Avast, ye ink-stained wretches and paper-pushing privateers! Captain Iron Ink here, reporting from the salt-sprayed docks of Dalal Street where the fog is thick and the air smells of bureaucratic bilge-water. The High Admiralty—known to the land-lubbers as the Securities and Exchange Board of India (SEBI)—hath seen fit to drop a massive iron anchor upon the heads of our merchant navigators. These new rules for merchant bankers aren't just a bit of a squall; they are a full-blown hurricane designed to sink any vessel smaller than a royal man-o'-war. By raising the net-worth requirements to astronomical heights, the Admiralty is essentially telling the nimble skiffs and independent sloops of the financial world to walk the plank.

“They want us to carry five times the weight in gold just to leave the harbor,” growled Old Blind Barnaby, a veteran navigator of a thousand IPOs, as he polished his sextant in a darkened tavern. “In the old days, a man with a sharp mind and a clean map could guide a company to the public markets. Now, unless ye be hauling a chest of fifty crore doubloons, the Admiralty won’t even grant ye a Letter of Marque. It’s a rich man’s game now, and the small traders are being cast adrift into the shark-infested waters of obsolescence.” Barnaby’s grievance is shared by many; these new capital requirements act as a blockade, preventing fresh talent from entering the trade and ensuring only the fattest, slowest galleons remain in the fleet.

Furthermore, the Admiralty seeks to categorize our navigators based on their supposed 'capabilities,' as if a sailor’s worth can be measured solely by the size of his hull. They intend to restrict certain complex maneuvers—like underwriting or managing the great treasure-shipments of the main-board—to only those with the most bloated treasuries. This creates a two-tier system of sea-faring: the Lords of the Upper Deck who feast on the spoils of the Great Trade Routes, and the lowly deck-swabs who are left to scavenge the crumbs of the SME docks. It smothers innovation and prevents the very competition that keeps the markets honest and the wind in our sails.

Even the high-born gentry are whispering about the folly of this course. Lord 'Bull' Market, a man who owns half the docks in the eastern harbor, was heard muttering over his grog: “If we choke the small bankers, who will nurture the tiny startups before they become leviathans? The High Admiralty thinks they are protecting the realm from scoundrels, but they are merely ensuring that only the old, tired monopolies can survive. A harbor with only five giant ships is a harbor waiting to be pillaged by the next storm.” Indeed, by making it nearly impossible for new merchant bankers to set sail, SEBI is inadvertently creating a cartel of the wealthy, where the fees stay high and the service stays as stagnant as a dead calm in the doldrums.

We must call for a rethinking of these draconian codes before the entire merchant fleet is scuttled. Protection of the public is a noble cause, aye, but you don’t protect the sheep by burning down the pasture. The Admiralty must realize that a vibrant sea depends on variety—from the smallest scout ship to the largest merchant cruiser. If they persist in this course of heavy-handed regulation, they shall find themselves ruling over a ghost harbor, where the only thing moving is the tide of resentment. Until the wind changes, keep your powder dry and your ledgers hidden, for the tax-man and the regulator are the cruelest pirates of all!