11
Alam James Chowdry had run into severe financial problems through a restaurant venture that had flopped badly. On its own, that would not have crippled him, but he had also taken a loan from HABC, the gigantic banking corporation. That, too, would not have mattered, had he left it at that. Unfortunately, as the restaurant had begun to go under, he had taken a top-up loan. By this time HABC had cottoned on to the game of taking blank security cheques from its loan customers. Thinking nothing of it, Al had obliged the bank with a blank cheque when topping-up. It was his favourite bank. HABC had given him a loan, a gold credit card and a car loan. His salary was transferred direct to the bank.
He had resigned from his job in November 1998, and was attempting to cobble together some business deals - moving a bit of pistachio from Iran to India, some hides from East Africa to Dubai, and making a few deals locally. Small stuff really, and he was having a hard time of it, struggling to make ends meet, but he was happy and optimistic, doing his thing. Sooner or later he would crack it.
His world began collapsing around him the very month after he left his job. HABC was informed of the change in employment status – and promptly credited to itself whatever money it found in his account. Next it gobbled up the end-of-service dues from his employer, including his final salary.
Then the bank summoned him.
It was a small cramped room, tucked away in a corner of the main building, with six small grey desks, three occupied, and Al was the lone visitor. The man who had sent for him was out to lunch, and took the better part of an hour to show up. Without greeting him, he sat and opened a file. “You have brought the money?” he asked abruptly.
“What money?”
“What money? HABC’s money, my friend. You owe us money. What do you mean what money?” The man turned the file around to let Al see his statement; so much minus so much and that’s the balance.
“Why?” asked Al, perplexed and indignant. “That’s the personal loan, and I’m paying monthly installments.”
“My friend, talk politely when you talk to me. I’m the person in charge of your case, and can give you time to sort things out or send you to jail.”
Al stuttered in shock and amazement. “Jail? I haven’t broken any law. I haven’t done anything. What’s the matter here?” He looked around at the others. All six, every one an Arab, were in the room.
“Listen to him,” said one. “Do as he says. You’re in very serious trouble.”
“Very serious trouble,” said the summoner. “You will break the law. We have your blank cheque favouring HABC. We’ll write the outstanding amount, date it with today’s date, bounce it, and call the police.” He yawned. “Issuance of cheque without sufficient funds in account. That is a crime. You want to break the law?”
“Maybe he has money,” another Arab jeered. “That’s why he’s talking what, when, how, who.”
“In the beginning, all behave like that, Hadi,” said another. “They don’t understand the real position, think it’s a joke. Later they listen to whatever we say. Anything sir, yes sir, please sir, whatever you say sir.” The Arabs laughed uproariously.
Incredulous at this open display of rudeness, Al was stunned into silence. A good customer of the bank, he could not grasp the enormity of the threat he had been confronted with. “You will actually do it?” he asked eventually. “You’ll write up the security cheque of a non-defaulter, an innocent and good customer of your bank?”
“Of course,” replied the fellow shortly. “Want to see? This is your security cheque.” The rude bastard waved it about.
They argued then, a few minutes, the disagreement mainly being over the length of time Al would be allowed to come up with the money, whether a few hours or a few days, in course of which unpleasant debate, the bank collectors found that he was married to an Arab, which astonished them, and that she was employed as an engineer at a multinational, which astonished them even more, for sheikhs and other Arab suitors of North African Arab girls end up with whores or illiterates, often both, and how on earth could he have managed better, she must be one-eyed or old or thrice married already and maybe with children, ha ha, and when Al took out his wallet and showed them her photograph they gaped open-mouthed and passed it around, and their mood changed, and now no problem she can help sort it out, bring her over and let’s see what undertaking we might take acceptable to our bank, but don’t worry because we have power and authority to help our friends, why, Hadi is practically from the same country as your wife, but when he went back home, his wife refused to meet six Arab men, for the hardest time of all is given, in Arab countries of the Persian Gulf, to Arab women, targets of relentless sexual pursuit by Arab men, chiefly locals, and unmarried pretty Arab females rarely work anywhere, except at banks and multinationals, and their life is hell on roads and in shopping malls and on telephones, and while they rang him repeatedly and futilely all next morning, she took a letter from her multinational to her bank and had a loan sanctioned against her salary then and there, and the very next morning, as he hid from his constantly ringing mobile phone, withdrew the money in hard cash and gave it all to him, which cash he deposited into his account at the exact same moment a most impressive number appeared on his mobile phone, which he knew was either the chief of the bank or the chief of Dubai, and when he answered, it was indeed a big chief, of a police station only though, come here immediately, and so he went, armed with his deposit voucher, and they had jumped the gun in their arrogance of being powerful though rather lowly employees of a bank, and stamped his security cheque ‘returned, insufficient funds’ before actually depositing the darn thing, and after a huge muddle with the chief of cops and many deputies, and much shouting later, it finally dawned on the chief that something illegal had been done, which led him to conspire quite naturally with his Arabic speaking compatriots although there was little he could do besides cover for them, as electronic records, simultaneously submitted to the central bank are notoriously difficult to erase, unless you involve the chief of that too, and so, with an unfair admonition, let Al off, while the unkempt lot trudged back to base empty handed.
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HABC successfully ruined Al’s life. Without any money, other than his wife’s salary, his business floundered, and inside three months he was in a job again. His wife discovered she did not care for life in Dubai, and, as she now ran the house and called the shots, felt it perfectly fair to return to Morocco, where her old position had been lying vacant. She took their little baby girl with her, and Al could not object.
He moved into sharing accommodation, living with two bachelors to cut down on expense, hoping to be able to repay his wife and get her to return.
A month or so after the showdown with HABC, he entered into a new adventure. It was HABC once again, and it had to do with his gold credit card. HABC had blocked it.
Al had issued no security cheque against his credit card, and was on far firmer ground now. Credit cards are never insurmountable problems when in a job. So, after he started work, he began playing hardball with HABC, about the irreversible repayments his monthly payments had now become. Eventually, frustrated at his newfound intransigence, HABC cancelled the card and sent him a lawyer’s notice to repay the full amount immediately - or else!
Al had been expecting this. HABC had been running such an extraordinarily stupid campaign against him, that, when he fired off his first letter, his entire office spent the day laughing. It was addressed to the Manager, Credit Cards. He silenced HABC for three months.
Since Nov. 1998 your Bank has slowly, blunderingly and unfairly ground its way to a legal confrontation with me..., I have been a cardholder since 1996 with no problems and nothing to identify me as any kind of risk…, your bank has charged me annual fees at exactly the same moment that it cancelled my card…, sent me letters calling me names…, sent me letters to let me know what a good customer I have been..., all at the same time…, a shoddy operation, if ever there was one…, I have been served with a Legal Notice for the entire outstanding to be paid within 3 days…, I promise you a vigorous defence of my position…, I will not let your Bank secretly conclude this matter as I think it is in the public interest…, somehow I will get a public forum for this debate…, let them know that your operation is riddled with embarrassing goof-ups and driven by irrationality…, in any case, I will neither be bullied nor browbeaten by your Bank any longer…, if you see no reason to call me, please, at least, ensure that the rude folk from your Bank, that have me on their telephonic hit-list are restrained from presuming licence to do so...
In the quiet period following the letter, he had bad news again. His wife flew back to Dubai, demanding a divorce. He argued futilely. She was adamant. Finally, he gave up and agreed, and she went and got a date with the relevant department.
Then someone again started calling from HABC, talking politely, seeking an amicable solution acceptable to both. Al did not mind, and he could use the card.
On the very day, in April 1999, that his wife finally took him to the Islamic office for such things, and they got divorced, Al reluctantly repeating the words of irrevocable separation, he received a call from HABC. Could he visit, please? Strange, he thought. He had acquired credit cards to travel to her, and on the day they separated forever he was going to meet the card people.
The first place he went to, straight from the Divorce Centre, it has some other name, was the HABC office in Sharjah, his mood black. The local Arab who trotted out to threaten him with dire consequences would never recover from his shock.
The meeting was over within five minutes. Al had arrived expecting to talk about rekindling the relationship that HABC had unilaterally snuffed out, only to find them rearmed, showing off a watani to display their weaponry. Al told him to fuck off.
He stormed back to his office, and, that very afternoon, sent HABC a second letter. Whereas the first letter had been delivered directly to the card manager’s office, this letter he faxed to HABC’s general public fax. Read it, all of you. He addressed it to the official who had initiated the round, and who had claimed to specialise in amicable solutions.
The best ‘solution’ that your bank will offer me will be very slightly different from the justice of the courts…, taken to court will complete my case…, without any default ever on my part, your Bank cancelled my Credit Card…, unfortunately, HABC also blundered badly, and I have full documentation…, all that banks seem to be interested in is the lending of excessive sums and collecting by forcing insolvency and sending customers to jail…, unnecessary criminalisation of good people by banks…, you are used to dealing with people in trouble, who you threaten with more trouble because you hold their blank cheques…, my case is the right one to help highlight the cases of the less fortunate...
HABC never again got in touch about the credit card.
Some months later, when passing through the offices of his old employer, Al was handed a letter from HABC, and he opened it, wondering what the fuck?
The bank, having written off the entire outstanding amount on his gold card, had sent a statement showing his card account as zero.
Sometimes, sales girls from HABC still called him - do you want a card, sir? He would feel like retorting, go enter my name into your bank’s main computer; it will probably cash in its microchips.
