In Ravi Subramanian’s banking world every mean is justified if it gives the end the people want. He talks of people, who pay two and half lakhs rupee rent on apartments, who shift their allegiance at a drop of the hat for their cause, women who don’t even think twice to seduce their bosses and the works. Being ruthless in their ambition only seems to be the hallmark of the people who inhabit this world and coming from a veteran in both banking and its related fiction, his characters are only too believable.  Ethical dilemmas are rare but when found are dealt clinically with higher incentives or better appraisals and when none of them work, they unite to force it out of their system.

But “The Bankster” has more to offer in its James Bondesque international conspiracy to undermine India’s efforts at launching a nuclear power plant at Trikakulam in Kerala. Forces work towards its decommissioning with USA and Germany being the major opponents working with politicians in India with vested interests. It’s a murky world altogether and Ravi weaves an intriguing story spanning across Vienna, Kerala and Mumbai which manages to hold your attention for most part of its 358 pages. One of the contributing factors for a thriller to work is the red herrings and he does a great job at planting them appropriately and effectively. The narrative juggles between people at GB2 bank trying to piece together some discrepancies in their accounts and the protest against the nuclear power plant by NGOs and politicians. It is a page-turner alright but the inevitable end to all the action seems lame when put into perspective with the captivating built up to it. The characters are not entirely relatable and the climax neither disturbs you nor enthralls you making it a kind of damp squib.

The lack of a strong underlying theme renders this book lesser than its international counterparts while Ravi’s prose itself is simple, unassuming and lacks the style of a Dan Brown or a John Grisham (as the Wall Street Journal on the cover page chose to compare him to). Especially when the officers at Vienna use almost the same language and intonations as we use in India, it does not gel particularly well. However, for a fiction of banking, it does not indulge too much on the jargon and suitable explanations (though sometimes naïve) are provided to the uninformed reader.           

The Bankster has a lot of things going for it from its interesting cover design to the reputation of its' bestselling author and it is easy to pick this up in any store you might find it. If you are looking for a harmless light read that thrills you and keeps you on the edge throughout your flight, The Bankster is recommended. It is a reasonably well-researched work and stays clear of political propaganda albeit being a little too casual in its approach. But be warned that by the end of it all you might not be any wiser than when you have started reading it. 

PS: One minor squabble I had with the author is his unfortunate and unnecessary dig at Cricket Player Ravinder Jadeja. While I confess I’m not a huge fan of the player and Jadeja is no Vettori or Yuvraj to have people coming instantaneously to his defense, it suits the author well to realize that he isn’t exactly the modern days’ Tagore of Indian Literature himself.