On Advice

I don’t know why I am writing this. I guess, I need to get it out of my system. So, at the end of it if you are still wondering why, apologies in advance.

In the last eight to nine months, there has been a massive increase in the number of people writing to me, seeking advice on different issues.

Recently, someone wrote to me, wanting to know, if doing a five-year integrated MBA from one of the IIMs, was a good option, if one did not get admission into an IIT that is. My answer was, I don’t know.

He persisted and asked, if spending Rs 30 lakh on an integrated five-year MBA from one of the IIMs, was really worth it? My answer was, I don’t know.

He persisted and asked, if getting a degree in business or economics made a difference if one wanted to become an entrepreneur. My answer again was, I don’t know.

He then thanked me for my suggestions.

Another gentleman had a degree in science and wanted to know if there was any course/internship/job that would help him learn finance. My answer was, I don’t know.

Over the months, I have got many such questions where people seek career advice from me. And honestly, I don’t know why they do this. I am not a career counsellor. My corporate career lasted all of five weeks.

And before that I more or less made a mess out of my education. My formal education is a BSc in Maths and Computer Science followed by an MBA in Information Systems. I lost interest in the MBA around half way through it, but didn’t have the guts to drop out, thinking of all the money that had been spent and the problems it would create for my parents.

So, I persisted and ended up getting a degree which has been largely useless since then. The only thing that I learnt in my MBA and which I still put to good use is how to calculate the internal rate of return on any investment. But one didn’t have to do an MBA just to learn that.

I have spent nearly two decades in trying to make up for this mistake, by making myself learn economics, personal finance and some part of the Income Tax Act, bit by bit, in an extremely unstructured way. (This also explains why I find it very difficult to answer questions like, which are the books I should read to learn economics).

All this unstructured learning could also happen because I lead a slightly unconventional life. I am single. I stay in a studio apartment. And I don’t spend much money on travelling.

Hence, I have been able to dedicate a lot of time to unstructured learning. This is not a formula that would work for most people, especially those who have EMIs to pay, and given that I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Also, the larger point here is, that I have a good understanding of things over a fairly limited area. I understand some fifth standard Maths and some part of India’s economy. I can tell you how to manage your money, on most days, but there are a few limitations to that as well. And that’s about it.

Beyond this, my knowledge is generally useless. I know a few things about Hindi cinema and its music, especially from the late 1980s to the mid 1990s. Like this morning I was discussing with someone, on how a famous Hindi film song of the mid 1970s composed by Laxmikant-Pyarelal, has a tune similar to a famous Sabri Brothers qawwali. But then I really don’t know who copied whom.

I can also give you a lot of gyan on modern crime fiction, especially Scandinavian crime fiction and in particular, the genre of the police procedural. Like I can tell you why the last book in Henning Mankell’s Kurt Wallander series just didn’t make much sense and it was written by a writer who was extremely bored by then. But then what use will this be to you?

Of course, I have written five books in the last decade and these books have sold reasonably well and put me in the public domain. I have appeared on TV (I don’t know why but this is equated to being successful in India. The day I first appeared on TV, one of my aunts just went over the moon. This was after nearly eight years of writing almost every day, first for a newspaper and then freelancing for websites, newspapers and magazines). I have lectured all across India. I have spoken across India’s best business schools.

So, there has been some limited success in my life. But then that does not mean that I have answers to all the questions. Let me give you an example.

A few years back a cousin who wanted to a PhD wanted me to tell her if she should do major in marketing or in economics. Now given that I have no experience of doing a PhD from an American university, I was in no position to answer the question. And I told her so. But she persisted and so I answered.

I told her that she should do a PhD in economics, given that if she had to spend five years on studying something, it rather be something important. Coming from me that should have been hardly surprising. The logic being, what was the point in studying marketing for five years and learning how to sell more things to more people.

Now this is not to say that marketing is just that, it clearly isn’t. It is a very important subject, which can make a lot of difference across various facets of life and it’s not just about selling more things to more people. But then that is the way I was thinking at that point of time, in trying to answer a question, I wasn’t qualified enough to do.

Thankfully, she did not listen to me, and chose to do a PhD in marketing.

The point being it is very important in life who you seek advice from. Wrong advice can prove to be very costly.

There is another dimension to advice, it is a very individual thing.

Around a decade back, an uncle of mine was after me to buy a house in Delhi. Delhi home prices in 2010 were at their peak and anything half decent in the city would have cost Rs 1.5-2 crore. I clearly did not have the capacity to take on a home loan that could have funded a home at that price and I told him so.

He persisted. If not Delhi, look at something in Greater Noida. I didn’t, for the simple reason, I had no plans of living in and around Delhi at that point of time (nor do I currently).

Now ten years later was this a good decision? Yes, if you consider the fact that so many projects in Greater Noida were never completed. The builders took the money and disappeared. Also, I continue living in Mumbai.

And no, if you consider the fact, that I still don’t own a home to live in.

At the end of the day, what advice one seeks and one takes, is a very individual thing.

Anyway, that was the rant. Now let me give you some advice on advice.

1)  If you have to ask, ask pointed questions. Don’t ask stuff like, how do I learn finance? First figure out what does the word finance mean to you.

2) I think, the first point needs to be stated again. Ask pointed questions. Don’t ask stuff like, should I invest in bitcoins? The answer from my end will always be, I don’t know. Simply because I don’t know how you perceive risk, what kind of money you are in a position to lose and what is your current understanding of bitcoins (or any other investment avenue for that matter).

This is not to say that if you were to ask a question like this, people won’t give you an answer. Many people will. But come what may that would be wrong advice.

3) Before asking a question, please think, whether the person you are putting the question to, has the capability to answer that question. Just because he has seen some success in some aspect of life, doesn’t mean he has the answers to everything. Like a few months back, someone asked me, which laptop should I buy. I mean, thoda to dimag lagao yaar.

4) Don’t ask philosophical questions related to your career. You might get an answer but that answer will be wrong. This reminds me of a question someone asked me around a year back. How do I make decisions in my 20s that I don’t regret in my 40s? I almost fell laughing from the chair I was sitting on. Almost all decisions I made in my 20s, I regret in my 40s, expect for the fact that I started reading seriously only in my mid 20s and which is why there is a lot to catch up on.

5) Just because you and I have been brought up writing exams where every question has an answer, doesn’t mean life operates like that. Every question doesn’t have an answer, even though most people will happily give you one. If you are the kind who believes in the fact that every question has an answer then please seek out LinkedIn influencers, you are made for each other.

6) Oh, and finally, please Google. You will be surprised!

Bonus point: Don’t expect me to make a decision for you, simply because you are asking a question.

Why Tata Fired Mistry

(This is a spoof and a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or places or actual events is purely coincidental)

Office of a digital publication

“Oh Shit!,” yelled the young intern, who had been asked to keep a tab on what was happening in the world at large.

“What happened?” asked the senior desk hand sitting next to him.

“Tata has fired Mistry,” said the intern, in an excited state.

“What?” screamed the editor from across the bay.

“Yes,” said the senior desk hand who had checked out the news by then.

“Okay. Shouted the editor. Let’s get working on this.”

“Yes Sir!” said the intern.

“I want you guys to start working on Five Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry.”

“But Sir so soon?” asked a confused intern.

“Yes goddamit. We are a website and not the Economic & Political Weekly, which can take six years to figure out what really happened. If you hadn’t been asking questions you would have already figured out two and a half reasons by now.”

“Sir, five reasons won’t work,” screamed the senior desk hand.

“Oh, but why?”

“While we were talking, another website has already come with Five Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry.”

“Oh, then let’s use six.”

“Sir, the numbers six to 77 have already been taken.”

“What?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Let’s do 78 then.”

“78?” asked the intern again. “How do we come with 78 Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry?”

“Oh that’s simple,” said the senior desk hand. “We just ask a question on Facebook and Twitter to the people.”

“What question?” asked the bewildered intern again.

“We ask the readers why do you think Tata fired Mistry,” said the senior desk hand patiently. “Take those reasons and turn them into 78 Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry.”

“But how will the readers know, if we don’t know?” asked the intern, rather innocently.

“Well. The readers don’t know. But every reader on the social media thinks that he knows. So, we just cash in on that.”

“Ah. Like that,” said the intern, finally figuring out what was happening.

By now, the editor had totally lost patience. “Let’s get cracking. This is a part of our strategy of building direct reader connect. If readers generate their own content they feel more connected with it. We also don’t need to spend money on generating content.”

All this left the intern wondering: “Does the nation really want to know?”

Meanwhile in a business TV studio.

“I want you guys to get cracking on this,” shouted Maureen.

“Yes Mam,” came the reply from the young reporters.

Two minutes later Maureen was on air, explaining the development to the audience which was watching the news on mute.

“Why do you think Tata fired Mistry?” she asked the reporter.

“Sources close to sources said that the sources have no idea behind the mystery of the mysterious sacking of Mr Mistry…” the reporter explained, speaking at breakneck speed.

“Ah. Thank you for giving us that exclusive breaking news. Remember you heard it here first,” said Maureen. “And now it’s time to take a break.”

“Good show girl,” Maureen told the reporter. “I love it when you speak so confidently. After all that is what TV is all about.”

Meanwhile at a Hindi news channel.

“So what angle do we take?” the editor asked the reporter.

“Sir, aap jo bole wo angle le lenge (Sir, whatever angle you ask we will take),” the reporter replied.

The reporter up until two minutes back had been covering politics and suddenly he was now being asked to turn himself into a business journalist.

“Hmmm…Let’s take the Mulayam angle,” the editor suggested.

“Mulayam?” asked the reporter, totally stumped.

“Yes. Arre, Mulayam could have fired Akhilesh but he hasn’t. He has managed to postpone the problem for another day,” explained the editor. “Also, there is a family angle. Ratan’s brother is married to Mistry’s sister. So,  we can compare it to Mulayam. To chal jaega (It will do).”

“Yes Sir. Yes Sir,” agreed the reporter, thanking the Gods. At least, he would be able to speak something on this.

Meanwhile at one of India’s leading pink papers…

“What have we got?” asked the editor leaning back on his chair and trying to blow imaginary smoke rings into the air. This was something he used to love to do all day in his office for real, until the no smoking policy became the order of the day. Now he could only smoke in the office loo.

Six Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry,” explained the corporate editor.

“Ah. You wrote it so fast Mr Matthew,” said the editor.

“Yes. Mr Chakraborty.”

“But that will be published on the web. What do we do for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes Sir!” explained the corporate editor, who had already put in all the spin he could think of into the Six Reasons piece.

“Let’s do something conceptual.”

“As in?”

Sabka badla lega tera faijal,” explained the editor, leaving everyone totally flummoxed for a moment. For a Bong he did watch a lot of Hindi cinema.

“As in?” the corporate editor asked again.

“Let’s call it Gangs of Bombay House. You know a play on Gangs of Wasseypur, with the Tata camp taking on the Mistry camp.”

“Wonderful idea Sir. Should take care of tomorrow’s page and hopefully by tomorrow we should be able to figure out what really happened.”

“Ah. Tomorrow we need to come with more reasons behind what really happened. Day after, a few more. We need to keep coming up with reasons behind what really happened. It doesn’t matter what really happened because nobody knows what really happened,” said the editor, as he made his way towards the loo, having gotten done with his share of philosophy for the day.

“What is the truth?” asked the corporate editor, imagining, he had an audience around him. “No one really knows. Everyone has their own version.”

And then he wondered “Where had he heard that before?” “Or I am getting better and better at writing fiction?”

The article originally appeared in Vivek Kaul’s Diary on October 25, 2016

Khada hai khada hai was a Sufi song: A dreamy conversation with Pahlaj Nihalani


pahlaj
It is 12.30AM at night and I am sleeping. In my sleep I am dreaming about Pahlaj Nihalani. I am actually talking to him. We are having a conversation.

“Sir if you could produce a film with a song khada hai khada hai khada hai, why don’t you like kissing anymore?” I asked him a simple question to start the proceedings.

“You are misquoting the song?”

“Misquoting the song?” I repeated, wondering how does one misquote a song.

“Well you are just singing a part of it,” explained Mr Nihalani, the censor board chief and started humming it himself: “Khada hai khada hai khada hai, dar pe tere aashiq khada hai.”

“This is the complete line?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“This is a Sufi song. In fact, it was India’s first filmi Sufi song.”

“Sorry?” I asked, wondering what made one of India’s grossest double meaning songs, a Sufi song.

“Let me explain,” continued Nihalani. “The lover is calling out to his beloved and singing that he is standing on her doorstep waiting for her to open the door.”

“Yes?”

“The beloved is essentially a representation of God, you see and the lover is her devotee,” he explained.

“Ah,” I said surprised at this masterful spin that Nihalani had come up with.

“Imagine a Sufi song in Hindi cinema of the 1990s. They used to be full of these double meaning songs. Choli ke peeche/andar kya hai and all that. This was a time when the world hadn’t discovered Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan sab. Or Abida Parveen for that matter. I was ‘so’ ahead of the times.”

“But Sir what about lal duppette waali tera naam to bata?” I asked, trying to get back into the game.

“What about it bacche?”

“Well there is a line in the song where the heroines sing, “har ajnabi ke liye khidki nahi khulti,” and in a very suggestive way slightly raise the hemline of their white mini-skirts. This clearly wasn’t a good projection of Indian culture that you now seem to be so passionate about?”

“Ah, the tragedy of my life,” shouted Nihalani.

“Nobody ever understood the real meaning behind my songs.”

“Real meaning?” I asked.

“Yes. That was a song against pollution. I was telling the people to keep their windows closed till the air gets a little cleaner. Again, I was ahead of the times. Now we at least have Modi Kaka’s Swacch Bharat.

“And what about main maal gaadi tu dhakka lagga? What was that all about?” I asked, hoping to catch the censor chief off-guard.

“Oh that was a song for the Indian Railways,” he replied.

“Indian Railways?”

“You know that the passenger service of Indian Railways is a loss making operation?”

“So?”

“That was my way of indirectly telling the government that they should be running more freight turns, if they wanted the Railways to be profitable and sustainable.”

“Ah.”

“And look at what happened?” he asked rhetorically.

“What happened?” I repeated.

“Lalu Prasad Yadav stole my idea when he became the Railway Minister in 2004. He gave immense importance to freight operations and revived the Railways,” explained Nihalani. “I never got the respect I deserved until Modi Kaka came along.”

“Hmmm. But what about angna main baba duare pe ma?

“What about it?”

“The song starts with the heroine Shilpa Shirodkar lifting her ghagra to reveal her thigh. It is followed by the heroine and a string of women extras gyrating their chests and doing other suggestive movements.”

“So?” Nihalani persisted.

“Well if you can produce that sort of a song, what is wrong with James Bond kissing?”

“Well, again you are seeing only what unfolds on the screen.”

“So what is the ‘deeper’ meaning?” I asked, trying to be sarcastic.

“This was a song against obesity.”

“Obesity?” I asked, with my head ready to spin.

“Yes. Look at the dance movements. I have just tried to Indianise aerobic movements. I had given special instructions to the choreographer to do that.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. And this was a time when even Baba’s Yoga was not on the scene,” he explained.

“Yes that is pretty recent,” I said accepting defeat.

“And it was up to me that the country remained healthy until Modi Kaka came along.”

This was when a bucket full of water landed up on me and the girl-friend yelled at the top of her voice, “can you stop shouting Modi Modi even in your sleep.”

(Vivek Kaul is the author of the Easy Money trilogy. He tweets @kaul_vivek. On most days he writes on finance and economics).

This spoof originally appeared on Huffington Post India on Nov 26, 2015

The Sensex will touch one million by 2050

Vivek Kaul 

So, the bosses are really mad at us,” said Harshad, the senior most analyst at the brokerage firm.
“Oh, why?” asked Ketan. “What did we do now? I have recommended every stock that they wanted me to recommend.”
I guess it must have to do with all the Sensex forecasts. There was even one report which predicted that the index will touch one lakh points by 2020,” explained Rakesh.
“Yeah and we haven’t put out one,” said Harshad.
“You know I don’t like these Indian numbers,” said Samir, butting in on the video-conference from Singapore. “This
lakh-shak is too small. Let’s talk of at least a million.”
“Samir,” said Ketan. “How come you are not on TV today, driving up the market?”
“Guys, lets get serious,” said a rather worried Harshad. “We need to do something.”
Arre this prediction business is too risky,” said Rakesh. “I predicted in 2007 that the Sensex will touch 50,000 points in six-seven years.”
“So?” asked Samir.
“Well, we are only half way there.”
“You forgot the first law of forecasting, which it to make as many forecasts as possible and then publicise the ones you get right. How do you think I have managed to survive so long?” explained Samir.
“Guys, we are deviating from the point,” said Harshad. “We need to do some damage control.”
“Like what?” asked Ketan.
“Like coming up with our own Sensex forecast,” answered Harshad.
“Then, let’s follow the second rule of forecasting,” said Samir.
“Second rule?” asked Rakesh.
“Oh. Let’s say that the Sensex will touch one million points by 2050.”
“But what is the second rule of forecasting?” asked a frustrated Harshad.
“Oh, it is to make a forecast very far into the future, so that even if we get it wrong, nobody would know that we had made the forecast in the first place,” explained Samir with a chuckle.
“Actually, the Sensex needs to give a return of just 10.8% per year for it to touch one million points by 2050,” said Ketan, quickly running the numbers on the excel sheet. “So this is one forecast we will most likely get right.”
Nah, but 2050 is too far off,” said Harshad. “While we can say that, we will also need something which is a tad nearer.”
“How about the Sensex touching one lakh points by 2022,” said Rakesh, not having learnt from his previous mistake.
“But why 2022?” asked Ketan. “And not 2021 or 2023?”
“Oh, in 2022, we complete 75 years of freedom,” replied Rakesh.
“So?” asked Samir.
“Mr Bachchan also turns 80 that year,” said Ketan.
“Guys, where is this heading,” said Harshad. “You will get me fired. I still have EMIs to pay.”
“Actually Mr Bachchan reminds me of a line from the film
Amar, Akbar, Anthony,” said Ketan.
Ye kya ho raha hai?” asked Harshad, having lost control of the meeting totally.
“So, y
ou see, the whole country of the system is juxtaposition by the haemoglobin in the atmosphere because you are a sophisticated rhetorician intoxicated by the exuberance of your own verbosity,” said Ketan.
“Man, I never knew you could say that,” said Samir, jumping from his seat. “I tried
rattoing it for almost a year and then gave up.”
“Guys, guys, but what is the point?” asked a beleaguered Harshad.
“The point is that we need to come up with some sophisticated sounding gibberish to predict that Sensex will touch one lakh points by 2022,” explained Rakesh.
“Ah you read my mind so well,” complemented Ketan.
“So, what is the story?” asked Harshad.
“It’s simple. The Sensex needs to give a return of 17.8 to 20.3% returns per year if it needs to touch one lakh points in 2022,” explained Ketan, quickly using the excel sheet again.
“And?” asked Samir, totally flummoxed about where this was going.
“If we look at Sensex since 1979, it has given a return of a little over 17% per year on an average,” said Ketan.
“But 17% is not enough. We need more than that,” said Harshad, feeling a tad relaxed now.
“Well, we can add a few percentage points, as the new government premium,” said Ketan.
“New government premium?” asked Samir, feeling totally left out in Singapore.
“You need to comeback Samir,” said Rakesh. “You are not getting even the most basic stuff these days.”
“Let me explain,” said Ketan. “Basically we will say that the new government will set right everything that is wrong with the Indian economy. And that will mean that the Sensex will rise at 20% per year over the next eight years, instead of the usual 17%.”
“Brilliant story guys,” exclaimed Samir.
“So, I guess we have our story,” said Rakesh. “Let me just go and check how my value picks are doing. I had bought some of these stocks in the late 1980s.”
“Wait, wait, guys. Let me add the icing on the cake,” interrupted Samir.
“But make it quick,” said Harshad.
“I think along with the story, we also need to launch a new M.O.D.I. fund,” said Samir.
“Eh, what is that?” asked Ketan, irritated by the fact that Samir was butting in to take all the credit. “Oh M.O.D.I. fund stands for
Multiple Opportunities in the Development of India fund,” said Samir.
“The name will help us raise a lot of money.”
“Ah, Samir, the I love way you give it a spin,” said Harshad. “Its all about Modi anyway.”
The article originally appeared on www.FirstBiz.com on June 16, 2014
(Vivek Kaul is the author of the Easy Money trilogy. He tweets @kaul_vivek) 

The Sensex will touch one million by 2050

Vivek Kaul 

So, the bosses are really mad at us,” said Harshad, the senior most analyst at the brokerage firm.
“Oh, why?” asked Ketan. “What did we do now? I have recommended every stock that they wanted me to recommend.”
I guess it must have to do with all the Sensex forecasts. There was even one report which predicted that the index will touch one lakh points by 2020,” explained Rakesh.
“Yeah and we haven’t put out one,” said Harshad.
“You know I don’t like these Indian numbers,” said Samir, butting in on the video-conference from Singapore. “This
lakh-shak is too small. Let’s talk of at least a million.”
“Samir,” said Ketan. “How come you are not on TV today, driving up the market?”
“Guys, lets get serious,” said a rather worried Harshad. “We need to do something.”
Arre this prediction business is too risky,” said Rakesh. “I predicted in 2007 that the Sensex will touch 50,000 points in six-seven years.”
“So?” asked Samir.
“Well, we are only half way there.”
“You forgot the first law of forecasting, which it to make as many forecasts as possible and then publicise the ones you get right. How do you think I have managed to survive so long?” explained Samir.
“Guys, we are deviating from the point,” said Harshad. “We need to do some damage control.”
“Like what?” asked Ketan.
“Like coming up with our own Sensex forecast,” answered Harshad.
“Then, let’s follow the second rule of forecasting,” said Samir.
“Second rule?” asked Rakesh.
“Oh. Let’s say that the Sensex will touch one million points by 2050.”
“But what is the second rule of forecasting?” asked a frustrated Harshad.
“Oh, it is to make a forecast very far into the future, so that even if we get it wrong, nobody would know that we had made the forecast in the first place,” explained Samir with a chuckle.
“Actually, the Sensex needs to give a return of just 10.8% per year for it to touch one million points by 2050,” said Ketan, quickly running the numbers on the excel sheet. “So this is one forecast we will most likely get right.”
Nah, but 2050 is too far off,” said Harshad. “While we can say that, we will also need something which is a tad nearer.”
“How about the Sensex touching one lakh points by 2022,” said Rakesh, not having learnt from his previous mistake.
“But why 2022?” asked Ketan. “And not 2021 or 2023?”
“Oh, in 2022, we complete 75 years of freedom,” replied Rakesh.
“So?” asked Samir.
“Mr Bachchan also turns 80 that year,” said Ketan.
“Guys, where is this heading,” said Harshad. “You will get me fired. I still have EMIs to pay.”
“Actually Mr Bachchan reminds me of a line from the film
Amar, Akbar, Anthony,” said Ketan.
Ye kya ho raha hai?” asked Harshad, having lost control of the meeting totally.
“So, y
ou see, the whole country of the system is juxtaposition by the haemoglobin in the atmosphere because you are a sophisticated rhetorician intoxicated by the exuberance of your own verbosity,” said Ketan.
“Man, I never knew you could say that,” said Samir, jumping from his seat. “I tried
rattoing it for almost a year and then gave up.”
“Guys, guys, but what is the point?” asked a beleaguered Harshad.
“The point is that we need to come up with some sophisticated sounding gibberish to predict that Sensex will touch one lakh points by 2022,” explained Rakesh.
“Ah you read my mind so well,” complemented Ketan.
“So, what is the story?” asked Harshad.
“It’s simple. The Sensex needs to give a return of 17.8 to 20.3% returns per year if it needs to touch one lakh points in 2022,” explained Ketan, quickly using the excel sheet again.
“And?” asked Samir, totally flummoxed about where this was going.
“If we look at Sensex since 1979, it has given a return of a little over 17% per year on an average,” said Ketan.
“But 17% is not enough. We need more than that,” said Harshad, feeling a tad relaxed now.
“Well, we can add a few percentage points, as the new government premium,” said Ketan.
“New government premium?” asked Samir, feeling totally left out in Singapore.
“You need to comeback Samir,” said Rakesh. “You are not getting even the most basic stuff these days.”
“Let me explain,” said Ketan. “Basically we will say that the new government will set right everything that is wrong with the Indian economy. And that will mean that the Sensex will rise at 20% per year over the next eight years, instead of the usual 17%.”
“Brilliant story guys,” exclaimed Samir.
“So, I guess we have our story,” said Rakesh. “Let me just go and check how my value picks are doing. I had bought some of these stocks in the late 1980s.”
“Wait, wait, guys. Let me add the icing on the cake,” interrupted Samir.
“But make it quick,” said Harshad.
“I think along with the story, we also need to launch a new M.O.D.I. fund,” said Samir.
“Eh, what is that?” asked Ketan, irritated by the fact that Samir was butting in to take all the credit. “Oh M.O.D.I. fund stands for
Multiple Opportunities in the Development of India fund,” said Samir.
“The name will help us raise a lot of money.”
“Ah, Samir, the I love way you give it a spin,” said Harshad. “Its all about Modi anyway.”
The article originally appeared on www.FirstBiz.com on June 16, 2014
(Vivek Kaul is the author of the Easy Money trilogy. He tweets @kaul_vivek)