When the Bus Rapid Transport (BRT) fiasco was being discussed in a high-level meeting in Delhi, a dazzling thought came into the head of a senior official. ‘Why don’t we just get rid of the footpath!’ he exclaimed triumphantly. Someone gently pointed out to the worthy administrator that his wife also happened to walk on the same street daily and what would she say about eliminating the footpath?
What Americans call a sidewalk, and the British a pavement, we call a footpath. In romantic minds it conjures images of tree lined boulevards and sidewalk cafes in gay Paris. But in a typical Indian town let the mind focus on the image of children walking home from school on a busy road without a footpath. A lorry comes hurtling at them at 70 km per hour, and suddenly those children could be yours. In a nation where people mostly walk, it is frightening that footpaths are non-existent or disappearing. We build roads for cars—pedestrians are nuisance. Where footpaths do exist in a few cities, they have either been encroached upon or filled with garbage or taken over by hawkers, litterers and urinaters. Walking to the bazaar is not for the faint hearted.
Kanthi Kannan, a lady in Hyderabad, has started “The Right to Walk” movement to address this problem. She filed a Public Interest Litigation in 2005 praying for the Andhra High Court to save footpaths in her neighbourhood. She bombarded municipal officials with Right to Information emails, asking why the width of the footpath leading from Mehdipatnam to Sarojini Devi Eye Hospital had been reduced and a structure resembling a Dargah built upon it. By March 2008, her efforts had met with some success. Footpaths were restored, parking forbidden on them, but the structure remained untouched. She discovered that no one is responsible for footpaths. The municipality thinks it is a problem of the Roads and Buildings Department, which denies it and says its job is only to build roads.
Mumbai used to be wonderfully endowed with broad sidewalks. I worked there in the 1980s when the municipality approached my company, asking us to build a narrow garden along the long stretch from Mahalaxmi Station to King George’s hospital. They wanted us to illegally encroach upon the footpath in order to prevent squatters from taking it over. Such was the political power of the squatters! We did build a lovely, longish garden along E Moses Rd but l felt guilty about cutting into the walking surface. I consoled myself that at least the pedestrians were now walking along flowers, grass and trees.
Prosperity is beginning to spread in India but happiness is not. This is because our government repeatedly fails to provide simple public goods which citizens in other nations take for granted. Footpaths are one of them. It may seem churlish to worry about footpaths when there are more pressing problems of hunger, illiteracy and water. Remember, however, India’s future rests in its cities. By 2020, half of India will be urban, middle class, and crowded. What will be the point of becoming prosperous if it isn’t safe to walk?
Kanthi Kannan’s noble example shows that instead of sitting around and complaining, citizens can make a difference. The starting point is to extend your circle of concern beyond your front door (as Yudhishthira did in the Mahabharata when he insisted on taking a stray dog into heaven). You will discover that municipalities do respond to citizen pressure if citizens are united and relentless. Demand footpaths but don’t be surprised if they demolish your proud garden if it encroaches on the pavement.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Why India is not a threat May 04, 2008
On a recent lecture tour of the Far East I was repeatedly asked a fascinating question: Why does the rise of India not threaten the world in the same way as China does? We in India don’t realize the depth of fear that China inspires in the East.
My first reaction was that India is a democracy and democracies are supposed to be more peaceful. I was quickly reminded that democracies have been known to invade places like Iraq.
True, but democracies tend to have more voices and more checks and balances. India’s democracy, in particular, is a coalition of twenty parties. It cannot govern itself--how could it possibly threaten anyone? India’s inability to take advantage of an historic opportunity to climb to world power status through the Indo-US nuclear deal shows this. My audiences found it inexplicable that Indians could quibble over a treaty that is so obviously in India’s self-interest. Someone wondered if we had a self-destructive streak. The consensus was that had China been a multi-party democracy, and had it been presented with the same opportunity, it would grabbed and run with it. .
Asian security analysts, I was surprised to note, had deep respect for India’s military capabilities. They seemed to know all about our navy’s aircraft-carrier force, our air force’s latest Sukhois and MiGs, and our army’s professionalism (although they felt that we had been badly let down by DRDO). They believed that India’s military did not threaten Asia because of the turmoil in our neighbourhood. Terrorist threats from Pakistan, an unending civil war in Sri Lanka, Maoists in Nepal and Bangladesh’s chronic instability—these were huge distractions which prevented India from thinking strategically about its role in the world.
East Asians who had visited India felt that we still needed to get our act together. Although India’s economy was growing brilliantly and Indian companies had become world beaters, they found our physical and social infrastructure “depressing”. What is the point of having a world class airport in Bangalore if it is isn’t well connected to the city? What is the point of having a million government primary schools if half the students can’t read a single sentence? One speaker asked why Indians are still wedded to democracy when it has failed to deliver the most basic public services.
Nevertheless, I came away with a feeling that East Asians are cheering us and believe that history’s momentum is on our side. They have their own reasons, of course—they fear China and desperately want a countervailing power. They don’t trust Japan—the wounds of the Second World War have not yet healed. They wish that the Indian state would show more determination, however, and shed its old self-perception of a victimized Third World nation. Some expressed the hope that India’s rise would improve Asia’s image as a whole. India’s mind was closer to the West. Indians spoke good English and were more open. The West distrusted Han China profoundly because it was closed, and the Tibetan protests had not helped.
Buddhists in the audience seemed to cheer India’s rise because the post-9/11 world needed our traditions of tolerance and non-violence. I was surprised to see how many remembered Mahatma Gandhi and Tagore. They even wanted me to feel embarrassed about our nuclear weapons. On my way home, I asked myself that if it is true that the Indian state is genuinely less aggressive, then that is in fact the right answer to the original question about why India’s rise does not threaten the world. I, for one, do not want an intimidating India which seeks military greatness. .
-----
My first reaction was that India is a democracy and democracies are supposed to be more peaceful. I was quickly reminded that democracies have been known to invade places like Iraq.
True, but democracies tend to have more voices and more checks and balances. India’s democracy, in particular, is a coalition of twenty parties. It cannot govern itself--how could it possibly threaten anyone? India’s inability to take advantage of an historic opportunity to climb to world power status through the Indo-US nuclear deal shows this. My audiences found it inexplicable that Indians could quibble over a treaty that is so obviously in India’s self-interest. Someone wondered if we had a self-destructive streak. The consensus was that had China been a multi-party democracy, and had it been presented with the same opportunity, it would grabbed and run with it. .
Asian security analysts, I was surprised to note, had deep respect for India’s military capabilities. They seemed to know all about our navy’s aircraft-carrier force, our air force’s latest Sukhois and MiGs, and our army’s professionalism (although they felt that we had been badly let down by DRDO). They believed that India’s military did not threaten Asia because of the turmoil in our neighbourhood. Terrorist threats from Pakistan, an unending civil war in Sri Lanka, Maoists in Nepal and Bangladesh’s chronic instability—these were huge distractions which prevented India from thinking strategically about its role in the world.
East Asians who had visited India felt that we still needed to get our act together. Although India’s economy was growing brilliantly and Indian companies had become world beaters, they found our physical and social infrastructure “depressing”. What is the point of having a world class airport in Bangalore if it is isn’t well connected to the city? What is the point of having a million government primary schools if half the students can’t read a single sentence? One speaker asked why Indians are still wedded to democracy when it has failed to deliver the most basic public services.
Nevertheless, I came away with a feeling that East Asians are cheering us and believe that history’s momentum is on our side. They have their own reasons, of course—they fear China and desperately want a countervailing power. They don’t trust Japan—the wounds of the Second World War have not yet healed. They wish that the Indian state would show more determination, however, and shed its old self-perception of a victimized Third World nation. Some expressed the hope that India’s rise would improve Asia’s image as a whole. India’s mind was closer to the West. Indians spoke good English and were more open. The West distrusted Han China profoundly because it was closed, and the Tibetan protests had not helped.
Buddhists in the audience seemed to cheer India’s rise because the post-9/11 world needed our traditions of tolerance and non-violence. I was surprised to see how many remembered Mahatma Gandhi and Tagore. They even wanted me to feel embarrassed about our nuclear weapons. On my way home, I asked myself that if it is true that the Indian state is genuinely less aggressive, then that is in fact the right answer to the original question about why India’s rise does not threaten the world. I, for one, do not want an intimidating India which seeks military greatness. .
-----
War of the creamy layers, April 20, 2008
One of our great triumphs as a nation is that we widely condemn social discrimination. This was demonstrated again on April 11 when the Supreme Court allowed a 27 per cent quota for Other Backward Castes (OBCs) in higher education. I am against all quotas but I support vigorous affirmative action. Our leaders in the future will be next generation OBCs, and if they are not better educated, governance will not improve. Why then do I feel a deep pain in my gut over the court judgement? This case, alas, was not about social justice; nor about legitimate OBC aspirations. It is was about a war between two “creamy layers”--middle class factions of the backwards and forwards-- in which the nation may have lost. I fear this “landmark” judgment will do irreparable damage to our few good institutions.
The ordinary family in the village merely wants a good school to lift its children out of poverty. IITs are as alien to it as the Queen of England. The hidden purpose of the OBC quota was to push the wards of OBC netas, babus and elite into our top institutions via an unfair handicap. But the strategy backfired because the Court has excluded the “creamy layer”. Since the aspirations of OBC voters and politicians are different, the quota controversy was unreal. It was not about compensating for disadvantage. As Mayawati has discovered there are poor Brahmins and rich OBCs.
The India of our dreams is one where everyone will belong to the middle class. High economic growth, of the sort we have today, can deliver this dream. But individuals of talent will play a disproportionate role. Since talent is such a scarce resource, successful nations nurture it through elite institutions like the IITs. They don’t place a person with 20th rank in the IIT-JEE exam in the same classroom as one with 20,000th rank. At the same time they meet the demands of the others through an adequate supply of reasonably good institutions. This is how they achieve excellence and equity.
The clamour for quotas in higher education arises from scarcity. We have very few good colleges because education, unlike industry, has not been liberalized. It is firmly under the control of netas and babus, whose energy is spent in doling out favours. Because the government refuses to give autonomy to universities, less than 50 out of 300 can produce an employable graduate. If they had the freedom to set their own fees, curriculum, salaries, and standards, many of our colleges would take a leap upwards.
By contrast Indian industry is more autonomous. In competing for customers it has been expanding supply at breakneck speed. In March, India achieved a miraculous 300 million mobile phone customers in a country of 200 million households. Before liberalization, we had five million phones in 1990. No one talks about quotas for telephones any more because the market has raised both supply and quality. The same thing could happen to education. Prosperity doesn’t trickle down; it goes down like a flood.
The political class is dead set against liberalizing education because scarcity would disappear. So would the need for quotas and so would vote banks. The roots of individual failure are laid in school. World Bank data shows that Arjun Singh presides over one of the worst primary school systems in the world, worse than many African countries. His job was to reform it. Instead he let loose a caste war. But voters are no fools and they can see through his game. If he thinks the Congress Party win will votes from his game, he is mistaken.
The ordinary family in the village merely wants a good school to lift its children out of poverty. IITs are as alien to it as the Queen of England. The hidden purpose of the OBC quota was to push the wards of OBC netas, babus and elite into our top institutions via an unfair handicap. But the strategy backfired because the Court has excluded the “creamy layer”. Since the aspirations of OBC voters and politicians are different, the quota controversy was unreal. It was not about compensating for disadvantage. As Mayawati has discovered there are poor Brahmins and rich OBCs.
The India of our dreams is one where everyone will belong to the middle class. High economic growth, of the sort we have today, can deliver this dream. But individuals of talent will play a disproportionate role. Since talent is such a scarce resource, successful nations nurture it through elite institutions like the IITs. They don’t place a person with 20th rank in the IIT-JEE exam in the same classroom as one with 20,000th rank. At the same time they meet the demands of the others through an adequate supply of reasonably good institutions. This is how they achieve excellence and equity.
The clamour for quotas in higher education arises from scarcity. We have very few good colleges because education, unlike industry, has not been liberalized. It is firmly under the control of netas and babus, whose energy is spent in doling out favours. Because the government refuses to give autonomy to universities, less than 50 out of 300 can produce an employable graduate. If they had the freedom to set their own fees, curriculum, salaries, and standards, many of our colleges would take a leap upwards.
By contrast Indian industry is more autonomous. In competing for customers it has been expanding supply at breakneck speed. In March, India achieved a miraculous 300 million mobile phone customers in a country of 200 million households. Before liberalization, we had five million phones in 1990. No one talks about quotas for telephones any more because the market has raised both supply and quality. The same thing could happen to education. Prosperity doesn’t trickle down; it goes down like a flood.
The political class is dead set against liberalizing education because scarcity would disappear. So would the need for quotas and so would vote banks. The roots of individual failure are laid in school. World Bank data shows that Arjun Singh presides over one of the worst primary school systems in the world, worse than many African countries. His job was to reform it. Instead he let loose a caste war. But voters are no fools and they can see through his game. If he thinks the Congress Party win will votes from his game, he is mistaken.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Power of subtitles April 6, 2008
Girirajsingh Natubha studied up to Class 2 in Jamnagar. All his life he struggled to read simple words. A few years ago, however, he found to his surprise that he had begun to read. It happened quite amazingly after he began watching Chitrageet, a Gujarati television program of film songs, which had sub-titles at the bottom of the screen. Since he knew many of the songs, he could anticipate the next word. When it appeared he would read it unconsciously and sing along, Karaoke style. Soon he found he was able to recognise words in the bazaar and before long he was reading headlines in the newspaper.
A brainchild of Dr Brij Kothari, a social entrepreneur and an IIM professor at Ahmedabad, ‘Same Language Sub-titling’ is a simple but powerful idea which is proven to improve literacy among adults and children. When lyrics are sub-titled on film songs, and words appear in sync with the actor’s voice, the viewer makes a sub-conscious link of the spoken to the written word. Literacy, thus, takes a sudden leap for early and struggling readers. Based on his powerful academic findings, Kothari decided to become a social entrepreneur and help raise India’s literacy. Between 1997 and 2002, he made countless attempts to persuade Doordarshan to allow him subtitle film songs on TV. Each time he was thrown out of their offices. In 1999, a new director at the Ahmedabad Kendra agreed to experiment with subtitles on four episodes of the Gujarati program, Chitrageet. It created such a sensation that they had to continue it for a year.
The breakthrough, however, came in 2002 when a new Director General of Doordarshan, Dr. S.Y. Quraishi, overrode the objections of his entire risk-averse staff and allowed Kothari to subtitle their hugely popular national program Chitrahaar. It happened soon after he won the $250,000 global innovation prize from the World Bank, which he used to pay for the cost of sub-titling. For the past five years, every Sunday morning, 15 crore persons have watched Chitrahaar and Rangoli with subtitles. A Nielsen-ORG study, conducted in 2002 and 2007 to assess the impact of sub-titling, showed that only 25% schoolchildren could read a simple paragraph in Hindi after five years of schooling. However, this jumped to 56% if they were also exposed to subtitling for 30 minutes a week on Rangoli. Equally dramatic results were found among adults.
Despite this success, however, a Damocles’ sword hangs over Kothari’s head. Unless Prasar Bharati takes a policy decision, subtitling will depend on the whims of each CEO, although the last two have been supportive. Moreover, the Department of School Education and Literacy ought to fund subtitling rather than Kothari having to go with a begging bowl each year to raise funds. It costs a pittance (one paise per person per week) compared to the rewards of giving lifelong reading practice to 15 crore early-literate personse every week. Since subtitling also raises the ratings of the program by 10-15%, I’m surprised private channels have not jumped into this game, including children’s cartoon channels.
You’d think that the best way to bring about change in a democracy is through politics. But when our political class is callous, unreliable and venal, you have to depend on individuals. India has always had our spiritual entrepreneurs, the most famous being the Buddha. In recent years we have seen the flowering of business entrepreneurs, making India one of the world’s most dynamic economies. Now we have also begun to produce social entrepreneurs like Brij Kothari who are making a difference. Hence, India is rising not because of its political leaders but despite them.
A brainchild of Dr Brij Kothari, a social entrepreneur and an IIM professor at Ahmedabad, ‘Same Language Sub-titling’ is a simple but powerful idea which is proven to improve literacy among adults and children. When lyrics are sub-titled on film songs, and words appear in sync with the actor’s voice, the viewer makes a sub-conscious link of the spoken to the written word. Literacy, thus, takes a sudden leap for early and struggling readers. Based on his powerful academic findings, Kothari decided to become a social entrepreneur and help raise India’s literacy. Between 1997 and 2002, he made countless attempts to persuade Doordarshan to allow him subtitle film songs on TV. Each time he was thrown out of their offices. In 1999, a new director at the Ahmedabad Kendra agreed to experiment with subtitles on four episodes of the Gujarati program, Chitrageet. It created such a sensation that they had to continue it for a year.
The breakthrough, however, came in 2002 when a new Director General of Doordarshan, Dr. S.Y. Quraishi, overrode the objections of his entire risk-averse staff and allowed Kothari to subtitle their hugely popular national program Chitrahaar. It happened soon after he won the $250,000 global innovation prize from the World Bank, which he used to pay for the cost of sub-titling. For the past five years, every Sunday morning, 15 crore persons have watched Chitrahaar and Rangoli with subtitles. A Nielsen-ORG study, conducted in 2002 and 2007 to assess the impact of sub-titling, showed that only 25% schoolchildren could read a simple paragraph in Hindi after five years of schooling. However, this jumped to 56% if they were also exposed to subtitling for 30 minutes a week on Rangoli. Equally dramatic results were found among adults.
Despite this success, however, a Damocles’ sword hangs over Kothari’s head. Unless Prasar Bharati takes a policy decision, subtitling will depend on the whims of each CEO, although the last two have been supportive. Moreover, the Department of School Education and Literacy ought to fund subtitling rather than Kothari having to go with a begging bowl each year to raise funds. It costs a pittance (one paise per person per week) compared to the rewards of giving lifelong reading practice to 15 crore early-literate personse every week. Since subtitling also raises the ratings of the program by 10-15%, I’m surprised private channels have not jumped into this game, including children’s cartoon channels.
You’d think that the best way to bring about change in a democracy is through politics. But when our political class is callous, unreliable and venal, you have to depend on individuals. India has always had our spiritual entrepreneurs, the most famous being the Buddha. In recent years we have seen the flowering of business entrepreneurs, making India one of the world’s most dynamic economies. Now we have also begun to produce social entrepreneurs like Brij Kothari who are making a difference. Hence, India is rising not because of its political leaders but despite them.
Thackeray scores a self-goal March 23, 2008
The damage is done. Hit by an exodus of North Indian labour in the past two months following Raj Thackery’s Marathi rage, industrialists in Pune, Nashik, and Thane have slowed their expansion plans in Maharashtra and are looking towards other states. They fear a return of the old nightmare when Datta Samant’s labour militancy combined with Bal Thackeray’s xenophobia drove white collar jobs from Mumbai to Bangalore and blue collar jobs to Gujarat.
In a free market, investment flows to the most attractive destination. What makes a destination attractive is, in part, the availability of industrious workers. Immigrants everywhere tend to be hungrier and harder working than locals. Economists like Harvard’s Richard Freeman, have shown that societies that encourage immigration outperform those that do not. This is why experts predict that America will remain competitive in the 21st century, while Europe and Japan will decline. As a land of immigrants, America is more capable of accepting immigrants, unlike Europe and Japan which have historically failed to absorb outsiders. Under pressure of ageing populations and shrinking workforces, Europe and Japan will thus lose out to China and India. .
The Indian Railways sells 6. 4 billion tickets annually. Assuming a third are commuters, this means roughly four journeys per person per year in a nation of 1.1 billion people. We are a nation on the move, especially the poor in search of jobs and a better life. Our cities are becoming more cosmopolitan and an Indian identity is being forged, which will increasingly trump regional identities. This imposes real costs on Raj Thackeray’s bigotry.
Maharashtrian workers do have a legitimate problem, however. How do they respond to the challenge of more nimble and productive immigrants? The answer is to make Maharashtra even more attractive for investment. Raj Thackeray should push for better infrastructure, better colleges, and better vocational schools. This will make Maharashtrians more skilled and more competitive. Eventually, many will move up into the middle class and leave the menial jobs to migrants.
There is a more troubling question, however. What makes ordinary, decent Maharashtrian boys turn into a violent and cruel mob? It is the same question that Germans have asked for 75 years—“how did we become evil Nazis in the 1930s?” David Livingstone Smith tries to answer this in his book, The Most Dangerous Animal. He argues that all human beings are disposed to evil—it only needs a trigger like Hitler or Thackeray. The men of the German Reserve Police Battalion 101, who shot 38,000 Jewish unarmed civilians one afternoon, were “middle-aged family men without military training or ideology”. The same could be said of all mass killings. The murderer could be you or me. Scientists explain our violent tendencies through our genes. Like all social animals, from ants to chimpanzees, we are highly xenophobic. The more closely knit we are, the more aggressive we are to outsiders. Our Constitution makers realized the dangers of giving power to the human animal—hence they set up a system checks and balances.
Raj Thackeray is not the only one to score a self goal. Malaysia’s “bumiputra” movement continues to drive investment from Malaysia to other South East Asian countries. Germany failed to attract Indian software engineers a few years ago, despite an attractive ‘green card’ scheme, because its people are inhospitable to immigrants. In a competitive world, it takes maturity and luck to realize that immigrants make a society successful.
In a free market, investment flows to the most attractive destination. What makes a destination attractive is, in part, the availability of industrious workers. Immigrants everywhere tend to be hungrier and harder working than locals. Economists like Harvard’s Richard Freeman, have shown that societies that encourage immigration outperform those that do not. This is why experts predict that America will remain competitive in the 21st century, while Europe and Japan will decline. As a land of immigrants, America is more capable of accepting immigrants, unlike Europe and Japan which have historically failed to absorb outsiders. Under pressure of ageing populations and shrinking workforces, Europe and Japan will thus lose out to China and India. .
The Indian Railways sells 6. 4 billion tickets annually. Assuming a third are commuters, this means roughly four journeys per person per year in a nation of 1.1 billion people. We are a nation on the move, especially the poor in search of jobs and a better life. Our cities are becoming more cosmopolitan and an Indian identity is being forged, which will increasingly trump regional identities. This imposes real costs on Raj Thackeray’s bigotry.
Maharashtrian workers do have a legitimate problem, however. How do they respond to the challenge of more nimble and productive immigrants? The answer is to make Maharashtra even more attractive for investment. Raj Thackeray should push for better infrastructure, better colleges, and better vocational schools. This will make Maharashtrians more skilled and more competitive. Eventually, many will move up into the middle class and leave the menial jobs to migrants.
There is a more troubling question, however. What makes ordinary, decent Maharashtrian boys turn into a violent and cruel mob? It is the same question that Germans have asked for 75 years—“how did we become evil Nazis in the 1930s?” David Livingstone Smith tries to answer this in his book, The Most Dangerous Animal. He argues that all human beings are disposed to evil—it only needs a trigger like Hitler or Thackeray. The men of the German Reserve Police Battalion 101, who shot 38,000 Jewish unarmed civilians one afternoon, were “middle-aged family men without military training or ideology”. The same could be said of all mass killings. The murderer could be you or me. Scientists explain our violent tendencies through our genes. Like all social animals, from ants to chimpanzees, we are highly xenophobic. The more closely knit we are, the more aggressive we are to outsiders. Our Constitution makers realized the dangers of giving power to the human animal—hence they set up a system checks and balances.
Raj Thackeray is not the only one to score a self goal. Malaysia’s “bumiputra” movement continues to drive investment from Malaysia to other South East Asian countries. Germany failed to attract Indian software engineers a few years ago, despite an attractive ‘green card’ scheme, because its people are inhospitable to immigrants. In a competitive world, it takes maturity and luck to realize that immigrants make a society successful.
Monday, March 10, 2008
This Waiver is immoral, 9th March, 2008
Nagoba Khamnakar feels like a fool. Like many farmers in his village of Mahakurla in Chandrapur, Maharashtra, he borrowed money from his bank last year. He repaid it diligently, in installments and on time. Many of his neighbours, however, did not. When the Finance Minister announced last week in his Budget an amnesty against repayment of small farm loans, he said sadly, ‘What is the use of being honest?’
Canceling debts of small farmers worth a massive Rs. 60,000 crores, equal to 3% of all loans in the entire banking system, was a staggering, seductive but a hugely destructive act. When Devi Lall, announced a similar loan waiver worth Rs 9,000 crores in 1990, he killed most cooperative and rural banks. Farmers stopped repaying loans, banks stopped lending to them and it took ten years for the nation to recover from that mistake. When we hurl abuse at Devi Lall, we always add, ‘What did you expect from an illiterate peasant!’ But what do we say to a government headed by eminent economists and reformers?
One’s heart goes out to those in distress in the rural areas. There is great suffering, indeed, in our villages. But there are other, better ways to relieve it without turning the nation dishonest. For example, a sustainable crop insurance program or a restructuring the loans would have done much more good. There will be distress again; farmers will borrow again; and get into trouble again. A crop insurance scheme will then come to their aid, unlike this one-time political bribe. Sharad Pawar, the Agriculture Minister, admitted as much when he confessed the day after the Budget--‘I cannot say if [suicides] will stop after this loan waiver’.
Human society is based on trust. When the ordinary person takes a loan, he feels duty bound to repay it. He will even sell his family’s jewellery to fulfill his promise. This is because we learned as children from our mothers to keep promises. Tulsidas’ ideal, ‘praan jaye par vachan na jaye’ was held up to us as a moral ideal. We admire Karna in the Mahabharata for not switching sides because he had given his word to Duryodhana. This loan waiver wounds that moral universe. It tells the farmer not to bother to repay his next loan, because, who knows, another party will be in power and it too will cancel his debts. What message does this send to the honest village woman who struggles every week to repay her micro-loan? It is like excusing the crooked businessman who bounces his cheque. Or bailing out victims of sub-prime loans in America who are clamoring for a similar act of false compassion.
The irony is that the UPA government might actually lose more votes than it gains from this loan waiver. According to NSSO figures, almost 60% of farm loans are from money lenders. They will not benefit. R Radhakrishna Committee says that farmers from the suicide prone areas of Vidharbha and Chatisgarh will benefit less than the richer farmers in the irrigated areas who grow sugar cane and grapes. Since those who will not benefit (or benefit less) are greater than those who will, resentment will build, and the UPA might end up in losing more than it gains. Sharad Pawar has understood this. Hence, he told the farmers of India last week, ‘Don’t pay a single paise to money lenders.’ No one likes the village sahukar, but to break a promise to someone you don’t like is just as wrong as to someone you do.
Imagine the staggering paradox--to turn a nation dishonest in order to win an election, and then go on and lose it! This is one irony that the UPA government might prefer to forget.
Leaping into a bilingual world, 24 February 2008
My friend, the linguist, Peggy Mohan, likens the evolution of the English language in India to the mobile phone. Just as our masses are leapfrogging to cell phones without going through a landline stage, she thinks that English might evolve in the same way from elite to a mass, second language of the fast growing Indian middle class. If functioning with pre-literate dialects is not to have a phone; and learning a standard regional language, say shudh Hindi, is to acquire a landline; then aspirant wannabe’s Indians might actually leapfrog from their pre-literate mother tongues to literacy in functional English.
This English is a skill above all, linked to getting a job, and associated not with the culture of Shakespeare but with the popular culture of Hinglish--Bollywood, FM radio, SMS, and advertising. Of course, mixing English words with our mother tongue has been going on for generations. Earlier it was basically the aspirational idiom of the lower classes. Now it is also the fashionable idiom in upper class drawing rooms in south Delhi and south Mumbai. This English is shared and democratic.
India’s poor send their children at great sacrifice to private, English-medium schools of varying degrees of quality. These children face incomprehension initially but eventually most of them manage to take a leap into a new world. This happens because a child is naturally bilingual. Our education mandarins dismiss these schools and think the parents stupid. The same mandarins thrust shudh Hindi down their throats for fifty years but all they achieved was an unemployable person. Now, at least, these children can get a job—so, who is the one who is stupid?
This should be a wake-up call for our education establishment. Unless we drastically reform how we teach regional languages, they might suffer the landline’s fate. According to Alok Rai, author of Hindi Nationalism, shudh Hindi was never a peoples’ language. It arose from a power struggle in the mid-19th century between Brahmins and Kayasthas, each of whom had their own schools and scripts--Devanagari and Kaithi By the time Brahmins won in the 20th century, English had become the language of the elite. At Independence, the Hindiwallahs tried to impose their Sankritized Hindi on the nation but they failed. Had they promoted Bollywood’s Hindustani, they might have succeeded. Yet they didn’t learn. So, the Hindi we are taught is artificial and soulless--like the landline, it doesn’t connect with the masses.
Instead of fighting Hinglish, our educationists must teach Standard English and regional languages in a lively and relevant way to naturally bilingual children. Studies show that if a child learns both languages by the age ten, she is advantaged for life. The problem is the dearth of English teachers. We at SKS Microfinance plan to overcome this with interactive English teaching on the computer, using a program like Pygmalion, which Karnataka is using in select government schools. It trains teachers to become facilitators. The child talks to the computer, who corrects her each time she makes a mistake. We aim to make 600,000 children bilingual in 600 primary schools, charging Rs 250-350 per month fees, for which SKS will provide loans to its 17 lakh customer base. Our schools will be run by professional edupreneurs like Educomp or Career Launcher and employ the new $100 computer. Tell me now, isn’t this how our government should be thinking? The Chinese government is.
Stephen Jay Gould, the biologist, argues that human evolution is not smooth and continuous but a series of jump steps, with long periods of stasis punctuated by quick flurries of adaptation. This explains perhaps the dearth of missing links in the fossil record. Languages evolve similarly. It took English only a hundred years to produce Shakespeare. Hinglish might do the same in the 21st century.
This English is a skill above all, linked to getting a job, and associated not with the culture of Shakespeare but with the popular culture of Hinglish--Bollywood, FM radio, SMS, and advertising. Of course, mixing English words with our mother tongue has been going on for generations. Earlier it was basically the aspirational idiom of the lower classes. Now it is also the fashionable idiom in upper class drawing rooms in south Delhi and south Mumbai. This English is shared and democratic.
India’s poor send their children at great sacrifice to private, English-medium schools of varying degrees of quality. These children face incomprehension initially but eventually most of them manage to take a leap into a new world. This happens because a child is naturally bilingual. Our education mandarins dismiss these schools and think the parents stupid. The same mandarins thrust shudh Hindi down their throats for fifty years but all they achieved was an unemployable person. Now, at least, these children can get a job—so, who is the one who is stupid?
This should be a wake-up call for our education establishment. Unless we drastically reform how we teach regional languages, they might suffer the landline’s fate. According to Alok Rai, author of Hindi Nationalism, shudh Hindi was never a peoples’ language. It arose from a power struggle in the mid-19th century between Brahmins and Kayasthas, each of whom had their own schools and scripts--Devanagari and Kaithi By the time Brahmins won in the 20th century, English had become the language of the elite. At Independence, the Hindiwallahs tried to impose their Sankritized Hindi on the nation but they failed. Had they promoted Bollywood’s Hindustani, they might have succeeded. Yet they didn’t learn. So, the Hindi we are taught is artificial and soulless--like the landline, it doesn’t connect with the masses.
Instead of fighting Hinglish, our educationists must teach Standard English and regional languages in a lively and relevant way to naturally bilingual children. Studies show that if a child learns both languages by the age ten, she is advantaged for life. The problem is the dearth of English teachers. We at SKS Microfinance plan to overcome this with interactive English teaching on the computer, using a program like Pygmalion, which Karnataka is using in select government schools. It trains teachers to become facilitators. The child talks to the computer, who corrects her each time she makes a mistake. We aim to make 600,000 children bilingual in 600 primary schools, charging Rs 250-350 per month fees, for which SKS will provide loans to its 17 lakh customer base. Our schools will be run by professional edupreneurs like Educomp or Career Launcher and employ the new $100 computer. Tell me now, isn’t this how our government should be thinking? The Chinese government is.
Stephen Jay Gould, the biologist, argues that human evolution is not smooth and continuous but a series of jump steps, with long periods of stasis punctuated by quick flurries of adaptation. This explains perhaps the dearth of missing links in the fossil record. Languages evolve similarly. It took English only a hundred years to produce Shakespeare. Hinglish might do the same in the 21st century.
End this Killer Raj, February 10, 2008
For the first time an Indian institution of higher education has been ranked among the top twenty in the world. The Indian School of Business (ISB) was ranked 20th in a list of the top100 business schools by the prestigious Financial Times two weeks ago. A Chinese business school was No 11; four European schools came in the top 10, and the rest were from the United States.
But wait a minute. Isn’t the ISB illegal? ISB officials explain that they don’t want accreditation from India Council of Technical Education (AICTE) because then “they will decide our courses, our student intake, and even the size of our buildings”. I spoke to a top AICTE official, who scornfully dismissed the Indian School of Business--“its fees are too high and it doesn’t even have a permanent faculty”. I gently suggested that its faculty is world-class if not permanent. And why worry about fees when every student has a loan. They must be doing something right if students command a mean salary of Rs 16 lakhs a year at graduation.
ISB is India’s only school in the top-100 list. There might have been more but for AICTE. One of these is Mumbai’s premier SP Jain Institute, run by a no-nonsense Harvard graduate. It doesn’t bribe; nor does it succumb to politicians for admissions. Hence, it is punished. It applied to admit 120 students in 1992, but got approval for 45. In 2001, it applied for 180 but didn’t get approval for six years. In 2004, AICTE rejected its unique dual degree program with a reputed foreign university, whereby the latter would have flown its faculty to India. Its innovative program for family-run businesses was also rejected. Last year, it seriously contemplated closing down. Instead it has started campuses in Dubai and Singapore--far beyond AICTE’s reach.
What do you do when the keepers of the law become its oppressors? AICTE was set up to encourage higher education but it achieved the opposite. Honest officials have tried cleaning it up periodically, but they have always been removed by politicians, who happen to own many of our worst private institutions. The answer, of course, is to give autonomy to all education institutions. Regulators should only ensure that they provide mandatory disclosure on the Internet about their courses, faculty, fees, and facilities (with severe punishment for false claims). Professional rating services should evaluate colleges with the same credibility as CRISIL rates industrial companies. Competition will take care of the rest. Students will be able to make informed choices. Good institutions will thrive and poor ones will close.
In the India of my dreams the government will stop running universities and colleges. All institutions will be autonomous. The government will plough all the money saved into scholarships. The Government’s role will be limited to governance-- ensuring corruption free ratings and corruption-free exams (with the credibility of IIT-JEE) at various stages in a student’s career. The tombstone of the UGC/AICTE Raj will thus read: “For fifty years we promoted rote learning, incompetent faculty, and mediocrity. We punished original thinking and failed to create an employable graduate. We pushed students into a parallel universe of coaching classes, which ironically took their obligation to students far more seriously. We deserved to die.”
Building India is about building institutions. This Sunday let’s celebrate the emergence of a world class institution in India. The altruistic founders of ISB had a vision. They funded it privately and nurtured it in its early years. They persisted in difficult times, especially when they were under attack from AICTE. Now, his is how to build fine institutions.
But wait a minute. Isn’t the ISB illegal? ISB officials explain that they don’t want accreditation from India Council of Technical Education (AICTE) because then “they will decide our courses, our student intake, and even the size of our buildings”. I spoke to a top AICTE official, who scornfully dismissed the Indian School of Business--“its fees are too high and it doesn’t even have a permanent faculty”. I gently suggested that its faculty is world-class if not permanent. And why worry about fees when every student has a loan. They must be doing something right if students command a mean salary of Rs 16 lakhs a year at graduation.
ISB is India’s only school in the top-100 list. There might have been more but for AICTE. One of these is Mumbai’s premier SP Jain Institute, run by a no-nonsense Harvard graduate. It doesn’t bribe; nor does it succumb to politicians for admissions. Hence, it is punished. It applied to admit 120 students in 1992, but got approval for 45. In 2001, it applied for 180 but didn’t get approval for six years. In 2004, AICTE rejected its unique dual degree program with a reputed foreign university, whereby the latter would have flown its faculty to India. Its innovative program for family-run businesses was also rejected. Last year, it seriously contemplated closing down. Instead it has started campuses in Dubai and Singapore--far beyond AICTE’s reach.
What do you do when the keepers of the law become its oppressors? AICTE was set up to encourage higher education but it achieved the opposite. Honest officials have tried cleaning it up periodically, but they have always been removed by politicians, who happen to own many of our worst private institutions. The answer, of course, is to give autonomy to all education institutions. Regulators should only ensure that they provide mandatory disclosure on the Internet about their courses, faculty, fees, and facilities (with severe punishment for false claims). Professional rating services should evaluate colleges with the same credibility as CRISIL rates industrial companies. Competition will take care of the rest. Students will be able to make informed choices. Good institutions will thrive and poor ones will close.
In the India of my dreams the government will stop running universities and colleges. All institutions will be autonomous. The government will plough all the money saved into scholarships. The Government’s role will be limited to governance-- ensuring corruption free ratings and corruption-free exams (with the credibility of IIT-JEE) at various stages in a student’s career. The tombstone of the UGC/AICTE Raj will thus read: “For fifty years we promoted rote learning, incompetent faculty, and mediocrity. We punished original thinking and failed to create an employable graduate. We pushed students into a parallel universe of coaching classes, which ironically took their obligation to students far more seriously. We deserved to die.”
Building India is about building institutions. This Sunday let’s celebrate the emergence of a world class institution in India. The altruistic founders of ISB had a vision. They funded it privately and nurtured it in its early years. They persisted in difficult times, especially when they were under attack from AICTE. Now, his is how to build fine institutions.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Let’s stop living a lie 27 January, 2008
“Until India is able to view itself and its history dispassionately, reject the twin failures of socialism and non-alignment, modernize its Muslim citizens and bring their aspirations in line with those of the Hindu majority, it will likely remain an underachiever” concludes Sadanand Dhume in the latest issue of the influential American journal, Commentary. I found this irritating, especially now that we are doing so well economically. As I thought some more, however, I had to agree with this unhappy verdict. We all need to acknowledge our past failures publicly. Only then will we stop repeating mistakes or reforming by stealth. Only then will we mature as a nation.
As for rejecting socialism, the opportunity arrived on 8 January when the Supreme Court issued a notice to the government to respond to a petition which questions the propriety of employing “socialist” in the preamble of our Constitution. The court also asked the Election Commission why every political party must swear to “socialism” before it can be registered. Appearing for the petitioners, Fali Nariman asked the court to do away with the compulsory socialist vow. “It is hypocritical to say that you believe in it when you don’t,” he said. “One can always have a political party that has capitalism as its intent, and why not?”
The bench, headed by Chief Justice K.G. Balakrishnan, raised an interesting question. “Why do you define socialism in the narrower sense as the communists do?” it asked. “Why don’t you go by the broader definition… which mandates the state to ensure social welfare measures for all the citizens… as a facet of democracy?” Nariman did not reply. The answer to that question, of course, is that we must use words in a clear manner. Ever since Marx “socialism” has had a very precise meaning--the “public ownership of the means of production”. Most Indians do not subscribe to this ideology any longer.
BR Ambedkar explained in 1948 why we must not use “socialist” in our Constitution: “[How] society should be organized in its social and economic side are matters which must be decided by the people themselves according to time and circumstances. It cannot be laid down in the Constitution itself, because that is destroying democracy altogether… It is perfectly possible… for thinking people to devise some other form...which might be better than the socialist organization.” The Constituent Assembly agreed with Dr Ambedkar and we decided to call ourselves a “sovereign, democratic republic”. But Indira Gandhi amended the Constitution during the Emergency and inserted “socialist” in the preamble. Later the People’s Representation Act was amended and now every political party has to pledge allegiance to socialism to gain recognition.
Well meaning Jawaharlal Nehru set out to create socialism, but we got statism instead. The state assaulted our right to property, whose victims, it turns out, were not the rich but poor farmers from whom the state acquired land forcibly (as Nandigram taught us). Socialist control on industry brought License Raj, which bred black money and damaged our moral character, making us one of the most corrupt societies in the world. Socialist labour rules shattered accountability among state employees. Hence, above-average people in government produce below-average results. And so, even the pretence to offer decent public services has gone. The saddest truth is that our socialist state did not work on behalf of the people but on behalf of itself.
The Supreme Court has now given us chance to look at ourselves in the mirror and reject the mistakes of our past. Until we do that we will keep living a lie and perform below our potential.
As for rejecting socialism, the opportunity arrived on 8 January when the Supreme Court issued a notice to the government to respond to a petition which questions the propriety of employing “socialist” in the preamble of our Constitution. The court also asked the Election Commission why every political party must swear to “socialism” before it can be registered. Appearing for the petitioners, Fali Nariman asked the court to do away with the compulsory socialist vow. “It is hypocritical to say that you believe in it when you don’t,” he said. “One can always have a political party that has capitalism as its intent, and why not?”
The bench, headed by Chief Justice K.G. Balakrishnan, raised an interesting question. “Why do you define socialism in the narrower sense as the communists do?” it asked. “Why don’t you go by the broader definition… which mandates the state to ensure social welfare measures for all the citizens… as a facet of democracy?” Nariman did not reply. The answer to that question, of course, is that we must use words in a clear manner. Ever since Marx “socialism” has had a very precise meaning--the “public ownership of the means of production”. Most Indians do not subscribe to this ideology any longer.
BR Ambedkar explained in 1948 why we must not use “socialist” in our Constitution: “[How] society should be organized in its social and economic side are matters which must be decided by the people themselves according to time and circumstances. It cannot be laid down in the Constitution itself, because that is destroying democracy altogether… It is perfectly possible… for thinking people to devise some other form...which might be better than the socialist organization.” The Constituent Assembly agreed with Dr Ambedkar and we decided to call ourselves a “sovereign, democratic republic”. But Indira Gandhi amended the Constitution during the Emergency and inserted “socialist” in the preamble. Later the People’s Representation Act was amended and now every political party has to pledge allegiance to socialism to gain recognition.
Well meaning Jawaharlal Nehru set out to create socialism, but we got statism instead. The state assaulted our right to property, whose victims, it turns out, were not the rich but poor farmers from whom the state acquired land forcibly (as Nandigram taught us). Socialist control on industry brought License Raj, which bred black money and damaged our moral character, making us one of the most corrupt societies in the world. Socialist labour rules shattered accountability among state employees. Hence, above-average people in government produce below-average results. And so, even the pretence to offer decent public services has gone. The saddest truth is that our socialist state did not work on behalf of the people but on behalf of itself.
The Supreme Court has now given us chance to look at ourselves in the mirror and reject the mistakes of our past. Until we do that we will keep living a lie and perform below our potential.
Terror in the neighbourhood 13 January, 2008
When a celebrity dies one has to put up with a certain amount of media hype, but after Benazir Bhutto’s death what struck me most was the singular lack of remorse in Pakistan There was plenty of grief, even some regret, but no remorse. Remorse is different from regret. When a child is accidentally hit by a car, an onlooker may feel regret, but the driver feels remorse even though it was not his fault. The regretful person says ‘too bad, it happened’; a remorseful person is scarred, sometimes for life. Nehru expressed remorse when Gandhi died. Yudhishthira’s remorse helped reconcile Hastinapur’s torn society although he wasn’t responsible for the war in the Mahabharata. General Musharraf, I think, lost a fine opportunity to achieve reconciliation in Pakistan.
As Indians, our main interest in Benazir’s death relates to terrorism. There is a respectable view that if Benazir had lived and ushered in democratic rule, terrorist attacks on us would have declined. The premise is that democracies are better at fighting terrorists than dictators because terrorists have to contend with public pressure which is absent in dictatorships. I am not convinced. True, a democracy like the United States has successfully prevented a terrorist attack since 9/11. This is the result of a strong will and very effective execution. However, India, also a democracy, has failed. We have had 20 external terrorist attacks in the past three years, the latest on New Year’s Day at Rampur when 7 CRPF men died. And we have failed to curb domestic Naxalite terrorism.
India is, unfortunately, a ‘soft state’ where the government’s writ is weak and its implementation ability weaker still. BJP blames the Congress Party for appeasing Muslims, which it believes, is responsible for UPA’s poor record on terrorism. The BJP’s own record, however, was not much better when LK Advani was Home Minister. As in most things, politics is not the issue. Our problems stem from a lack of accountability in delivering public services. The answer is administrative reform. We need to unify security agencies; provide security of tenure to agents; empower them; invest in technology; train them to respect human rights; promote the best. This will raise their morale and our ability to fight terrorism.
In India we have a historical tradition ambivalent to violence. It goes back to Ashoka Maurya in the 3rd century BC. A Gandhian friend of mine suggested recently that Manmohan Singh might be in Ashoka’s mould. I reminded him, however, that Emperor Ashoka in his 12th Rock Edict warned the forest tribes against terrorist acts and to be wary of his ‘power even in his remorse’. Thus, even a state based on the ideology of ahimsa could be effective against terrorism. George Orwell may not agree. In his famous essay, ‘Reflections on Gandhi’, Orwell wrote that ‘it is difficult to see how Gandhi’s methods could be applied in a country where opponents of the regime disappear in the middle of the night and are never heard from again’. That is to say, Gandhi’s methods might have worked against the British, but they would not against Hitler; nor against terrorists.
It’s is our bad luck to find ourselves next door to what the Economist calls the ‘most dangerous place on the earth’. As we cope with this thought, remember our ability to survive and flourish depends less on ideology and more on institutions. Although terrorists may be ideologues, countering them requires a very professional law and order machine. Our own machine is crying for reform. I don’t think Benazir would have made much difference. We have to solve our own problems.
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As Indians, our main interest in Benazir’s death relates to terrorism. There is a respectable view that if Benazir had lived and ushered in democratic rule, terrorist attacks on us would have declined. The premise is that democracies are better at fighting terrorists than dictators because terrorists have to contend with public pressure which is absent in dictatorships. I am not convinced. True, a democracy like the United States has successfully prevented a terrorist attack since 9/11. This is the result of a strong will and very effective execution. However, India, also a democracy, has failed. We have had 20 external terrorist attacks in the past three years, the latest on New Year’s Day at Rampur when 7 CRPF men died. And we have failed to curb domestic Naxalite terrorism.
India is, unfortunately, a ‘soft state’ where the government’s writ is weak and its implementation ability weaker still. BJP blames the Congress Party for appeasing Muslims, which it believes, is responsible for UPA’s poor record on terrorism. The BJP’s own record, however, was not much better when LK Advani was Home Minister. As in most things, politics is not the issue. Our problems stem from a lack of accountability in delivering public services. The answer is administrative reform. We need to unify security agencies; provide security of tenure to agents; empower them; invest in technology; train them to respect human rights; promote the best. This will raise their morale and our ability to fight terrorism.
In India we have a historical tradition ambivalent to violence. It goes back to Ashoka Maurya in the 3rd century BC. A Gandhian friend of mine suggested recently that Manmohan Singh might be in Ashoka’s mould. I reminded him, however, that Emperor Ashoka in his 12th Rock Edict warned the forest tribes against terrorist acts and to be wary of his ‘power even in his remorse’. Thus, even a state based on the ideology of ahimsa could be effective against terrorism. George Orwell may not agree. In his famous essay, ‘Reflections on Gandhi’, Orwell wrote that ‘it is difficult to see how Gandhi’s methods could be applied in a country where opponents of the regime disappear in the middle of the night and are never heard from again’. That is to say, Gandhi’s methods might have worked against the British, but they would not against Hitler; nor against terrorists.
It’s is our bad luck to find ourselves next door to what the Economist calls the ‘most dangerous place on the earth’. As we cope with this thought, remember our ability to survive and flourish depends less on ideology and more on institutions. Although terrorists may be ideologues, countering them requires a very professional law and order machine. Our own machine is crying for reform. I don’t think Benazir would have made much difference. We have to solve our own problems.
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Forgive and move on, Dec 30, 2007
A few weeks before Narendra Modi’s re-election, JS Bandukwalla asked Muslims in Gujarat to forgive the 2002 killings. He said, “Forgiveness will release Muslims from the trauma of the past. It may also touch the conscience of Hindus, since the crimes were committed by a few fanatics in the name of Ram. Most important, it may give Gujarat a chance to close the tragic chapter of 2002 and move on.” Is Professor Bandukwalla’s magnanimous gesture a viable alternative to retributive justice? My first reaction is “No, the guilty must be punished”. But something inside me says that forgiveness might actually work better than revenge. Punishment is, after all, revenge sanctioned by the state.
In her book Forgiveness and Revenge, Trudy Govier argues that revenge damages the human core when one exploits others’ suffering to satisfy oneself. It is also obsessive and escalating. Forgiveness, on the other hand, establishes a new relationship with a wrongdoer. After the war in the Mahabharata, Yudhisthira forgives Dhritarashtra instead of punishing him. With that he releases Hastinapur from the burden of resentment, bringing closure to the old enmities. Emperor Ashoka walked the same path. Gandhi found forgiveness empowering since it made one see the wrongdoer in a new light.
Revenge is a sort of wild justice that runs in the human heart. If a good person suffers, then the bad one must suffer even more—this idea is embedded in one’s psyche. Consciously one denies it, proclaiming, “I'm not that sort of person”. Yet unconsciously one applauds when a villain gets his due. Literature is full of examples--Achilles’ rage in the Iliad, Ashwatthama’s reprisal in the Mahabharata, Chillingworth’s cold, calculated vengeance in Hawthorne’s, The Scarlet Letter. In the movies people are always trying to get even—see Kill Bill. Retribution also drives politics--Dalits in India and Blacks in America want to right the catastrophic wrongs of untouchability and slavery. Revenge fulfills a legitimate human need, bringing a “profound moral equilibrium when people pay for the harm they have done,” says Susan Jacoby in Wild Justice.
Human beings have long wrestled with the right relationship between crime and punishment. When we lived in tribes, collective vendetta was the only justice. But as we moved into civil society, crimes became an offense against society which only the state was allowed to punish. In the 19th century, Utilitarians campaigned to rehabilitate criminals. But in the past fifty years public opinion has turned in favour of retribution because rehabilitation programs failed in prisons. The U.S. Supreme Court also brought back the death penalty in 1976. Today’s debate in America is more modest--about ensuring that judicial sentences are fair and proportional to the crime.
Although forgiveness is of limited value in individual criminal justice, it sometimes works in the case of collective events like riots, wars, and historic wrongs. Hence, it is worth giving Professor Bandukwalla’s idea a try. Those who believe in legal accountability will disagree, arguing that healing and communal trust will only be restored in Gujarat once the guilty are punished and victims’ right to reparations have been fulfilled. But I think that just as Nelson Mandela’s South Africa was healed through reconciliation, so might Muslims wounds in Gujarat and even Sikh wounds from Delhi’s 1984 riots. With one caveat, I think--an apology from the other side must accompany forgiveness. Having just been re-elected, it would be fitting for Modi to apologise to Gujarat’s Muslims in return for forgiveness. After that he should focus on rehabilitating victims and bring a tragic chapter to a close. Now, here’s a hopeful thought for the New Year.
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In her book Forgiveness and Revenge, Trudy Govier argues that revenge damages the human core when one exploits others’ suffering to satisfy oneself. It is also obsessive and escalating. Forgiveness, on the other hand, establishes a new relationship with a wrongdoer. After the war in the Mahabharata, Yudhisthira forgives Dhritarashtra instead of punishing him. With that he releases Hastinapur from the burden of resentment, bringing closure to the old enmities. Emperor Ashoka walked the same path. Gandhi found forgiveness empowering since it made one see the wrongdoer in a new light.
Revenge is a sort of wild justice that runs in the human heart. If a good person suffers, then the bad one must suffer even more—this idea is embedded in one’s psyche. Consciously one denies it, proclaiming, “I'm not that sort of person”. Yet unconsciously one applauds when a villain gets his due. Literature is full of examples--Achilles’ rage in the Iliad, Ashwatthama’s reprisal in the Mahabharata, Chillingworth’s cold, calculated vengeance in Hawthorne’s, The Scarlet Letter. In the movies people are always trying to get even—see Kill Bill. Retribution also drives politics--Dalits in India and Blacks in America want to right the catastrophic wrongs of untouchability and slavery. Revenge fulfills a legitimate human need, bringing a “profound moral equilibrium when people pay for the harm they have done,” says Susan Jacoby in Wild Justice.
Human beings have long wrestled with the right relationship between crime and punishment. When we lived in tribes, collective vendetta was the only justice. But as we moved into civil society, crimes became an offense against society which only the state was allowed to punish. In the 19th century, Utilitarians campaigned to rehabilitate criminals. But in the past fifty years public opinion has turned in favour of retribution because rehabilitation programs failed in prisons. The U.S. Supreme Court also brought back the death penalty in 1976. Today’s debate in America is more modest--about ensuring that judicial sentences are fair and proportional to the crime.
Although forgiveness is of limited value in individual criminal justice, it sometimes works in the case of collective events like riots, wars, and historic wrongs. Hence, it is worth giving Professor Bandukwalla’s idea a try. Those who believe in legal accountability will disagree, arguing that healing and communal trust will only be restored in Gujarat once the guilty are punished and victims’ right to reparations have been fulfilled. But I think that just as Nelson Mandela’s South Africa was healed through reconciliation, so might Muslims wounds in Gujarat and even Sikh wounds from Delhi’s 1984 riots. With one caveat, I think--an apology from the other side must accompany forgiveness. Having just been re-elected, it would be fitting for Modi to apologise to Gujarat’s Muslims in return for forgiveness. After that he should focus on rehabilitating victims and bring a tragic chapter to a close. Now, here’s a hopeful thought for the New Year.
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Monday, December 17, 2007
Blueline solution in Indore, Dec. 16, 2007
To be able to kill 113 persons in less than 12 months in broad daylight is something of an accomplishment. The distinction belongs to Delhi’s Blueline buses. Desperate citizens tend to blame drivers, police, politicians, or transport officials. They are all guilty, of course. The real problem, however, lies elsewhere. A few months ago a prominent public figure even blamed ‘privatization’. A staggering comment, I thought, considering that major cities in the world (including in France and England) have excellent, privately run bus services.
Closer to Delhi lies Indore, a city of 20 lakh people. Vivek Aggarwal, a 34 year IAS officer, became its Collector in 2005. He had a hobby—he studied bus services in different cities. With a tiny capital of Rs 25 lakhs, he launched a public-private bus partnership in Indore based on best practices in the world. Two years later Indore has a fleet of 98 modern, low-floor buses with computerised ticket-vending. Electronic signboards at bus stops announce when the next bus is due based on satellite data. Investment in the system has risen to Rs 40 crores, all done privately. The city has made a profit since inception; so have its 6 private partners who run the buses. Soon it will have a 500 buses Indore is now quoted (with Bogota) as having the best bus service in the world.
What can Delhi learn from Indore? First, it must ditch the old socialist idiocy of ‘one bus one owner’--a product of the ‘small is beautiful’ thinking of the eighties. This same stupidity made India reserve 800 industries for the ‘small scale sector’. Economists believe this was perhaps the most harmful industrial policy of the past fifty years, which and has effectively prevented our industrial revolution. Indore did not have such socialist hang-ups—it selected the most capable entrepreneurs and companies to run its buses. Secondly, Delhi must not allow two operators to compete on the same route. This leads to speeding and accidents as drivers scramble to maximize revenue. Bus owners must get exclusive routes and earn revenue based on distance traveled, and this can be easily monitored by an affordable satellite system that tracks bus movement. Indore has a daily and monthly electronic pass, whose revenues are shared between companies. Tomorrow, if Delhi switched to a system where Blueline buses earned revenue per kilometer, traffic deaths would disappear.
Delhi must also have a regulatory body which assesses demand, plans routes, fixes fares, gives out tenders, and monitors daily performance. Indore has a five person team which does this continuously, and this is the secret of its success. Delhi is finally planning to have a Unified Metropolitan Transport Authority, but unless it gives it teeth, it won’t succeed. Some will argue that Indore is too small to be an example for Delhi. These are the same second rate minds who scoffed at Japan’s miracle in the sixties and Korea’s in the seventies, arguing that these countries were too small for India to copy. Just think of Delhi as ten Indores!
Another painful lesson from this tale of two cities is that it takes a bit of luck to throw up officers like Vivek Aggarwal, who have the knowledge and the will to deliver. The average IAS officer spends a lifetime pushing files and still gets promoted. Vivek Aggarwal, I fear, may actually be punished by a system that puts down achievers. But before that he would have had the moral satisfaction of bringing a smile on 20 lakh faces in Indore--something that most of his colleagues will never experience in an entire life time.
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Closer to Delhi lies Indore, a city of 20 lakh people. Vivek Aggarwal, a 34 year IAS officer, became its Collector in 2005. He had a hobby—he studied bus services in different cities. With a tiny capital of Rs 25 lakhs, he launched a public-private bus partnership in Indore based on best practices in the world. Two years later Indore has a fleet of 98 modern, low-floor buses with computerised ticket-vending. Electronic signboards at bus stops announce when the next bus is due based on satellite data. Investment in the system has risen to Rs 40 crores, all done privately. The city has made a profit since inception; so have its 6 private partners who run the buses. Soon it will have a 500 buses Indore is now quoted (with Bogota) as having the best bus service in the world.
What can Delhi learn from Indore? First, it must ditch the old socialist idiocy of ‘one bus one owner’--a product of the ‘small is beautiful’ thinking of the eighties. This same stupidity made India reserve 800 industries for the ‘small scale sector’. Economists believe this was perhaps the most harmful industrial policy of the past fifty years, which and has effectively prevented our industrial revolution. Indore did not have such socialist hang-ups—it selected the most capable entrepreneurs and companies to run its buses. Secondly, Delhi must not allow two operators to compete on the same route. This leads to speeding and accidents as drivers scramble to maximize revenue. Bus owners must get exclusive routes and earn revenue based on distance traveled, and this can be easily monitored by an affordable satellite system that tracks bus movement. Indore has a daily and monthly electronic pass, whose revenues are shared between companies. Tomorrow, if Delhi switched to a system where Blueline buses earned revenue per kilometer, traffic deaths would disappear.
Delhi must also have a regulatory body which assesses demand, plans routes, fixes fares, gives out tenders, and monitors daily performance. Indore has a five person team which does this continuously, and this is the secret of its success. Delhi is finally planning to have a Unified Metropolitan Transport Authority, but unless it gives it teeth, it won’t succeed. Some will argue that Indore is too small to be an example for Delhi. These are the same second rate minds who scoffed at Japan’s miracle in the sixties and Korea’s in the seventies, arguing that these countries were too small for India to copy. Just think of Delhi as ten Indores!
Another painful lesson from this tale of two cities is that it takes a bit of luck to throw up officers like Vivek Aggarwal, who have the knowledge and the will to deliver. The average IAS officer spends a lifetime pushing files and still gets promoted. Vivek Aggarwal, I fear, may actually be punished by a system that puts down achievers. But before that he would have had the moral satisfaction of bringing a smile on 20 lakh faces in Indore--something that most of his colleagues will never experience in an entire life time.
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Tearfully yours, bania-ji, Dec 2, 2007
India is a land of ironies. Even so, the prospect of the Left shedding crocodile tears for the petty trader is truly bizarre. For sixty years the Left bashed the bania--every time food was short, it wanted to nationalize the grain trade and send the ‘profiteer’ to jail. In the early 1970’s it almost succeeded. Now, when the nation has begun a historic transition from small, unorganized retailing to supermarkets, the Left wants to stop it in the name of the bania
There is a legitimate concern, however--what will happen to the millions of jobs in the neighbourhood grocery stores as supermarkets like Reliance Fresh open across the country? The answer to that question has just come in. Thomas Reardon, a world authority in retailing, and Ashok Gulati, India’s premier agricultural economist, conclude in a recent study that the number of employees per square metre in organized and unorganized retail is almost the same. The difference is that employees of supermarkets are better paid, have pension benefits, are trained on computers, and have the opportunity to rise economically and socially. Hence, millions of youngsters are all set to benefit. With franchising, thousands of traders will also gain simultaneously.
This is not the first time that the Left has tried to stop history. When Rajiv Gandhi wanted to introduce computers in banks and railways, the unions went on massive strikes. This delayed our computer revolution by 15 years. A union leader confessed later that computers had actually increased jobs, not reduced them. The same virtuous circle will repeat itself in a bigger way in retailing as the benefits will touch the entire society. The farmer will get a higher price for his produce when he sells directly to supermarkets and is freed from the clutches of our corrupt mandi system. The housewife in the city will also pay a lower price at Reliance Fresh stores because the middlemen have been removed.
Yes, wholesalers and artiyas will lose, and they are the ones behind the current agitation in Uttar Pradesh, Bengal and Kerala. As often happens, the young, idealistic Leftist ‘jhola-walla’ has been captured by these vested interests and has ended on the wrong side. Politicians have also got into the act. If Mukesh Ambani hired and trained 10,000 Dalits for his Reliance Fresh outlets, he would get Mayavati on his side.
The epic, Mahabharata, seems to have been aware of our Indian ironies. It tells the story of Jajali, an arrogant Brahmin, and Tuladhara, a trader of spices in Varanasi. Jajali observes the shopkeeper as he weighs his spices disinterestedly, treats his customers alike, and lives “like a piece of wood flowing in a stream”. Ian Proudfoot, the Sanskrit scholar, explains in Ahimsa and a Mahabharata Story that the trader, with multiple suppliers and buyers, doesn’t depend upon anyone’s favour. His gains and losses are the result of impersonal market forces. He pursues his own interest (like the stick) and this leads to the common good through the “invisible hand” of the market (the stream, in this case). Tuladhara’s life is in contrast to those who doggedly strive for social advancement and influence.
There is an ironic twist in a trader teaching a (Leftist?) Brahmin on how to live. The Mahabharata holds up a worldly merchant as model of detachment before an egoistic, forest dwelling ascetic. Is it the epic’s way of telling the Leftist and RSS Brahmins that sometimes it is better to go with the flow, like a stick in the river, rather than impose your will on history? Think of an India without computers.
-----
There is a legitimate concern, however--what will happen to the millions of jobs in the neighbourhood grocery stores as supermarkets like Reliance Fresh open across the country? The answer to that question has just come in. Thomas Reardon, a world authority in retailing, and Ashok Gulati, India’s premier agricultural economist, conclude in a recent study that the number of employees per square metre in organized and unorganized retail is almost the same. The difference is that employees of supermarkets are better paid, have pension benefits, are trained on computers, and have the opportunity to rise economically and socially. Hence, millions of youngsters are all set to benefit. With franchising, thousands of traders will also gain simultaneously.
This is not the first time that the Left has tried to stop history. When Rajiv Gandhi wanted to introduce computers in banks and railways, the unions went on massive strikes. This delayed our computer revolution by 15 years. A union leader confessed later that computers had actually increased jobs, not reduced them. The same virtuous circle will repeat itself in a bigger way in retailing as the benefits will touch the entire society. The farmer will get a higher price for his produce when he sells directly to supermarkets and is freed from the clutches of our corrupt mandi system. The housewife in the city will also pay a lower price at Reliance Fresh stores because the middlemen have been removed.
Yes, wholesalers and artiyas will lose, and they are the ones behind the current agitation in Uttar Pradesh, Bengal and Kerala. As often happens, the young, idealistic Leftist ‘jhola-walla’ has been captured by these vested interests and has ended on the wrong side. Politicians have also got into the act. If Mukesh Ambani hired and trained 10,000 Dalits for his Reliance Fresh outlets, he would get Mayavati on his side.
The epic, Mahabharata, seems to have been aware of our Indian ironies. It tells the story of Jajali, an arrogant Brahmin, and Tuladhara, a trader of spices in Varanasi. Jajali observes the shopkeeper as he weighs his spices disinterestedly, treats his customers alike, and lives “like a piece of wood flowing in a stream”. Ian Proudfoot, the Sanskrit scholar, explains in Ahimsa and a Mahabharata Story that the trader, with multiple suppliers and buyers, doesn’t depend upon anyone’s favour. His gains and losses are the result of impersonal market forces. He pursues his own interest (like the stick) and this leads to the common good through the “invisible hand” of the market (the stream, in this case). Tuladhara’s life is in contrast to those who doggedly strive for social advancement and influence.
There is an ironic twist in a trader teaching a (Leftist?) Brahmin on how to live. The Mahabharata holds up a worldly merchant as model of detachment before an egoistic, forest dwelling ascetic. Is it the epic’s way of telling the Leftist and RSS Brahmins that sometimes it is better to go with the flow, like a stick in the river, rather than impose your will on history? Think of an India without computers.
-----
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Struggle for Gujarat’s soul November 18, 2007
Not long ago we thought of Gujarat as the land of non-violent Mahatma Gandhi and hard working merchants. That picture has grown more complicated. Gujarat has emerged as an Asian tiger—the fastest growing Indian state with the lowest levels of unemployment, the most investor friendly, with the shortest red tape and least petty corruption. It is hailed by migrants from Bihar and MP as a land of opportunity.
Gujarat, however, is also the Indian state which hosted a genocide under broad daylight in 2002. Those who presided over the killings were elected to power. Their complicity has now been confirmed by the recent Tehelka exposé. The political class, however, has greeted the exposé with silence. Ashish Khetan, author of the report, must feel a bit like Draupadi in the assembly of the nobles at Hastinapur, when no one, not even Bhishma, stopped her from being disrobed. For five years we have heard charges and counter-charges in Gujarat.
Next month Gujarat’s voters will have to decide. Should they reward Narendra Modi for a genuine economic miracle that is lifting so many out of poverty? Or should they draw a line, as India’s voters did after Indira Gandhi’s Emergency, and roundly punish him for the terrible communal violence of 2002? A new book by an eminent American philosopher helps one understand Gujarat’s dilemma.
Martha Nussbaum’s, The Clash Within: Democracy, Religious Violence, & India’s Future (Permanent Black) argues that the post 9/11 world is not some mythic “clash between civilizations” (as Samuel Huntington has argued) between a violent Islam and peaceful democracies in America, Europe, and India. It is a clash within the mind of each one of us--each human being--as we oscillate between self-protective aggression and our ability to live with others. Nussbaum points out that there are two sorts of human beings, and they can be found in all nations. The first (and I think the majority) are self-confident, and like Mahatma Gandhi, they do not fear differences. They respect those who are dissimilar and are happy to let them flourish; self-assured in the robustness of their own way of life.
The second, however, are like another Gujarati, Narendra Modi, who fear religious and ethnic differences and the idea of a plural society. They believe that minorities are a deep threat to order and safety, and are anxious to control them. Congress’ politics of appeasing minorities has given space to the second type to rise in India’s democratic politics. The memory of Ghazni is also strong in Gujarat, and even Mahatma Gandhi’s example has been unable to erase it. Why don’t we condemn Godhra’s massacre in the same breath, they ask rightly? Yet, the second group’s ethos is so un-Indian in our astonishingly diverse society.
What is at stake in the upcoming Gujarat election is thus a clash inside each citizen’s imagination, and it comes down to how we view other human beings. Politics makes one adopt polarized positions. The reality is that Gujarat is both prosperous and genocidal. One wants Gujarat to flourish but also to be decent. Nazi Germany was very efficient. The choice in the end is easy—vote out Modi! For a person who has just climbed out of poverty, however, it may not be so easy. Ideally, one should throw out the rascals but keep their good policies, but one can’t trust Congress to do that. Gujarat, like India, is in the midst of a hundred flowerings. Some of these have turned out to be noxious and the only way out in a democracy is to remove the toxic ones at the polls.
Gujarat, however, is also the Indian state which hosted a genocide under broad daylight in 2002. Those who presided over the killings were elected to power. Their complicity has now been confirmed by the recent Tehelka exposé. The political class, however, has greeted the exposé with silence. Ashish Khetan, author of the report, must feel a bit like Draupadi in the assembly of the nobles at Hastinapur, when no one, not even Bhishma, stopped her from being disrobed. For five years we have heard charges and counter-charges in Gujarat.
Next month Gujarat’s voters will have to decide. Should they reward Narendra Modi for a genuine economic miracle that is lifting so many out of poverty? Or should they draw a line, as India’s voters did after Indira Gandhi’s Emergency, and roundly punish him for the terrible communal violence of 2002? A new book by an eminent American philosopher helps one understand Gujarat’s dilemma.
Martha Nussbaum’s, The Clash Within: Democracy, Religious Violence, & India’s Future (Permanent Black) argues that the post 9/11 world is not some mythic “clash between civilizations” (as Samuel Huntington has argued) between a violent Islam and peaceful democracies in America, Europe, and India. It is a clash within the mind of each one of us--each human being--as we oscillate between self-protective aggression and our ability to live with others. Nussbaum points out that there are two sorts of human beings, and they can be found in all nations. The first (and I think the majority) are self-confident, and like Mahatma Gandhi, they do not fear differences. They respect those who are dissimilar and are happy to let them flourish; self-assured in the robustness of their own way of life.
The second, however, are like another Gujarati, Narendra Modi, who fear religious and ethnic differences and the idea of a plural society. They believe that minorities are a deep threat to order and safety, and are anxious to control them. Congress’ politics of appeasing minorities has given space to the second type to rise in India’s democratic politics. The memory of Ghazni is also strong in Gujarat, and even Mahatma Gandhi’s example has been unable to erase it. Why don’t we condemn Godhra’s massacre in the same breath, they ask rightly? Yet, the second group’s ethos is so un-Indian in our astonishingly diverse society.
What is at stake in the upcoming Gujarat election is thus a clash inside each citizen’s imagination, and it comes down to how we view other human beings. Politics makes one adopt polarized positions. The reality is that Gujarat is both prosperous and genocidal. One wants Gujarat to flourish but also to be decent. Nazi Germany was very efficient. The choice in the end is easy—vote out Modi! For a person who has just climbed out of poverty, however, it may not be so easy. Ideally, one should throw out the rascals but keep their good policies, but one can’t trust Congress to do that. Gujarat, like India, is in the midst of a hundred flowerings. Some of these have turned out to be noxious and the only way out in a democracy is to remove the toxic ones at the polls.
Let biotech crops bloom November 4, 2007
Let’s begin this Sunday morning with a statement of unimpeachable reliability: India has doubled its production of cotton in the past five years. It crossed the United States last year to become the world’s second largest producer and is expected to overtake China in 2009 to become world’s number one. India’s cotton revolution is the subject of constant discussion at global agricultural forums, but in India almost no one has heard of it. Our media talks only about the suicides of cotton farmers. This is because environmental activists have been spreading disinformation and misleading the public.
Norman Borlaug, the Nobel Prize winner, who invented the dwarf varieties of wheat and helped create India’s first green revolution, predicted that science would also drive India’s second green revolution. He is turning out to be right. Biotech (Bt) or transgenic cotton is the miracle seed that resists bollworm—an insect which used to destroy a third to half of our cotton crop each year. By planting Bt cotton farmers have successfully fought the insect and delivered the highest production and exports in India’s history. Production has risen from 158 to 279 lakh bales per year from 2002 to 2006. Net income per farmer has increased by Rs 17,500 per hectare for India’s 23 lakh cotton farmers. From an importer, India has become the third largest exporting nation.
Borlaug wrote in some agony in 2002 that “the approval [of Bt cotton] has been a long, slow, painful process, effectively delayed…by the lobbying of Vandana Shiva and her crowd. Now that the door has been opened for the use of transgenic biotechnology on one crop, I hope it will soon be approved for other crops. As an enthusiastic friend of India, I have been dismayed to see it lagging behind in the approval of transgenic crops while China forges ahead”. His worst fears have come true. Five years have passed since Bt cotton’s approval. Nothing has since been approved. Farmers are anxiously waiting for biotech soya, rice, corn that are flourishing in other countries. Bt mustard was tested to death here and the inventor left India in disgust after 7 years.
The scandal is that government approval takes 18 months in China and 6 years in India. The reason is that transgenic seeds are an invention of private sector science and both government and activists distrust private seed companies. Environmentalists are hostile to these seeds on ideological grounds and delay each trial by taking the government to court. Each time they lose in court (because their case is flimsy) but policy makers and babus get scared and insist on more trials. Ministers are apathetic because there are no photo opportunities for inventions of the private sector. Thus, our second green revolution is delayed. Misguided activists, timid bureaucrats, and apathetic politicians are all conspiring to rob our farmers’ future.
It was bold leadership of C. Subramanium and Lal Bahadur Shastri that created our first green revolution in the 1960s. Had India waited for endless field trials and deliberate delays by environmentalists, it would not have happened. Fortunately, this government has vastly improved its regulatory capability in biotechnology. Now is the time for Manmohan Singh to proudly proclaim our farmers’ achievement in cotton and fast track the approval process for other miracle seeds, especially those tolerant to drought and ideally suited for our rain fed, non-irrigated areas like Vidarbha. He should tell Babus to follow China’s sensible approach and stop reinventing the wheel. Finally, he must also tell off activists (who are called eco-terrorists in some countries) to stop disseminating disinformation and diverting attention from science to suicides.
Norman Borlaug, the Nobel Prize winner, who invented the dwarf varieties of wheat and helped create India’s first green revolution, predicted that science would also drive India’s second green revolution. He is turning out to be right. Biotech (Bt) or transgenic cotton is the miracle seed that resists bollworm—an insect which used to destroy a third to half of our cotton crop each year. By planting Bt cotton farmers have successfully fought the insect and delivered the highest production and exports in India’s history. Production has risen from 158 to 279 lakh bales per year from 2002 to 2006. Net income per farmer has increased by Rs 17,500 per hectare for India’s 23 lakh cotton farmers. From an importer, India has become the third largest exporting nation.
Borlaug wrote in some agony in 2002 that “the approval [of Bt cotton] has been a long, slow, painful process, effectively delayed…by the lobbying of Vandana Shiva and her crowd. Now that the door has been opened for the use of transgenic biotechnology on one crop, I hope it will soon be approved for other crops. As an enthusiastic friend of India, I have been dismayed to see it lagging behind in the approval of transgenic crops while China forges ahead”. His worst fears have come true. Five years have passed since Bt cotton’s approval. Nothing has since been approved. Farmers are anxiously waiting for biotech soya, rice, corn that are flourishing in other countries. Bt mustard was tested to death here and the inventor left India in disgust after 7 years.
The scandal is that government approval takes 18 months in China and 6 years in India. The reason is that transgenic seeds are an invention of private sector science and both government and activists distrust private seed companies. Environmentalists are hostile to these seeds on ideological grounds and delay each trial by taking the government to court. Each time they lose in court (because their case is flimsy) but policy makers and babus get scared and insist on more trials. Ministers are apathetic because there are no photo opportunities for inventions of the private sector. Thus, our second green revolution is delayed. Misguided activists, timid bureaucrats, and apathetic politicians are all conspiring to rob our farmers’ future.
It was bold leadership of C. Subramanium and Lal Bahadur Shastri that created our first green revolution in the 1960s. Had India waited for endless field trials and deliberate delays by environmentalists, it would not have happened. Fortunately, this government has vastly improved its regulatory capability in biotechnology. Now is the time for Manmohan Singh to proudly proclaim our farmers’ achievement in cotton and fast track the approval process for other miracle seeds, especially those tolerant to drought and ideally suited for our rain fed, non-irrigated areas like Vidarbha. He should tell Babus to follow China’s sensible approach and stop reinventing the wheel. Finally, he must also tell off activists (who are called eco-terrorists in some countries) to stop disseminating disinformation and diverting attention from science to suicides.
Dirty hands 21 October, 2007
When Robert Fullenwider compared politicians to garbage collectors, he did not have the former prime minister of India, Deve Gowda, and his ‘kumara’ in mind. He only meant that we should expect both vocations to stink. On October 3, 2007, however, the stench of Karnataka’s politics made even the most putrid muck smell sweet. On that day Deve Gowda’s son refused to vacate the chief minister’s seat after enjoying power for 20 months and reneged on the commitment to transfer power to its BJP ally. Newspaper headlines screamed ‘betrayal’ and then forgot about it.
My friends in Karnataka tell me that they were not surprised. Deve Gowda has a reputation for betraying friends. Before Yediyurappa, he betrayed Dharam Singh, and prior to that Bangarappa. Earlier he ditched Ramakrishna Hegde to become the astonishing candidate for prime minister. My friends said, ‘what were the BJP fools thinking when they made the deal!’ Deve Gowda remembered suddenly that the BJP was ‘communal’. With this act of treachery he joined the august company of Charan Singh and Devi Lal, who also forced untimely elections on innocent citizens.
How do Karnataka’s proud citizens feel about this act of betrayal? Citizens are vulnerable and they place trust in their rulers. When this trust is betrayed, psychologists tell us that citizens feel angry and in extreme cases suffer from ‘political betrayal trauma’. This happens, for example, when a person is wrongly arrested by the state or a soldier is sent to fight in an unjust war. When a trusted leader, a former prime minister, behaves immorally, the betrayal can be as devastating as a spouse’s infidelity.
Lest the children of my Kanadiga friends grow up thinking that this is how grownups should behave—break promises and betray friends--I want to remind them of Karna in the Mahabharata. When Karna discovers his real mother and realises that he is on the wrong side in the war, he refuses to switch sides. He has given his word to Duryodhana and he must be loyal to his commitment. He adds that one’s identity is not determined by birth but by upbringing (a nice thing to remember in these casteist times). Thus, he does not exchange his adopted, low born parents for genetic royal ones. His own charioteer, Shalya, on the other hand, is in Deve Gowda’s mould, and has no problem in betraying Karna.
Ever since Sartre’s play, Dirty Hands, we have got used to thinking that our politicians are exempt from the moral rules that apply to us in private life. The vocation of politics requires one to have ‘dirty hands’ for public figures must fulfill an impartial role, which authorizes them to use violence forbidden to individuals. If I stick a gun to a rich man to collect Rs 20,000 from his pocket, I am guilty of robbery. But when P Chidambaram collects Rs 20,000 from me to improve schools, it is an education cess. Thomas Nagel, the philosopher, makes this point forcefully. Is this why the world forgave President Truman, with dirty hands, for dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima?
A fresher feeling of betrayal is what many Indians will feel if the Indo-US nuclear treaty is aborted. Worried over Pakistan’s military alliance with China, they will consider the national interest betrayed for political expediency, not only by the Congress but also by the BJP (the party that achieved the initial rapprochement with America). Perhaps it is true--politicians must have dirty hands. But unlike Deve Gowda, Manmohan Singh was supposed to have hands as clean as Mahatma Gandhi’s. Hence, the sorrow will be greater.
My friends in Karnataka tell me that they were not surprised. Deve Gowda has a reputation for betraying friends. Before Yediyurappa, he betrayed Dharam Singh, and prior to that Bangarappa. Earlier he ditched Ramakrishna Hegde to become the astonishing candidate for prime minister. My friends said, ‘what were the BJP fools thinking when they made the deal!’ Deve Gowda remembered suddenly that the BJP was ‘communal’. With this act of treachery he joined the august company of Charan Singh and Devi Lal, who also forced untimely elections on innocent citizens.
How do Karnataka’s proud citizens feel about this act of betrayal? Citizens are vulnerable and they place trust in their rulers. When this trust is betrayed, psychologists tell us that citizens feel angry and in extreme cases suffer from ‘political betrayal trauma’. This happens, for example, when a person is wrongly arrested by the state or a soldier is sent to fight in an unjust war. When a trusted leader, a former prime minister, behaves immorally, the betrayal can be as devastating as a spouse’s infidelity.
Lest the children of my Kanadiga friends grow up thinking that this is how grownups should behave—break promises and betray friends--I want to remind them of Karna in the Mahabharata. When Karna discovers his real mother and realises that he is on the wrong side in the war, he refuses to switch sides. He has given his word to Duryodhana and he must be loyal to his commitment. He adds that one’s identity is not determined by birth but by upbringing (a nice thing to remember in these casteist times). Thus, he does not exchange his adopted, low born parents for genetic royal ones. His own charioteer, Shalya, on the other hand, is in Deve Gowda’s mould, and has no problem in betraying Karna.
Ever since Sartre’s play, Dirty Hands, we have got used to thinking that our politicians are exempt from the moral rules that apply to us in private life. The vocation of politics requires one to have ‘dirty hands’ for public figures must fulfill an impartial role, which authorizes them to use violence forbidden to individuals. If I stick a gun to a rich man to collect Rs 20,000 from his pocket, I am guilty of robbery. But when P Chidambaram collects Rs 20,000 from me to improve schools, it is an education cess. Thomas Nagel, the philosopher, makes this point forcefully. Is this why the world forgave President Truman, with dirty hands, for dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima?
A fresher feeling of betrayal is what many Indians will feel if the Indo-US nuclear treaty is aborted. Worried over Pakistan’s military alliance with China, they will consider the national interest betrayed for political expediency, not only by the Congress but also by the BJP (the party that achieved the initial rapprochement with America). Perhaps it is true--politicians must have dirty hands. But unlike Deve Gowda, Manmohan Singh was supposed to have hands as clean as Mahatma Gandhi’s. Hence, the sorrow will be greater.
My Chak De! moment October 7, 2007
To get to the playing field where children play in our neighborhood, you must turn right at the market and then take a sharp left. A bhuttawali sits at the corner. Go past her another fifty metres and you can’t miss it, especially in the evening when the occasional roar of ‘Chak De’ will announce that someone has just scored a boundary. The Hindi film, ‘Chak De India’ with Shah Rukh Khan, has given us a new slogan that at once unites us and captures the exuberant mood of a confident, young India. Amrita Shah put it nicely, ‘Part exhortation, part exaltation—it has just amount of zing and energy to work in a stadium or on the street’.
Our sports teams have also won in recent months and returned the compliment. Vijay Santhanam, is right when he says, ‘Vishwanathan Anand’s becoming the undisputed world champion of chess is a bigger Chak De moment for India than either winning the 20/20 Cricket World Cup or the Asia Hockey Cup. Chess is played in 166 countries; field hockey is played in 61; cricket in less than 20. But my proudest Chak De moment came last Tuesday when our local 14 year old hero, Arjun, whose cricket bat rains sixes like Yuvraj Singh’s, did an amazing thing. He offered to give up his place on the team to a young urchin who had been hanging around for weeks, drooling to play and no one would let him. Arjun’s was an act of unbelievable kindness from one 14 year old to another. At one go, he washed away some of the stain of mean hearted Dronacharya’s against Eklavya in the Mahabharata.
Arjun’s act is a lesson for another reason for the millions of young Indians caught in today’s rat race where only money matters. I enjoyed the cliffhangers in South Africa as much as anyone, but I was offended by the vulgar display of public cash rewards and the Porche afterwards. Although the pursuit of success is hard wired in our genes, I do wish that higher status would attach to being kind and considerate, to compassionate acts like Arjun’s. I have no problem with money. Unlike our hypocritical socialists, I do not rail against the culture of consumerism. Competition, Hesiod pointed out long ago, is built into our natures, and it calls for real victory and real defeat.
This is where a liberal education comes in handy for it allows one to cope better with the rat race. The education systems of some nations do a better job of inculcating values that produce Arjuns. When English teenagers were asked, ‘Are most of your classmates kind and helpful?’ only 43% said ‘yes’, according to Richard Layard of the London School of Economics. On the other hand, 75% of Scandinavian children said ‘Yes’.
I think our neighborhood hero was given the wrong name by his mother. She should have called him Yudhisthira, not Arjuna. Recall, great souled Yudhishthira, tormented and embattled, refuses to enter heaven at the end of the epic. He insists that an unclean, stray dog, who had been following him, is admitted into heaven as well. It turns out to have been a test, and Yudhishthira and his ethical goal of anrsamsya or compassion, are paid the highest compliment. He is told, ‘Great king, you weep with all the creatures!’ I wonder why no Indian mother calls her son, Yudhishthira. There are millions of Arjuns. It is not because it is difficult to pronounce. The fact is that Arjuna is a winner in the self-defeating kshatriya rat race of life. We prefer winners to goodness.
------
Our sports teams have also won in recent months and returned the compliment. Vijay Santhanam, is right when he says, ‘Vishwanathan Anand’s becoming the undisputed world champion of chess is a bigger Chak De moment for India than either winning the 20/20 Cricket World Cup or the Asia Hockey Cup. Chess is played in 166 countries; field hockey is played in 61; cricket in less than 20. But my proudest Chak De moment came last Tuesday when our local 14 year old hero, Arjun, whose cricket bat rains sixes like Yuvraj Singh’s, did an amazing thing. He offered to give up his place on the team to a young urchin who had been hanging around for weeks, drooling to play and no one would let him. Arjun’s was an act of unbelievable kindness from one 14 year old to another. At one go, he washed away some of the stain of mean hearted Dronacharya’s against Eklavya in the Mahabharata.
Arjun’s act is a lesson for another reason for the millions of young Indians caught in today’s rat race where only money matters. I enjoyed the cliffhangers in South Africa as much as anyone, but I was offended by the vulgar display of public cash rewards and the Porche afterwards. Although the pursuit of success is hard wired in our genes, I do wish that higher status would attach to being kind and considerate, to compassionate acts like Arjun’s. I have no problem with money. Unlike our hypocritical socialists, I do not rail against the culture of consumerism. Competition, Hesiod pointed out long ago, is built into our natures, and it calls for real victory and real defeat.
This is where a liberal education comes in handy for it allows one to cope better with the rat race. The education systems of some nations do a better job of inculcating values that produce Arjuns. When English teenagers were asked, ‘Are most of your classmates kind and helpful?’ only 43% said ‘yes’, according to Richard Layard of the London School of Economics. On the other hand, 75% of Scandinavian children said ‘Yes’.
I think our neighborhood hero was given the wrong name by his mother. She should have called him Yudhisthira, not Arjuna. Recall, great souled Yudhishthira, tormented and embattled, refuses to enter heaven at the end of the epic. He insists that an unclean, stray dog, who had been following him, is admitted into heaven as well. It turns out to have been a test, and Yudhishthira and his ethical goal of anrsamsya or compassion, are paid the highest compliment. He is told, ‘Great king, you weep with all the creatures!’ I wonder why no Indian mother calls her son, Yudhishthira. There are millions of Arjuns. It is not because it is difficult to pronounce. The fact is that Arjuna is a winner in the self-defeating kshatriya rat race of life. We prefer winners to goodness.
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All about my mother 23 September 2007
One night in 1987 a biochemist from New Zealand, Allan Wilson, and his American colleague Rebecca Cann were examining a so-far ignored part of human DNA at the University of California, Berkeley, and they made the astonishing discovery that all human beings have the same parents. This DNA in our bodies remains intact through the generations and is passed on from mother to daughter, but also leaves behind traces of the changes or mutations. When these scientists examined this DNA component in the family tree of each of the continents of the earth, they could trace it back to one woman who lived in Africa about 200,000 years ago.
The Nobel Prize winner, James Watson proclaimed, ‘she was the great-great-great….grand-mother of us all’. Obviously, she was not the only woman alive at that time: she was just the luckiest because her children survived to populate the world, while the lines of the descendants of other women became extinct. One of her three lines, which carry the cells of her daughters, is called Manju because scientists believe that this line evolved in India
When I read this in Nayan Chanda’s lively new book, Bound Together: How Traders, Preachers, Adventurers, & Warriors Shaped Globalization, I exclaimed excitedly, ‘I have found my mother!’ This thrilling history of globalization describes how human beings have been moving and connecting ever since we evolved from the apes. Chanda goes on to explain that in 2000, the Italian geneticist, Luigi Luca Cavalli-Sforza and Peter Underhill found that our father had also come from Africa. They proved this in a study of the Y chromosome which determines the male sex. Our ancestors left Africa only fifty thousand years ago and we can track their genomic journey as they crossed many Ram Setu-like land bridges that are now submerged in the sea. The most famous of these connected Russia with Alaska and explains why American Indians have Asian features. Our migrant ancestors tended to settle down in a region, and hence geneticists can trace the Y chromosome to that region.
If an enterprising Indian reader of this column has his DNA examined he will find that it contains M52 Y-chromosome which dominates on our subcontinent. Nayan Chanda did that. He ordered a kit from National Geographic, dutifully swabbed DNA from his cheeks, and mailed off the vials labeled with a serial number. A few weeks later he logged in his serial number on their website, and discovered that indeed he was from India. But he also found that he had left behind ancestors in Ethiopia, Middle East and Central Asia and other places. ‘It was like finding my family passport with stamps of the countries my ancestors passed through’, he writes.
This is because migrations came in successive waves and hence Wilson’s team has found that all human beings have multiple origins. We are all time-walkers out of Africa and can now trace our ancestors around the world. We are mongrels, and this evidence has finally destroyed the ugly theory of distinct races. Some of us are white, others are black because we have had to adapt to different climates; the Chinese have narrow eyes because their ancestors had to protect them from the blinding sunlight of the snowy Arctic lands. It is quite wonderful I think how science has confirmed the splendid aphorism of the Panchatantra: ‘Vasudhaiva kutumbakam’ or ‘the whole world is a family’. I try to remember this when I get angry with the U.S. for invading Iraq, or upset with Prakash Karat for obstructing the nuclear treaty, or enraged by foreign Islamists for bombing our trains.
The Nobel Prize winner, James Watson proclaimed, ‘she was the great-great-great….grand-mother of us all’. Obviously, she was not the only woman alive at that time: she was just the luckiest because her children survived to populate the world, while the lines of the descendants of other women became extinct. One of her three lines, which carry the cells of her daughters, is called Manju because scientists believe that this line evolved in India
When I read this in Nayan Chanda’s lively new book, Bound Together: How Traders, Preachers, Adventurers, & Warriors Shaped Globalization, I exclaimed excitedly, ‘I have found my mother!’ This thrilling history of globalization describes how human beings have been moving and connecting ever since we evolved from the apes. Chanda goes on to explain that in 2000, the Italian geneticist, Luigi Luca Cavalli-Sforza and Peter Underhill found that our father had also come from Africa. They proved this in a study of the Y chromosome which determines the male sex. Our ancestors left Africa only fifty thousand years ago and we can track their genomic journey as they crossed many Ram Setu-like land bridges that are now submerged in the sea. The most famous of these connected Russia with Alaska and explains why American Indians have Asian features. Our migrant ancestors tended to settle down in a region, and hence geneticists can trace the Y chromosome to that region.
If an enterprising Indian reader of this column has his DNA examined he will find that it contains M52 Y-chromosome which dominates on our subcontinent. Nayan Chanda did that. He ordered a kit from National Geographic, dutifully swabbed DNA from his cheeks, and mailed off the vials labeled with a serial number. A few weeks later he logged in his serial number on their website, and discovered that indeed he was from India. But he also found that he had left behind ancestors in Ethiopia, Middle East and Central Asia and other places. ‘It was like finding my family passport with stamps of the countries my ancestors passed through’, he writes.
This is because migrations came in successive waves and hence Wilson’s team has found that all human beings have multiple origins. We are all time-walkers out of Africa and can now trace our ancestors around the world. We are mongrels, and this evidence has finally destroyed the ugly theory of distinct races. Some of us are white, others are black because we have had to adapt to different climates; the Chinese have narrow eyes because their ancestors had to protect them from the blinding sunlight of the snowy Arctic lands. It is quite wonderful I think how science has confirmed the splendid aphorism of the Panchatantra: ‘Vasudhaiva kutumbakam’ or ‘the whole world is a family’. I try to remember this when I get angry with the U.S. for invading Iraq, or upset with Prakash Karat for obstructing the nuclear treaty, or enraged by foreign Islamists for bombing our trains.
Our Achilles heel 9 September 2007
A friend of mine, who hikes frequently in the Himalayas, showed me a solar torch the other day which gives light for seven hours before you need to recharge it in the sun. It has a hook for hanging and can light up a small room. My friend uses it for camping. But what a boon, I thought, for our 250,000 villages without electricity and the millions of school children who can’t do homework at night and village women who fear walking after dark. I googled the maker of the torch and discovered an inspiring story about how to be both a good and an effective human being.
Mark Bent, an American, worked for 20 years in Africa and saw the waste behind government aid programs. He came home and invented what he calls the BoGo solar torch. BoGo means ‘Buy One, Give One’. When you buy one flashlight for Rs 1000, Mark gives one at half price to NGOs in Africa, who give it to villagers at a nominal price. Mark makes the torches in China to keep costs low. The story is remarkable not because Mark is a ‘do-gooder’ but because he has found an innovative and sustainable way to profit from the rich and benefit the poor. Rich campers bring light to African villagers. I hope some NGO in India will google Mark and begin distributing these torches here.
Now, why couldn’t one of our boys or girls invent and market this lamp? The answer, of course, is our education system which stifles all creativity through rote learning. It was modeled on the British system, but the British have moved on and reformed theirs, partly under American inspiration. But our kids are still stuck in a world of cramming and coaching classes. The disease lies in the lack of autonomy. The ministry of HRD and its children, University Grants Commission (UGC) and All India Council for Technical Education (AICTE) have a stranglehold. A college cannot decide what courses to teach, what fees to charge and what salaries to pay its professors. How could creativity emerge from this servitude? Creating new universities, as the PM proposes, is not the answer unless you give them autonomy.
Forget creativity, Indian companies are frightened by the shortage of basic skills which is currently driving up salaries unhealthily. Of the 400,000 new engineers that graduate each year, roughly 100,000 have the skills to enter the job market. It is tragic that 420,000 students strive for 6000 IIT and IIM seats annually. The answer, of course, is to increase the supply of good colleges. As it is, we lose 160,000 students to foreign universities and parents pay $3 billion in fees and costs. Indian ‘edupreneurs’ and foreign universities have repeatedly tried to start high quality campuses but the HRD ministry’s ‘license raj’ drives them away. AICTE even wants to close down the prestigious, private Indian School of Business which offers a better education than an IIM. The draft foreign universities bill doesn’t provide autonomy either and ensures that no decent foreign university will enter India.
Our education system is our Achilles heel and we will not spawn Mark Bents until we do a 1991 on HRD and unbind India’s education. Meanwhile, I console myself in knowing that there are individuals like my friend, N.S. Raghavan, who is using part of his Infosys fortune to incubate entrepreneurs at the IIM Bangalore. He will make a difference and modest breakthroughs like Mark Bent’s will contribute more to human happiness than either the massive aid programs of governments or the soul killing mediocrity of our universities.
Mark Bent, an American, worked for 20 years in Africa and saw the waste behind government aid programs. He came home and invented what he calls the BoGo solar torch. BoGo means ‘Buy One, Give One’. When you buy one flashlight for Rs 1000, Mark gives one at half price to NGOs in Africa, who give it to villagers at a nominal price. Mark makes the torches in China to keep costs low. The story is remarkable not because Mark is a ‘do-gooder’ but because he has found an innovative and sustainable way to profit from the rich and benefit the poor. Rich campers bring light to African villagers. I hope some NGO in India will google Mark and begin distributing these torches here.
Now, why couldn’t one of our boys or girls invent and market this lamp? The answer, of course, is our education system which stifles all creativity through rote learning. It was modeled on the British system, but the British have moved on and reformed theirs, partly under American inspiration. But our kids are still stuck in a world of cramming and coaching classes. The disease lies in the lack of autonomy. The ministry of HRD and its children, University Grants Commission (UGC) and All India Council for Technical Education (AICTE) have a stranglehold. A college cannot decide what courses to teach, what fees to charge and what salaries to pay its professors. How could creativity emerge from this servitude? Creating new universities, as the PM proposes, is not the answer unless you give them autonomy.
Forget creativity, Indian companies are frightened by the shortage of basic skills which is currently driving up salaries unhealthily. Of the 400,000 new engineers that graduate each year, roughly 100,000 have the skills to enter the job market. It is tragic that 420,000 students strive for 6000 IIT and IIM seats annually. The answer, of course, is to increase the supply of good colleges. As it is, we lose 160,000 students to foreign universities and parents pay $3 billion in fees and costs. Indian ‘edupreneurs’ and foreign universities have repeatedly tried to start high quality campuses but the HRD ministry’s ‘license raj’ drives them away. AICTE even wants to close down the prestigious, private Indian School of Business which offers a better education than an IIM. The draft foreign universities bill doesn’t provide autonomy either and ensures that no decent foreign university will enter India.
Our education system is our Achilles heel and we will not spawn Mark Bents until we do a 1991 on HRD and unbind India’s education. Meanwhile, I console myself in knowing that there are individuals like my friend, N.S. Raghavan, who is using part of his Infosys fortune to incubate entrepreneurs at the IIM Bangalore. He will make a difference and modest breakthroughs like Mark Bent’s will contribute more to human happiness than either the massive aid programs of governments or the soul killing mediocrity of our universities.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Do a 1991 on cricket August 26, 2007
Not unlike other unrepentant fans of Indian cricket, I have been feeling pretty low ever since our ignominious exit from the World Cup. Although we managed to defeat England recently, there is something rotten with our cricket and it lies in the monopoly of our cricket board (BCCI). I am no cricket expert but I do know something about how organizations work and the damage that monopolies can cause.
BCCI is reminiscent of the ugly days of License Raj when you could choose any TV channel as long it was Doordarshan and fly any airline as long as long as it was Indian Airlines. You could queue up and wait forever for a telephone, a gas connection or an Ambassador car. Our lives changed after 1991 because economic reforms brought competition. Waiting lines disappeared, prices came down, quality went up, and service improved. If there is one lesson we have learned as a nation, it is that competition can transform the lives of citizens, producers, and even regulators.
Some areas have not experienced reform, however. One of these is electric power; another is cricket. Like the old department of telecom (DOT), our cricket board is both a player and an umpire. It is the only buyer of cricket talent, the only supplier of matches, the monopoly controller of cricket infrastructure and the sole regulator. Despite its tall talk, BCCI has never bothered to nurture talent. If it had there would be a hundred Kanga Leagues in a hundred Indian towns. BCCI is mainly focused on 11 players for the national team. This is why no one watches Ranji Trophy. Thus, the market for cricket players remains tiny, much as the telephone market was before the reforms. In 1990, there were only 5 million telephones in the whole of India; today there are 200 million, growing by 8 million a month. The old DOT was politicised—you needed a political connection to get a telephone. So is the BCCI, whose corrupt and dysfunctional state cricket associations are run mostly by politicians. With Indian agriculture in deep trouble should the honourable minister, who is the head of BCCI, worry about 11 men in whites? No wonder a nation of a billion people can’t produce a decent cricket team.
Things are about to change, however. A new venture, the Indian Cricket League (ICL), will soon begin playing cricket with six local teams, and this will grow to sixteen in three years. When 176 players play on television night after night, millions of viewers will judge them. Talent will no longer remain hidden. Rishwat and sifarish will not get you selected by state cricket associations. ICL will become a nursery for talent like the professional sports leagues in America and Europe, and India might even field a world beating cricket team soon. BCCI will fight tooth and claw to defend its monopoly, of course, but it will fail in the end. For Subhash Chandra, the man behind ICL, knows how to break monopolies. It was his Zee Televison that broke the Doordarshan’s monopoly in the 1990’s.
India was a sick economy in 1991. It took the medicine of competition and went on to become the second fastest growing economy in the world. The same could happen to Indian cricket. Competition is like a school in which companies learn to improve. Competition created excellent companies like Infosys, Airtel, Jet Airways, and ICICI Bank. Indian Cricket League could also become a world class brand as international players vie to play in it. So BCCI, don’t play spoilsport. Let’s do a 1991 on Indian cricket.
BCCI is reminiscent of the ugly days of License Raj when you could choose any TV channel as long it was Doordarshan and fly any airline as long as long as it was Indian Airlines. You could queue up and wait forever for a telephone, a gas connection or an Ambassador car. Our lives changed after 1991 because economic reforms brought competition. Waiting lines disappeared, prices came down, quality went up, and service improved. If there is one lesson we have learned as a nation, it is that competition can transform the lives of citizens, producers, and even regulators.
Some areas have not experienced reform, however. One of these is electric power; another is cricket. Like the old department of telecom (DOT), our cricket board is both a player and an umpire. It is the only buyer of cricket talent, the only supplier of matches, the monopoly controller of cricket infrastructure and the sole regulator. Despite its tall talk, BCCI has never bothered to nurture talent. If it had there would be a hundred Kanga Leagues in a hundred Indian towns. BCCI is mainly focused on 11 players for the national team. This is why no one watches Ranji Trophy. Thus, the market for cricket players remains tiny, much as the telephone market was before the reforms. In 1990, there were only 5 million telephones in the whole of India; today there are 200 million, growing by 8 million a month. The old DOT was politicised—you needed a political connection to get a telephone. So is the BCCI, whose corrupt and dysfunctional state cricket associations are run mostly by politicians. With Indian agriculture in deep trouble should the honourable minister, who is the head of BCCI, worry about 11 men in whites? No wonder a nation of a billion people can’t produce a decent cricket team.
Things are about to change, however. A new venture, the Indian Cricket League (ICL), will soon begin playing cricket with six local teams, and this will grow to sixteen in three years. When 176 players play on television night after night, millions of viewers will judge them. Talent will no longer remain hidden. Rishwat and sifarish will not get you selected by state cricket associations. ICL will become a nursery for talent like the professional sports leagues in America and Europe, and India might even field a world beating cricket team soon. BCCI will fight tooth and claw to defend its monopoly, of course, but it will fail in the end. For Subhash Chandra, the man behind ICL, knows how to break monopolies. It was his Zee Televison that broke the Doordarshan’s monopoly in the 1990’s.
India was a sick economy in 1991. It took the medicine of competition and went on to become the second fastest growing economy in the world. The same could happen to Indian cricket. Competition is like a school in which companies learn to improve. Competition created excellent companies like Infosys, Airtel, Jet Airways, and ICICI Bank. Indian Cricket League could also become a world class brand as international players vie to play in it. So BCCI, don’t play spoilsport. Let’s do a 1991 on Indian cricket.
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