In spite of the gods The strange rise of modern India

Review by Choice Review

Here is the best overall analysis of contemporary India to date. Luce was South Asia bureau chief for the Financial Times in New Delhi from 2001 to 2006. He has drawn on his sound understanding of Indian history and culture to produce a critical series of essays that demonstrate his keen insight into the mysteries of Indian thinking and society. Luce explores India's "schizophrenic economy," the pervasive nature of government bureaucracy, and the rise of the lower castes. He studies the "continuing threat of Hindu nationalism" through the growth of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (Organization of National Volunteers); its militant offspring, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (World Council of Hinduism); and its political wing, the Bharatiya Janata Party (Indian Peoples' Party)--all of which were significantly behind the destruction of the 16th-century Babri Masjid in 1992 and the horrific communal riots in Gujarat in 2002. Luce then analyzes the Congress Party's "love affair with the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty," the experience of India's "divided Muslims," and India's odd relationship with the US and China. Luce predicts that India will meet its huge opportunities and challenges. "India always wins." Summing Up: Essential. All levels/libraries. W. W. Reinhardt Randolph-Macon College

Copyright American Library Association, used with permission.

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Review by New York Times Review

FOR roughly 400 years, educated young Englishmen have been traveling to India, staying there for a brief period and then opining expansively on the problems, contrasts and beauties of the country. In a sign, perhaps, that the complex relationship between Britain and India has finally reached some sort of equilibrium, a British journalist can now explore India and describe what he sees without sounding patronizing, nostalgic or tortured by post-colonial guilt. For five years, Edward Luce was the Financial Times correspondent in India. "In Spite of the Gods," is a series of acutely observed vignettes, held together by a single theme, and an overriding question: India will soon become a great power; what kind of great power will it be? Luce is the best sort of foreign correspondent: amiable, courteous, curious and gently self-mocking. His admiration for India's economic miracle and its entrepreneurial elite is as genuine as his dismay at the poverty of its villages and the corruption of its politicians. He finds a country steeped in religiosity with a lingering distrust of modernity, but one that is also changing and modernizing at - an astonishing rate, not because of its rich spiritual heritage, but "in spite of the gods." Luce's sense of wonder runs through every word of his book. He marvels at the innovation and the chaos, the contradictions and the inequalities, the roaring but lopsided economy that has seen the number of cellphones in India leap from three million to 100 million in just five years, while "almost 300 million Indians can never be sure where their next meal will come from." This is the India of gleaming billion-dollar information technology industries and wooden plows, where a million engineering graduates are trained every year but almost the same number of malnourished children die annually from contaminated water. Luce, who is married to an Indian woman, treads carefully, most particularly when visiting the cow product research center at Nagpur. He is taken barefoot to inspect the holy cows in their stalls, past the bottles of cow urine promising to cure everything from cancer to obesity, and the cow-dung anti-dandruff shampoo. "All of these recipes are contained in the holy texts," he is told. Luce's amused discomfort - not only because he is standing up to his ankles in bovine effluent - is extreme, but he maintains a politeness that is exquisitely British. When invited to smell the leaves of fruit trees fertilized with the enriched biomass of the sacred cow, he declares: "This seemed very pleasant. And for all the science I know perhaps cow's urine really can cure cancer." Other sacred cows are treated less leniently. India's "romantic" reverence for the village, he notes, is not often shared by the people who actually live in Indian villages. India's verbose and status-minded diplomats receive a thorough drubbing, for caring "more about etiquette than they do about substance." Luce has no patience for the more extreme Hindu nationalism, which seeks to write other identities out of India's history and helps to foment the sort of horrific violence that erupted in Gujarat in 2002, when some 2,000 Muslims were slaughtered while the police looked on (or collaborated). For Luce, Hindu fundamentalism is the way backward, yet even his angriest condemnation makes a respectful offering to the gods: "A violent and vengeful philosophy ... it also tarnishes by association all that is good and tolerant about Hinduism." Meandering across this vast country. Luce meets crooks, heroes, software billionaires and rural saints. One memorable encounter is with Sonia Gandhi, the Italian-born widow of the slain Rajiv Gandhi and the woman who led the Congress Party back to power in 2004 before standing aside. When Sonia Gandhi diffidently offers tea, Luce feels as though "Queen Elizabeth was offering to massage my feet." The awkwardness of this woman, who had greatness thrust upon her (only to thrust it away) is oddly moving. "You know politics does not come easily to me," she says. Other, more informal encounters are just as telling. On an overnight train journey, Luce has his ear bent by a delightful 10-year-old Sikh boy with a million questions and no intention of sleeping. Anti-corruption agents he meets describe being taken to the same newly built dam by four different routes, because the builders have claimed the cash for four separate constructions and think the officials won't notice. He is harangued by the most hard-line Islamist separatist in Kashmir, who has thoughtfully provided a single blanket for the Financial Times, New York Times and Economist correspondents to snuggle under together. "It was my most intimate collaboration to date with journalistic competitors." Varied and paradoxical, India resists generalizations, and Luce knows it. Balance is all; indeed, balance out of bedlam may be the key to India's success. For every example of systemic graft, cruelty and want, there is another of imagination, candor and can-do, like the extraordinary effectiveness with which the state of Tamil Nadu tackled the aftermath of the 2004 tsunami. China looms in the background, and the "triangular dance" between the two rising Asian powers and the United States, Luce predicts, is sure to grow ever more intricate and intimate; in time, perhaps a very short time, "relations between the three big powers will outweigh all other ties." In contrast to China, India has given greater weight to stability than efficiency, an investment that could pay huge dividends in the long run. China has built its infrastructure at a breathless pace, but India has painfully forged an independent judiciary, a free press and a vibrant pluralist society, institutional advantages that may mean "the Indian tortoise will eventually overtake the Chinese hare." Indian diplomats, academics, Hindu nationalists and makers of cow-dung anti-dandruff shampoo will not enjoy this book. Most others, I suspect, will relish even the more stinging appraisals it contains, for what comes through is a whole-souled enthusiasm for the place and its possibilities, an optimism that Indian democracy will always overcome. India is entering its golden age, but Luce offers a warning: the expectation of success has infected India's privileged classes with a "premature spirit of triumphalism" that could prove self-defeating, a case of counting chickens before they are eggs. "India is not on an autopilot to greatness," he remarks, even though "it would take an incompetent pilot to crash the plane." Following the tradition of his British predecessors, Luce ends his book with some advice for India: Improve education, strengthen liberal democracy, develop a coherent energy strategy and radically revise the transportation system before the Indian car population swells from the 40 million today to an expected 200 million by 2030 and brings the entire country to a choking standstill. SUCH policy prescriptions are well aimed, and certainly well intentioned, but after the subtle interweaving of reportage and commentary that precedes it, this finger-wagging conclusion seems out of place. Luce did a stint as a speech writer for Larry Summers when Summers was United States Treasury secretary, and here, for the only time, it shows. I much preferred Luce the observant journalist to Luce the policy wonk. A new deity is rising in India, with the "visible cult of wealth" in which "brands are the new religion." But the French hippie who tells Luce this new religion will be absorbed and adapted in India like all the others is probably right. India has a special gift for keeping its gods in balance, in spite of modernity. Luce has one theme and one question: India is becoming a great power; what kind of great power will it be? Ben Macintyre is a columnist for The Times of London and has been chief of its New York, Paris and Washington bureaus.

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [October 27, 2009]

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Review by Booklist Review

Reporting from India in recent years for the British newspaper Financial Times, Luce distills from his experiences this assessment of the country's social, economic, and international situation. Against the theme of India's anticipated ascent into the top tier of world powers, Luce sorts through facts of life that both promote and hinder that future, namely, its booming economy and the deep destitution of most of its people. Built on interviews with people from the top of politics and business to those from society's bottom rungs, Luce's presentation covers the breadth of India's billion-plus populace and its experience of economic improvement. Progress is spotty, however, and in addition to widespread poverty, it is hampered by pervasive corruption. As for caste and ethnic communalism, Luce's observations encompass both their continuing influence as social identifiers and their erosion under the forces of consumerism and relative upward mobility. Luce will accessibly acquaint readers interested in India with the country's salient contemporary aspects, from Bollywood to nuclear weapons. --Gilbert Taylor Copyright 2007 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

A burgeoning economic and geopolitical giant, India has the 21st century stamped on it more visibly than any other nation after China and the U.S. It's been an expanding force since at least 1991, explains journalist Luce, when India let go of much of the protectionist apparatus devised under Nehru after independence in 1947 from Britain, as part of a philosophy of swadeshi (or self-reliance) that's still relevant in India's multiparty democracy. From his vantage as the (now former) Financial Times's South Asia bureau chief, Luce illuminates the drastically lopsided features of a nuclear power still burdened by mass poverty and illiteracy, which he links in part to government control of the economy, an overwhelmingly rural landscape, and deep-seated institutional corruption. While describing religion's complex role in Indian society, Luce emphasizes an extremely heterogeneous country with a growing consumerist culture, a geographically uneven labor force and an enduring caste system. This lively account includes a sharp assessment of U.S. promotion of India as a countervailing force to China in a three-power "triangular dance," and generally sets a high standard for breadth, clarity and discernment in wrestling with the global implications of New India. (Jan.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

Here is an introspective study of the realities of modern India, the world's largest democracy and a country arguably poised to rival China and America as a global player. Assessing its social welfare programs, communalism, local and national politics, and place in today's globalization, Luce (Washington bureau chief, former South Asia bureau chief, Financial Times) commends India's progress in relation to other developed nations and throws light on areas where further progress is crucial, especially the need to bring the masses out of poverty. Although Luce is not native to India, he has produced an unbiased presentation, quoting people from all walks of life, from politicians, historians, and bureaucrats to those who are the victims of poverty or political bias. He thoroughly examines the varieties of corruption endemic from the grass roots up and points out the contradictions of a country that can boast of its nuclear strides while failing to invest in care for its urban and rural poor. Luce has produced a book as diversely focused as India itself. It will serve both general readers and specialists in international relations and the politics of India. Strongly recommended for academic libraries and large public libraries; college libraries and beginning politicians and bureaucrats in India would profit from it as well.-Uma Doraiswamy, Western Kentucky Univ. Lib., Bowling Green (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Illuminating survey of modern India, a state struggling to take its place among world leaders while battling structural inequalities that impede its progress. It is commonplace for Indians to talk of their nation as a rising superpower, writes Financial Times editor and former New Delhi bureau chief Luce. That rise, he notes, is a gradual but steady one: Each year, he calculates, things such as wages and life expectancy improve by one percent, while poverty and illiteracy drop by the same amount. India's emergence as a nuclear state, with near-disastrous consequences in the final years of the last millennium, and the celebrated rise of its film, high-technology and consumer sectors speak to a more rapid acceleration, while the country's movement "from secular government to Hindu nationalist government and back again" and from "virtual bankruptcy to a lengthy boom" make forecasting of any sort difficult. Yet, Luce notes, this much seems clear: India will continue to grow as an economy and producer, and in this respect, to say nothing of geographical position, it offers a countervailing force against China. It is for that reason, Luce writes, that the Bush administration shifted from a more or less neutral position vis-à-vis India to pushing its growth as a major world power; and by 2012, according to a CIA report, India will indeed be the world's fourth most powerful nation--good reason to cozy up to it. That growth is almost inevitable, it appears, but Luce identifies several factors that impede India's development, from the caste system to the prevalence of poverty, illiteracy and epidemic disease; and, he writes, "the new wealth and technology of the last fifteen years appears to have exacerbated some of India's less savory traditions," such as the practice of killing newborn girls. Clearly, India will occupy an ever-greater place on the world stage in the coming years, and Luce's well-written account provides useful notes on that growth. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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1. GLOBAL AND MEDIEVAL India ' s Schizophrenic Economy Its stupendous population consists of farm laborers. India is one vast farm -- one almost interminable stretch of fields with mud fences between. Think of the above facts: and consider what an incredible aggregate of poverty they place before you. -- Mark Twain, Following the Equator , 1897 (1) It took a long time. But finally in the late 1990s India started to build roads that could get you from A to B at something better than a canter. Until then, India's most significant highway was the Grand Trunk Road that bisects the country from north to south. Laid at various stages by the late medieval Mughal dynasty, then upgraded and extended by the British in the nineteenth century and popularized by Rudyard Kipling in his novel Kim , most of the "GT Road," as it is known, got acquainted with asphalt only after independence. But it is a single lane and one can rarely exceed an average of thirty miles an hour. So the relative novelty of India's double-lane expressways still generates a buzz. By 2006, India had all but completed the 3,000-mile "Golden Quadrilateral" expressway linking the country's four largest cities: Delhi to Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay) to Chennai (formerly known as Madras) to Kolkata (formerly known as Calcutta) (*) to Delhi. Average speeds on the better stretches are closer to sixty miles an hour. For some, the expressways have heralded a modern era of speed, punctuality, and hygienic roadside bathrooms. For others, they represent a brash intrusion on the more lackadaisical world they cut through. To me, the new expressways provide an intriguing juxtaposition of India's multispeed economics. Curiosity--and an instinct of self-preservation--means I occasionally move into the slow lane. One of the best ways of observing India's galloping new economy is to count the number of car brands that whir past you in the fast lane. You tend to lose count at thirty or forty. In the early 1990s, as India was starting to relax import and investment restrictions on foreign manufacturers, you would at best have counted six or seven makes of car. More than 90 percent of them would have been Ambassadors, the stately but desperately uncomfortable colonial-era vehicles that are still used by VIPs, and Marutis, the cramped family passenger car, still manufactured under a joint venture between Suzuki of Japan and the Indian government. Nowadays you have little time to register the tinted and reflector windows of the Toyotas, Fiats, Hondas, Tatas, Fords, Volkswagens, and Mercedes-Benz, as they flash past. But your speed is never quite what it should be. Coming far too frequently from the opposite direction, but on your side of the road, you encounter decrepit scooters, bicycles, and even camel-drawn carts, whose drivers appear blissfully unfazed by the fact that they are breaking all known rules of traffic and common sense. Once or twice, on the two-hundred-mile Delhi expressway to Jaipur, a city in the neighboring state of Rajasthan, my journey has been brought to a halt by a herd of goats. Even without the local fauna, the absence of lane discipline means you are mostly on the edge of your seat. But it is at the side of the expressways in the glaring billboards advertising cell phones, iPods, and holiday villas and the shiny gas stations with their air-conditioned mini-supermarkets that India's schizophrenic economy reveals itself. Behind them, around them, and beyond them is the unending vista of rural India, of yoked bullocks plowing the fields in the same manner they have for three thousand years and the primitive brick kilns that dot the endless patchwork of fields of rice, wheat, pulse, and oilseed. There are growing pockets of rural India that are mechanizing and becoming more prosperous. But they are still islands. It is in this almost continuous contrast that you observe the two most striking features of India's early-twenty-first-century economy: its modern and booming service sector in a sea of indifferent farmland. It would be tempting, as you cruise happily toward your destination with a reasonable chance of being on time, to believe these features are from different worlds. Along the way, you might also glimpse an occasional factory and an assembly plant or two for vehicles or washing machines. But evidence of manufacturing in India is far thinner on the ground than it is in neighboring China. * * * By the time of independence, Nehru had already helped to forge a consensus in which the country would aim for complete economic self-sufficiency and the state would lead the effort by building up heavy industry, with an emphasis on steel plants and large dams. It has become fashionable since 1991 to write off Nehru as a hopeless idealist who tied the country up in socialist red tape for forty years. Much of the criticism is fair,(*) since India failed to achieve the high economic growth rates that were seen at the time in Japan and later in South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, and Malaysia. But in the late 1940s and 1950s Nehru's economic strategy was perfectly in step with worldwide economic fashion. It came with the blessings of a team from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, which advised New Delhi on the country's early five-year development plans. India was also advised by Gosplan, the Soviet Union's economic planning agency. The idea, which combined India's critique of the imperial economic system with a widespread global distrust of free trade following the disasters that had resulted in Europe and elsewhere during the "hungry thirties," was to give the state a primary role in an economy aiming for self-reliance, or swadeshi --the second most important rallying cry of India's freedom movement after swaraj, or self-rule. Of great importance in kick-starting this model were a series of large projects that stimulated further economic activity--much as the widely admired Tennessee Valley Authority had in the United States. Nehru liked to call such projects "temples of concrete." Nehru's plans for a closed economy dominated by the state also came with the blessings of Britain's postwar Labour government, which had agreed to Indian independence, and which carried out its own nationalization of private sector industries to a far greater degree than did Nehru's India. Many of the Labour government's Fabian advisers were accorded a warm welcome in Nehru's New Delhi. Indeed, it was not until fifteen to twenty years after India's independence that international praise of the country's economic model was outweighed by rising concerns about its effectiveness. Until then India's trajectory was uncontroversial and relatively unexceptional. Yet, in retrospect and in comparison to other developing economies in Asia, Nehru's economic policies served India poorly. In 1950 South Korea, which was yet to emerge from its war with Communist North Korea, had the same living standards as India (roughly $50 annually per capita in 2005 prices). Fifty years later, South Korea's per capita income was above $10,000, which was more than ten times higher than that of India. More or less similar contrasts can be found between India and most of the countries of east and Southeast Asia. Even China, which devoted much of the first thirty years of its revolution to countrywide terror, now has double India's per capita income, having started at about the same level at the time of its revolution in 1949. Why did Nehru's approach fail? In the answers can also be found the explanations for why India's economy today is developing in such a curiously lopsided way. At independence, India was an overwhelmingly rural, agricultural, and impoverished country. Almost nine out of ten Indians lived in villages and depended on the meager yields of farming, mostly subsistence farming, to live from day to day. In 1951, when India conducted its first census after independence, the country had a literacy rate of only 16 percent--which means little more than one in seven of its 320 million people could even sign his or her name. Average life expectancy was just thirty-two years, an extraordinary but credible figure that gives a fair picture of the abysmal quality of life for most of India's villagers. Common descriptions at the time talked of emaciated peasants with visible rib cages, "coolies" half bent from a (short) lifetime of manual labor, and children with potbellies from protein deficiency. India at independence was a country desperately in need of rural land reform and measures that would drastically boost crop yields so it could feed its people and build a launch pad for future growth. What it got instead was public steel plants and aluminum smelters, which not only were, for the most part, heavily loss-making but also ate up India's precious foreign exchange resources. The Indian farmer needed local irrigation projects to help insulate him against the vagaries of India's wildly erratic annual monsoon. Instead Nehru unveiled grand dams, most of which are now crumbling and some of which were never completed. The average Indian also needed to learn how to read and write and have access to antibiotics and antimalaria drugs, without which it was virtually impossible to escape poverty. Instead, Nehru's Congress Party governments poured resources into universities for the urban middle classes and into new public hospitals in the cities. Hindsight makes it easy to dismiss as hopelessly optimistic Nehru's belief that devoting most of India's scarce financial resources to grand projects would propel the country to industrial status within a generation. Yet even at the time there were skeptical voices who questioned whether higher education should receive the same budgetary allocation as elementary education, in a country where 84 percent of people were illiterate. (2) There were also a few critics who wondered whether the amount New Delhi spent on agriculture should be as low as a third of the total spending in India's first five-year plan, which was launched in 1952, plummeting to less than a fifth of spending in the second plan in 1957, when more than four-fifths of people depended on farming to survive. (3) But their voices were drowned in a sea of utopian rectitude. The disparity between the Indian policy elite's dreams for tomorrow and what most Indians needed at the time was stark. To be fair, Nehru had tried land reform and to some extent succeeded in getting rid of the most feudal end of the spectrum. The notorious zamindari system that had been set up by the British in most of northern India, under which large landholders, the zamindars , were responsible for collecting taxes for the British from a penurious peasantry, had virtually been abolished by the end of the 1950s. But in most parts of India, Nehru's land reforms were either watered down or sabotaged altogether by the local Congress Party elites, who, to Nehru's growing frustration, were drawn disproportionately from the ranks of upper-caste landowners and notables. Nehru also tried and failed to set up cooperatives among the smaller farmers, whose plots were too small for mechanization and fertilizers to be affordable. Nehru's cooperative reforms, which were influenced by China's policies of the same era, were also shot down by Congress Party bigwigs at the local level--where they mattered. An impeccable democrat, Nehru at times expressed envy of China's ability to push through whatever it wished, whether the people wanted it or not. But he never gave any hint of a tendency to authoritarianism. "Let there be no doubt," Nehru told India's parliament in 1959, "I shall go from field to field and peasant to peasant begging them to agree to it [cooperative farming], knowing that if they do not agree, I cannot put it into operation." (4) But even if he had succeeded, it is doubtful cooperative farming would have made much of a difference in a country where caste divisions are most bitterly experienced at the grassroots. The failure of Nehru's overall model became apparent at two different moments, a generation apart from each other. The first was in 1967, when Indira Gandhi, who had taken over as prime minister in 1966, two years after her father's death, was forced to devalue the Indian rupee under pressure from the United States and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). India's relative neglect of agriculture had been compounded by the incomplete success of Nehru's land reforms--large numbers of Indians remained landless. In exchange for increased international aid to enable India to import food following a succession of poor harvests, Indira Gandhi was compelled to swallow some unwelcome economic medicine. In devaluing the currency, the aim was to prevent future payment crises by stimulating greater exports and thus earning more foreign exchange.(*) But it marked a symbolic defeat for swadeshi , or self-reliance, the centerpiece of Nehru's master plan for India. Worse, the devaluation followed several years of humiliation in which India's malnourished poor were kept alive by fleets of ships from the United States carrying surplus grain in food aid. The joke was that India was living from "ship to mouth." But Indira Gandhi, who, unlike her father, did harbor dictatorial tendencies, which were revealed in 1975 when she suspended democracy for nineteen months amid mounting protests over her failure to "remove poverty" (as she had promised in the previous election), remained committed to swadeshi . She also had a less subtle grasp of what her father had meant by socialism: "The public sector was conceived as the base of Indian industry so that the country might have more machines, more steel," she said two years after the 1967 devaluation of the rupee.(5) "It also ensured India's freedom. To the extent India depended on imports its independence was compromised." The second and even more dramatic moment came in 1991, when India's economy went into a tailspin after its foreign exchange reserves dropped almost to zero in the aftermath of the Gulf War, which had triggered a steep rise in oil prices that technically bankrupted India.(*) Iraq's decision to put a torch to the oil fields in Kuwait before it retreated from advancing U.S.-led forces was the straw that broke the camel's back for India's economy, which was already living beyond its means. Unlike in 1967, when the lives of tens of millions of Indians depended on foreign aid, by 1991 India was more than self-sufficient in food production, having roughly doubled its agricultural yields in the "green revolution" of the 1970s and 1980s. Scientists from India and abroad had developed much better yielding varieties of rice and particularly of wheat, the two principal staples of the Indian diet; these advances had boosted output dramatically. But the very real successes of the green revolution were no comfort in 1991, when the final death knell sounded for India's swadeshi hopes. In exchange for emergency balance of payments assistance from the IMF, India again devalued its currency and was required to move much of its gold as collateral to London. Nehru's socialist dream of creating an economy that would be immune from the influence of the former colonial powers had culminated in bankruptcy, and worse, a bankruptcy in which it was London that played the symbolic role of pawnbroker in saving India from collapse. Excerpted from In Spite of the Gods: The Strange Rise of Modern India by Edward Luce All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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