From the City of Djinns to the Promised Land

Memories I Can’t Let Go

The first memory etched in my mind is that of a burning building. Looking out of the window of our house, I could see that the residence next-door and the textile factory at some distance across the street were ablaze. I was about four years old, and the year was 1948. That was the year when a Chitapavan Brahmin named Nathuram Godse assassinated Mahatma (the Great Soul) Gandhi, setting off violent riots in Pune, the assassin’s hometown as well as other cities and towns in India. The principal targets for the unruly mobs were homes and businesses owned by other Brahmins.

I still remember a crowd of about two hundred people assembled outside our house. Although a Brahmin by birth, my father had no sympathy for Nathuram Godse or his cause. He was, in fact, a follower of Mahatma Gandhi and had gone to jail when he participated in a non-violent protest against the British rule. So, there he was standing on the porch in front of our house, hoisting the Indian flag. But the mob was far from ready to be placated.

While I did not know it at the time, I later learned that a neighborhood barber, who was one of the rabble rousers and knew my father well, came to our rescue. He attempted to convince the crowd that my father was indeed a follower of Mahatma Gandhi, and when he succeeded, the crowd moved on. I remember my mother saying years later that it would have been better if the rioters had burnt down the house that day!

Foray into Africa

Sierra Leone’s only international airport is in the coastal town of Lungi. The Sierra Leone River separates the Lungi International Airport from the capital city of Freetown. The ferry is the only mode of transport from Lungi to Freetown. After clearing immigration and customs at the airport, we were dropped at the terminal to await the ferry’s arrival. At the time, we found it to be an intimidating set-up. Surrounded by local people, we were not sure what to expect. In all honesty, we were somewhat prejudiced. In our years in Tennessee, we had little contact with black Americans. So, here we were in a completely alien environment amidst mostly black people with our life’s possessions in a couple of suitcases. One of our prize possessions was a reel-to-reel Sony tape recorder recently purchased in London for an exorbitant (for us) price of 200 British pounds. Following an anxious period of thirty minutes, a ferry transported us to Freetown with all our belongings intact. We stayed in a downtown hotel that night and then went to FBC. We met with the bursar who assigned us an old three-bedroom house. We also met a few college faculty members of Indian origin who were very helpful and made our adjustment to the new life painless.

But the first night in the assigned house was another matter. The Indian faculty members we met on that first day at dinner had informed us that the local people were not violent at all, that in the campus area there were mostly petty thefts. While the first part of that statement was comforting, the second part put us a bit on edge. After we came home late in the evening, Kusum asked me to get drinking water from the kitchen, which was detached from the rest of the house. I had to walk down a long walkway and climb down four steps to the kitchen door. When I opened the door, I found a long black snake on the kitchen floor. I quickly closed the door and returned to the master bedroom; water could wait. We spent a restless night with the old house creaking throughout the night and I for one imagined a petty thief on the rooftop waiting to jump down and steal our belongings when we fell asleep. It was clear to me that we were not going to last in the old house.

The World of Investment Banking

Three other observations regarding the differences between commercial and investment banking are worth highlighting. First, as an economist at MMB, I was expected to leave a detailed paper trail on my activities. I wrote innumerable memos to memorialize my sovereign analytical assessments and conclusions. In contrast, I do not recall writing a single memo at CSFB. All business was conducted over the telephone. It seemed to me that there was a deliberate attempt to avoid leaving a paper trail. Second, most interpersonal relationships were transactional at CSFB. I was appreciated and treated as a friend so long as I was making money for the company. I made few true friends. In contrast, I made lifelong friends at MMB, both among economists and bankers. Jim Merrill remains a good friend with whom I meet frequently. I have also kept up with other former MMB colleagues in the Economics Department. A few years back, we got together for a reunion dinner with our spouses. Finally, there was a world of difference in the amount of money that was spent to conduct the day-to-day activities and promote business at CSFB versus MMB. Traveling allowances and expense accounts were virtually limitless during my tenure at CSFB. The budgets at MMB for such activities were meager. The annual business strategy meetings at MMB were low key affairs lasting one, or at most two, days. They were held at locations in or close to New York City such as the World Financial Center, the Catskills, or the Exxon Center in Florham Park, New Jersey. At CSFB, in contrast, the annual strategy meetings were held in such exotic places as Bermuda, Moscow, Rio de Janeiro, and the Swiss Alps.