning could not be good news and Smita woke up with a start.

Hello, she said, groggily.

Its me. His voice was low, muted almost. She had never heard him sound like that.

Anand? She knew it was him, even though she asked. What happened? What time is it in Delhi? She was concerned. She never liked it when he travelled. He worked long hours, never slept well on flights and always returned a few pounds lighter.

Smita, he said his wifes name dearly. He did not know what to tell her. He did not know where to start. There had been a shooting and an arrest at the hotel where he was staying. There was press and police and commotion all around. All of a sudden, it didnt seem like much of the successful business trip hed hoped it would be. Things had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

What is it? she prodded him again.

Ive got some bad news, he began.

9:00 p.m., Ring Road, New Delhi

Neel was driving his car like the maniac he certainly wasnt. But with two hysterical women in the back seat, he wasnt sure what else he could do. One was howling in pain and the other was alternating between consoling her friend in the softest possible voice, and screaming at him with exaggerated urgency to drive faster and faster.

Inexcusably, he found himself honking at everyone and even rolled down his window to yell at a passerby who didnt give way. If my driving instructor could see me now, he thought ironically, remembering the ninety-one percent grade, hed got in his DMV test. Just a few months living in India and forget driving etiquette and technique, he was now driving on both sides of the road, zigzagging across lanes with reckless abandon and jumping red lights at will.

But as the women continued to scream, he continued to speed.

Half an hour ago he was celebrating his cousins wedding. Now all of a sudden, he was rushing two women to the hospital. Why him? And why these women, whom he hardly even knew? That he did not know. He just took a right when she said right and a left when she said left. He didnt know the roads well and apparently there were a lot of shortcuts to get to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS).