Sunday, April 14, 2024

                                                 What Sort of Emerging Superpower?

 

A 7-Pager by Ajit Chaudhuri – April 2024

 

 

I would like to take the reader back to events of just over 20 years ago – an India Today Conclave in March 2004 whose line-up had an array of high-profile speakers including the PM of India, the President of Pakistan, India’s Leader of the Opposition, luminaries from the fields of politics, business, and sports and, last but not least, Ms. Aishwarya Rai. The theme was ‘Building an Indian Century’ and, in between all the chest thumping (those were the days of ‘India Shining’), there was a sobering talk by a strategic expert named Ashley Tellis – he said that superpower-hood requires the ability to fight two remote wars simultaneously; this in turn requires a navy with multiple aircraft carrier systems; and the cost of maintaining one such system was …. and he reeled off a number that sounded like the GDP of a middle-income country.

 


The ‘India the superpower’ theme has recently re-emerged, this time on stronger footing. We have been acknowledged as the world champions in procreation. The security aspect continues to be relevant, with India transforming into a blue-water navy, participating in alliances such as the Quad, and changing from Russian to American weapons (from Tu-142s to P8Is for aerial anti-submarine warfare, for example). But it is the economic aspect that is driving the discussion – we are shortly expected to become the world’s third largest economy (though, as with everything Indian, the less said about per capita figures the better); we are the only major economy that is growing significantly (7.6% in real GDP in FY24); and there are strong tailwinds in the form of, for one, the west looking for alternatives to China.

 


So, two questions! One, are we on the road to superpower-hood this time, or is this mere pre-election hyperbole? And two, if so, what sort of superpower will we be?

 


On the first, while there are quibbles about the details, most forecasts indicate that yes, indeed we are. According to a December 2021 paper from CEBR (a UK-based consultancy), we will be the third largest economy by 2032 (Germany $4.4 tr, Japan $4.2 tr, India $3.5 tr – but the former two growing at below 2 percent) and the largest by 2080 with the key drivers being favourable demographics, a burgeoning middle class, a dynamic entrepreneurial sector, and integration with the world economy. 

 


The immediate numbers, too, are favourable – high GDP growth, manageable inflation (ranging between 4.5 and 5.5 percent per annum), a low current account deficit (the difference between money spent abroad and money received from abroad, currently about 1.2 percent of GDP), inter alia – but iffy. Iffy because the government has dismantled the country’s statistical machinery through various measures including not holding a decadal census for the first time in 140 years, leading to a former Chief Economic Advisor (Dr. Arvind Subramanian) saying, incidentally at a recent India Today Conclave, that India’s GDP numbers are mystifying and difficult to comprehend.

 


I’m no pundit but do know that an economy consists of four basic components and, therefore, all growth must come from one or more of public expenditure, private consumption, private investment, and exports minus imports. The numbers indicate that private consumption, which is what people such as you and I spend and constitutes two-thirds of GDP, has grown at about 4 percent per annum in recent years, which is low. Private investment, or what businesses spend, has gone down (this is the part of the economy that is supposed to create jobs, so more on this later) as have exports (exports minus imports, however, has grown because imports have gone down more) leaving the burden of growth on public expenditure or what the government spends (mostly on salaries, infrastructure, and welfare schemes). How can you grow at 8 percent if most of you is growing at 4 percent or not at all?

 


There are explanations for anomalies such as this beyond the numbers being manufactured out of thin air, such as that some are lead indicators and some are lag and therefore that, for example, public expenditure on highways today will lead to increased private consumption tomorrow. And, despite their iffy-ness, the indications are that we are on the road to economic superpower-hood.

 


The second question brings an elephant into the room in the form of inequality.

 


Most view inequality as necessary for capitalism to succeed, the argument being – hard work and success requires reward and vice versa, else there is no incentive to work and to succeed. This in turn leads to growth. Growth also requires failure; it leads to creative destruction and the replacement of the old and inefficient by the new and enhanced. And sustained economic growth is seen as the best way out of poverty – growth at 14 percent, for example, will double average per capita income in 5 years, and the effect of the average income of 1.4 billion people doubling is enormous. Yes, there will be inequality in all this – it is not possible to grow at that rate without displacing, polluting, and extracting (exporting all this via colonialism is not an option anymore), and people will miss out. But they will catch up subsequently, due to the market mechanism converging towards an optimal equilibrium, due to the checks and balances of democracy, and when the trickle-down effects of growth reach them.

 


Or so the theory goes.

 


A short review of what prominent thinkers say on inequality may be useful.

 


Thomas Malthus, famous for the eponymous trap resulting from population increasing exponentially and food supply in a linear manner[1] has a simple but drastic policy suggestion for addressing inequality – restrict the ability of the poor to reproduce.

 


Karl Marx does not share other economists’ view (especially Adam Smith’s ‘invisible hand’[2] and Jean-Baptiste Say’s ‘supply creates its own demand’[3]) of the market as a self-regulating mechanism capable of achieving equilibrium on its own. He articulates ‘the principle of infinite accumulation’[4] – the inexorable tendency for capital to accumulate and become concentrated in ever fewer hands with no natural limit to the process – with an apocalyptic end for capitalism in the form of the rate of return on capital steadily declining and killing the engine of accumulation or else of its share of national income increasing to the point at which workers unite in revolt.

 


The prophecy was not realized for various reasons including Marx’s neglect of the effects of increasing productivity and technical progress as a counterweight to accumulation and, nice to know that even he could err in this common manner, him having possibly decided on his conclusions before embarking on his research. Marx’s work is nevertheless important because he articulates the role of accumulated wealth as a socially destabilizing influence, especially in a low growth economy.

 


Simon Kuznets states that economic growth is a rising tide that lifts all boats, and that income inequality follows an inverted-U curve (the ‘Kuznets Curve’) that initially increases, then flattens, and then decreases over the course of industrialization until it stabilizes at an acceptable level[5].

 


The philosopher John Rawls provides a basis for the acceptance of inequality as being just[6], saying that a low-income household may be better off in a high income but unequal society than in a low income but egalitarian society (and, by implication, that Mukeshbhai and Gautambhai raking in the bucks may be better for us all).

 


Thomas Piketty treats capital more as an accounting category, a proxy for wealth, than as an exploitative force a la Marx. He separates income and wealth and asks the questions – what does data tell us about how these have evolved; do the dynamics of private capital accumulation inevitably lead to concentration of wealth (Marx’s view) or do balancing forces such as growth, competition and technical progress reduce inequality (Kuznets’ view); and what lessons can we derive for the future[7].

 


His key point is that, when the rate of return on capital ‘r’ (i.e., rents, interest, profits, dividends, etcetera) exceeds the economy’s growth rate ‘g’, i.e., when r>g, capitalism automatically generates arbitrary and unsustainable inequalities that radically undermine the meritocratic values upon which democratic societies are based.

 


He suggests that r>g provides the conditions for inherited wealth to dominate society and inheritors by nature are hostile to the creative destruction necessary for rapid economic growth (the old rich are focussed on keeping what they have and prefer rent-seeking to winning in the competitive marketplace). Plutocracies, or government by the wealthy, are usually high price, low growth, and low innovation societies in which ‘who you know’ matters more than ‘what you know’. They are also highly unequal and deeply unpleasant societies for a majority of their citizens.

 


Let’s move from the general to the Indian situation. There are two recent papers that throw light on inequality in India.

 


The first is a 2024 paper by Piketty and others[8] that states that inequality decreased post-independence, began increasing in the early 1980s, has skyrocketed between 2014-15 and 2022-23, and is currently at historically high levels. The current share of the top 1 percent’s income (i.e., earnings, interest on savings and investments, and other sources) is 22.6%, and of the top 1 percent’s wealth (i.e., net worth, or total value of assets owned) is 40.1% of the country’s total income and wealth respectively.

 


The second is by a team of researchers from the International Labour Organization[9], which paints a grim picture of India’s widely touted ‘demographic dividend’. It states that 83 percent of the unemployed (i.e., working-age people who are not in paid work, education, or training) are youth, with 7-8 million more being added every year. The educated unemployed are in a worse state, with 65.7 percent of school leavers (up from 35.2 percent in 2000) and 29.1 percent of graduates being unemployed, pointing to a failed education system, no jobs available, and stagnant wages. India’s Chief Economic Advisor Dr. V. Anantha Nageswaran lamented while releasing this report that ‘the government cannot solve all social and economic problems like unemployment – in a normal world, it is the commercial sector that needs to do the hiring’. He is correct in that private investment has not stepped up, but his handwringing is also laughable given the government’s role in enabling this.

 


How so?

 


The government has driven growth through its own spend and by favouring selected large players through policies such as increasing formalization of the economy (large players have better access to capital and are able to manage the enhanced compliance requirements), disincentives to competition in the form of foreign and domestic participation (high import barriers, arbitrary policies, retrospective tax enforcement, increased entry barriers) and weak regulatory bodies for monopolies and restrictive trade practices. As a result, the number of sectors under oligopoly, with a few dominant players, is significant. But it is the medium and small enterprises that are crucial for job creation and mass consumption, and it is today’s start-ups that will create the growth of the future, and policy-wise both seem to exist mainly in platitudes.

 


There are two other statistics that alarm me. The first is that India’s income at the 90th percentile is just above Rs. 19,000/- per month – meaning that earning Rs. 2.3 lakhs per annum puts one in the top ten percent bracket in the country. The second is from the PM himself – he says that his government will provide 810 million people with free food through till 2028 – meaning that, in his estimation, 60 percent of the country are unable to feed themselves in a time of high economic growth.

 


You can draw your own conclusions from all this.

 


For me, some things stand out (and I have lived in 3 different cities over the past 5 years). The first is the large number of angry young men hanging around twiddling their thumbs. They are either unemployed or under-employed and consist of two types – upper caste educated men whose fathers have jobs, who know that they will not be able to maintain the living standards of previous generations; and first-generation job-wallahs who see education and work as a means by which to emulate the lives of those they see on TV. They have been failed by the education system and the job market, but they are not useless people, they are our delivery boys, security guards, drivers, inter alia, and they make their presence felt by taking over the streets on occasions such as religious festivals. Our politicians have thus far successfully diverted their anger towards minorities, foreigners, and the English-speaking liberally educated classes, and the effects of this on the quality of political discourse are available for all to see.

 


There is a third type of angry man, not as visible as the other two, who rejects the development paradigm and everything that it stands for, and who just does not want to be disturbed. These young men react to encroachments on to their habitations and their way of life by moving deeper and deeper into the forest and, when pushed into a corner, by resorting to extreme methods to prevent such encroachments. The red corridors and Pathalgadi movements in eastern India are testimonies to this.

 


The second is the many movements to enable certain castes and sub-castes to gain from reservations in government jobs – forwards claiming backwardness, backwards claiming tribal-ness – and counter movements to block them by those already in those categories. And the fact that there is a rationality to such zero-sum thinking.

 


The third is the blindness of policy makers to the existence of the poor, with some egregious examples being demonetization and the move to create new Hong Kongs in the Nicobar Islands, and the role played by the media and other institutions in enabling this blindness. I wish that I could say that this phenomenon is restricted to a small group of powerful people and their poodles, but I know of a respected NGO claiming that its field area was free of child labour (and all children were in school) based on sarpanches having certified its non-existence. We all knew it was fallacious, communities were in deep distress after the lockdown and child labour had increased significantly, but the ‘sarpanch has certified so ….’  justification for not doing anything about children who were not in school stopped only when someone made the point that sarpanches had similarly certified that their villages were open defecation free.

 


And the fourth is that people seem to have intrinsically understood Piketty’s point that when r>g they are better off living off capital than off incomes, and those who have not inherited capital are looking at innovative ways to create it – through government service (and I am not talking here of salary which, while not insignificant, is also not at a level that enables capital formation), cybercrime, politics, entertainment, inter alia.

 


So, are we on the road towards becoming a Billionnaire Raj?

 


There are countervailing forces, such as investment in education, training, and skills, and the diffusion of knowledge across society. Our prominent political party, too, is not completely in the hands of ‘heiristocrats’ and there are pushes for policies that enable people with competence and no background to rise (and when they do, it is hoped that they would be a force for a better society and not one that would enable them to commit similar atrocities to the ones committed upon them in the past). And there are many well-educated and innovative people pushing boundaries and setting up the businesses that may enable the creative destruction necessary for sustained growth.

 


And then, there is war. Wars typically destroy capital and provide a political basis for increased taxation on wealth. I don’t recommend this method of addressing inequality for obvious reasons, key being that the two most likely counterparties are nuclear armed and, as they say, no one wins a nuclear war. But it is worth noting that, historically, sustained shifts towards equality have happened only in the aftermath of war. And given that the world has an established power and a rising one, and given that Asia too has established and rising powers of whom India is one, it may be useful to take into account the historian Graham Allyson’s description of the Thucydides Trap when a rising power is threatening to displace a ruling power, standard crises that would otherwise be contained can initiate a cascade of reactions that produce outcomes none of the parties would otherwise have chosen.’[10] War may not be an outlandish possibility, more so in a 30-year time horizon.

 


So, what are my conclusions? The key one is that, if I do not want to live in a country where 60 percent of the population need food on the dole and where an airport can be made ‘international’ for 10 days so that celebrities can attend a wedding function, there is not much that I can do about it other than run, and I will not run, or adapt, and I feel uncomfortable even entering a gated community, I doubt I can ever live in one.

 


Because this is a matter for policy to address, not powerless individual citizens like me, no matter how much I believe that ‘the existence of a billionaire is a policy failure’[11]. What can be done to enable growth with equity at a rate at which g>r?

 


Let me begin at the top end. Piketty et al have suggested a 2 percent super tax on the net wealth of 167 richest families in India – this would yield 0.5 percent of national income in revenues and create valuable fiscal space for investment in basic health and education. I endorse this. I also recommend strong policy support to work being done in the start-up ecosystem by people such as Dr. Chintan Vaishnav, Dr. Dhruv Nath, Srikant Sastri, Davinder Singh, inter alia, and for platforms such as the Atal Innovation Mission where the next generation of firms are being incubated.

 


The 50 to 90 percentile in India require the skilling system broadened, deepened, sharpened, and brought to international standards. These are the people who need to go abroad if there are no opportunities in India, and having skills that are in demand and up to standard will enable migration with dignity and leverage.

 


The 10 to 49 percentile most require functioning public health and education systems, a strictly enforced legal minimum wage rate, and a revamped MGNREGA that applies in urban and rural areas, for people dependent upon agricultural and unskilled labour.

 


The 0 to 9 percentile require government support to NGOs that work with the poorest of the poor. This would necessitate a sharp policy U-turn from the ‘NGOs are anti-nationals’ stance that defines current thinking among the powers that be, along with recognition of the fact that, despite this being a counterfactual to the ‘road to superpower-hood’ story line, the very poor do exist in numbers in the country.

 


In addition, my wish list includes three policy areas that cut across the wealth spectrum – support for women joining and staying in the workforce; devolution of power, including funds, functions, and functionaries, to panchayats and municipal corporations in line with the 73rd and 74th Constitutional Amendments; and encouragement to small and medium sized enterprises so that they flourish.

 


And if not, then a pleasant old-age home for me to see out my future would be nice.



[1] Malthus; An Essay on the Principle of Population; 1798

[2] Smith; The Theory of Moral Sentiments; 1759

[3] Say; A Treatise on Political Economy; 1803

[4] Marx; Capital; 1867

[5] Kuznets; Economic Growth and Income Inequality; American Economic Review 45,1; 1955

[6] Rawls; A Theory of Justice; 1971

[7] Picketty; Capital in the 21st Century; 2013

[8] Bharti, Chancel, Piketty, Somanchi; Income and Wealth Inequality in India 1922-2023: The Rise of the Billionnaire Raj; World Inequality Lab Working Paper 2024/09

[9] India Employment Report 2024; IHD/ILO; 2024

[10] Allison, G; The Thucydides Trap: Are the US and China Headed for War?; The Atlantic, 24 September 2015.

[11] The quote is attributed to Dan Riffle, a policy adviser for an influential Democratic representative in the USA.

Monday, January 8, 2024

The Liminal State

 

The Liminal State

A 2-pager by Ajit Chaudhuri – January 2024

 

I retired in September 2023! ‘What are you going to do?’ is a common question.


Views on how to spend one’s golden years (i.e., 60 years plus and more likely to be in the market for Viagra than for adult diapers) vary. Traditionalists think of it as the third stage of life, and suggested pathways for this stage range from the grasshopper mode of traveling around, enjoying oneself and blowing one’s nest egg to the ant mode of continuing to work, maximizing revenues and leaving a stash for the next generation to blow. Modernists suggest that it is a time to find oneself, learn new things, do woke stuff like reduce carbon footprint, et al, and treat it like one would have a male menopause, with or without a high-end motorcycle and a pneumatic popsy on one’s arm.


I am yet to find my groove within this spectrum. I am not, to my knowledge, in a state of penury and, with the spouse employed and the children off the payroll, I’m damned if I’m going back to work as I knew it. And, anyway, what would I do in the post-truth world of the future where ‘influencer’ (wtf do they actually do?) and ‘fluffer’ (if you don’t know what they do, I recommend a detour into dictionary.com) are considered occupations. And the thought of more travel after a career spent on the road, and paying from one’s pocket for the pleasure, does not excite. Sitting at home and minding my own business would be nice but for the reality that it translates into constantly answering doorbells and dealing with an assortment of cooks, maids, workmen and delivery boys, and one has no defense against invitations to social occasions (try ‘shove off, I’m working’ vs. ‘shove off, I’m reading a Millsie’ or ‘shove off, Man U is playing’, and see the difference).


Today, in early January 2024, I find that I am in a ‘liminal state’, defined by anthropologists as the time when one must navigate between a past that is clearly over and a future that is still uncertain. How do I deal with this? Where do I begin?


A recently read article entitled ‘Why Career Transition Is So Hard’[1] was instructive. It suggests that, today, people are asking profound questions about the work they do, how much of it they want to do, and the place it occupies in their lives, and are alternating between changing jobs and careers, pursuing opportunities for education, and making time for periods of rest and recreation – this is because the accelerated pace of change is reshaping jobs and organizations in ways that call for constant career re-invention. And, while there is a lot that is beneficial about changing careers, chances are that it is an emotionally fraught process that can be both exhilarating and terrifying.


Why is the change so hard? The author describes two challenges in career transition today. The first is that, with the rise of non-linear career paths, many of the transitions we make have no immutable series of steps for the change to be made and no telling how long it will take, especially given that the direction of travel is often from large organizations to smaller players and entrepreneurial opportunities, and from full-time to fluid, individualized portfolios of gigs and part-time roles. And second, that transition periods are now considerably longer, with vetting and interviewing processes being more complex (with personality tests and skills assessments and whatnot), leading to more time for feelings of loss, anxiety, irrelevance, insecurity, et al, to set in.


The author suggests that the earlier methods of managing transition are no longer tenable. Career change is now an iterative process, we can’t wait to line up our ducks in advance, we have to figure things out over time and make adjustments as we go. The transition period is a time to hustle, to follow our noses, to activate our networks, and to try different things simultaneously without settling for one. It is a liminal state.


How do you maximize the utility of the liminal state? The best way is to treat it as an ‘identity time-out’, where you let go of your commitment to who you used to be and focus creatively on who you might become. To do this, you need to ‘diverge and delay’ – recognize that traditional plan-implement thinking only gets you more of the same, and experiment with divergent possibilities while delaying commitment to any one of them. You need to ‘exploit and explore’ – leverage old skills and pivot to new things simultaneously. And you need to ‘bridge and bond’ – create or reactivate relationships beyond current social circles while also deepening ties and finding community within close circles of kindred spirits, including others in transition and one’s own spouse.


I am more confident now – looking at retirement through the lens of a career transition makes obvious its advantages in managing the liminal state. With no financial goals to be met, no school fees to be paid, and no loans on my head, my worst-case situation of spending my days alone with an acoustic guitar, a collection of books, and Netflix for company, and of waking up in the morning with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to meet, is not unattractive. And avoiding being tied down professionally or geographically certainly resounds, as does converting my various interests into semi-paid and lightly committed work. And yes, it may not lead to resolution in the form of a worthy occupation in the near future that will make me rich and keep me fulfilled, but so what – I can handle being a bum until things work out. So, ladies in need of a sober escort to social occasions, blues singers looking for an accompanying guitarist, football managers in need of a turn-around strategist, and so on – I’m the man (for now).

 



[1] Ibarra, Herminia; Why Career Transition Is So Hard; Harvard Business Review of November-December 2023

Thursday, December 29, 2022

My Life in Failures

 

My Life in Failures

“We are kept from our goals not by obstacles but by clear paths to lesser goals!”

 

I was invited, some months ago, to submit a biopic to my alma mater – apparently I had been selected as a distinguished alumnus of the institution. I was surprised – while I was aware that the alumni association had low standards (it tried to cheat the caterer at an alumni dinner on one occasion by asking groups of us to eat from the same plates), there were depths to which I had always assumed that even they would hesitate to plunge. It was therefore reassuring to subsequently be informed that the invitation was merely a ruse to drive up participation at some CEO/COO conference they were organizing, withdrawn the moment I declined the opportunity to occupy a seat, clap at the right moments, and reassure a bunch of middle-aged men (yes, all men!) about the size of their you-know-what’s. Ah, I remember thinking, my reputation as a horrible warning rather than a good example remains intact, and I can continue looking into a mirror with admiration and delight rather than awe.


But it did get me thinking – what would a biopic on Ajit Chaudhuri read like? And I decided – my professional journey is best described through my failures.


My first was during the placement season at my management course, back in 1989. All I wanted was to go to a place as far away as possible, and work with communities as difficult as possible. However, the NGOs who worked in such places did not consider me worthy (too English-speaking, too urbane, blah, blah, blah!), and I ended up at a packaging plant outside Baroda. I would like to think that they (i.e., the NGOs) were stupid and had made a mistake – but the people they did recruit (my batchmates Narendra, Rupa, Damu, Mathew, Balu, Som, et al) are all development sector doyens today, so maybe they saw something that I lacked.


In 1991 I decided, ‘NGO or nothing’, and travelled to western Rajasthan to meet a local NGO boss, mentally prepared to sell myself, fall at his feet, and do whatever else necessary to get a job.  Sanjoy Ghose hired me within a minute of meeting me (at Phalodi bus station, district Jodhpur) and sent me off to the Urmul Trust’s most remote location, Bajju (district Bikaner), to work with its most difficult community, refugees from Tharparkar district of Sind (Pakistan). And I spent the next year hanging around in villages such as Sheruvala Basti, Bandhli, Bijeri, Dandkala, et al, most of them more than 10 km from a road, in the middle of the Thar Desert, oblivious to the fact that I was in my late twenties and in the bottom percentile of my batch earnings-wise.


This year was the most important year of my life professionally, and I still live off it. It distinguishes me from those who speak ‘empowerment’[1] and ‘participation’[2] without ever having faced a community; I know, from personal experience and mistakes made, that the community is not one homogenous mass, that poor women-headed households have a different set of interests to those of thakur saheb, and that the location of a water outlet or community centre will decide how it will be used; and I can separate substance from fluff in the long-winded jargon-spewing monologues that I am subjected to. I recommend that those looking for a career in development do not by-pass this phase – one of the greatest learning and also the most fun.


I stayed on with Sanjoy Ghose in different ways – through a move to Delhi and work with a funding agency as its representative for western Rajasthan, and then work involving extensive travel in the Northeast – until his murder in 1997. I subsequently led a research team in the Changthang area of Ladakh[3], did a long consulting assignment in Tripura[4] – always broke, always hungry, always moving, until 1999 when I got two part-time but regular jobs – as a representative in India for the UK charity Paul Hamlyn Foundation (PHF), and as the Director of Care Today Fund, set up by the India Today group to administer support to battle casualties from the Kargil war. The former slowly grew from a small operation to a significant all-India set-up, and the scope of work at the latter expanded to disaster response with the Odisha super-cyclone, the Kutch earthquake and the tsunami hitting India one after the other. Importantly, for the first time, I was successfully straddling the contrasts and contradictions of my professional objectives of being financially stable, of reaching the most excluded communities, and of having fun.


The responsibilities gradually became unmanageable for one person, and I moved to PHF full-time as Director – India in 2008. And after three more good years there, I faced the typical male menopause problem – I was in my mid-40s and had reached where I was going to reach, did I want to do the same thing for another 15 or so years, or did I want to challenge myself? And that’s how I ended up, in 2011, bag and guitar in hand, trying to acquire doctoral education in the field of public policy.


Needless to add, there were several ‘what the hell am I doing?’ moments in the process. One was while filling the admission form, at the question ‘Name and contact details of Guardian’, with no option to answer, ‘I’m 47 years old, what’s a guardian?’ (I ducked that one by nominating my wife). Another was at the beginning of every quarter, when the children’s school fees came up for payment, when I realized that a full-time mid-career PhD is a race between completing and going broke.


So, another failure, in my case ‘going broke’ won and, after 3 wonderful years shuttling between classroom, library and football ground, with many new friends from a generation that has never heard Dylan sing or seen Maradona play, it was back to the salt mines. I was lucky that Tata Sons, the holding company of a reputable Indian conglomerate, were looking for someone with a combination of qualities not abundantly available and were (therefore) willing to overlook attributes that did not portend well for a natural fit including that I did not understand how companies run (I must confess that I did not make the same mistake for the many recruitments into Tata that I subsequently oversaw, and made sure that significant time working in a company was a prerequisite). And so, I began my corporate career at age 51.


The corporate sector is different, and I had to adjust. The first was to the sheer intelligence of those around me; in the development sector I was one of the bright bulbs but here, I was just average, and realizing this was a humbling experience. At the same time, managers here have a linear approach to problems and solutions, and don’t appreciate the ‘wicked problem’ nature of issues in the public domain. Hierarchies too took time to appreciate – I may have been a world expert in my field but, ultimately, had to do what the boss decided. Also, I was used to systems in which, if something needed to be done, one just did them – here, one set up forums and processes so that someone else did them. It also has to be said that some things were the same, the meetings just as long, boring and inefficient as in NGOs and my survival skill of being able to snooze with my eyes open just as relevant.


My adjustment was aided by two factors. The first was my initial boss, who knew me from before (and was behind my recruitment), and who ensured a supportive and cooperative work environment. And the second was that on day one I was bunged off to Kashmir to manage the Tata group’s response to floods in the valley – I had managed Care Today’s response to the 2005 earthquake here, was familiar with the place, and all the old relationships developed from that time took off from where they had left off. I spent about two months in Kashmir and when I returned to Mumbai I had accumulated the necessary street cred within the system to survive.


I thrived, took on more responsibility, got promoted, the works – and then, another failure – I decided that life was too comfortable, that I could do my work in my sleep and still exceed expectations, and that I had less than 2 years left of my career that would be wasted if I didn’t challenge myself. Again, I was lucky – Tata Steel said, join us, shift to our HQ in Jamshedpur, and work on how we can inform stakeholders of the efficacy of our social responsibility programmes. And so, here I am, facing communities once again, familiarizing myself with a new place (the eastern ghats of Jharkhand and Odisha), learning a new language (Santhali), and acquiring new skills (I have just met the requirements for a grassroots football coaching license).


What does the future hold? Retirement in 2023, and then, hopefully, a move back to Delhi where my wife is (she refused to join me in Jamshedpur) and a life living off her. I will combine being a ‘kept man’ with indulging in yet another failure, as a novelist – two books and a collection of short stories already out (with sales struggling to reach double figures), another book and some short stories brewing in my head, I think I have enough masala to keep myself occupied.


Should a life be judged by its failures, as I have attempted? And here, I am not referring to the Silicon Valley type of failure, where the concept is co-opted into some happy tale of ultimate progress along with exhortations to fail better, blah, blah, blah. I am referring to the real thing, when you face up to the fact that you cannot go further along a chosen path, and when you realize that you are a loser, a person who is unable to measure up to the standards of the world. There is some support for this viewpoint in the musings of the philosopher Costica Bradatan who suggests that, by obsessing over achievement and striving to succeed, we avoid reckoning with mortality and hence are kept from living a more meaningful life (see the book ‘In Praise of Failure - Four Lessons in Humility’). Or, to quote Bob Dylan, ‘there’s no success like failure, and failure’s no success at all’.

 



[1] My thoughts on this are written in a paper entitled ‘Understanding Empowerment’, see https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2455133315612298.

[2] My thoughts on this are written in a paper entitled ‘A Treatise on Participation’, see https://www.epw.in/journal/2013/40/perspectives/treatise-participation.html

[3] An output is the paper ‘Change in the Changthang: To Stay or To Leave’ published in the Economic and Political Weekly of Jan 8-14, 2000, available at https://www.jstor.org/stable/4408800. Another is the 2018 novel “Pax Feminica”, available at https://www.amazon.in/Pax-Feminica-Ajit-Chaudhuri/dp/1543702937.

[4] An output from that time is the 2022 novel “A Walk Through the Wild Side”, available at https://www.amazon.in/Walk-Through-Wild-Side/dp/1543708560.

Monday, July 4, 2022

25 Years

 I wrote this in July 2007 


Sanjoy Ghose - 10 Years After 

By Ajit Chaudhuri

 


Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I’m not there. I do not sleep.

 

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunshine on ripened grain.

I am the gentle August rain.

 

And when you awaken to that morning hush

I am that swift, enlightening rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

 

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I’m not there. I did not die.[1]

 


It was a long time ago! Memories have faded, and many reading this would be too young to know him as more than just one of the ‘names’ the IRMA community throw around to motivate people towards a certain career path. So let me begin with a short biography.

 

A Short Biography: Sanjoy came from a privileged background – the Cathedral School and then Sydenham College in Mumbai, a family full of judges and civil servants, the works. He joined IRMA as part of its first batch (deciding against IIM-A to come here, I read later, though he never spoke about that), and then took up a job with the Tribhuvandas Foundation in Anand. The URMUL Dairy wanted to replicate TF in Bikaner district in Rajasthan and recruited Sanjoy to set up the URMUL Trust in 1986. I joined the URMUL Trust in 1991, by which time it was headquartered in Lunkaransar, with fledgling operations in Phalodi and Bajju, and was financially independent of the Dairy. Along the way, Sanjoy married his classmate from Sydenham, Sumita, they had two children (Joyita – now a final year sociology student at LSR in Delhi, and Anindo – studying in Mumbai and a budding investment banker, his mother tells me), and he had stints of further education in Oxford in the UK and John Hopkins in the USA.

 

Sanjoy began to make noises about ‘going somewhere his work was really needed’ in the early nineties. He worked on this with his typical rigour and single-mindedness; ensuring that URMUL Trust would continue without him (which it has), identifying a place (finally the North-East, with a base in Jorhat in Assam, field operations in Majuli Island, and networking and advocacy across the region), a mode of operation (he joined AVARD as its General Secretary and set up a branch, AVARD-NE, to work through) and preparing his family and colleagues for the move. He moved to Jorhat in 1996. He was picked up by ULFA in July 1997 and murdered. No body has been found till date.

 

Why is he a ‘name’? Sanjoy was not like you and me. He was brilliant, extremely hardworking, and ruthless – the alpha plus combination that gets you to the top in whichever field you choose. He combined this with deep commitment, a love for the nitty-gritty, genuine charm and a sense of humour, a magnetic personality, and fearlessness. In the six years that we worked together, I have seen all these facets of his personality (and have been at the receiving end, not always in a nice way, of them as well) and can confidently say that he was a one-off. He was as comfortable in plush multi-lateral offices in Delhi discussing policy with the wonks as he was on the floor of a poor household in a remote village discussing basic health. The other ‘names’ don’t compare – Sanjoy would never have allowed himself to get comfortable, would never have lived off past achievements, would always have put the needs of the worst-off as central to what he did.

 

What if? In that one year in the North-East, he had a dormant NGO sector churning across the seven states. There was a genuine non-governmental space being developed between the religious charities and the insurgents that would have been a force to reckon with today had it not died a premature death with him. There would have been a genuine role model for individuals within the Indian development sector, critical today when the sector is competing for talent in a playing field that is not level. And there would have been a role model for NGOs as well, and a better quality of debate on the space for peaceful non-governmental action in a polarising economic environment.

 

To conclude: I am now going to indulge in a little sentimentality! For some years after his death, I would be sort of expecting him to burst into the room any time and fill it up with his presence – it is only recently that this feeling has abated. I still try to avoid getting into discussions about him, unless it is with close colleagues from those days like Madhavan and Sunil Kaul. What stays on with me along with his commitment and his passion is his sense of fun and his habit of eating only once a day. He livened up what would have been a boring few days in Aizawl by discovering the ‘Mizo Flick’ – an adjustment Mizo women did to their clothes while walking that provided a fleeting glimpse of undergarments. He could ferret out food from the unlikeliest of places at the unlikeliest of times – I remember us arriving in Pasighat some late evening, hungry and tired and with everything closed, and he managed to charm some shopkeeper into preparing hot food by speaking Marwari and enquiring into his lineage.

 

Today, ten years later, one feels a certain sense of déjà vu with the news from Assam of Mr. Ram of the FCI, the is-he-dead-is-he-not, the playing with the sentiments of a family in deep distress. I quote Sumita Ghose in a recent article in The Telegraph – that ULFA are ‘a bunch of ageing dickheads (this word is mine – she uses ‘men’, but being a member of the tribe I revolt at the association) who still believe that lies, guns, extortion, force, and other such cowardly means will bring about a positive and lasting change.’ She exhorts Mr. Ram’s family against believing a word ULFA says. I second that!

 



[1] A poem by Mary Frye that has me thinking of Sanjoy.