Saturday, November 29, 2008
முதலில் இந்த விஷயம் உண்மையா பொய்யா தெரியாது.
பொய் என்றால் மன்னித்துவிடுங்கள். கல்லூரி பெயர் குறிப்பிட்டர்தற்கு ஸாரி.
எந்த ஒரு செக்சுவல் ஹராஷ்மன்ட் என்னால் ஏற்றுக்கொள்ள முடியாது.
திவ்யா, எனக்கு ஒரு உதவி வேண்டும். அவசியம் செய்வீர்கள் என்று நம்புகிறேன். இன்று காலையில் எனது நண்பரின் அழைப்பு வந்தது. அவர் சொன்னதை அப்படியே இங்கு எழுதுகிறேன்.
எனது அத்தை பெண் கோவை பிஎஸ்ஜியில் படிக்கிறாள். அவளின் பிசிக்ஸ் லெக்சரர் ஒருவர் அவளை பலமுறை புணர்ச்சிக்கு அழைத்து இருக்கிறார். இவள் தவிர்க்க பார்த்தாலும் அவர் பலவகைகளிலும் தொந்தரவு செய்கிறாராம். வீட்டில் சொன்னால் உடனடியாக படிப்பை நிறுத்தி விடுவார்களாம். ஏதாவது செய்து அந்தப் பெண்ணைக் காப்பாற்ற முடியுமா என்று கேட்டார்.
அந்த பெண் பெயர், என்ன டிபார்ட்மன்ட் போன்றவை, விவரம் தெரியவில்லை. மொட்டை கடுதாசி போன்றது இது... ஒரு நாள் எல்லாம் மூட் அவுட். நல்ல வேலை, இமெயில் ஐடி கொடுக்கவில்லை. ப்லோக் எழுதுவதை நிறுத்தி விடலாமா என்று தோன்றுகிறது.
இது வரை மேற்கூறிய விஷயம் குறித்து, ஆலோசனை செய்தேன். அப்பாவின் போலிஸ் நண்பர்கள் மூலம், என் பழைய கிளாஸ்மேட்ஸ் மூலம், இந்த விஷயம் பற்றி விசாரிக்கப்பட்டது. அப்பாவிடம் சொல்லி, எதிர்க்கட்சி எம்.எல்.ஏவிடமும், கோவை மேயரிடமும் தெரிவிக்கப்பட்டது.
இந்த விஷயம் நடந்தது, டிப்ளமா / எஞ்சினீரிங் காலேஜா, ஆர்ட்ஸ் காலேஜா தெரியவில்லை.
இருந்தாலும் ஒரு பெண் சொல்கிறாள் என்பதற்காக, சொன்ன லெக்சரர் பெயர் வைத்து எஞ்சினீரிங் காலேஜ் என்று கண்டுபிடித்தோம்.
அந்த லெக்சரர் பற்றி விசாரிக்க செய்து, பல கிளாஸ்மேட்ஸ் மூலம் நல்லவர் என தெரிந்தது.
சிலர், லேப் மார்க்ஸ் குறைவதால், ஒரு சில இன்டர்னல் மார்க்ஸ் குறைவதால், சில செமஸ்டர் பேபர்களில் பெயில் ஆவதால், வேண்டும் என்றே தவறாக (ஆண்களும், பெண்கள் என்று மொட்டை கடுதாசி) இந்த செக்சுவல் ஹராஷ்மன்ட் கம்ப்ளைன்ட் செய்கிறார்களாம். தவறு என்று தெரிந்தால் மாணவர் டிஸ்மிஸ்.
கொஞ்ச நாட்களுக்கு நான் படித்த காலேஜில் முன் ஒரு பெண் ஒரு லெக்ஸரரிடம், லேப் / இன்டர்னல் மார்க் போடாவிட்டால் தவறாக நடந்ததாக கம்ப்ளைன்ட் செய்வேன் என்று சொல்லியிருக்கிறாள்.
அதனால் எல்லா மாஸ்டர்களும் ஒரு மீட்டிங்கில் எச்சரிக்கபட்டிருக்கிறார்கள், மத போதகர் டிரஸ்ட்டி மூலம்.
பொய்யோ உண்மையோ எதுவாக இருந்தாலும், கல்லூரி நிர்வாகம், கம்ப்ளைன்ட் இல்லாமல் ஒன்று செய்யாது. அதனால் நண்பரை, தயவாய், அந்த பெண்ணை, டிபார்ட்மன்ட் ஹெட்டுக்கு ஒரு ஈமெயில் மூலம், எழுத சொல்லவும்.
மறக்காமல் வீட்டில் சொல்ல சொல்லவும். அந்த அளவு தையிரியம் இல்லாத பெண், எதற்க்கு படிக்க வேண்டும்?
எங்கோ இடிக்கிறது. அத்தை பெண்ணுக்கு உதவி செய்கிறேன் என்று வருபவர், அந்த பெண்ணின் பெயர் ஏன் சொல்லவில்லை? ஏன் அவர் தான் ஒரு மாணவராக இருந்து அந்த மாஸ்டரை பழி வாங்க ஐடியா போடக்கூடாது? போலிஸ் போனால் இதெல்லாம் சிக்கல் வரும் அல்லவா? வரும் திங்கள் காலை அவரை, பிசிக்ஸ் டிபார்ட்மன்ட் தலைவர் எதிர்பார்த்து இருப்பார்.
எனக்கு இது தவறு என்று தோன்றுகிறது. தயவாய், ஒரு ஆணின் வாழ்க்கையை கெடுத்துவிடவேண்டாம்.
தூக்கம் கெட்டது. உடம்பில் ஸ்ட்ரெஸ். எனக்கு குழந்தை ஆகாத காரணம் ஸ்ட்ரெஸ்.
This is an articlIe read on portfolio.com. Quoting as it is as reference, on my personal digital diary
To this day, the willingness of a Wall Street investment bank to pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars to dispense investment advice to grownups remains a mystery to me. I was 24 years old, with no experience of, or particular interest in, guessing which stocks and bonds would rise and which would fall. The essential function of Wall Street is to allocate capital—to decide who should get it and who should not. Believe me when I tell you that I hadn’t the first clue.
When I sat down to write my account of the experience in 1989—Liar’s Poker, it was called—it was in the spirit of a young man who thought he was getting out while the getting was good. I was merely scribbling down a message on my way out and stuffing it into a bottle for those who would pass through these parts in the far distant future.
Unless some insider got all of this down on paper, I figured, no future human would believe that it happened.
I thought I was writing a period piece about the 1980s in America. Not for a moment did I suspect that the financial 1980s would last two full decades longer or that the difference in degree between Wall Street and ordinary life would swell into a difference in kind. I expected readers of the future to be outraged that back in 1986, the C.E.O. of Salomon Brothers, John Gutfreund, was paid $3.1 million; I expected them to gape in horror when I reported that one of our traders, Howie Rubin, had moved to Merrill Lynch, where he lost $250 million; I assumed they’d be shocked to learn that a Wall Street C.E.O. had only the vaguest idea of the risks his traders were running. What I didn’t expect was that any future reader would look on my experience and say, “How quaint.”
I had no great agenda, apart from telling what I took to be a remarkable tale, but if you got a few drinks in me and then asked what effect I thought my book would have on the world, I might have said something like, “I hope that college students trying to figure out what to do with their lives will read it and decide that it’s silly to phony it up and abandon their passions to become financiers.” I hoped that some bright kid at, say, Ohio State University who really wanted to be an oceanographer would read my book, spurn the offer from Morgan Stanley, and set out to sea.
Somehow that message failed to come across. Six months after Liar’s Poker was published, I was knee-deep in letters from students at Ohio State who wanted to know if I had any other secrets to share about Wall Street. They’d read my book as a how-to manual.
In the two decades since then, I had been waiting for the end of Wall Street. The outrageous bonuses, the slender returns to shareholders, the never-ending scandals, the bursting of the internet bubble, the crisis following the collapse of Long-Term Capital Management: Over and over again, the big Wall Street investment banks would be, in some narrow way, discredited. Yet they just kept on growing, along with the sums of money that they doled out to 26-year-olds to perform tasks of no obvious social utility. The rebellion by American youth against the money culture never happened. Why bother to overturn your parents’ world when you can buy it, slice it up into tranches, and sell off the pieces?
At some point, I gave up waiting for the end. There was no scandal or reversal, I assumed, that could sink the system.
Then came Meredith Whitney with news. Whitney was an obscure analyst of financial firms for Oppenheimer Securities who, on October 31, 2007, ceased to be obscure. On that day, she predicted that Citigroup had so mismanaged its affairs that it would need to slash its dividend or go bust. It’s never entirely clear on any given day what causes what in the stock market, but it was pretty obvious that on October 31, Meredith Whitney caused the market in financial stocks to crash. By the end of the trading day, a woman whom basically no one had ever heard of had shaved $369 billion off the value of financial firms in the market. Four days later, Citigroup’s C.E.O., Chuck Prince, resigned. In January, Citigroup slashed its dividend.
From that moment, Whitney became E.F. Hutton: When she spoke, people listened. Her message was clear. If you want to know what these Wall Street firms are really worth, take a hard look at the crappy assets they bought with huge sums of borrowed money, and imagine what they’d fetch in a fire sale. The vast assemblages of highly paid people inside the firms were essentially worth nothing. For better than a year now, Whitney has responded to the claims by bankers and brokers that they had put their problems behind them with this write-down or that capital raise with a claim of her own: You’re wrong. You’re still not facing up to how badly you have mismanaged your business.
Rivals accused Whitney of being overrated; bloggers accused her of being lucky. What she was, mainly, was right. But it’s true that she was, in part, guessing. There was no way she could have known what was going to happen to these Wall Street firms. The C.E.O.’s themselves didn’t know.
Now, obviously, Meredith Whitney didn’t sink Wall Street. She just expressed most clearly and loudly a view that was, in retrospect, far more seditious to the financial order than, say, Eliot Spitzer’s campaign against Wall Street corruption. If mere scandal could have destroyed the big Wall Street investment banks, they’d have vanished long ago. This woman wasn’t saying that Wall Street bankers were corrupt. She was saying they were stupid. These people whose job it was to allocate capital apparently didn’t even know how to manage their own.
At some point, I could no longer contain myself: I called Whitney. This was back in March, when Wall Street’s fate still hung in the balance. I thought, If she’s right, then this really could be the end of Wall Street as we’ve known it. I was curious to see if she made sense but also to know where this young woman who was crashing the stock market with her every utterance had come from.
It turned out that she made a great deal of sense and that she’d arrived on Wall Street in 1993, from the Brown University history department. “I got to New York, and I didn’t even know research existed,” she says. She’d wound up at Oppenheimer and had the most incredible piece of luck: to be trained by a man who helped her establish not merely a career but a worldview. His name, she says, was Steve Eisman.
Eisman had moved on, but they kept in touch. “After I made the Citi call,” she says, “one of the best things that happened was when Steve called and told me how proud he was of me.”
Having never heard of Eisman, I didn’t think anything of this. But a few months later, I called Whitney again and asked her, as I was asking others, whom she knew who had anticipated the cataclysm and set themselves up to make a fortune from it. There’s a long list of people who now say they saw it coming all along but a far shorter one of people who actually did. Of those, even fewer had the nerve to bet on their vision. It’s not easy to stand apart from mass hysteria—to believe that most of what’s in the financial news is wrong or distorted, to believe that most important financial people are either lying or deluded—without actually being insane. A handful of people had been inside the black box, understood how it worked, and bet on it blowing up. Whitney rattled off a list with a half-dozen names on it. At the top was Steve Eisman.
Steve Eisman entered finance about the time I exited it. He’d grown up in New York City and gone to a Jewish day school, the University of Pennsylvania, and Harvard Law School. In 1991, he was a 30-year-old corporate lawyer. “I hated it,” he says. “I hated being a lawyer. My parents worked as brokers at Oppenheimer. They managed to finagle me a job. It’s not pretty, but that’s what happened.”
He was hired as a junior equity analyst, a helpmate who didn’t actually offer his opinions. That changed in December 1991, less than a year into his new job, when a subprime mortgage lender called Ames Financial went public and no one at Oppenheimer particularly cared to express an opinion about it. One of Oppenheimer’s investment bankers stomped around the research department looking for anyone who knew anything about the mortgage business. Recalls Eisman: “I’m a junior analyst and just trying to figure out which end is up, but I told him that as a lawyer I’d worked on a deal for the Money Store.” He was promptly appointed the lead analyst for Ames Financial. “What I didn’t tell him was that my job had been to proofread the documents and that I hadn’t understood a word of the fucking things.”
Ames Financial belonged to a category of firms known as nonbank financial institutions. The category didn’t include J.P. Morgan, but it did encompass many little-known companies that one way or another were involved in the early-1990s boom in subprime mortgage lending—the lower class of American finance.
The second company for which Eisman was given sole responsibility was Lomas Financial, which had just emerged from bankruptcy. “I put a sell rating on the thing because it was a piece of shit,” Eisman says. “I didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to put a sell rating on companies. I thought there were three boxes—buy, hold, sell—and you could pick the one you thought you should.” He was pressured generally to be a bit more upbeat, but upbeat wasn’t Steve Eisman’s style. Upbeat and Eisman didn’t occupy the same planet. A hedge fund manager who counts Eisman as a friend set out to explain him to me but quit a minute into it. After describing how Eisman exposed various important people as either liars or idiots, the hedge fund manager started to laugh. “He’s sort of a prick in a way, but he’s smart and honest and fearless.”
“A lot of people don’t get Steve,” Whitney says. “But the people who get him love him.” Eisman stuck to his sell rating on Lomas Financial, even after the company announced that investors needn’t worry about its financial condition, as it had hedged its market risk. “The single greatest line I ever wrote as an analyst,” says Eisman, “was after Lomas said they were hedged.” He recited the line from memory: “ ‘The Lomas Financial Corp. is a perfectly hedged financial institution: It loses money in every conceivable interest-rate environment.’ I enjoyed writing that sentence more than any sentence I ever wrote.” A few months after he’d delivered that line in his report, Lomas Financial returned to bankruptcy.
Eisman wasn’t, in short, an analyst with a sunny disposition who expected the best of his fellow financial man and the companies he created. “You have to understand,” Eisman says in his defense, “I did subprime first. I lived with the worst first. These guys lied to infinity. What I learned from that experience was that Wall Street didn’t give a shit what it sold.”
Harboring suspicions about people’s morals and telling investors that companies don’t deserve their capital wasn’t, in the 1990s or at any other time, the fast track to success on Wall Street. Eisman quit Oppenheimer in 2001 to work as an analyst at a hedge fund, but what he really wanted to do was run money. FrontPoint Partners, another hedge fund, hired him in 2004 to invest in financial stocks. Eisman’s brief was to evaluate Wall Street banks, homebuilders, mortgage originators, and any company (General Electric or General Motors, for instance) with a big financial-services division—anyone who touched American finance. An insurance company backed him with $50 million, a paltry sum. “Basically, we tried to raise money and didn't really do it,” Eisman says.
Instead of money, he attracted people whose worldviews were as shaded as his own—Vincent Daniel, for instance, who became a partner and an analyst in charge of the mortgage sector. Now 36, Daniel grew up a lower-middle-class kid in Queens. One of his first jobs, as a junior accountant at Arthur Andersen, was to audit Salomon Brothers’ books. “It was shocking,” he says. “No one could explain to me what they were doing.” He left accounting in the middle of the internet boom to become a research analyst, looking at companies that made subprime loans. “I was the only guy I knew covering companies that were all going to go bust,” he says. “I saw how the sausage was made in the economy, and it was really freaky.”
Danny Moses, who became Eisman’s head trader, was another who shared his perspective. Raised in Georgia, Moses, the son of a finance professor, was a bit less fatalistic than Daniel or Eisman, but he nevertheless shared a general sense that bad things can and do happen. When a Wall Street firm helped him get into a trade that seemed perfect in every way, he said to the salesman, “I appreciate this, but I just want to know one thing: How are you going to screw me?”
Heh heh heh, c’mon. We’d never do that, the trader started to say, but Moses was politely insistent: We both know that unadulterated good things like this trade don’t just happen between little hedge funds and big Wall Street firms. I’ll do it, but only after you explain to me how you are going to screw me. And the salesman explained how he was going to screw him. And Moses did the trade.
Both Daniel and Moses enjoyed, immensely, working with Steve Eisman. He put a fine point on the absurdity they saw everywhere around them. “Steve’s fun to take to any Wall Street meeting,” Daniel says. “Because he’ll say ‘Explain that to me’ 30 different times. Or ‘Could you explain that more, in English?’ Because once you do that, there’s a few things you learn. For a start, you figure out if they even know what they’re talking about. And a lot of times, they don’t!”
At the end of 2004, Eisman, Moses, and Daniel shared a sense that unhealthy things were going on in the U.S. housing market: Lots of firms were lending money to people who shouldn’t have been borrowing it. They thought Alan Greenspan’s decision after the internet bust to lower interest rates to 1 percent was a travesty that would lead to some terrible day of reckoning. Neither of these insights was entirely original. Ivy Zelman, at the time the housing-market analyst at Credit Suisse, had seen the bubble forming very early on. There’s a simple measure of sanity in housing prices: the ratio of median home price to income. Historically, it runs around 3 to 1; by late 2004, it had risen nationally to 4 to 1. “All these people were saying it was nearly as high in some other countries,” Zelman says. “But the problem wasn’t just that it was 4 to 1. In Los Angeles, it was 10 to 1, and in Miami, 8.5 to 1. And then you coupled that with the buyers. They weren’t real buyers. They were speculators.” Zelman alienated clients with her pessimism, but she couldn’t pretend everything was good. “It wasn’t that hard in hindsight to see it,” she says. “It was very hard to know when it would stop.” Zelman spoke occasionally with Eisman and always left these conversations feeling better about her views and worse about the world. “You needed the occasional assurance that you weren’t nuts,” she says. She wasn’t nuts. The world was.
By the spring of 2005, FrontPoint was fairly convinced that something was very screwed up not merely in a handful of companies but in the financial underpinnings of the entire U.S. mortgage market. In 2000, there had been $130 billion in subprime mortgage lending, with $55 billion of that repackaged as mortgage bonds. But in 2005, there was $625 billion in subprime mortgage loans, $507 billion of which found its way into mortgage bonds. Eisman couldn’t understand who was making all these loans or why. He had a from-the-ground-up understanding of both the U.S. housing market and Wall Street. But he’d spent his life in the stock market, and it was clear that the stock market was, in this story, largely irrelevant. “What most people don’t realize is that the fixed-income world dwarfs the equity world,” he says. “The equity world is like a fucking zit compared with the bond market.” He shorted companies that originated subprime loans, like New Century and Indy Mac, and companies that built the houses bought with the loans, such as Toll Brothers. Smart as these trades proved to be, they weren’t entirely satisfying. These companies paid high dividends, and their shares were often expensive to borrow; selling them short was a costly proposition.
Enter Greg Lippman, a mortgage-bond trader at Deutsche Bank. He arrived at FrontPoint bearing a 66-page presentation that described a better way for the fund to put its view of both Wall Street and the U.S. housing market into action. The smart trade, Lippman argued, was to sell short not New Century’s stock but its bonds that were backed by the subprime loans it had made. Eisman hadn’t known this was even possible—because until recently, it hadn’t been. But Lippman, along with traders at other Wall Street investment banks, had created a way to short the subprime bond market with precision.
Here’s where financial technology became suddenly, urgently relevant. The typical mortgage bond was still structured in much the same way it had been when I worked at Salomon Brothers. The loans went into a trust that was designed to pay off its investors not all at once but according to their rankings. The investors in the top tranche, rated AAA, received the first payment from the trust and, because their investment was the least risky, received the lowest interest rate on their money. The investors who held the trusts’ BBB tranche got the last payments—and bore the brunt of the first defaults. Because they were taking the most risk, they received the highest return. Eisman wanted to bet that some subprime borrowers would default, causing the trust to suffer losses. The way to express this view was to short the BBB tranche. The trouble was that the BBB tranche was only a tiny slice of the deal.
But the scarcity of truly crappy subprime-mortgage bonds no longer mattered. The big Wall Street firms had just made it possible to short even the tiniest and most obscure subprime-mortgage-backed bond by creating, in effect, a market of side bets. Instead of shorting the actual BBB bond, you could now enter into an agreement for a credit-default swap with Deutsche Bank or Goldman Sachs. It cost money to make this side bet, but nothing like what it cost to short the stocks, and the upside was far greater.
The arrangement bore the same relation to actual finance as fantasy football bears to the N.F.L. Eisman was perplexed in particular about why Wall Street firms would be coming to him and asking him to sell short. “What Lippman did, to his credit, was he came around several times to me and said, ‘Short this market,’ ” Eisman says. “In my entire life, I never saw a sell-side guy come in and say, ‘Short my market.’”
And short Eisman did—then he tried to get his mind around what he’d just done so he could do it better. He’d call over to a big firm and ask for a list of mortgage bonds from all over the country. The juiciest shorts—the bonds ultimately backed by the mortgages most likely to default—had several characteristics. They’d be in what Wall Street people were now calling the sand states: Arizona, California, Florida, Nevada. The loans would have been made by one of the more dubious mortgage lenders; Long Beach Financial, wholly owned by Washington Mutual, was a great example. Long Beach Financial was moving money out the door as fast as it could, few questions asked, in loans built to self-destruct. It specialized in asking homeowners with bad credit and no proof of income to put no money down and defer interest payments for as long as possible. In Bakersfield, California, a Mexican strawberry picker with an income of $14,000 and no English was lent every penny he needed to buy a house for $720,000.
More generally, the subprime market tapped a tranche of the American public that did not typically have anything to do with Wall Street. Lenders were making loans to people who, based on their credit ratings, were less creditworthy than 71 percent of the population. Eisman knew some of these people. One day, his housekeeper, a South American woman, told him that she was planning to buy a townhouse in Queens. “The price was absurd, and they were giving her a low-down-payment option-ARM,” says Eisman, who talked her into taking out a conventional fixed-rate mortgage. Next, the baby nurse he’d hired back in 1997 to take care of his newborn twin daughters phoned him. “She was this lovely woman from Jamaica,” he says. “One day she calls me and says she and her sister own five townhouses in Queens. I said, ‘How did that happen?’ ” It happened because after they bought the first one and its value rose, the lenders came and suggested they refinance and take out $250,000, which they used to buy another one. Then the price of that one rose too, and they repeated the experiment. “By the time they were done,” Eisman says, “they owned five of them, the market was falling, and they couldn’t make any of the payments.”
In retrospect, pretty much all of the riskiest subprime-backed bonds were worth betting against; they would all one day be worth zero. But at the time Eisman began to do it, in the fall of 2006, that wasn’t clear. He and his team set out to find the smelliest pile of loans they could so that they could make side bets against them with Goldman Sachs or Deutsche Bank. What they were doing, oddly enough, was the analysis of subprime lending that should have been done before the loans were made: Which poor Americans were likely to jump which way with their finances? How much did home prices need to fall for these loans to blow up? (It turned out they didn’t have to fall; they merely needed to stay flat.) The default rate in Georgia was five times higher than that in Florida even though the two states had the same unemployment rate. Why? Indiana had a 25 percent default rate; California’s was only 5 percent. Why?
The funny thing, looking back on it, is how long it took for even someone who predicted the disaster to grasp its root causes. They were learning about this on the fly, shorting the bonds and then trying to figure out what they had done. Eisman knew subprime lenders could be scumbags. What he underestimated was the total unabashed complicity of the upper class of American capitalism. For instance, he knew that the big Wall Street investment banks took huge piles of loans that in and of themselves might be rated BBB, threw them into a trust, carved the trust into tranches, and wound up with 60 percent of the new total being rated AAA.
But he couldn’t figure out exactly how the rating agencies justified turning BBB loans into AAA-rated bonds. “I didn’t understand how they were turning all this garbage into gold,” he says. He brought some of the bond people from Goldman Sachs, Lehman Brothers, and UBS over for a visit. “We always asked the same question,” says Eisman. “Where are the rating agencies in all of this? And I’d always get the same reaction. It was a smirk.” He called Standard & Poor’s and asked what would happen to default rates if real estate prices fell. The man at S&P couldn’t say; its model for home prices had no ability to accept a negative number. “They were just assuming home prices would keep going up,” Eisman says.
As an investor, Eisman was allowed on the quarterly conference calls held by Moody’s but not allowed to ask questions. The people at Moody’s were polite about their brush-off, however. The C.E.O. even invited Eisman and his team to his office for a visit in June 2007. By then, Eisman was so certain that the world had been turned upside down that he just assumed this guy must know it too. “But we’re sitting there,” Daniel recalls, “and he says to us, like he actually means it, ‘I truly believe that our rating will prove accurate.’ And Steve shoots up in his chair and asks, ‘What did you just say?’ as if the guy had just uttered the most preposterous statement in the history of finance. He repeated it. And Eisman just laughed at him.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Daniel told the C.E.O. deferentially as they left the meeting, “you’re delusional.”
This wasn’t Fitch or even S&P. This was Moody’s, the aristocrats of the rating business, 20 percent owned by Warren Buffett. And the company’s C.E.O. was being told he was either a fool or a crook by one Vincent Daniel, from Queens.
A full nine months earlier, Daniel and Moses had flown to Orlando for an industry conference. It had a grand title—the American Securitization Forum—but it was essentially a trade show for the subprime-mortgage business: the people who originated subprime mortgages, the Wall Street firms that packaged and sold subprime mortgages, the fund managers who invested in nothing but subprime-mortgage-backed bonds, the agencies that rated subprime-mortgage bonds, the lawyers who did whatever the lawyers did. Daniel and Moses thought they were paying a courtesy call on a cottage industry, but the cottage had become a castle. “There were like 6,000 people there,” Daniel says. “There were so many people being fed by this industry. The entire fixed-income department of each brokerage firm is built on this. Everyone there was the long side of the trade. The wrong side of the trade. And then there was us. That’s when the picture really started to become clearer, and we started to get more cynical, if that was possible. We went back home and said to Steve, ‘You gotta see this.’ ”
Eisman, Daniel, and Moses then flew out to Las Vegas for an even bigger subprime conference. By now, Eisman knew everything he needed to know about the quality of the loans being made. He still didn’t fully understand how the apparatus worked, but he knew that Wall Street had built a doomsday machine. He was at once opportunistic and outraged.
Their first stop was a speech given by the C.E.O. of Option One, the mortgage originator owned by H&R Block. When the guy got to the part of his speech about Option One’s subprime-loan portfolio, he claimed to be expecting a modest default rate of 5 percent. Eisman raised his hand. Moses and Daniel sank into their chairs. “It wasn’t a Q&A,” says Moses. “The guy was giving a speech. He sees Steve’s hand and says, ‘Yes?’”
“Would you say that 5 percent is a probability or a possibility?” Eisman asked.
A probability, said the C.E.O., and he continued his speech.
Eisman had his hand up in the air again, waving it around. Oh, no, Moses thought. “The one thing Steve always says,” Daniel explains, “is you must assume they are lying to you. They will always lie to you.” Moses and Daniel both knew what Eisman thought of these subprime lenders but didn’t see the need for him to express it here in this manner. For Eisman wasn’t raising his hand to ask a question. He had his thumb and index finger in a big circle. He was using his fingers to speak on his behalf. Zero! they said.
“Yes?” the C.E.O. said, obviously irritated. “Is that another question?”
“No,” said Eisman. “It’s a zero. There is zero probability that your default rate will be 5 percent.” The losses on subprime loans would be much, much greater. Before the guy could reply, Eisman’s cell phone rang. Instead of shutting it off, Eisman reached into his pocket and answered it. “Excuse me,” he said, standing up. “But I need to take this call.” And with that, he walked out.
Eisman’s willingness to be abrasive in order to get to the heart of the matter was obvious to all; what was harder to see was his credulity: He actually wanted to believe in the system. As quick as he was to cry bullshit when he saw it, he was still shocked by bad behavior. That night in Vegas, he was seated at dinner beside a really nice guy who invested in mortgage C.D.O.’s—collateralized debt obligations. By then, Eisman thought he knew what he needed to know about C.D.O.’s. He didn’t, it turned out.
Later, when I sit down with Eisman, the very first thing he wants to explain is the importance of the mezzanine C.D.O. What you notice first about Eisman is his lips. He holds them pursed, waiting to speak. The second thing you notice is his short, light hair, cropped in a manner that suggests he cut it himself while thinking about something else. “You have to understand this,” he says. “This was the engine of doom.” Then he draws a picture of several towers of debt. The first tower is made of the original subprime loans that had been piled together. At the top of this tower is the AAA tranche, just below it the AA tranche, and so on down to the riskiest, the BBB tranche—the bonds Eisman had shorted. But Wall Street had used these BBB tranches—the worst of the worst—to build yet another tower of bonds: a “particularly egregious” C.D.O. The reason they did this was that the rating agencies, presented with the pile of bonds backed by dubious loans, would pronounce most of them AAA. These bonds could then be sold to investors—pension funds, insurance companies—who were allowed to invest only in highly rated securities. “I cannot fucking believe this is allowed—I must have said that a thousand times in the past two years,” Eisman says.
His dinner companion in Las Vegas ran a fund of about $15 billion and managed C.D.O.’s backed by the BBB tranche of a mortgage bond, or as Eisman puts it, “the equivalent of three levels of dog shit lower than the original bonds.”
FrontPoint had spent a lot of time digging around in the dog shit and knew that the default rates were already sufficient to wipe out this guy’s entire portfolio. “God, you must be having a hard time,” Eisman told his dinner companion.
“No,” the guy said, “I’ve sold everything out.”
After taking a fee, he passed them on to other investors. His job was to be the C.D.O. “expert,” but he actually didn’t spend any time at all thinking about what was in the C.D.O.’s. “He managed the C.D.O.’s,” says Eisman, “but managed what? I was just appalled. People would pay up to have someone manage their C.D.O.’s—as if this moron was helping you. I thought, You prick, you don’t give a fuck about the investors in this thing.”
Whatever rising anger Eisman felt was offset by the man’s genial disposition. Not only did he not mind that Eisman took a dim view of his C.D.O.’s; he saw it as a basis for friendship. “Then he said something that blew my mind,” Eisman tells me. “He says, ‘I love guys like you who short my market. Without you, I don’t have anything to buy.’ ”
That’s when Eisman finally got it. Here he’d been making these side bets with Goldman Sachs and Deutsche Bank on the fate of the BBB tranche without fully understanding why those firms were so eager to make the bets. Now he saw. There weren’t enough Americans with shitty credit taking out loans to satisfy investors’ appetite for the end product. The firms used Eisman’s bet to synthesize more of them. Here, then, was the difference between fantasy finance and fantasy football: When a fantasy player drafts Peyton Manning, he doesn’t create a second Peyton Manning to inflate the league’s stats. But when Eisman bought a credit-default swap, he enabled Deutsche Bank to create another bond identical in every respect but one to the original. The only difference was that there was no actual homebuyer or borrower. The only assets backing the bonds were the side bets Eisman and others made with firms like Goldman Sachs. Eisman, in effect, was paying to Goldman the interest on a subprime mortgage. In fact, there was no mortgage at all. “They weren’t satisfied getting lots of unqualified borrowers to borrow money to buy a house they couldn’t afford,” Eisman says. “They were creating them out of whole cloth. One hundred times over! That’s why the losses are so much greater than the loans. But that’s when I realized they needed us to keep the machine running. I was like, This is allowed?”
This particular dinner was hosted by Deutsche Bank, whose head trader, Greg Lippman, was the fellow who had introduced Eisman to the subprime bond market. Eisman went and found Lippman, pointed back to his own dinner companion, and said, “I want to short him.” Lippman thought he was joking; he wasn’t. “Greg, I want to short his paper,” Eisman repeated. “Sight unseen.”
Eisman started out running a $60 million equity fund but was now short around $600 million of various subprime-related securities. In the spring of 2007, the market strengthened. But, says Eisman, “credit quality always gets better in March and April. And the reason it always gets better in March and April is that people get their tax refunds. You would think people in the securitization world would know this. We just thought that was moronic.”
He was already short the stocks of mortgage originators and the homebuilders. Now he took short positions in the rating agencies—“they were making 10 times more rating C.D.O.’s than they were rating G.M. bonds, and it was all going to end”—and, finally, the biggest Wall Street firms because of their exposure to C.D.O.’s. He wasn’t allowed to short Morgan Stanley because it owned a stake in his fund. But he shorted UBS, Lehman Brothers, and a few others. Not long after that, FrontPoint had a visit from Sanford C. Bernstein’s Brad Hintz, a prominent analyst who covered Wall Street firms. Hintz wanted to know what Eisman was up to. “We just shorted Merrill Lynch,” Eisman told him.
“Why?” asked Hintz.
“We have a simple thesis,” Eisman explained. “There is going to be a calamity, and whenever there is a calamity, Merrill is there.” When it came time to bankrupt Orange County with bad advice, Merrill was there. When the internet went bust, Merrill was there. Way back in the 1980s, when the first bond trader was let off his leash and lost hundreds of millions of dollars, Merrill was there to take the hit. That was Eisman’s logic—the logic of Wall Street’s pecking order. Goldman Sachs was the big kid who ran the games in this neighborhood. Merrill Lynch was the little fat kid assigned the least pleasant roles, just happy to be a part of things. The game, as Eisman saw it, was Crack the Whip. He assumed Merrill Lynch had taken its assigned place at the end of the chain.
There was only one thing that bothered Eisman, and it continued to trouble him as late as May 2007. “The thing we couldn’t figure out is: It’s so obvious. Why hasn’t everyone else figured out that the machine is done?” Eisman had long subscribed to Grant’s Interest Rate Observer, a newsletter famous in Wall Street circles and obscure outside them. Jim Grant, its editor, had been prophesying doom ever since the great debt cycle began, in the mid-1980s. In late 2006, he decided to investigate these things called C.D.O.’s. Or rather, he had asked his young assistant, Dan Gertner, a chemical engineer with an M.B.A., to see if he could understand them. Gertner went off with the documents that purported to explain C.D.O.’s to potential investors and for several days sweated and groaned and heaved and suffered. “Then he came back,” says Grant, “and said, ‘I can’t figure this thing out.’ And I said, ‘I think we have our story.’ ”
Eisman read Grant’s piece as independent confirmation of what he knew in his bones about the C.D.O.’s he had shorted. “When I read it, I thought, Oh my God. This is like owning a gold mine. When I read that, I was the only guy in the equity world who almost had an orgasm.”
On July 19, 2007, the same day that Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke told the U.S. Senate that he anticipated as much as $100 billion in losses in the subprime-mortgage market, FrontPoint did something unusual: It hosted its own conference call. It had had calls with its tiny population of investors, but this time FrontPoint opened it up. Steve Eisman had become a poorly kept secret. Five hundred people called in to hear what he had to say, and another 500 logged on afterward to listen to a recording of it. He explained the strange alchemy of the C.D.O. and said that he expected losses of up to $300 billion from this sliver of the market alone. To evaluate the situation, he urged his audience to “just throw your model in the garbage can. The models are all backward-looking.
The models don’t have any idea of what this world has become…. For the first time in their lives, people in the asset-backed-securitization world are actually having to think.” He explained that the rating agencies were morally bankrupt and living in fear of becoming actually bankrupt. “The rating agencies are scared to death,” he said. “They’re scared to death about doing nothing because they’ll look like fools if they do nothing.”
On September 18, 2008, Danny Moses came to work as usual at 6:30 a.m. Earlier that week, Lehman Brothers had filed for bankruptcy. The day before, the Dow had fallen 449 points to its lowest level in four years. Overnight, European governments announced a ban on short-selling, but that served as faint warning for what happened next.
At the market opening in the U.S., everything—every financial asset—went into free fall. “All hell was breaking loose in a way I had never seen in my career,” Moses says. FrontPoint was net short the market, so this total collapse should have given Moses pleasure. He might have been forgiven if he stood up and cheered. After all, he’d been betting for two years that this sort of thing could happen, and now it was, more dramatically than he had ever imagined. Instead, he felt this terrifying shudder run through him. He had maybe 100 trades on, and he worked hard to keep a handle on them all. “I spent my morning trying to control all this energy and all this information,” he says, “and I lost control. I looked at the screens. I was staring into the abyss. The end. I felt this shooting pain in my head. I don’t get headaches. At first, I thought I was having an aneurysm.”
Moses stood up, wobbled, then turned to Daniel and said, “I gotta leave. Get out of here. Now.” Daniel thought about calling an ambulance but instead took Moses out for a walk.
Outside it was gorgeous, the blue sky reaching down through the tall buildings and warming the soul. Eisman was at a Goldman Sachs conference for hedge fund managers, raising capital. Moses and Daniel got him on the phone, and he left the conference and met them on the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. “We just sat there,” Moses says. “Watching the people pass.”
This was what they had been waiting for: total collapse. “The investment-banking industry is fucked,” Eisman had told me a few weeks earlier. “These guys are only beginning to understand how fucked they are. It’s like being a Scholastic, prior to Newton. Newton comes along, and one morning you wake up: ‘Holy shit, I’m wrong!’ ” Now Lehman Brothers had vanished, Merrill had surrendered, and Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley were just a week away from ceasing to be investment banks. The investment banks were not just fucked; they were extinct.
Not so for hedge fund managers who had seen it coming. “As we sat there, we were weirdly calm,” Moses says. “We felt insulated from the whole market reality. It was an out-of-body experience. We just sat and watched the people pass and talked about what might happen next. How many of these people were going to lose their jobs. Who was going to rent these buildings after all the Wall Street firms collapsed.” Eisman was appalled. “Look,” he said. “I’m short. I don’t want the country to go into a depression. I just want it to fucking deleverage.” He had tried a thousand times in a thousand ways to explain how screwed up the business was, and no one wanted to hear it. “That Wall Street has gone down because of this is justice,” he says. “They fucked people. They built a castle to rip people off. Not once in all these years have I come across a person inside a big Wall Street firm who was having a crisis of conscience.”
Truth to tell, there wasn’t a whole lot of hand-wringing inside FrontPoint either. The only one among them who wrestled a bit with his conscience was Daniel. “Vinny, being from Queens, needs to see the dark side of everything,” Eisman says. To which Daniel replies, “The way we thought about it was, ‘By shorting this market we’re creating the liquidity to keep the market going.’ ”
“It was like feeding the monster,” Eisman says of the market for subprime bonds. “We fed the monster until it blew up.”
About the time they were sitting on the steps of the midtown cathedral, I sat in a booth in a restaurant on the East Side, waiting for John Gutfreund to arrive for lunch, and wondered, among other things, why any restaurant would seat side by side two men without the slightest interest in touching each other.
There was an umbilical cord running from the belly of the exploded beast back to the financial 1980s. A friend of mine created the first mortgage derivative in 1986, a year after we left the Salomon Brothers trading program. (“The problem isn’t the tools,” he likes to say. “It’s who is using the tools. Derivatives are like guns.”)
When I published my book, the 1980s were supposed to be ending. I received a lot of undeserved credit for my timing. The social disruption caused by the collapse of the savings-and-loan industry and the rise of hostile takeovers and leveraged buyouts had given way to a brief period of recriminations. Just as most students at Ohio State read Liar’s Poker as a manual, most TV and radio interviewers regarded me as a whistleblower. (The big exception was Geraldo Rivera. He put me on a show called “People Who Succeed Too Early in Life” along with some child actors who’d gone on to become drug addicts.) Anti-Wall Street feeling ran high—high enough for Rudy Giuliani to float a political career on it—but the result felt more like a witch hunt than an honest reappraisal of the financial order. The public lynchings of Gutfreund and junk-bond king Michael Milken were excuses not to deal with the disturbing forces underpinning their rise. Ditto the cleaning up of Wall Street’s trading culture. The surface rippled, but down below, in the depths, the bonus pool remained undisturbed. Wall Street firms would soon be frowning upon profanity, firing traders for so much as glancing at a stripper, and forcing male employees to treat women almost as equals. Lehman Brothers circa 2008 more closely resembled a normal corporation with solid American values than did any Wall Street firm circa 1985.
The changes were camouflage. They helped distract outsiders from the truly profane event: the growing misalignment of interests between the people who trafficked in financial risk and the wider culture.
I’d not seen Gutfreund since I quit Wall Street. I’d met him, nervously, a couple of times on the trading floor. A few months before I left, my bosses asked me to explain to Gutfreund what at the time seemed like exotic trades in derivatives I’d done with a European hedge fund. I tried. He claimed not to be smart enough to understand any of it, and I assumed that was how a Wall Street C.E.O. showed he was the boss, by rising above the details. There was no reason for him to remember any of these encounters, and he didn’t: When my book came out and became a public-relations nuisance to him, he told reporters we’d never met.
Over the years, I’d heard bits and pieces about Gutfreund. I knew that after he’d been forced to resign from Salomon Brothers he’d fallen on harder times. I heard later that a few years ago he’d sat on a panel about Wall Street at Columbia Business School. When his turn came to speak, he advised students to find something more meaningful to do with their lives. As he began to describe his career, he broke down and wept.
When I emailed him to invite him to lunch, he could not have been more polite or more gracious. That attitude persisted as he was escorted to the table, made chitchat with the owner, and ordered his food. He’d lost a half-step and was more deliberate in his movements, but otherwise he was completely recognizable. The same veneer of denatured courtliness masked the same animal need to see the world as it was, rather than as it should be.
We spent 20 minutes or so determining that our presence at the same lunch table was not going to cause the earth to explode. We discovered we had a mutual acquaintance in New Orleans. We agreed that the Wall Street C.E.O. had no real ability to keep track of the frantic innovation occurring inside his firm. (“I didn’t understand all the product lines, and they don’t either,” he said.) We agreed, further, that the chief of the Wall Street investment bank had little control over his subordinates. (“They’re buttering you up and then doing whatever the fuck they want to do.”) He thought the cause of the financial crisis was “simple. Greed on both sides—greed of investors and the greed of the bankers.” I thought it was more complicated. Greed on Wall Street was a given—almost an obligation. The problem was the system of incentives that channeled the greed.
But I didn’t argue with him. For just as you revert to being about nine years old when you visit your parents, you revert to total subordination when you are in the presence of your former C.E.O. John Gutfreund was still the King of Wall Street, and I was still a geek. He spoke in declarative statements; I spoke in questions.
But as he spoke, my eyes kept drifting to his hands. His alarmingly thick and meaty hands. They weren’t the hands of a soft Wall Street banker but of a boxer. I looked up. The boxer was smiling—though it was less a smile than a placeholder expression. And he was saying, very deliberately, “Your…fucking…book.”
I smiled back, though it wasn’t quite a smile.
“Your fucking book destroyed my career, and it made yours,” he said.
I didn’t think of it that way and said so, sort of.
“Why did you ask me to lunch?” he asked, though pleasantly. He was genuinely curious.
You can’t really tell someone that you asked him to lunch to let him know that you don’t think of him as evil. Nor can you tell him that you asked him to lunch because you thought that you could trace the biggest financial crisis in the history of the world back to a decision he had made. John Gutfreund did violence to the Wall Street social order—and got himself dubbed the King of Wall Street—when he turned Salomon Brothers from a private partnership into Wall Street’s first public corporation. He ignored the outrage of Salomon’s retired partners. (“I was disgusted by his materialism,” William Salomon, the son of the firm’s founder, who had made Gutfreund C.E.O. only after he’d promised never to sell the firm, had told me.) He lifted a giant middle finger at the moral disapproval of his fellow Wall Street C.E.O.’s. And he seized the day. He and the other partners not only made a quick killing; they transferred the ultimate financial risk from themselves to their shareholders. It didn’t, in the end, make a great deal of sense for the shareholders. (A share of Salomon Brothers purchased when I arrived on the trading floor, in 1986, at a then market price of $42, would be worth 2.26 shares of Citigroup today—market value: $27.) But it made fantastic sense for the investment bankers.
From that moment, though, the Wall Street firm became a black box. The shareholders who financed the risks had no real understanding of what the risk takers were doing, and as the risk-taking grew ever more complex, their understanding diminished. The moment Salomon Brothers demonstrated the potential gains to be had by the investment bank as public corporation, the psychological foundations of Wall Street shifted from trust to blind faith.
No investment bank owned by its employees would have levered itself 35 to 1 or bought and held $50 billion in mezzanine C.D.O.’s. I doubt any partnership would have sought to game the rating agencies or leap into bed with loan sharks or even allow mezzanine C.D.O.’s to be sold to its customers. The hoped-for short-term gain would not have justified the long-term hit.
No partnership, for that matter, would have hired me or anyone remotely like me. Was there ever any correlation between the ability to get in and out of Princeton and a talent for taking financial risk?
Now I asked Gutfreund about his biggest decision. “Yes,” he said. “They—the heads of the other Wall Street firms—all said what an awful thing it was to go public and how could you do such a thing. But when the temptation arose, they all gave in to it.” He agreed that the main effect of turning a partnership into a corporation was to transfer the financial risk to the shareholders. “When things go wrong, it’s their problem,” he said—and obviously not theirs alone. When a Wall Street investment bank screwed up badly enough, its risks became the problem of the U.S. government. “It’s laissez-faire until you get in deep shit,” he said, with a half chuckle. He was out of the game.
It was now all someone else’s fault.
He watched me curiously as I scribbled down his words. “What’s this for?” he asked.
I told him I thought it might be worth revisiting the world I’d described in Liar’s Poker, now that it was finally dying. Maybe bring out a 20th-anniversary edition.
“That’s nauseating,” he said.
Hard as it was for him to enjoy my company, it was harder for me not to enjoy his. He was still tough, as straight and blunt as a butcher. He’d helped create a monster, but he still had in him a lot of the old Wall Street, where people said things like “A man’s word is his bond.” On that Wall Street, people didn’t walk out of their firms and cause trouble for their former bosses by writing books about them. “No,” he said, “I think we can agree about this: Your fucking book destroyed my career, and it made yours.” With that, the former king of a former Wall Street lifted the plate that held his appetizer and asked sweetly, “Would you like a deviled egg?”
Until that moment, I hadn’t paid much attention to what he’d been eating. Now I saw he’d ordered the best thing in the house, this gorgeous frothy confection of an earlier age. Who ever dreamed up the deviled egg? Who knew that a simple egg could be made so complicated and yet so appealing? I reached over and took one. Something for nothing. It never loses its charm.
Friday, November 28, 2008
ஐந்து மணிக்கு எழுந்துவிட்டேன். அரைகுறை தூக்கம்.
டிவி ஆன் செய்தால், இந்த நியூஸ் தான். மும்பையில் மரண பயம். போர்.
இன்னும் பயம் விட்டு அகலவில்லை. போர் நடக்கிறது.
அல் கைதாவின் தாக்குதல் போல உள்ளது என்று சொல்லுகிறார்கள். ப்ளேனட் அட்டாக்?
சில தமிழ் ப்ளாக்ஸ் படித்தேன், எல்லோரும் இந்து / முஸ்லீம் திவிரவாதம் என்று பேசுகிறார்கள். வேறே வேலை இல்லையா?
ஜோவின் நண்பர் ஒருவர் ட்ரைய்தேன்டில் இருந்தார். நாற்பது மணி நேரம் பன்னிர்றேண்டாம் மாடியில் அடைப்பட்டு இருந்தவர்... தப்பித்தார். அவருடைய ரூம் இருந்தது பதின்மூன்றாம் மாடி. மேலே சத்தம் கேட்டு, அறைக்கு ஓடியவர், தப்பான ப்ளோரில் இரங்கி, திறந்த ரூமில் புகுந்துக்கொண்டார்.
ஆயுசு கெட்டி. கிழே இறங்கி வரும் போது, துனிபெட்டி கொண்டு வந்த மும்பை போலிஸ் ஆள், இருக்கும் பணத்தை கொடுத்து விட்டு போங்கள் என்றாராம். கட்டாயம்? காசு என்ன காசு என்று பர்சில் இருந்த முன்னூறு டாலர்கள் கொடுத்துள்ளார்.
டேரரிச்டுகள் இருந்த ரூம்கள்... மேலே மூன்று மாடிகள். ஆண்டவா!
ரிசப்சன் அருகே, அவருடைய சேப் பணம், காலி. யாரோ எல்லாம் காலி செய்துவிட்டார்கள். இன்னொரு நண்பர் மூலம் ஏற்பாடு செய்து, இப்போது ஒ.கே. பெங்களூரில் இருக்கிறார். அவர் பெற்றோர் உடனடியாக அமெரிக்கா வா என்கிறார்கள்.
போலிஸ் ஏற்பாடு செய்த இலவச டாக்சியில், ஏர்போர்ட் செல்ல ஐந்தாயிரம் ருபாய் வாங்கியுள்ளார்கள்! இதை விட நம் இந்திய நாட்டின் (நான் பிறந்த) மானம் வேறு எங்கும் போகாது.
ஆமாம் டிவியில் எதற்கு லைவாக காட்டுகிறார்கள்? அமெரிக்கா மோகமா? இரண்டு பேர் பார்வையாளர்கள் அடிபட்டு இறந்தார்கலாம். கொடுமை.
இங்கே தான், அமேரிக்காவில் யாரவது சுட்டு விட்டால்... அப்போது போய் வெக்கும் காமரா, இரண்டு நாள் டிவியில் ஓடும். நிறைய சேனல்கள் இருப்பதால் இது ஒரு கவலை. அவரவர் வேலை பார்த்துக்கொண்டு போவோம்.
இப்போது தான் சோனால் ஷாவிடம் பேசினேன். ஒபமாவின் டீமில் இருப்பவர்.
அவரும் ஐந்து மணிக்கு எழுந்து டிவி பார்த்துள்ளார். மோடி பேசியது தவறு என்றார். இது அரசியல் பேசும் டைம் இல்லை.
மோடி என்னதான் பேசினார்? மன்மோகன் சிங் சரியாக பேசவில்லை... அவரால் நாட்டுக்கு என்ன நன்மை... போல்.. கேவலம் மோடி சார்.
நன்றாக படித்தவர் நாட்டை ஆள்ந்தால் கோடி நன்மை.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
இருந்தாலும் மன வருத்தம் அதிகம். வெளியில் சென்று வாரம் பயம் ஜாஸ்தி.
மும்பை ஆபிஸ் இரண்டு நாள் லீவு. எனக்கு வர வேண்டிய ரிபோர்ட்ஸ் வருமா?
அப்பா டிக்கட் டிசம்பர் 24 காலை கிடைத்துவிட்டது என்றார்கள். மும்பை வழி. துபாயிலிருந்து A 380 தான், ரிடர்னும் கூட. அப்பா அம்மா டிக்கட் ஓபன் ஆக வைத்துள்ளார்கள். எகனாமியில் 46000 ருபாய் மட்டும் என்றார்கள். வின்டர் பேர். ஒ.கே. தான். குழந்தைகளுக்கு 6000 குறைவு.
கோவை -> மும்பை -> துபாய் -> நியூ யார்க் ... உலகம் சிறிதாகுகிறது.
கிறிஸ்ட்மஸ் மதியம் நியூ யார்க்கில் இருப்பார்கள். இரவு டின்னருக்கு ஜோவின் அப்பா அம்மா வருகிறார்கள். நன்றாக இருக்கும். நானும் லீவில் இருப்பேன். அப்ச்டேட் நியூ யார்க் சென்று அல்பனி தாண்டி, ஸ்கி ரெசார்ட் ஒன்று கூட்டி செல்ல ப்ளான்...
பிலேதேல்பியா, ரெட்டிங், அல்லேண்டவ்ன், பிரின்ஸ்டன்... இங்கெல்லாம் செல்ல வேண்டும். தங்கை குடும்பம் ஜனவரி 9 இரவு 11 மணி எமிரேட்ஸ் டிக்கட். கோவையில் ஜனவரி 11, ஞாயிறு மதியம் இருப்பார்கள்.
அமெரிக்காவில் அதற்குள் நல்ல நிலைமை வந்தால் சரி தான்.
ஜனவரி 15 அன்று காலை பிட்ட்ச்பர்கில் எங்கள் சொந்தத்தில் ஒரு கல்யாணம். இந்தியாவில் ரெஜிஸ்டர் மரேஜ் ஆகிவிட்டது. கே-விசா. அதனால் மீண்டும் யு.எஸில் கோவில் கல்யாணம். ஒரு மினிஸ்டர் ஆப் ஜஸ்டிஸ் மரேஜ் வேறு உள்ளது.
தம்பி கல்யாணம் செய்து டிவர்ஸ் செய்தவள், கணவனின் அண்ணனை கரம் பிடிக்கிறாள்.
என்ன உலகமடா இது? No one is an Outsider, but an Insider only!
நியூ யார்க், சிகாகோ, சான் பிரான்சிஸ்கோ மற்றும் லாஸ் ஏஞ்செல்ஸ்... அடிபடும் அபாயம்...
மக்கள் கூட்டம் அதிகம் உள்ள இடம் தான் கவனிப்பு தேவை.
அமெரிக்காவில் பயம் ஜாஸ்தி இப்போது.
அல் கைதாவின் அட்டகாசம் இருக்குமா?
எல்லோரும் பத்திரமாக இருங்கள்.
Please take care of yourself, better now than late!
இந்த நேரத்தில் மும்பையில் உயிர் நீத்த குடும்பங்களுக்கு ஆழ்ந்த அனுதாபங்கள்.
அப்பாவிடம் இருந்து ஓர் கால். சந்தோசம். தாங்க்ஸ்கிவிங் விசஸ். அம்மாவிற்கு இந்த பண்டிகை புரியவில்லை. எல்லோரும் மும்பை பற்றி பேச்சு தான்.
அமெரிக்கன் இந்தியன்ஸ், சென்ற வருட வின்டர் நன்றாக இருந்தது, கவலை இல்லை, இந்த வருடம் அதே மாதிரி இருக்கு பிரார்த்தனை செய்து கொண்டாடுவது தான் ஹாப்பி தாங்க்ஸ்கிவிங்!
ஜோவின் குடும்பம் ஐரிஷ் காதொலிக்ஸ். அதனால், கிறிஸ்மஸ் கேக் ஊற வைப்பது, பழம் மற்றும் வைனோடு... விசேஷம் இன்று தான். டிசம்பர் 24 காலை, தான் அவனுக்குள் போகும். ஆறு மணி நேரம் கூக் செய்ய வேண்டும்.
இன்று டின்னருக்கு பேமிலி மட்டும் தான். நாளை நண்பர்கள் வீட்டு லன்ச்.
இந்த ஏரியாவில் தாங்க்ஸ்கிவிங் கொண்டாடங்கள் மும்பை குண்டு வெடிப்பு ஆனதால், நிறுத்திவிட்டார்கள். நன்றாக இருக்காது. கொடுமையான வரலாறு இது, 1993 இக்கு பிறகு. இப்போது ஒரு நாளில் தப்பித்தேன், அப்போது ஒரு வாரம் கழித்து, மும்பை எப்போதும் போல இருந்தது.
எல்லோரும் நன்றாக இருக்க வேண்டும் , மருதமலை முருகா!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
என் நண்பர்கள் அங்கே எல்லோரும் safe... அடிபட்டவர்கள் ஆத்மா சாந்தி அடையட்டும். அவர்கள் குடும்பத்திற்கு அனுதாபங்கள்.
Like one person said, thank God I escaped.
எல்லாம் மருதமலை முருகன் அருள்.
இதையும் படியுங்கள், நண்பி வினிதா எழுதியது...
இன்று மத்தியானம் ஐந்து மணிக்கு சார்பாக கிளம்பி, ஷா மில் பார்க்வே வழியாக, ஹார்ட்போர்ட், கேம்ப்ரிஜ், பாஸ்டன். வழியில் ஒரு 10 நிமிடம் ரெஸ்ட் ஸ்டாப். அவ்வளவு தான். ஒன்பது மணிக்கு வீடு.
இந்த முறை தான் சூப்பர் ஸ்பீட். ஸ்னோ விழுகிறது. இந்த முறை குறைவு தான். குளோபல் வார்மிங்? வழுக்கும். அதனால், யாரும் ஒட்டுவதில்லை. பனி மீது தான்... மான்கள் ஓடிக்கொண்டு இருக்கும், ஜாக்கிரதை! அடிபட்டால், நின்று அவற்றை அப்புறப்படுத்தி, போலிசுக்கு கால் செய்து, பிறகு தான் செல்ல வேண்டும்.
எல்லோரும், தாங்க்ஸ்கிவிங் மூடில் இருந்தார்கள். ஜோ சிறு குழந்தை ஆகிவிடுவார் இந்த சமயம். பாஸ்டன் குடும்ப நபர்கள் கூட்டம், கொஞ்சம் இனிமையானது. அமெரிக்கன் உறவு ஒரு தனி சுவை. அதை பற்றி நிறைய பதிவுகள் போடலாம். ஏன்டா வம்பு.. குடும்ப பேர் சொன்னால், பிரச்சனை.
ஜோவின் சித்தப்பாவும் இருந்தார். அவர் நியூ யார்க் பிசினஸ் ஆள். அரசியலிலும் இருக்கிறார். கேன்சரோடு போராடுகிறார், தொண்டையில். அறுபது வயதில் கொடுமை.
மாமியார், மாமனார், உச்சி முகர்ந்தார். ரொம்ப நன்றாக பார்த்துக்கொள்கிறார்கள். சில சமயம் அம்மா நினைவு வரும் போது, அவரிடம் சென்று பேசினால்.. மனம் அமைதி ஆகும்.
நாளை காலை எழுந்தவுடன், நிறைய நண்பர்களுக்கு கால் செய்து வாழ்த்து தெரிவிக்க வேண்டும். இப்போது ரெஸ்ட். தூக்கம் வரவில்லை. ப்லோக் டைபிங். ஜோ டிவி பார்க்கிறார். நல்ல ப்ரோக்ராம்ஸ். பேஸ்பால்.
ஹாப்பி தாங்க்ஸ்கிவிங். (இந்தியாவில்?)
நான் வழியெங்கும் தூங்கி எழுந்தேன். சிறிது நேரம் இந்த ப்லோக் டைப் செய்தேன். ஜோவிடம் வேலை பற்றி பேசினேன். இன்னும் ஒன்றும் முடிவு செய்யவில்லை. பணமும் முக்கியம் என்று தோன்றுகிறது.
தியாகுவும் (என் பாஸ்) செல்லும் எண்ணத்தில் இருக்கிறார். மதுரைக்காரர். அங்கு மீண்டும் செட்டில் ஆகலாம். மனைவி ஒரு டாக்டர். ஒரு க்ளினிக் வைத்து ரிடயர் ஆகிவிடலாம்.
அதனால் இங்கேயே இருந்தால், கவர்மன்ட் கண்ட்ரோல் கம்பனி... ஆகிவிட்டது.
நியூ யார்க்கில் வீடு, பெங்களூரில் வீடு என்றால், இன்னும் ஒரு கோடி முடங்கிவிடும்... ஜோவின் ஆசியும் இந்தியாவில் இன்னும் பத்து வருடங்களில் செட்டில் ஆக வேண்டும் என்பது.
ஒரு வருடம் ட்ரை செய்து பார்க்கலாமா? சொல்லுங்கள்.
வேலை என்பது ஒரு கணவன் போல. ஒன்றை பிடித்தால் பிடித்து கொள்ள வேண்டும். ஆனால் சில சமயம், அந்த வேலையே பிரச்சனை ஆனால்? மகாபாரதத்தில் தான் பாஞ்சாலி ஐந்து பேரை கல்யாணம் செய்து வாழ்ந்தாள்...
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! What about India?
ஜோ ஏர்போர்ட் வந்திருந்தார்.... சந்தோசம்.... பத்து நாள் பிரிவு. ப்ளேனில் இருந்து மூன்று மணி நேரம் முன் அட்லாண்டிக் ஓசியன் மேல பறந்தபடி ஒரு நிமிடம் பேசினேன். ஐந்து டாலருக்கு சாட்டிலைட் போன். நல்லது தான்.
வெளியில் காருக்கு, பார்க் செய்த இடத்தை அடையும் போது, அந்த வயதான அம்மா, ஏர்போர்டில் என்னை பார்த்தும் ஓடி வந்தார் ஆனால் இங்கே, அவர் மகன் முன் வெடுக்கென்று முகத்தை திருப்பி கொண்டு, ஸ்டைலாக, அந்த டாத்ஜில் ஏறிக்கொண்டு சென்றார். என்ன கொடுமைங்க இது...
அந்த அம்மா மகன் நியூ யார்க்கில் இருக்கிறான் என்றார். அவர் கார் நியூ ஜெர்சி நம்பர் ப்ளேட் இருந்தது. மகன் படித்தால் நன்று. அம்மா பற்றி தெரிந்து கொள்ளட்டும்!
ப்ளைடிலே, கிழே உள்ளவற்றை டைப் செய்தேன்.
அந்த அம்மா, நடக்க முடியாத நோயாளி போல நடித்து, என் பணத்தையும் துபாயில் செலவு செய்ய வைத்து... பிசினஸ் லவுஞ்சில் உட்கார்ந்து ...மும்பையில் என்னை ஒட்டி, பிசினஸ் க்ளாஸ் லவுஞ்சில் உட்கார்ந்து... இளைப்பாறி... அப்புறம் ப்ளைட்டில் ஏறிய பிறகு ... இடையில் அவ்வளவு பெரிய ப்ளைட்டில் என்னை தேடி பிடித்து, பெண் என்பதால், என் பக்கத்தில் சீட் எம்ப்டி, அதில் சில மணி நேரம் அமர்ந்து கொண்டார். சரியான அறுவை... மருமகள் மீது அவதூறு...உணவு சமயம் ஏர் ஹோஸ்டஸ், நான் கேட்டுகொண்டதர்க்காக, அவருக்கு அங்கேயே உணவு பரிமாறினார். எமிரேட்சில் தான் நடக்கும். மற்ற ஏர்லைன்சில் ஒட்டி விடுவார்கள் எகனாமி இடத்திற்கு. மரியாதை கிடையாது.
கடைசி வரை அந்த அம்மாவிடம், என் கணவர் பற்றியோ, அல்லாது, தொழில் பற்றியோ, போன் நம்பரோ கொடுக்கவில்லை. அவர் உட்கார்ந்த பிசினஸ் கிளாஸ் சீட்டில், பிசினஸ் க்ளாஸ் பாசெஞ்சர்களுக்கு மட்டும் கொடுப்பதற்காக வைத்திருந்த ஒரு டாய்லெட்டெரி பேகில், சோப், பெர்ப்யும் போன்றவை பிராண்ட் பிரபலமான ஒன்று, வைத்திருந்தார்கள், அதை நைசாக எடுத்து சென்று விட்டார்... டூட்டி ப்ரீ விற்று வந்தார்கள். மகன் குழந்தைகளுக்கு இரண்டு டால்ஸ் வாங்கி கொடு (என்பது டாலர்) பணம் ஊர் போனதும் மகனிடம் வாங்கி கொடுக்கிறேன் என்றார். நான் சிரித்துக்கொண்டு மறுத்துவிட்டேன். மகனுக்கு ஒரு கால் போட்டு கொடு என்றார், முடியாது என்று சொல்லிவிட்டேன்.
அந்த அம்மாவின் பெயர் விஜயலஷ்மி சுப்ரமணியம், சென்னைக்காரர், பாடகி அல்லது பாட்டு க்ளாஸ் எடுப்பவர், மைலாபூரில் இருக்கிறார். இரண்டு வருடத்திற்கு ஒரு முறை அமெரிக்கா வருகிறாராம். பத்து வருடங்களாக மகன் அமேரிக்காவில் இருக்கிறாராம்.
என் தங்கை ஜோக்கடிப்பாள், உன் மூஞ்சியில் ஒரு ஈ.வி. லேபில் இருக்கு என்று. உண்மை தான்!
சிலர் அப்படிதான், நாம் தான் ஜாக்கிரதையாக இருக்க வேண்டும்.
(நான் சுடிதார் தான் போட்டிருந்தேன், அதனால் தானோ? மற்ற எல்லா இந்திய பெண்களும், ரொம்பவும் மாடர்னாக மிடி மாக்சி கவுன்ஸ்... ஆனால் சுடிதார் மாதிரி ப்ரீயாக இருக்காது...)
இப்போது தான் வீடு வந்தோம். மெயில்ஸ் செக், அப்புறம், இந்த ப்லோக் ஒன்று பினிஷ் செய்ய வேண்டும். எங்கள் மெய்ட் சுத்தம் செய்து வைத்திருந்தார். சூடான, நூடில்ஸ்... ஜோ ரெடி செய்கிறார்...அப்புறம் தான் குளியல்...
ஏர்போர்டில் இருந்து வரும் போது, அப்பாவிற்கு கால் செய்தேன். அங்கு டைம் நடு இரவிற்கு அருகில் . அவர்களுக்கும் நிம்மதி, எனக்கும் தான்.
ஒரு மணி நேரம் தூங்கி எழுந்து பாஸ்டன் கிளம்ப வேண்டும் ... ட்ராப்பிக் இருக்கும்.
ஐந்து மணிக்கு கிளம்பினால்... பத்து மணிக்குள் அங்கு இருப்போம்.
போகும் வழியில் பேசி என் வாழ்க்கை பாதை பற்றி முடிவு ஒன்று எடுக்க வேண்டும். எந்த வேலை எடுப்பது?