I was walking from the Pragati Maidan Metro Station in Delhi when I saw a group of people lost in their own world. Drawn out of curiosity, I was surprised to find among them an investment banker, a promoter, an analyst and a few investors. The proposition, like always, was to beat inflation. And, the route seemed simple, too.
Let’s call the company on offer ‘Blue belt and yellow pen’. A deep blue nylon belt was rolled in a peculiar pattern and kept on the floor between the investors and the promoter. The investor has to put the pen in such a manner that when the promoter snaps the belt to unroll it, the pen falls on his side. If the investor gets it right, his money doubles. Else, the company wins.
The analyst offers his unsolicited comments on how to pick the right spot on the rolled belt. It is a fast-paced commentary, similar to the way some television anchors get hyper on opening bells. It is not too difficult to say the three — the banker, promoter and analyst — are acting in concert, though they pose to be independent of each other.
The i-banker I saw here was a stocky man with black teeth, red eyes and wearing a green T-shirt. As he reminded me of Dr Banner of The Avengers, I didn’t have the courage to check out the rest of his costumes. What if he did not look or dress like the ones in Mumbai, in action and spirit he was a blue-blooded investment banker. He ran the show, built the hype, brought in the new fools and took home the lion’s share.
Maybe, it’s an occupational hazard or a developing medical problem: I see stock markets and investment bankers everywhere.
In hindsight, my earliest encounter with an i-banker was on a frustrated solo trip to Goa. Though the banker had given me a fair deal, due to my incorrect reading of risk factors, I had invested and lost a few hundred rupees on a company called, ‘Where is the red ball?’ All I had to do was to spot which among three inverted steel tumblers had the red ball. I asked him where is your revenue model? Why are you simply doubling my money? He said forget the model, just enjoy the game. Needless to tell you what followed.
While the analyst started telling me how I missed the red ball and how I can win back the lost hundreds, it all suddenly dawned on me: I am his revenue model.
Since then, I have been trying to tell new fools not to become someone else’s revenue model, but often in vain. Of late, some New York counterparts of our Pragati Maidan friends have been hardselling a college dating game. Apparently, even it does not have a revenue model. It is not even sure what it does. I tried to find a way to tell the world through the game itself, but cleverly ‘dislike’ was not even an option.
As I mull over these on my way from the Vaishali Metro, I look at the 20-something autodriver balancing himself to extract the maximum out of his single ride, regardless of the risk he is putting to the lives and limbs of three others sharing his driver seat, apart from an entire IPL dug-out crunched into his passenger space. I see an I-banker. Do you see him?
