The Rivals

About ten years back, around half past nine at night, Sreekumar received a phone call. He winced when he saw Preethi’s name on the screen.

He picked the call and asked, “What do you want?”

“Sree...?” 

That was not how she sounded this afternoon, he noted. 

“Hello...?” 

“Yeah...?”

“Sorry for troubling you. Could you please come upstairs? Arjun has collapsed.”

Without any hesitation, he replied, “Be with you in a minute.”

He changed quickly from his nightwear, took his wallet, checked it for cash and cards, picked the car keys and the house keys. He went to the TV room and told his wife that a friend had called asking for help. Which female, his wife Devika asked. Will let you know after I decide, he replied. Have fun, she said. Devika, there’s no other woman, he pleaded. She turned her face to the TV. He left locking the front door behind him. He did not wait for the lift. He raced up the three flights of stairs to Preethi’s apartment. He had been there once before, when they were still friendly colleagues.

The front door was open. Preethi’s kids and parents-in-law were crying. Preethi was in the master bedroom. Her husband Arjun was lying on the floor.

“He threw up...collapsed...I couldn’t lift him,” she mumbled. “I cleaned him a little.”

Sreekumar picked a blanket from the bed, wrapped Arjun in it. He lifted the unconscious figure in his arms, raced to the lift with Preethi behind him. She ran back inside to pick her handbag. She consoled the old couple and kids, told them everything would be fine. 

In the lift, Sreekumar said, “Let’s take my car.” He told her to contact the private hospital.

He laid Arjun on the back seat. Told her to hold on tight.

He drove fast. Everything was a blur for an hour. Getting Arjun on the stretcher at the hospital entrance, first the OP, later to an ICU. The young doctors on duty assured them that they were in touch with the senior lot.

Preethi and Sreekumar sat silently in the waiting room adjacent to the ICU. 

They had not been that silent a few hours earlier.

In office, it was the season for promotions and pink slips. The long holidays for Diwali were two days away. As was the custom every year, the firm had culled quite a few before the festival. The promotions would be announced the next day, around evening after the New York office opened. That was a global affair. Tokyo stayed late for it, Mumbai and London joined in, and New York woke up for it. 

At lunchtime, in the canteen, Sreekumar had been with colleagues from Equity and Operations. Conversation had veered around to talk of promotion. The Equity guy joked that Sreekumar would lose to Preethi. Man, it is equal opportunity time and the firm needs a few skirts at higher levels and your division will be chosen for that sacrifice, the guy sniggered. Sreekumar did not respond. He merely smiled. His mind was elsewhere, pondering about uglier domestic affairs.

Preethi’s friend in Fixed Income had overheard that exchange and reported it faithfully to Preethi. Around two, Preethi came to Sreekumar’s office. Standing at the door, making sure the rest of their group heard, she asked him if he had recruited her because he liked her skirt. Sreekumar stared at her blankly. She continued with threats of reporting it to HR. He told her to go ahead. He surprised her by saying fuck off.

It was not their first public confrontation but in the past it had been about work, never about personal failings.

They had been with the firm for about six years. His boss, a godfather to many quants on Wall Street, on his third headhunting trip to India found Sreekumar. He was given the responsibility of building a team in Mumbai. Quant work, even in risk management, was a new field in India then. Sreekumar scouted for local talent in the premier institutions and contacted people he knew. Preethi was his first recruit. He first met Preethi at a conference during their PhD years. They had fought over topological defects and differential geometry. After PhD, he had done couple of years of postdoctoral research before getting a faculty position. Then, due to a mix of academic and matrimonial circumstances, he had made the huge shift to the corporate world. As for Preethi, she had shifted fields soon after her PhD, first to IT, then a MBA, tried to be an entrepreneur in educational software, failed only because she was couple of years too early for that venture. She came for the first interview at the firm soon after her wedding, her hands still decorated and with too many bangles. The big chiefs in Mumbai were not keen on taking females. Sreekumar convinced his boss in New York headquarters that Preethi would be an asset. He was a good mentor. Too good, he would think later. As for Preethi, like most good protégés, she never thought of herself as anyone’s protégé. He fought for Preethi when she was sidelined by some division heads. He got her good projects that utilised her research and management skills. When he was promoted to VP with larger responsibility, she was ready to be his replacement. A year later, she too got promoted to VP. The financial crisis and Sreekumar were together responsible for that. He had trained her well in credit risk, first with derivatives, then on the risk aspects. Post-crisis, there was a lot of attention on credit risk and ratings. Preethi was made the lead on that, and she handled well the pressure from management, auditors and regulators. Sreekumar and Preethi were now fighting for the promotion to Executive Director. They could have made life easier. They had their own niche areas of expertise. He covered more divisions. He was called Professori, respected but aloof. Despite having a huge team to manage, he still managed to provide innovative quantitative and computational methods which even the quants in New York and London grudgingly admired. She was a better manager, referred to as the Tough Bitch and the juniors thought she provided better future prospects. The two clashed quite often. The firm was not complaining, their prize-dogs were adding to the moolah, getting more done, better, quicker.

In the waiting room at the hospital, they remained silent waiting for updates from the doctors. He wanted to ask her, why did you call me. She would have raised an eyebrow, suggesting the answer was obvious.

Around midnight, they were told that Arjun was in a critical state, and hardly stable. The doctors talked about a risky surgical procedure. Neurosurgeon, cardiologist, clots, blocks...the two experts in risk management kept nodding, comprehending little.

Around dawn, the doctors met them again. Arjun was conscious. The doctors told them that one person could enter to see Arjun. Give him strength before the surgery, the doctors advised.

Preethi turned to Sreekumar. “Get Devika here.”

“Devika? My wife? For what?” Sreekumar said.

Preethi looked up, stared at the false ceiling. “Geez, Sree, in which world are you living?” She shook her head. “Oh God.” She called Devika. Sreekumar thought of asking how she had his wife’s number.

She talked softly on the phone, explained the situation with Arjun and told Devika to catch a taxi. 

Devika managed to be with Arjun for a few minutes before he was taken for surgery. 

Around eleven, a doctor told them that the surgery was a success. Devika collapsed with delight. The doctor had to hold her. The other two stood together, mere spectators.

A few minutes after the doctor left the three in the waiting room, Preethi said, “Sree, can you take me home?” She told Devika that she had transferred sufficient funds to the hospital account. Contact me if there’s any need, she added and left. Sreekumar followed her.

Back in the lift of their apartment, Preethi said, “I am going to office.”

“Don’t you have to sleep?” Sreekumar asked.

“Are you going to miss today’s event?” she asked.

“I guess not,” he said with a wry smile. “Ready by two? Let’s go together.”

She nodded.

Their teams had already been notified about their absence. The juniors were surprised to find them back in the office, but not too surprised.

At half past six, they gathered in the biggest video conference hall. Preethi and Sreekumar sat in the front row.

That year, they did not get the promotion to Executive Director.  The firm decided to honour others with larger teams. One woman, one man. It was a politically correct show.

The prize-dogs joined in the pre-Diwali celebrations and much later licked their wounds in private. 

Now, that is just an irrelevant past.

“Wow, it’s been ten years,” Preethi exclaimed.

“As you can see, hair is whiter, teeth and everything else more shaky,” Sreekumar said.

They laughed. They had found each other on social media recently. This is their first video call.

They talked about the coronavirus. She is a MD now, based in New York. He has been enjoying an early retired life in his hometown in forgotten India for ten years. Her kids are in high school. 

“Are you married?” she asked. “Forgive my Capricorn bluntness.”

“Interested?” he asked.

“Been there, done that,” she replied. “You are a Virgo, aren’t you?”

“No, Cancer.”

“Really?”

“Is that good or bad?” he asked.

“We are supposed to be a good match.”

“That bad, huh? When did you get into this horoscope thingy?”

“When my teenagers tried to beat me with that.”

“Still too competitive, I see.”

“You bet.” She laughed. “So, Sree, what have you been up to?”

“It took me ten years to figure out why you called me when Arjun collapsed.”

“Geez...that long? Wear a skirt, you will think better.”

“Done that, been there,” he said.

They laughed.