Mala Balasubramanian

In the 1980s and the 1990s, during August and February, interns at audit major Fraser & Ross (F&R) would rush up the stairs that lead to the firm’s office on North Usman Road.

F&R, established in 1907, is part of the Deloitte group, thanks to the vision and foresight of its senior partner, N Srinivasan. The name is not to be mixed with that of the former boss of BCCI.

The standard operating practice of South India’s leading audit house was that students should leave behind their filled up examination forms with the administrative manager, who then got these signed in due course by the available partner or a CA. However, the interns checked if the manager was away from the office, and sneaked in to get the forms directly signed by a young lady they all called ‘Tax’ Mala. Folklore had it that if you appeared for both groups and Mala signed on the application form, you were sure to pass! Those days the all-India results were pasted in six sheets of paper, and such things mattered.

I was the rationalist in the team, or so I thought. But a friend and senior who used to play squash with me while on tours to the Estate said, “You may have a strong academic record. But CA is a tricky course. Don’t take chances. Get it signed from her.” I did. And for a long time, my friend would tell me that the few extra marks that I got to sail through taxation were because of ‘Tax’ Mala!

Another reason why guys went to Mala was that she always smiled. The exams were already tight, and you didn’t want to meet a grimfaced person. That afternoon, after she signed my papers, a call came on the intercom. I don’t know who was at the other end, but she said, “Yes, sir, I will be in your room in five minutes.” She got up to walk. It was then that I noticed she picked up one wooden crutch for support.

I never forgot her.

Mala was born in Bombay. It was in 1945, a couple of years before India won its independence. That year, both Nagasaki and Hiroshima were carpet-bombed to end the calamitous Second World War, a genuinely global battle that had 100 million men from 30 countries fighting. In India, Bombay was rapidly emerging as a significant commercial hub thanks to textile mills and overseas trade.

Mala’s father was a banker, working with the country’s central bank, the Reserve Bank of India, and her mother took care of the home that comprised of Mala, her two sisters, and a brother. Quite early, the lady who in later years became the toast of the interns was diagnosed with polio, which meant walking would be a strain, and she had to use calipers. For a very long time, she did not go to school and was tutored at home. It changed when her father, Balasubramanian, was transferred to India’s garden city, Bangalore.