No More (Hopefully) Tax!

Some people are difficult to please. And when they belong to the tribe of left-leaning issue-hunting chatterati of our country, woe betide those that seek to propitiate them. So ran my thoughts on getting a buzz from the same Economics Einstein friend of mine who had played catalyst to my last. He was incensed my conciliatory gesture of a post – and at the suggestion of using a credit/ debit card driven payment system as an antidote to the cash impelled parallel economy. He called it many names – but the tags principal to his argument were three: it was effete, elitist (Long Live Comrade Dasgupta!) and uni-dimensional.

To the last of these, let me plead guilty immediately – the idea of a carded economy was admittedly made as an appetizer any ways. Some of the thoughts that came to me at various times this week:

• Speedy adoption of VAT and GST system, something that has been argued for in these pages earlier, underscored here since they track the production process through the value chain and hence enable significant MIS
• Comprehensive implementation of UID (linked with PAN) – with all registrars computerized across asset classes as well as company registration, customs and excise, tax, passport, licences etc – and cross-tabbed (if needed) with HNI indicators like asset ownership and lifestyle spends
• Better enforcement of annual personal tax returns – and perhaps early bird incentives than merely penalty for delay or default. (No doubt my friend would be happier to hear words like greater powers to enforcement agencies but very rarely have our national issues been about legislation instead of execution, and we perennially run the risk of bad intention.) My only exception would be for relatively high visibility downstream impact like on personal rights of holding elected office, driving license etc
• Clarity and continuity in wording rules and regulations – limiting the need for judicial interpretation that may be time-taking and (occasionally) contradictory. One can extend this to talk of faster determination of tax disputes but the need for specialized courts and higher judge-population ratio is a more widely-felt and urgently-needed action

And now, the other two charges. At the core of my premise of effectiveness in advocating an electronic payment system was its ability to capture information in a digital form, coincident with the actual transaction. Equally, the effort in its transmission, storage or retrieval would be marginal save for the investment in scaling up transaction infrastructure in a country as vast as ours (but which, in my defence, shibboleths of Financial Inclusion and Productivity would any ways force on the banking system). The data thus recorded could be mined to model smarter risk-based pricing solutions to help customers and banks, while sharpening the I-T department’s claws.

Almost in anticipation of this, my friend had pointed me to the PAN/ AIR project and its relative failure in achieving similar results – at least at the government end. He had sent me an article from HT on 24 Aug too, with analogous lamentations. The sum and substance of this report went thus:

• Compulsory PAN citation for all high-value transactions has not worked – of the INR 55.7 Lakh Cr total value reported in 2007-08, 30% were missing PAN. For instance, in realty deals (a known home of Black Economy) of declared value over INR 30 Lakh, capture was around 25%; saving bank deposits of INR 10 Lakh plus it was one-third etc (Folks with dark humour will savour the fact of ~10% of 3100 RBI bond sales of over INR 5 Lakh gettinh away without a PAN!)
• Moreover, cases of fake/ multiple cards abound, limiting the department’s ability to trace any transaction back to the beneficiary. It is any ways over its head in water on the high-value AIRs for investigation/ matching with I-T returns (Rumour has it that the department has been trying to build 360 degree profiles of HNI’s (politicians, bureaucrats, corporate honchos, high-growth businessmen – even people with flashy lifestyle not commensurate with known income sources) using AIR data for over three years

But perhaps we write the epitaph of this effort too soon. We can equally note that high-value transactions capture was up 2X between 2007-08 and its preceding year – clearly denoting detection successes than economic boom. Equally, the march of technology in the banking industry is relentless, making the switch to electronic financial administration easier by the day. Or, for that matter, let us not ignore the large-scale adoption of computers by Indians at large. Mind you, this is not the super-bright precocious pre-teens of the current day, the trend is equally discernible across age and economic strata. (My father, loath to the PC most of his life – or perhaps never having needed to take to one, courtesy a sarkari lifestyle – is now not merely a ‘Friend’ on my social networking account, but was actually preaching the virtues of Skype to me the other day!)

The fun times, however, are yet to roll. To my mind, far more than banking industry paradigms or designs of Fin Min mandarins – or even technology’s constant down-spiral of prices and advances in user-friendliness – the real clincher is, literally, in our hands. The convergence of mobile-phone and computing will be where my oracular protestations be put to test. As more and more of India takes to using the ubiquitous phone for functionalities beyond voice, they will buy in to its convenience for financial transactions too. If this adoption gets sweetened by promises of greater speed, increased transparency and lower transaction cost (why ever not, one would think), the inclusion revolution shall fly bottom upwards. Empowered handhelds will then achieve what its voice cousins have already done – bridge divides that most thought an impossibility in the Indian context. Not will this spread make the ‘card’ all pervasive, it will put pressure on high value transactions to conform, given an enormously shrunk cash economy in the future.

Hence, card, we dream… Goodbye elitism, farewell effete :D

Waxing Tax Too

In response to Friday evening post, one of my left-leaning intellectual (tautology, really!) friends called me for a not-so-quick tete-a-tete. Though certainly short of acrimony, the censorious tone of this conversation was hard to miss. The upshot of the lesson in economic history - or indeed its trigger - lay in how my blog piece in question had seemingly glossed over the Black Economy of India (emphasis as supplied), the continued advance of this Public Enemy Number One, and the calamitous consequences thereof. In other words, direct taxation reform was a condemnable (the word bourgeois was carefully avoided) distraction.

Frankly, this set me thinking. It does not require Keynesian genius to deduce skews in any economic structure hampered by the presence of an illegal economy. The news gets worse if this parallel economy breasts the tape at one-fifth the total as ours arguably does. So how does this work? In simple terms high preponderance and resultant cultural acceptance make such an economy difficult to unravel. Again, unfettered access to markets minus the burden of tax makes its cash transactions cheaper. The consequently uncompetitive legal economy thence loses marketshare, profit, and investible surplus. Clogging growth implies less employment and more pressure on government – more so in a regime of floundering tax collections. Need to shore up revenues to fund government spending pushes tax rates north, potentially incentivizing further tax evasion and hence growth of the illegal economy.

So far so good (or bad), in theory. In our case, one could well retrace the path to the days we made our ‘tryst with destiny’. Illegal economic activity had mushroomed in the run-up to independence, typical of wartime economics across centuries, and got a further boost with post 1947 nation-building economic action. Again, the Nehruvian model was resource hungry – revenue had to fund substantial public sector investments. The result was aggressive taxation coupled with a maze of incentives ostensibly put in place to foster savings. The fledgling Indian state just did not have the wherewithal to overcome the resultant tax administration challenges.

As it turned out, the next few decades saw a pronounced socialistic tilt in our policy. The consequent license raj added further question-marks around intent, to a tax regime with already suspect capabilities. While profiteering via artificial supply imbalances had been around for years, under the quota-permit system, policy formulation as well as enforcement became tools for malfeasance. (This in fact stays the biggest reason for celebrating the open-door approach in Direct Tax Code reform in my last post.)

Be these as it may, the most potent constituent of the parallel economy was the hawala-hundi system that allowed its ill-gotten gains to find their way to safe havens as much as to become a tool to finance new trades – and eventually, politics. Hence, even as the formal economy was constrained with pricing, taxation, forex and current/ capital account convertibility restrictions, enormous money transfers via the illegal market became a fact of life. If cash was in play as input or output (and what nefarious purpose doesn’t do both!) the answer in form of this high velocity-instant speed-currency agnostic money system became the oil greasing the Black Economy.

As various studies humiliatingly point out, the endemic corruption bred by such an all-pervasive Black Economy can sap individual will away. One does not need to conduct a Buddha’s Three Questions type of experiment to know that it is well-nigh impossible to go without cash (is king!) in life if registering a property, selling your car, or even making sundry household expenses. When the PM-in-waiting laments distribution losses, one sits up and takes notice!

Whither the disconnect with my more learned friend, one may ask. It lies in the essentially populist, two-dimensional corrective action he and his ilk typically advocate. Increasing taxes and duties changes the risk-reward equation making evasion more lucrative; adding legislative muscle to our inefficient executive breeds more corruption; and expecting a proletariat revolution to solve world hunger is, frankly, far-fetched.

So whence the solution? There must be many (only followers of Marx have the liberty to merely preach symptoms without offering a meaningful cure!) and for today, let me merely place the Korea model (if one plug be allowed) for consideration. This involves a large-scale and comprehensive adoption of cards as the sole payment mechanism for multitude of transactions (over a ceiling value, potentially) for individuals. Being electronic, on transaction speed and high-velocity rotations, credit/ debit cards can easily counter the ‘good’ in the Black Economy value-proposition. With increasing computerization, e-banking can work well in tandem with such a payment system, also addressing the Government’s benefit end-user discovery issue. The data explosion thus generated would do wonders for risk mitigation for any self-respecting funding institution – also helping buyer and seller price credit right. The government could use this information to plug tax evasion at lower cost, greater accuracy, and faster speed. And if a clincher was needed, for a terrorism frontline state as ours, one can well imagine the internal security benefits from better enforcement.

But, better not to stretch my ‘one plug’ luck too much, even for the hand that feeds etc!

Waxing Tax

Earlier this month, the Government of India placed a paper on a new Direct Taxation Code in the public domain for discussion. Such progressive procedure is as uncommon as it is laudable in a nation where administrative opaqueness has often been used to create latitude for backroom manoeuvering. In fact, the play in influence-peddling is believed to be so potent and widespread (so difficult to miss in Dilli's flaunt-it-if-have-it culture) that subterfuge of this kind is not merely accepted but expected. Drawing inspiration from the fortunes of sundry such power-broking carpetbaggers, if no other reason, it is incumbent on us to celebrate this wiki approach to policy formulation.

The jury, of course, is still out as to the merits of the actual proposal. It certainly deserves minute scrutiny and my current inability to appreciate its fine print is far too real to hazard any early judgement. Yet, it must be recorded that it heralds the resurrection of one eminently logical economic shibboleth hitherto consigned to the dustbin: The premise of lower incidence promoting higher compliance had been anathema to North Block mandarins for years and finally seems coming of age. A second toast to the Finance Minister!

Unfortunately, not much of the succeeding discourse on the tax code may be available for ready view in the medium term. The promise in this citizen-friendly reform however gives one the confidence to ponder the fate of another far-reaching change - the GST. Similar streamlining of tax administration has already been accomplished by almost every self-respecting economy of benchmark size and scale. The Indian effort has, lamentably, fallen into a quasi-political quagmire. Given the federal nature of the country's revenue system, GST can only come by via legislation, including constitutional amendments, to junk existing laws as also the creation of a common dual (State and Central) framework it perforce requires.

Building universal consensus on the GST, though, has led to endless debate over its management mechanism, including creation of appropriate infrastructure, and on sharing of its spoils. Equally, it may be simplistic to expect that the fact of different political formations being in power in key States and the Centre, and the much-voiced 'loss' to the former (plus concomitant demands for compensation) is merely a coincidence. It is, more likely, a refined filibustering tactic.

It does appear therefore that the question of whether a nationwide GST is actually needed, is a moot one. Much like Direct Taxes, India's Indirect revenue regime is an elephantine and often conflict-prone labyrinth of state and federal levies that we berated when studying Economics in college fifteen years ago (it was not new then; it is not new now). Fact is that the framework carries the baggage of its roots in our colonial past, and is arguably anachronistic. Applying whatever little one remembers (not that it was ever entirely put to rote!) of economic theory, there are two clear wins in its reform. First, elimination of multiplicity simplifies tax structure and fosters compliance (similar to what Pranab da has already been commended on above). Second, creation of a common market and lower tax burden boosts production, directly and via increased investible surplus: the logic on which EU was born, or ASEAN thrives today.

While actual gains from the implementation of a reformed Direct or Indirect Taxes regime are either the subject of impassioned debate (my Commie friends any way derive sustenance from chatter, especially of the idle kind) or entail expertise in macroeconomic theory more than is my métier, it is likely that Come April we may be raising ours for two and a half cheers to Mr Mukherjee!

Of Temples and Twitter

Long years ago, when trials typical of Tentative Teens had not yet become an amusing memory, a family trip got me to the Royal land of Rajasthan. The architectural delights were dime a dozen, almost too many, as we tried to take in those majestic forts, intricate carvings, and imposing ramparts. Amidst the breathtaking grandeur and wonders of craftsmanship, a hearty hospitality stood out (apparent even in our sarkari arrangements). Again, this sunny geniality was in flagrant contrast to the fractious infighting whose undercurrents were implicit in Rajputana's many a tale of valour.

Nowhere was this enigmatic paradox of gallantry and fraternal discord more manifest than the indomitable fortress of Chittorgarh. Its remarkably well-preserved battlements were monument to the doughty challenge Rajput kings had posed to numerous invaders, yet often felled by the enemy within. One artefact in particular held my imagination at once. The king's bed (literally) carried the most unflatteringly modest dimensions; one that no self-respecting modern hostel would proffer under the name. Truly, allowing for some inaccuracy of magnification intrinsic to heroic myth-building, it was difficult to imagine the imperial bulk measure up to five foot nothing! An explanation was requested; and readily provided. It turned out that the royals preferred a smaller bedstead to enable their feet, knee downwards, to stay unfettered in combat. And a duel was much in order, the slumber (likely) and awakening (surely) being caused by the potentate being tied to the couch by one of the family's over-ambitious black sheep!

If the threat within sounded surreal, its external cousin was a lot less so. Mind you, this credibility rating was not on account of any reduced lethality in its consequences. Simply put, its higher probability made it appear commonplace. The most potent of this deadly-but-discounted-as-way-of-life set of enemies through Rajput history was the advancing Mughal empire. (On a related note, the singular alacrity with which a number of their progeny, their might much depleted and xenophobia strangely muted, accepted British subjugation a few score years later, is a curious and educative quirk of history.)

Like many parts of Rajputana, one of the relics of Chittorgarh's struggles of yore was a partially ravaged Hindu temple. Now this was early 90s; with Ayodhya-Kashi-Mathura movements still a dominant influence in national politics. Thus, risking a frown of obvious disapproval from the pater, one could not help but ask our escort for some pearls in clarification of this Medieval history thread. He had many and, surprisingly for one in quasi-judicial employment, was voluble in voicing them, especially after (or since) the rest of the entourage was not in earshot. Of these reasonably insightful hypotheses, one struck a chord for its incipient logic and bearing, namely the role of the temple as a theater for organized dissent.

In a nutshell, the rationale went thus: once the victorious left, the vanquished would ritually congregate at the temple to mourn the dead and pray for their deliverance, but equally to bemoan their own plight, seek cameraderie in numbers and ultimately the strength to fight from the Heavens. On the contrary, with the shrine pillaged, first efforts would go towards its rebuilding, setting organized resistance back a few years in funds, foot soldiers and foundation. The symbolic value of mental domination, hence, was perhaps a mere bonus over this bondage of resources; a true Machiavellian masterstroke.

Of course, apart from realpolitik, dogmatic drivers fueled this plunder too, Aurangzeb being the flag-bearing specimen of this ilk (and most lambasted member). Piety aside, the missionary zeal and state sponsorship he accorded to the task of temple destruction, had no parallel. This is not to suggest that his predecessors were beacons of benevolence: history (even in its recounting under as heavy-handed a Marxist influence as ours) is never that black and white. For instance, Shah Jahan gave us the Taj, an icon of Incredible India, but its pristine glory is indelibly soiled by the sweat of millions who paid for it in taxes (not lessened by the fact that such a price in human suffering is embedded in similar Wonders of the World across ages).

In any event, Aurangzeb 'the Austere' remains the most reviled of all Mughal monarchs. Many counts have been cited of his bigotry. For instance, he ordered that holy verses and imagery of Caliphs in coin inscriptions be replaced lest they get tainted by kaffir touch or use in unworthy places. Scholars highlight his adoption of the Arabic Lunar Calendar, withdrawing court patronage of music or reimposition of jiziya in argument too. Yet, his promotion of temple demolition under a policy of prohibiting practice of 'idolatrous forms of worship' remains core to the anti-Aurangzeb charge. His reign and actions wrote the preface, if not the first chapter, in the eventual transition of theological dialogue into the arena of incendiary politics. Skim through later history and it is easy to discern elements of this: razing places of worship as tool of war, inflamed debates on primacy of schools of faith, or high voltage drama spilling over to the streets.

Other forms of insurgency are no less a worry, including an Establishment going overboard in reprisal, that lends a new lease of life to many dying rebellions. However, spare a thought for temples where the will of a silent majority, retreating in face of high decibel onslaught of instigators on either side, gets an opportunity to break free. It is these new gods that one must chart.

Technology today presents us with many such modes. Films, for one, may help a generation awaken: Jessica Lal, BMW hit-and-run et al bear testimony to its pulling power. TV provides a cause célèbre and hence expanded pressure group on occasion. Yet, these media (including print) remain essentially plutocratic, overweeningly Left-leaning, and occasionally self-serving. My closing postulate is that the most promise is held in the low-cost, easy-to-use (and someday ubiquitous) Mobilephone-Internet combination. True, the Twitter-enabled Iranian voice of dissent died without daunting the world, and guns beat phones hollow even in an RTI-enabled world, but peer-to-peer networks will change many lives yet, mostly silently, but sometimes in the theater of visible discontent.

Welcome to the After-Budget Party

Our Republic's General Budget for 2009-10 is now in the public realm. Debate around it has been far from secular, pitting commentators along predictable political lines. That said, while repetitive, this periodic posturing is not sans moments of insight. As sample, tune in to the laborious constructs of presumably neutral mainstream media (certainly chunks of its English-speaking contingent) to discern an overly friendly disposition to the Congress-led coalition (Padma awards do drive some value after all)!

Talking Budget, calls for a New Dawn were almost universal in the backdrop of an unexpectedly euphoric win and Opposition in utter disarray. Early noises via 100-day vision documents from sundry ministers were fairly path-breaking too. Measured against such epochal demands, Pranab Mukherjee's eventual business-as-usual pronouncements seem destined for footnotes, not glorious acclaim. The flip argument could be that nation-building is less about spectacular agenda than solid action, hence closer the FM's low-risk 2009 design. Let time tell if this workmanlike Budget was a winner.

Need of the hour, therefore, is to fix touchstones for our economic policy, leading me to my biggest peeve: the Aam Aadmi vs Big Business nonsense that circulates as truism (my last post). In the prevalent operating context, two axioms come to mind as pivots for Reform. First, increased goal-focus which implies turning the spotlight away from tasks to outcomes. For instance, Telecom is a poster child of how policy interventions can positively impact the economy at large (despite absence of China-like monolithic continuity in decision-making, a few highly visible recent coalition politics compromises, and some of independent India's biggest corruption scandals). Let me illustrate the multiple levels this can be seen in action, by a sample:

• Implicit in mobilephone's transition from an aspirational lifestyle product to a ubiquitous one, is a story of enabled livelihoods. Today your plumber is a call away, cutting out sundry middlemen/ contractors, with obvious impact on the value chain
• Connectivity bridged distances that investments in conventional infrastructure (alternative) would place prohibitively out of bounds. That distant aunt is a single-attempt call versus literally shouting over 1000 km Delhi-Patna 'trunk call' or, worse, forced physical travel
• What information availability (push or pull) has achieved is too complex to fully fathom. Central India's soyabean cultivator has the market on his fingertips now, with consequences on input/ output prices, in a fashion unimaginable in the Humble Farmer's reign
• Supply is perhaps the highest on impact (after all, benefits remain theoretical minus access). From chasing the friendly neighborhood DoT-man for an elusive connection, or rectify perennially 'dead' telephones; to being wooed by tariff wars, freebies and retention packages - we have come a long way

In short, we need an active marketing of outcomes. Dwell on our global leadership in airtime prices; or how one of India's most backward states is today the most spoilt for choice in telephony operators (almost all mobile). Similar stories from Banking, IT etc must establish that some nudges from the government (and occasionally despite them!) can create true win-wins. Celebrating these, 'selling' the Reform story as it were, is the key to consigning the People vs Business divide to the dustbin it so richly deserves.

This brings us to the second (trickier) postulate: growth is incomplete without redistribution. We are no strangers to sectoral imbalances or geographic inequity, but limited percolation of the spoils of Reform could bring the entire edifice down. This is not to disregard the need for a laggard manufacturing sector to pick up pace, agriculture to step beyond Monsoon's shadow, Hindi heartland to achieve Gujarat velocity growth, or better infrastructure in general. However, these pale into insignificance compared to the damage potential of broader discontent. Doubting Thomases here could start by noting that a third of rural India (by GoI's own admission) already lies in the Red Corridor, under Naxalite writ.

General disaffection of a chunk of its population from the Reform process, thus, is one of New India's stark realities. A simplistic hypothesis for this deepening unrest is built around heightened awareness (a la Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs). For instance, growing up in mofussil India of the 70s, one encountered few visible objects of wealth to pursue. Model refreshes of the ubiquitous Amby, case in point, were too disingenuous for laymen to discern and covet: it remained an immanent part of the milieu. Thanks to a misplaced Socialist slant in policy, choice was limited: products were inelegantly sarkari or retrogressively shoddy, often both. Not so today when the flashiest in the world is out competing for your wallet, lifestyles that TV broadcasts direct to your home.

This has clear implications for Reform. As the desire for the good life (alluring decadence even) is stoked to an all-time high, then means must be abundant for the game to be above board. For a nation with a relatively weak tradition in entrepreneurial wealth creation, it is not easy to ensure opportunities are adequate, despite intent. This is the principal argument for Redistribution as stated goal.

By definition, both axioms above are long term. However, Capital is a bugbear (typical of Emerging Markets) immediately. Our policy mandarins, busy congratulating themselves for managing the global meltdown's impact (an unintended by-product of delayed liberalization) need to be cognizant of this. With 9% gone, at least in foreseeable future, and Divestment war-chest stuck in a morass of political confusion, funding equitable growth remains an open question (an anchor scheme like NREGA by itself will need INR 100K Cr to sustain). Far more than improved experiences with Market vs the State, it is this prospect of mounting government debt that may yet force Mr Mukherjee to push for a more effulgent dawn.

Books, Budget and Beyond

If ever my fuddy-duddy credentials need reiteration, on offer is a blissful hour at Books & Beyond amidst Sunday frenzy today (note that dying weekends' embers usually propel me to action, a wistful last hurrah of sorts; also means Saturday = procrastination). Nestled in a corner of Spencer's in Megacity on Gurgaon's Mall Mile, this minor merchant establishment is soon to be history, to facilitate expansion of its more remunerative music-peddling sibling. Postscript to the economic progression was a clearance sale (discounts 'up to' 70%). My better had been motivating me to this happy destination; she won on its last day.

We found a store plundered by the preceding hordes. An understandably diminished proprietorial interest had done its bit too, leaving much to be desired for the fastidious. Yet, the mess seemed incidental, fostering opportunity to savour pleasures of discovering 'novel' bargains in the mélange. We obliged, with late appearance (tut tut) at the crime-scene being our only remorse, emerging a dozen books richer.

The country's mood is seized of much larger catechisms as we speak. Chief of these is the General Budget, an exercise the redoubtable Pranab Mukherjee must find quaintly amusing, coming back to the North Block as he is after two and a half decades. While it may take a tome to recount the interregnum's cataclysmic upheavals, the weight of expectations is one Pranab-da may find strikingly similar. He may be loath to admit, but it is impossible to miss the Nation's collective sigh of relief at the Left's decline in Elections 2009. Indeed, it is as historic in political consequences as hysteric in the economic expectations unleashed! In some quarters, Dalal Street for one, the prospect of a government sans lal jhandi in Delhi has sent valuations into a tizzy, and one wonders if this gravity defying climb has enough roots in logic.

In a way, the ignominious performance of the Communists is uniquely humbling. The timing is notable: the world is still mourning the demise of unbridled Capitalism. While there may be post-mortem exercises aplenty (hindsight makes every chaman a Chanakya after all) the sheer absence of even a token such effort from our learned Comrades is most instructive. My sense is that more than the goonda-raj or endemic corruption, it is this arrogance and divorce from reality that has been Left's undoing. Given their penchant for mouthing the mightiest platitudes and doing nothing by way of action, one ought not to be surprised at this mendacious stance of our holier-than-thou Communist brethren. Suffice it to say for now that if things stay unaltered, Mamata didi will have her day in Bongland come 2011.

Fact remains that, globally, there is significant public debate and focus on the New World Order. Much of the prognosis appears premature though; one could easily argue that the new realities are some way off. Hence, it would have helped to get a meaningful contribution from Left of Centre. Not to belabour the point, but Messrs Karat, Yechury & Co remain thoroughly unequal to the ask.

Be that as it may, one postulate is crucial to our collective national opinion or governmental policymaking (apropos the Budget). This is the commonly prescribed dichotomy between growth and inclusiveness; and the presumably disastrous electoral consequences of any agenda founded in economic common-sense. In our sociopolitical discourse it seems one must side with either aam aadmi or Big Business, never both. One wonders if this overly simplistic and potentially deleterious axiom will be challenged by the new dispensation on Raisina Hill. After all, notwithstanding the odd hiccup in government formation (Kalaignar's family balancing act ensured history was not forgotten too soon), there can be little doubt that, with the Left left, MMS & Co have a real opportunity to fashion a new dawn.

1991: Quo Vadis

As the decade turned into the millennium's last, the country and my life were delicately poised; deliverance a few tantalizing months away. Personally, it was a cusp between hitherto sheltered school life and college plus the big bad world beyond; and not bereft of birth pangs. Those life defining moments pale into utter insignificance over the winds of change about to be unleashed on a somewhat ill-prepared nation!

To many, the national landscape appeared despairingly bleak with little by way of redeeming features. The economy seemed destined for a Hindu rate of growth. Any advantage from the baby steps of Rajiv Years had been mostly bungled away by succeeding regimes. Indeed, some ominously portended India turning a banana Republic, with IMF-World Bank painted as the new age avatars of the East India Company (though in retrospect it can be said that doomsayers read too much into what was certainly a perilous macroeconomic situation). Ascribing imperialistic motives to multilateral lending institutions was accompanied by barely-suppressed murmurs of a grand design on part of 'foreign powers' (read the United States, with its real or perceived proximity to arch enemy Pakistan).

This was more than mere Cold War hangover. It can be argued that years of Nehruvian Socialism had sapped away the nation's collective confidence, or its appetite for change. There also existed a school of thought (the Right) that looked further aft to trace the roots of our lack of self-belief and passivation. Swiftly gaining mindshare and acceptance, this view argued that the defeatism stemmed from events over the preceding thousand years in our history, notably the countless cross-Hindu Kush assaults on her suzerainty and economic wealth. Regardless, at this crucial juncture, the emasculating Nehruvian model was more than the smile of Cheshire cat, with significant coinage in political discourse and economic intent.

There is, of course, merit in debating the point of inflection when the Nehru model outlived its usefulness. However, in 1991 it was academic in face of income inequity and regional imbalance that were sorry realities of our prevalent socioeconomic existence. At another level, the incipient Licence Raj had merely changed the skin-colour of India's ruling elite: adding endemic corruption to the atmosphere of mistrust and lack of transparency that were British legacy. Again, shibboleths of Demos had taken a big beating from the futile poverty alleviation pledges of the 70s, the snuffed promise of 1984, and doomed Janata experiments. Governance seemed equally eclipsed by a bogey of terror that shifted addresses yet never got wiped out.

Hope, in short, was at a premium. Unfortunately, its purveyors were yet more so. The probable best bet had been tragically lost to a human bomb that summer. The multiple Janata Dal PMs-in-waiting were but wasted breath. Abki-baari-Atal-Behari was still waiting to happen. And the last election's messed-up messiah had taken his well-earned place in the dustbin of history, following his doomed premiership and ill-disguised social agenda, with eminently forgettable poetry and equally inadequate art.

As it turned out, partly aided by sympathy over Sriperumbudur, the mandate swung largely towards India's GOP. The leadership mantle fell on the unlikely shoulders of a vanprastha ashram-bound PV Narasimha Rao. The nation had her first Prime Minister from south of the Vindhyas (in fact the first not from the electorally crucial battle-state of Uttar Pradesh). What followed thereafter: politics of pout, a rapid rise in barter-system of social pressure groups and ostrich-like approach to national issues; but surprisingly significant, even if inevitable, economic reform; is a tale for another day!

Ides of May, Democracy and Hope

My first tryst with the ballot box, albeit vicarious, is one of my sharpest preteen memories. It followed from two formidable influences. The first was not really a choice: an accident of birth in India's most politically conscious state indelibly imprints one's social DNA (it also bred a marked proclivity to opinion-dissemination as my later day acquaintances would vouch)! Second, my skewed reading habits accentuated such leanings: newspapers had displaced ACK and assorted comics as lunchtime accessory, helped no doubt by having a national daily in HT set up shop in my hometown (their first venture out of Delhi).

Whatever be the fount of my hyperactive appetite for things political, fact is that the 1984 election was epochal. Its preceding event had been notoriously described by a key protagonist as "when a giant tree falls, the earth below shakes". Consequent sympathy, combined with Obamaesque 'change' appeal and youthful vitality, delivered a verdict that shattered all records. It remains possibly the strongest mandate India would hand any of her progeny. My inclinations too were firmly in line with the national pulse.

Unfortunately for me and India, this virginal promise was belied. What followed is most tellingly described by the incomparable Nani Palkhivala in his seminal We the Nation, adapting Malcolm Muggeridge to write: "never was any generation of men intent upon the pursuit of well-being more advantageously placed to attain it, who yet, with seeming deliberation, took the opposite course - towards chaos instead of order, towards breakdown instead of stability, towards destruction and darkness instead of life, creativity and light."

This is not to argue that no good came of the Rajiv years. Indeed, economic paradigm shifts that became more pronounced in the Nineties had green shoots in his regime's policy changes. Yet, the overwhelming mood in Elections 89 was one of frittered opportunities. It did not leave me untouched. Across India, the angst spilled on to the streets; with a new Mr Clean as its face. The sense of disenchantment and nascent anti-establishment spirit rang true personally too, but my feelings towards the new hero remained ambivalent. Instead, in this backdrop, my leanings had started to swing Right.

A notable reality of electoral life in those days was the scourge of booth capturing. Variously manifest in avatars like 'scientific booth management' a la Comrades in West Bengal, seething discontent of denied Dalit voice across the hinterland, or in-your-face Bahubali muscle-flexing in what became Laloo's Bihar; this malaise made a mockery of universal suffrage. Doordarshan would later run an exposé on it, a true shot in the arm for the maturing of Indian democracy (it made Nalini Singh a household name, inspiring a generation of budding journalists more than Tehelka's scandal-mongering or early-Barkha bravado that would follow). In 1989, though it ruled the roost. Despite it, that multiple close relatives of the then Bihar CM lost at the hustings, was an early lesson in the power of Demos for me.

As it transpired, the verdict was split, but writing was on the wall. VP Singh, erstwhile Congressi and Sanjay acolyte, took helm in Delhi, with forces from opposite ends of the political spectrum 'supporting the government from outside'. Beset by internal quibbling from day 1, it took but a few months for the tenuous JD sarkar to crumble, though not before the Raja of Manda contributed his pernicious bit towards social re-engineering (euphemism for vote bank creation). The forces unleashed through Mandal, little understood by that misdirected messiah, would dramatically alter the country's political landscape.

The dispensation that followed VP made PM of an old Young Turk: one who had challenged Mrs G in the 70s; and whose supporters had fought a pitched battle on camera with Shri Ram Jethmalani (trying Gandhian tactics with the warrior of Ballia over JD leadership) just months ago. As a government it was meant to bide time, which it did; and not disturb historians much, which it did not. Of course there were non-trifles like our sovereign Republic needing to pledge gold to honour debt servicing commitments, but that happenstance was too big for blame to be placed on Chandra Shekhar's footnote-in-history regime.

Elections were announced in the summer of 1991, with disillusionment over the non-Congress experiment on the rise and Mandal-Mandir working overtime to cement their respective positions in our polity. With a heart pulled strongly Right, my vote had one only other potential legatee: the original Harbinger of Hope, wizened by the decline and fall of his 411/542 government. One felt Rajiv's battle-hardened second coming, with political instinct more sharply honed, could be more potent and present.

It may have been a great combination but, for a second time, it was not to be. An erstwhile misadventure returned to haunt RG fatally, an evening eighteen years ago to the day, while on the campaign trail in a dusty town on Chennai's outskirts. In classical sub-continent political drama mould, the conspiracy behind the assassination at Sripreumbudur has never entirely untangled, at least in the public domain, except affirming that an LTTE suicide squad was its instrument. Perhaps far greater than the facts, repressed or otherwise, was the tale of a tragically extinguished promise: avowed goals, provided means but missed opportunities in 1984; lessons learnt, force revitalized but a life cut short seven years later. Too soon.

PS: The principal architect of the May misfortune was killed by the bullet that he had lived much of his life by, just this past week. Not too soon.

The Father, Some and the Holy Spirit

My quasi-holiday mood made for a leisurely read of the newspaper today. It resulted in musings of a wide-latitude, random wandering kind. In that frame, the journalistic chatter over Elections 2009, or brouhaha over IPL venues, seemed idle or puerile. Instead, what struck me most was a comedy of vanities over an overhyped 'legacy' of our dear departed Father of the Nation.

In short, the melodramatic medley of emotions and rhetoric over an auction of some of Gandhiji's historically insignificant items, appeared soap opera more than national pride. Hero's mantle for the episode fell on the unlikely shoulders of Shri Vijay Mallya, liquor baron and prominent glitterati specimen. A few of his beer-begot millions and the Mahatma's mundane belongings got added to a collection that boasts of (among other things) racing horses, vintage cars, a plodding airline and two under-performing sports teams. In tune with the self-righteous debate on the auction's immorality and overarching desi claims to items on offer, Mallya ji too made suitable noises on the acquisition being spurred by patriotic fervour, national duty etc. In any case, given that he pays taxes and has somewhat recognized means of earning his bread (unlike some of his peers in the Upper House), we may steer clear of excessively flagellating his spending habits or extant motive.

Our effete government has no such escape hatches though. Paying lip service to the Mahatma being a practice perfected by Congressmen over decades, perhaps their aggressive posturing in days and weeks preceding the auction was only to be expected. Some of us recall a similar episode a couple of years ago when government intervention (taxpayer expense) had 'saved' Gandhiji's heritage from being irretrievably lost. Yet, going so far as to bestow agent status (post facto) on a protesting VJM was surely taking things too far. Ambika ji, who gives the extraordinary Yechury-garu a run for the money in the foot-in-the-mouth Hall of Fame, dramatically proclaimed that Mallya was a front for the government as if no less 007-esque manouevre was needed in a staightforward auction. Minister for Tourism and Culture, anyone?

On cue, this spurred into action the irrepressible Amar Singh who, in true Goebbelsian genius, summoned the press corps to proclaim how he would have been the saviour of the 'legacy' but for his health (a temporary indisposition, since miraculously cured). He has his hands full, in any case, in saving Gandhigiri with the inspired Samajwadi choice for the Lucknow Lok Sabha seat (that counts, amongst others, Smt Sheila Kaul, Smt Vijay Lakshmi Pandit, and a certain AB Vajpayee, as its erstwhile tenants).

Perhaps all this chicanery only epitomizes what has become of Gandhiji's legacy. After all, it 'cost the nation a fortune to keep him in poverty' in his lifetime, as an otherwise loyal Sarojini Naidu pithily observed once. There is also a school of thought that traces our personality dominated polity and marriages of convenience (in guise of highfalutin principles), to some of Bapu's actions in the later years of our independence struggle. Likewise, some of his ideas on education, public health, poverty alleviation etc deserve more critical scrutiny. Regardless, today is not about calling into question any of those facets or inconsistencies in the principles by which he led life. It is about not letting the very mention of his name elevate the object under discussion to demi-god status, beyond rational debate. Failing this, such ammunition of opprobrium and purported sacrilege shall continue to be used by opportunists to hijack our framework for partisan agenda or personal gain.

Even beyond these fault-lines of reverence there is much to introspect in the 'crisis' and our collective national response. For instance, investigate how the items left the family's possession to wind up under the hammer. Another pertinent aspect is whether current policy restrictions on private participation in trade of historical objects are counter-productive (artificially bolstered price attracts the mercenary-minded). Further, what constitutes national heritage needs better delineation (should resources be focused on, say, preservation of national monuments, cleansing holy rivers, or greening our forests). Finally, consider if the government can freely squander taxpayer money dubious concerns. Any or all of these have sharper linkages with culture, or impact on tourism, in a fashion that Ambika ji shall likely never understand.

Plumbing Yet Deeper

It was with more than a slight spring in the step and twinkle in the eye that we scooted up the ladder to the little bird soon to soar in the sky. A half-hearted greeting at the door made for no pause in our upbeat mood and it was a benign eye that inspected our transport's relatively modest confines. Indeed, a token Club Class row (we were in the next) elicited but a friendly chuckle from W as we belted up. My throat was being a tad rebellious though and cabin crew intervention had to be requested. A stewardess appeared soon enough in response to the call button, promptly noting the request for a glass of warm water. Almost on cue, the pilot initiated runway formalities and, moments later, we were airborne.

Debating whether to attend to the companion paperback or grab a shuteye, my reminder for that glass of water to the in-flight hospitality team commencing snack service, was affable, to say the least. Be that as it may, the glass remained elusive as we devoted ourselves to contents of the breakfast tray. My demurral of surprise to W at not being asked for choice of cuisine was but a murmur (my partiality to meat not being a shared inclination in any case). Yet, despite her vote for things vegetarian, she could not suppress a crinkling of the nose at the quality of food on offer. She did educate me though as to why my lofty morning-omelette ambitions were thwarted, pointing to piece of misdirected evangelism from the airline's promoter-chairman in a tacky seat-pocket brochure. Seemingly, Mr Goenka was doing his zealous duty to spread satvik vibes in airspace by denying minor gastronomic pleasures to us lesser mortals.

Vexing as this presumption of choice may be, but my poise was severely tested by the sustained refusal for that fugitive glass of water to materialize. At this tug of the bell, the first crew-member made a repeat appearance, only to inform me on this occasion that no provision for warm water existed in flight (perhaps some satvik postulate was violated), turning nonchalantly away before one could ask as to why the last two requests had met assent promising future fulfillment. Bias for sustained civility forbore me from pursuing matters, though it was beyond my fuddled mind to fathom what was perverse about such beverage being in service. Indeed, likely things could get worse, given all that had transpired since the morning.

It did not take long for that piece of rhetoric to meet its answer. The indifferent fare on offer needed a strong garnishing in any case. The airline's choice of dessert dressing was dead mosquitoes, two in number, as revealed by a cursory inspection of what W had in front of her. Perhaps a mosquito or two was par for the course in screens for vegetarian staple per Mr Goenka's specifications. The cabin crew next summoned did certainly indicate that the proceedings were of routine nature: her blasé shrug of disinterest had an aura of finality, utterly dismissing any hint of corrective action.

A soul far braver may have persisted, not me. The airline had spared no effort in staging these intricate manouevers and consecutive nadirs in service benchmarks (Chhoo Lo Aasman, ha): an eminently reasonable explanation for the ticket price tag. Thus grounded, we slept. No more happened: much could have. Or perhaps they ran out of ideas. Or budget.

Plumbing Depths

This one goes back a few weeks. The first-born of a new generation in our family was planning to tie the knot, and the Missus decided (uncharacteristically late; perhaps my eminently avoidable influence) that we ought to make the trip to Ranchi to add to the congregation assembled in Jharkhand's capital city for the occasion. Post the usual motions that accompany such marital confusion-making (sorry, decision-making), the argument was settled in the customary fashion (after all W is for Winning) and the vanquished assigned the menial task of booking flight tickets. Skipping any remonstrations vis-a-vis our misconceived munificence, well deserved as they may be, let me get to the chase.

My favourite fare search engine revealed the penury of choices in connectivity between the national capital and the pride of Soren-land (this predates the ignominy of Tamar where Guruji achieved a near impossible first: loss for a sitting Chief Minister of an Indian state in a by-election to sanctify governing rights). The alternatives were limited to three, of which our much-maligned national carrier and the reincarnation of no frills-pioneer Air Deccan, were known offenders on service and timeliness counts. In fact, the third option with its early morning departure fitted us to a t; arriving JIT for the inviting festivities of a Big Fat Indian Wedding. Mention must be made too of this transport provider's alluring tagline: a promise to touch sky-high (standards of excellence, presumably)! Hence, setting aside any Shylockian considerations, a new personal high in domestic one-way transport purchase damages was scaled in a few clicks.

Come the anointed day and we rose at day-break, a chore that typically guarantees to dampen the spirit among us weak-fleshed. But, as foretold, the prospects of a delightful family reunion and concomitant abundance of good cheer (and food) beckoned. Meru deposited us uneventfully at the airport and we found ourselves at the relatively nondescript check-in counter in no time. Service was quick, although, as the resident critic noted with a mild chuckle, one could discern the incongruity in the ground-staff's commercial finery, namely the colour palette and, yet more so, grooming (or absence thereof). Regardless, in a state of partial sleep deprivation, one was more than relieved for a quick scoot through Security. Indeed, such was the jubilation at the extra moments of rest thus afforded, that a repeat appearance of the check-in staff at the terminal exit door was met with benign appreciation, forgetting momentarily that costs cut thus had not found their way to the fare calculator.

Such economic considerations were promptly thrown out the window a few minutes later: after all, one can withstand only so many jolts when expecting a quick dash to the aircraft, and presented a cross-country drag race ride instead. Seconds turned to interminable minutes, and minutes to many aching more, as our joy-ride lasted the entire length of the runway, across the breadth of the domestic terminal, and then halfway again through the runway at the opposite end. Not just once during the twists and turns in the morning chill, there being no air-con (more cost saving perhaps?) on the rickety bus, did one get the feeling we had taken a road trip and not a flight to Ranchi.

All good things come to an end one supposes though, and a few years later we found ourselves in terra incognita, a secret nook of the certainly-not-so-large-as-to-be-uncharted Delhi airport. Two dusty aircraft in hues of aluminum silver and occasional blue greeted us but, in a mocking wave of destiny, we were told we could not begin boarding, or disembark the rickety safari ride, for ostensible 'security' reasons. The lorryload of co-passengers soon gave ample voice to their frustrations though, and we managed to convince the driver to open the door. Acceding to our entreaties, he relented for its use but only as an inlet for fresh air and not a passage to the aircraft. Blessed be these small mercies.

Moving with the script, after a wait of another few minutes, a Sumo driven at quasi-breakneck speed made its appearance, revealing what seemed to be the ground staff. Notable of them was their supervisor: quite the Italian job: hair gelled back, day four stubble and toothpick dangling from mouth corner completing the Cobra Crime-is-a-Disease-I-am-the-Cure look. His malevolent glare dissipated in a jiffy our desires to alight the diesel contraption we had rode in, yet failed to work its magic on the rest of his platoon who soldiered somnolently to remove stoppers under the aircraft wheels and assorted other motions to ready the plane. Yet more time gone and not a sign for us to start to board, the aircraft door to open, or, for that matter, of the cabin crew. In all, a veritable mockery of my hitherto flying experience.

It was at this juncture that an entirely new set of actors decided to enter the plot - the erstwhile Sumo's twin, at equally breakneck speed, and a few more passengers ferried therein - but sorry, no cabin crew yet. My Out-of-Africa parody was complete when Cobra announced (if that be the appropriate verb to describe those unwilling oral motions accompanied by rapid flicks of tooth-pick from one end of mouth to the other, producing unintelligible sounds wholly unaccompanied by any hint of apology) that there was a 'technical snag' and they would have to check for an alternate airplane.

By this time, frankly, one was at a stage where mere acknowledgment of existence of a back-up aircraft in this hillbilly service was like a manna from heaven; and my cuppa joy was definitely overflowing, having sighted too the elusive reclusive cabin staff at a distance. God was certainly in his element and all right with the Wodehousian world, as the replacement carriage was serendipitously discovered to be the one parked next door, saving one the blushes of another jungle safari. In any case, we were all confessedly beyond a state to speculate on the existence of a third bird in the fleet!

Flesh and spirit were more than willing, hence, as one gave the W a nudge and bounded up the few steps to the cabin - with thoughts a whirl of relief amidst sleeplessness and fatigue. In the blur too was hope, if one dare says it, for we were about to Chhoo Lo Aasman...

[To be continued!]

The Pros of HitchHiking

A rather wise colleague of mine, told of my virginal attempt at a blog, prophesied that the key question over time would be of sustenance. Frankly, my initial response was to summarily nix such doubt-mongering. A history of liberally dissembling opinion in conversation gave me confidence; abusing the constitutionally guaranteed Freedom of Expression being a habit. If some immodesty be allowed, my defence would also include a certain felicity with Words, notably in written form. Last but not least, innocence of intent could be an argument too: Echohum’s conception being as much inside-out as to seek other voices.

In short, one felt more than equal to the task of expanding blogspace. However, a few months on, the scorecard is meagre, including a couple of drafts lying abandoned, forgotten in the multitude of chores that define post quarter-life-crisis existence. It appears it is already time to reflect on where Echohum stands, the little path treaded, and where it may be headed.

An admission, at the outset: the effort of putting pen to paper (figuratively speaking) and click-of-button publication has been intensely gratifying. Although a blog barely three posts old may be early days to summarize thus, but there is something delicately uplifting in the movement of words from cerebral-and-fleeting to physical-and-enduring domain. The nature of this blogging exercise is semi-cathartic, almost humbling, on two counts: the Message and the Medium.

To talk in order, content née Message is foremost (measuring it only by reception may not be entirely accurate). There are intensely individual and hence highly variable reasons for which assorted bloggers likes yours truly reach for the keyboard. What emerges post (pun intended) is obviously disparate. Again, the rate at which more gets created would put even those warren-dwelling champions of the multiplication game, to shame. So what explains this urge, the furor loquendi?

Simply put, irrespective of raison, there is something uplifting in the Dasvidaniya moments when one decides 'if" or ‘what’ to write. Experience of the last few months tells me that mere process of this choice, even when not resulting in an actual post, broadens one's perspective on three counts. First, the quest for a topic leads to more extensive reflection on the days' happenstances. Next, there is an increased propensity to action since a broader canvas of experiences makes for more post-worthy possibilities. Third, the day-end rumination ups the revitalizing quotient of the day's highs (say, sun-sand-surf in Ile Maurice); while turning languid the lows (case: an abysmal tryst with MDLR Airlines)! So ye tentative traveler, a recourse to blogging may just enthuse you to spend your way out of the economic downturn at assorted desirable destinations!

Aside such macroeconomic considerations, we have the compulsive convenience of the Medium itself. While the ordeal-by-fire ‘iron foundry’ school of success may interest traditionalists, the blogger's way is seamless push-button publishing. That one lands transmission-ready for a million (ahem) eyeballs, minus motivation-sapping rejections via sundry unnamed editors, is likely a bigger imagination breakthrough than Printing Press's assault on forestry. Thus, barely a century from Edison-perspiration, you have a shot at Warholian fifteen seconds on Google, to list with Britney Spears, CERN's nuclear physics postulates, deluge of spam, and the latest slice of erotica. Eulogy or odium may follow (or, likely, apathetic neglect), but you are ‘out there’.

Blogging, therefore, is a fair epitome of today's age: if you have a thought, you have a medium. So, as the Obama inauguration focuses the world on Word: in China a debate on omission (Communism); the rest of the world on Justice Roberts’s placement (faithfully), here’s my contribution. Do you read?