August 28, 2000 Chief Executive's Secretariat, Islamabad 23:30 Hours (11:30 PM)
The red telephone on my desk began to ring. The "Hotline."
It was a dedicated secure line installed after the 1998 nuclear tests. When this phone rang, it usually meant one thing: Are you launching the missiles?
I picked it up.
"Prime Minister," I said calmly.
"General," the voice of Atal Bihari Vajpayee crackled on the other end. It was slow, deliberate, and heavy with the pause of a poet. "My National Security Advisor tells me you are not mobilizing tanks. You are mobilizing... bankers?"
I smiled. "I prefer to call them shareholders, Excellency."
"I have the proposal in front of me," Vajpayee said. "The 'Fan Equity Model'. You want the State Bank of India to collect deposits for Pakistani cricket teams? My Finance Minister thinks it is a pyramid scheme."
The Sales Pitch
"It is not a scheme, Prime Minister. It is a mirror," I said, leaning back in my chair.
"Tell me, Excellency. What does the average Indian household do with its savings? Do they invest in the stock market? No. They are conservative. They buy gold. They buy fixed deposits. They hide cash in the mattress."
"We call it Lakshmi," Vajpayee murmured. "The Goddess of Wealth. We keep her locked in the iron almirah."
"Exactly," I said. "There are billions of dollars of dead capital sitting in those almirahs. I am proposing we unlock it. Not by asking them to invest in a factory, but by asking them to invest in their passion."
"I am offering them a 'Victory Bond'," I continued. "Five dollars. 250 Rupees. Safe capital. Guaranteed by the State. But it gives them the right to vote for their team."
The Baniya Logic
"General," Vajpayee's voice sharpened. "I understand the psychology. But explain the economics. How does locking away 250 Rupees make our economies grow?"
"Because of the Interest Rate, Sir," I played my ace card.
"The interest rate in India is 11%. In Pakistan, it is 12%. If we mobilize $200 Million from the public and lock it for five years... the interest alone is $24 Million a year."
I let the number hang in the air.
"That $24 Million pays for the stadiums. It pays for the players. It pays for the travel. We create a multi-million dollar industry out of thin air, just by using the interest on the public's sleeping cash."
"And the principal?" Vajpayee asked.
"Safe in the banks," I replied. "Increasing the liquidity of your banking sector. The State Bank of India gets a massive injection of cash reserves. Your lending capacity increases. Your inflation stabilizes."
There was a long silence on the line. I knew Vajpayee was doing the mental math. He wasn't just a poet; he understood the soul of the Indian middle class. They loved safety, and they loved cricket. I was giving them both.
The Political Masterstroke
"And the voting?" Vajpayee asked softly. "You want my people in Mumbai to vote for... Pakistani players?"
"I want them to vote for Winners," I corrected.
"Think about the optics, Prime Minister. Imagine a Shiv Sena supporter in Dadar. He buys a share in the Mumbai team. He wants Mumbai to win. He looks at the draft list. He sees Wasim Akram."
I chuckled.
"Does he vote for an inferior Indian bowler just to be patriotic? Or does he vote for the Pakistani Sultan because he wants to hold the trophy? You know the answer. The capitalist in him will defeat the nationalist in him."
"You are a dangerous man, General," Vajpayee laughed, a wheezing, genuine sound. "You are turning the mob into a Board of Directors."
The Agreement
"It is better than them being a mob, isn't it?" I asked.
"It is," Vajpayee agreed. "If they are busy counting their dividends, they won't have time to burn buses."
"So, do I have your support?" I asked. "I need the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) to clear the cross-border equity structure. I need the 'sub-continent' to be treated as a single financial market for this league."
"You have it," Vajpayee said. "I will tell the RBI Governor to classify it as a 'Cultural Exchange Bond'. It bypasses the foreign investment restrictions."
"Thank you, Prime Minister."
The Poet's Warning
"But General," Vajpayee added, his voice turning serious.
"Yes?"
"Make sure the dividend checks arrive on time. An angry voter votes you out of office. An angry investor? He burns the bank."
"The checks will clear," I promised. "The interest rate is on our side."
"Then let the games begin," Vajpayee said. "And General... if the Delhi team doesn't sign Shoaib Akhtar, I will be very disappointed. I have bought ten shares myself."
The line clicked dead.
I put the phone down, grinning in the darkness.
The Prime Minister of India just admitted to insider trading on a Pakistani-led initiative.
I looked at the file marked 'Operation: Golden Handcuffs'.
The trap was set. The economies were about to be fused together by the strongest glue known to man: The greed of the middle class.