The other interviewers cleared their throat. They nodded their
heads at each other, communicating the need to skip that question,
‘Why do you want to do banking?’ the third panellist said.
‘Because that is what you want me to do.’
‘Excuse me?’The panellist blinked,
‘Well, I need a job. Yours is one of those available. And you pay
well. So yes, I’ll do whatever you want me to.’
‘You don’t have a preference?’
‘Not really.’
I don’t know what made me talk like this. Perhaps it was the fact
that I had given eight interviews over the past two weeks and I had
lied in every one of them. I had finally had enough. I didn’t want to be
in Delhi anymore. I missed my mother. I wanted to call her right now.
‘Madhav, do you want this job?’ the first panellist said.
‘What’s your name, sir?’ I asked instead.
‘Shukla. I am Pramod Shukla. Regional manager for North India.’
‘Mr Shukla, are you happy?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You don’t look happy. None of you look happy. Nobody wants
this job. Everyone wants the money you offer. You see the difference?’
The panellists looked at each other. If I had a camera, the picture
of their priceless expressions could have won any photography
competition.
‘I like you.The first honest candidate we have had. I will hire you,’
Pramod said.
The other two looked shocked. However, they were too junior to
counter the boss’s whim.
‘But I don’t want it,’ I said and stood up.
‘Why?’ Pramod said. ‘Private banking in Delhi. Top clients. Six
lakhs a year.’
‘No, sir. I am done serving rich people,’ I said and left the room.
- As I walked back to my residence after the interview, for the first