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Hardcover Publisher: Penguin Books; 1st edition
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0670088226
ISBN-13: 978-0670088225
Product Dimensions: 9.2 x 5.8 x 1.5 inches
Shipping Weight: 1.2 pounds
Average Customer Review: 4.3 out of 5 stars See all reviews (6 customer reviews)
Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #522,446 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
The Congress denied former Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao a
funeral in Delhi, a place in its pantheon of party heroes and, not
surprisingly, an acknowledgement of how dramatically he re-invented
India, at home and abroad. Instead, it cast him as a usurper to the
Nehru-Gandhi throne, virtually castigated him as a conspirator in the
destruction of the Babri Masjid in 1992 and, to this day, holds him
responsible for the erosion of its base in the Hindi heartland.
Indeed, the Congress establishment has all but erased Pamulaparti
Venkata Narasimha Rao from its 131-year-old history.
A just-published biography now seeks to give Rao his rightful place in
the story of the country as the principal architect of economic reforms,
a quarter century after they were launched. Simultaneously, it bucks
the popular view in the Congress and demonstrates (with available
evidence) that he was maligned in the Babri Masjid case. If he was at
fault, the book says, it was an error of indecisiveness (on whether to
impose central rule) and poor judgment (he put too much faith in the
BJP and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad).
In Sitapati’s largely sympathetic portrayal, Rao — the first person
outside the Nehru-Gandhi family to have completed five years as
Prime Minister — emerges as a man who provided transformational
leadership to India at a time of deep financial crisis. For Sitapati, Rao
ranks with “revolutionary figures” such as Jawaharlal Nehru, Deng
Xiaoping, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher
and Charles de Gaulle. But he was not a popular mass leader; he
presided over a minority government; his party colleagues did not
trust him; 10 Janpath kept an eagle eye on him. Up against great
odds and with little power, he yet achieved much.
The Congress has assiduously sought to give much of the credit for
the 1991 reforms to Manmohan Singh, the finance minister at the
time, but Sitapati establishes that it was Rao who was the principal
driver. Nevertheless, his political shrewdness led him to consciously
keep a low profile. So it was Manmohan Singh who often faced the
flak from Congress naysayers. The author not only provides behind-
the-scenes details of how Rao neutralised criticism to the radical
economic reforms both from sections of the opposition and from
within the Congress, but how he assembled a handpicked team and
sought help from a range of people, regardless of their political
affiliations.
Rao, for instance, reportedly spoke to Subramanian Swamy, a
minister in the outgoing government, two days before his swearing-in,
to access documents that the latter had prepared to help him decide
on a way to manage the balance-of-payments crisis. Rao even used
an Intelligence Bureau report to checkmate President Pranab
Mukherjee, since he felt the latter would resist the proposed reforms.
There is an interesting nugget, too, on Manmohan Singh: when he
took a somewhat cautious draft of his 1991 budget to Rao, the latter
dismissed it with a crisp “If this is what I wanted, why would I have
selected you?”
But sympathetic as Sitapati is, this is no hagiography. As it takes the
reader through Rao’s life, from his early years in a village in
Telangana through his time in power to his humiliation in retirement,
the book describes him, warts and all. It explores the deftness with
which he negotiated the Byzantine corridors of the Congress, while
using his friendships across the aisle to advantage; how he used the
IB to spy on colleagues; it stresses his failure as home minister to
check the rise of insurgency in Punjab, and describes how he ceded
authority to Rajiv Gandhi’s PMO in the wake of Indira Gandhi’s
assassination that led to the anti-Sikh riots, “his vilest hour”.
Riveting as the book is, it never descends into salaciousness. Neither
does it leave out any aspect of his life, including his relationships with
women friends, virtually his only confidantes. It skilfully weaves
together Rao’s political life with his personal one, from his troubled
childhood and neglected wife, Satyamma, whom he married at the
age of ten and who bore him eight children, to his essential
loneliness.
As a journalist who covered Rao’s PMO in the 1990s, much of this is
not really new. What makes the book special is that Sitapati is able to
bolster anecdotal evidence because of the exclusive access he was
given by Rao’s family to a treasure trove of personal papers. By
quoting from his diary, the author intersperses events as they
unfolded with Rao’s thoughts at the time. The 100-plus interviews
with principal players also helps flesh out the historic five years.
Rao had his share of human frailties and he made many costly
mistakes. But his record as a reformer, transforming both the
economy and foreign policy, is surely enough to place this scholar,
polyglot and “political genius” in the Congress pantheon of heroes
Former Prime Minister P V Narasimha Rao’s political journey has
been traumatic and tragic interspersed with invigorating and
challenging aspects. With the shadow of 10 Janpath looming large
at times, he preferred being in the background. Beating all odds in
becoming the Prime Minister, Rao carved a niche for himself in the
country’s history despite inheriting a nation adrift with violent
insurgencies and economic crisis.
Even though the Congress party did not trust him, Rao transformed
the economy and ushered this country into the global
arena. This fascinating book — Half Lion: How P V Narasimha Rao
Transformed India — provides an insight into what all he had to
endure as the country’s Head of Government. His determination and
resolve to undertake economic reforms despite tremendous odds has
been painstakingly put together by author Vinay Sitapati.
Much to the discomfiture of the dynastic, political family of the Nehru-
Gandhis, Rao achieved his objective with the least fuss. In the
process Rao created a scare of upstaging the dynasty. He
constantly invoked the name of Jawaharlal Nehru. This
calculated ploy paid rich dividends. His strength lay in learning
valuable lessons from every obstacle put in his way.
Rao’s end was swift, the fall steep. He was encircled by legal cases
after quitting as Prime Minister in May 1996. When Sonia Gandhi
took over as the Congress president in 1998, she was determined to
erase Rao from the Congress pantheon. ‘That man is not a
Congressman,’ Rahul Gandhi told a senior party leader, ‘because of
him we have lost UP forever.’
Rao ensured his family stayed away from politics. His son
Rajeshwara, complains ‘I have been waiting for a full decade for a
meeting with Sonia Gandhi.’ She refuses. Only a few Congressmen
visited him. Exile was not new for Rao. He had been banished by
Indira Gandhi in 1973 and 1976 and again by Rajiv Gandhi in 1991.
In his dying days Rao was criticised for the anti-Sikh riots, accused of
letting the guilty escape after the Bhopal gas leak, and above all
blamed for complicity in the demolition of the Babri Masjid. He has
been portrayed as corrupt and being communal, vacillating and
vicious. These political attacks on so consequential a figure have not
been countered through academic research so far.
As Rao’s biographer Nigel Hamilton puts it: “One major reason is that
academics tend to discount the role that individual leadership plays in
shaping the arc of history. Amazingly Rao was in the right place at
the right time. It is not his action that deserves study, it is his historical
context.” Rao deserves credit for managing a minority government for
a full five-year term. He survived three motions of ‘No Confidence’
against his government.
Former union minister K Natwar Singh praised Sitapati “for an
extraordinary portrait of an erudite and delphic Prime Minister. History
has been unkind to him and the author has resurrected him”. Well
known historian and author Ramachandra Guha observed despite
Rao’s crucial role of opening up the Indian economy, he remains an
elusive and largely unhonoured figure. The author “restores Rao to
his rightful place in modern Indian history.”
Sitapati dexterously combines documentary research with interviews
to bring Rao “vividly alive in his multiple avatars: politician, scholar,
follower, leader, family man, friend,” emphasises Guha. The
transformation that Rao brought about were in the most trying
of circumstances. He worked in a fractious democracy. A usurper of
the Nerhu-Gandhi throne, Rao did not control his own party.
No national leader who achieved his scale of transformation worked
under such constraints. It makes Rao the most skilled Indian Prime
Minister since Jawaharlal Nehru, a twentieth century reformer as
consequential as Deng Xiaoping. His personality is central to the
transformation of India, a shift caused not by historical forces but by
the leadership of one man.
‘You can use a biography to examine political power’ says Robert
Caro, a prince among biographers. ‘But only if you pick the right
guy.’ Sitapati had exclusive access to Rao’s never-before-seen
personal papers and diaries throwing fresh light about the Indian
economy, the nuclear programme, foreign policy and the Babri
Masjid.
Recalling PV’s humiliation in retirement, the author never loses sight
of the inner man, his difficult childhood, his corruption and love affairs
and his loneliness. This political biography written in a lucid style
provides valuable and fresh insight of a man and his remarkable
capabilities which the Congress high command loathed. It is
important that the people at large realise that Rao reinvented India at
home and abroad.
When Rao died in December 2004, his family wanted the body
cremated in Delhi. “This is his karmabhoomi,” Prabhakara told
Manmohan Singh. Sonia’s closest aides would not have any of
it. They ensured Rao’s body was taken to Hyderabad so that Rao is
not viewed as an all India leader.
As a political scientist, journalist and lawyer, Sitapati has
endeavoured in restoring the prestige of Rao and record his
contribution of daring to take the first major steps in liberalising
the economy. The author is emphatic as long as Indians remain half-
lions, so must their representatives. Rao’s legacy lives on. A highly
absorbing and must read book.
*****
Tales of a modern-day Chanakya—P.V. Narasimha Rao
As I begin to write this on a Sunday evening, until a little while ago,
#25yearsofreforms and #ManmohanSingh were trending across India on
the micro-blogging platform Twitter.
All this, because as I write this, it is 24 July 2016—25 years to the
day a bewildered nation stared at the only television channel we
had access to: the state-controlled Doordarshan. Manmohan
Singh, then the finance minister of the country, started reading out
his budget speech. He told us in no uncertain terms the country
was bankrupt. There was a deficit of Rs.7,719 crore in the Union
budget. And that to get things moving, people would have to get
used to a few bitter pills. Like higher taxes, stop getting used to
government subsidies, and accept the idea that foreign
companies would get into India.
He sounded like the kind of man we could trust because he was
very unlike the politicians we had gotten used to. The mild
mannered gentleman studied economics at Cambridge and had a
doctorate on the theme from Oxford. He was an academic, who
used to teach at the Delhi School of Economics before he was
inducted into governance.
I am a child of the economic reforms. Then in my first year at St.
Xavier’s College in Mumbai, most of my time was spent peering
through microscopes and all of this sounded like gobbledygook.
My counterparts in the economics department looked and
sounded flustered and excited all at once. Nothing made sense to
me then and I tried to go through newspapers. Not that it made
much sense either.
A headline in The Indian Express, for instance, said: “Fiscal
correctives to reverse inflationary trends: Manmohan”. Whatever,
I muttered, and plodded on.
Political leaders across all parties condemned him. George
Fernandes called it a “…budget that would benefit scoundrels”.
Atal Bihari Vajpayee, then a leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party,
which is now in power, said: “It will fuel the fire of inflation and the
rise in fertilizer prices will hit farmers hard whereas higher support
prices have never benefitted farmers. The common man will
suffer.” But to be fair to him, he had filed a caveat. “I like the
budget but not many of the proposals.”
Not just opposition parties, even those within the Congress
thought of him as an unfettered man on the loose. Forty members
of Parliament from the ruling Congress party sought an audience
with Singh’s boss, the newly inducted Prime Minister P.V.
Narasimha Rao.
It was facilitated by Ghulam Nabi Azad, then minister for
parliamentary affairs. Rao was grilled by all of them with the vocal
Jayanti Natarajan, a close confidante of Sonia Gandhi, leading
the brigade. He dodged their questions by telling them he was just
a politician like them and was simply doing what a qualified man
like Singh was telling him to do.
What they didn’t know, what I didn’t know, and what most of us
didn’t know, until now, is that all of this was actually being
orchestrated by the diminutive, uncharismatic prime minister
whom we all thought owed his job to the Gandhis, India’s so-
called first family. This story started to unravel through the pages
of Half Lion: How P.V. Narasimha Rao Transformed India, by
Vinay Sitapati, a book that has now got everybody’s attention.
By the time I was through with it, I thought Sitapati had blown a
few notions in my head. So I connected with him and asked if he’d
engage in a conversation. I wasn’t interested in the machinations
of what happened in Delhi. The book covers all of that in much
detail. But I got the impression Sitapati had left a lot many things
unsaid. What is it that he left unsaid in his book?
I asked if he’d be open to talk about it. He was game. What
emerged out of it was a riveting conversation that contained
insights on how leaders operate—not just in politics, but in pretty
much any domain.
Insight #1: Leaders can be evil.
Leaders can be evil for reasons explicable and inexplicable. That
is why I started out telling Sitapati that while his book did change
my impression of Rao as a diminutive man, I also wondered
whether or not he was too sympathetic to Rao.
Sitapati didn’t argue with me. Instead, he went deeper and said
there are footnotes and literature on the theme in the book,
11,000 to be precise, that will stand up to any scrutiny and
provide evidence of three things.
1. P.V. Narasimha Rao started as a foot soldier who rose to
become the chief minister of Andhra Pradesh. He then held
various portfolios in the central ministry that made him familiar
with how Delhi operates before he assumed office as prime
minister. Not by a majority vote, but by consensus, and he was
acutely aware of it.
No other prime minister in the history of contemporary India,
including Narendra Modi, holds this distinction. While Modi was a
foot solider and chief minister, he was catapulted as head of state
before getting familiar with politics at the centre. This left him
confounded for a while and it is taking him time to get used to the
place. But not so with Rao.
2. Then there is his highly despicable role in the Sikh riots. Like
every other Congressman, he got a clear message from Rajiv
Gandhi’s office to back off. Rao was in a unique position then. He
was home minister and the Constitution of India conferred upon
him the power to ignore Gandhi’s orders. The police reported to
him, and not the Prime Minister’s Office (PMO). But why did Rao
listen to his party? Why did Rao choose to stay mum and let
innocent Sikhs be butchered after Indira Gandhi was
assassinated?
All of Sitapati’s research and poring over Rao’s notebooks and
archives did not yield anything on why Rao behaved the way he
did. History will never forgive his silence, whatever his reasons.
Was it an unstated lust for power because he knew he didn’t have
the charisma to acquire power on his own terms?
3. Then there were his personal relations. He could be mean and
petty in his interactions. He had a reputation as well to use people
around him to further his own interests. Contrary to popular
perception that he was a Gandhi family loyalist, fact is, he used
them to get into power. But Sonia Gandhi got the snub when he
thought the timing was just right and did what he had to do. This
is morally ambiguous territory. On the one hand, he had to use
the family to acquire power. On the other hand, if he had to
implement his vision of India, she had to be snubbed. Will history
condemn him for that? It depends on what set of lens you decide
to apply. Because the idea of morality has no singular definition.
Insight #2: Leaders do it quietly
In hindsight, a quarter of a century after economic liberalization
was initiated, everybody from the Congress party to his
opponents now in power want to claim credit for it. Fact is,
everybody back then, beginning with Indira Gandhi, Atal Bihari
Vajpayee, and even Manmohan Singh, who was on the fringes of
power, knew what needed to be done. It was all there in draft
papers for everybody to see. India needed a social democrat at
the helm. But it would come at a huge personal cost. Who would
carry the cross? Nobody had the muscle in them.
It took a fundamentally lonely man to do it. He figured he’d need
to keep a low profile, use the Gandhi family for air cover and the
face of a credible Manmohan Singh even as he pretended to be
part of the old guard. He worked his way back into favour and
made himself indispensable. He had to be seen as a nobody, look
himself in the mirror and admit every day credit may not come his
way. He was comfortable with that.
In hindsight, there is now consensus liberalization created growth
and an increase in income levels. Even the poorest Indian is
better off after Narasimha Rao than before him. Sitapati says he
isn’t sure yet what the extent of inequality was before
liberalization. But his research makes it clear that in terms of
absolute prosperity, Indians are better off after Rao than they
were before him.
To do that, he had to micro-manage things. That is why there are
as many mobile phones in the country now. For instance, when
Rao took over as PM in 1991, there were no mobile phones.
What existed were five million landline connections on the back of
a network created by a man called Sam Pitroda, a friend of Rajiv
Gandhi’s, whom the Congress party’s textbooks describe as the
father of the telecom revolution in India.
Fact is, after Rao took charge and opened the economy up, as
things are, over one billion Indians use mobile handsets. His own
party has tried to obliterate this achievement of his. In fact, Sukh
Ram, his communications minister, was dead against allowing
private and foreign investors. But Rao outmanoeuvred him
politically despite having no support.
This is not to suggest he made no mistakes. He did. But he set
India on a trajectory. The astute politician in him though removed
his fingerprints because “reforms” were a dirty word in the
nineties. And he never let himself forget he was a man without a
mandate.
This level of self-awareness is what drove him to co-opt his
fiercest opponents. That is why he receded into the background
and invited Sukh Ram to place the first cellular phone call to Jyoti
Basu, Rao’s fierce Marxist political rival in West Bengal.
Then there is the idea of the welfare state. Education, health and
rural development schemes during Indira Gandhi’s tenure were
poorly funded. In fact, during her reign in the sixties, poverty
actually increased. That her policies were disastrous was obvious
to Rao. Mrs Gandhi did nothing about it. When he took over,
Rao’s experience in all of these ministries and as chief minister
came in handy. He quietly upped funding to education, health and
rural development schemes from Indira Gandhi’s period.
The reforms he crafted during his tenure and which continue are
in sync with Indian realities. The credit never went to him.
Clamour and claimants continue to wrangle over it.
Then, take foreign policy. The Soviet Union, until then India’s best
friend, was disintegrating. Rao had the foresight to see India had
to move towards the US and shake hands with Israel in an
emerging unipolar world.
If he did that though, traditionalists would baulk and the large
Muslim community would go against him. In a master stroke, he
invited Yasser Arafat as a state guest to India, hugged him in
public, had the images published widely in the media, and
described him as a “household name” in a speech he personally
crafted over at least four drafts. In public he heaped Arafat with
praise.
Privately though, he told Arafat that if he wants India to help his
cause, the only way out would be for India to resume talks with
Israel. That would involve resuming diplomatic ties with Tel Aviv.
The crafty man that Arafat was, got the sub-text and conceded
ground. Everybody was appeased and a few days later on 29
January 1992, India resumed formal ties with Israel.
Few world leaders inherited the toxic economic, political and
internal catastrophes that Rao did. That he dealt with them and
didn’t choose to take credit is unparalleled, argues Sitapati.
Insight #3: Leaders are lonely
Sitapati was reluctant to talk about this. But I pushed him hard to
imagine what Rao would do if he were in Modi’s shoes. Like I’ve
mentioned earlier, there is one fundamental difference between
Rao and Modi in how they assumed power. Modi has lost time in
understanding Delhi.
Sitapati also thinks Modi has misunderstood the scale of his
mandate. A majority in the Lok Sabha is not enough. You have to
win in the Rajya Sabha as well. In a democracy of the kind that
India is, you cannot be seen as a domineering figure. It is
important to take the states, the judiciary and the bureaucracy
along. The Indian government is full of players who can veto
every move of yours. The stalled goods and services tax (GST)
bill is a case in point.
And finally, Modi is surrounded by people he trusts. As opposed
to that, Rao surrounded himself with people whose abilities he
trusted. But he trusted nobody, except himself. He was a loner.
Rao didn’t have a faction or a coterie. That made him an ideal
consensus leader. He didn’t come across as threatening and
converted loneliness into a virtue.
Modi may do well to learn from him. As Eleanor Roosevelt, the
former first lady of the US, put it so eloquently: “It is necessary for
us to learn from other’s mistakes. You will not live long enough to
make them all yourself.”
Listen to the full podcast and coverage on liberalization at
www.foundingfuel.com.
Charles Assisi’s Twitter handle is @c_assisi.
Charles Assisi
Topics: P.V. Narasimha RaoManmoha Singhliberalization1991
reforms25 years of reforms
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