The billionaire Raj A journey through India's new gilded age

James Crabtree, 1977-

Book - 2018

"A colorful and revealing portrait of India's new billionaire class, in a nation torn by radical inequality"--

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Subjects
Published
New York : Tim Duggan Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC [2018]
Language
English
Main Author
James Crabtree, 1977- (author)
Edition
First U.S. edition
Physical Description
vii, 408 pages : map ; 25 cm
Bibliography
Includes bibliographical references (pages 367-390) and index.
ISBN
9781524760069
  • Prologue
  • Introduction
  • Part I. Robber Barons
  • 1. Ambaniland
  • 2. The Good Times Begin
  • 3. Rise of the Bollygarchs
  • Part II. Political Machines
  • 4. India Modified
  • 5. The Season of Scams
  • 6. Money Power Politics
  • 7. Cronyism Goes South
  • Part III. A New Gilded Age
  • 8. House of Debt
  • 9. The Anxious Tycoons
  • 10. More Than a Game
  • 11. The Nation Wants to Know
  • 12. The Tragedies of Modi
  • Conclusion: A Progressive Era?
  • Notes
  • Bibliography
  • Acknowledgments
  • Index
Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* In this illuminating study, Crabtree, former Mumbai bureau chief for the Financial Times, asks how political corruption and a powerful Bollygarchy have remade India since economic liberalization in 1991. Weaving together political analysis, academic research, and profiles of India's new tycoons, several of whom spoke with him, Crabtree constructs a layered narrative of a nation in economic and political upheaval. Startling accounts of conspicuous consumption abound, as do sordid tales of high-society business intrigue. But Crabtree's target is bigger India's transforming political and economic culture. In lucid detail, he explains how the nation of Gandhi and Nehru became the nation of Mukesh Ambani, the billionaire industrialist whose 500-foot-tall personal residence looms over Mumbai. He links public anger over elite influence peddling to the rise of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, whose brand of muscular politics melded anticorruption efforts and right-wing Hindu nationalism. Surprising insights spring from Crabtree's comparison of India's current situation to the U.S.' Gilded Age, a comparison embraced by Indians eager for a Progressive Era of their own. Crabtree's account is engrossing for its views of India and trends reshaping the globe. A must for readers interested in contemporary India and a revelation for those interested in our changing world.--Kling, Sam Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this eye-opening rumination on wealth, power, and those who seek both, Crabtree, a former India correspondent for the Financial Times, ventures deep into the shadowy heart of India's "black-money" economy. From the cantilevered skyscrapers of Mumbai's billionaire elite to a neglected Muslim ghetto in Ahmedabad, Crabtree brings a reporter's precision and flair to his story, arguing that the rise of the "Bollygarchs" and the takeover of Indian politics by huge sums of private money has led to a boom-and-bust cycle in India's industrial economy. Weaving in interviews with politicians, central bankers, and industrial tycoons, he concludes that a lack of state capacity in India-the famously byzantine business licensing system, as well as low levels of investment in infrastructure-has contributed to rent-seeking and crony capitalism on the one hand and populist politics with a Hindu nationalist tinge on the other. An inside look into the corridors of power, this is an invaluable commentary on Indian democracy and the forces that threaten it. Agent: Toby Mundy, Toby Mundy Assoc. (July) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Crabtree (Lee Kuan Yew Sch. of Public Policy, National Univ. of Singapore) uses his experience as a foreign correspondent for the Financial Times based in Mumbai to consider India's industrial growth that produced a new millionaire class. The first step in this change was marked by a period of progress, with people leaving rural areas to work in city-based factories. Corporations began to make money at an astounding rate, increasing the already wide gap between rich and poor. The author then refers to the next stage as crony capitalism, characterized by high-level scheming between corporate bosses and political elites ensuring public resources are kept for themselves. He introduces readers to Reliance Industries, owned by the billionaire Ambani Family, and patriarch Mukesh Amani, India's richest man, and also sheds light on "-Bollygarchs," (a portmanteau of Bollywood and oligarch), who hold power in social and political circles. Toward the end, he wonders what kind of superpower India will become in the future. A weaker version of Western democracy corrupted by capitalism and inequality? Or similar to Russia, run by bribery and totalitarian politics? VERDICT A well-researched, compelling read for those interested in global societies.-Susanne Lohkamp, Multnomah Cty. Lib., Portland, OR © Copyright 2018. 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.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A report from the front lines of inequality and corruption in India, one of the world's rising economies.It's not the Taj Mahal, but it's got two-thirds of the floor space of Versaillesand on a footprint of just an acre. Former Financial Times Mumbai bureau chief Crabtree considers the Mumbai apartment tower built by billionaire Mukesh Ambani to be the pre-eminent symbol of "the power of India's new elite," one that pointedly emphasizes the sharp divide between rich and poor in the countryand indeed, the divide between the merely rich and the superrich. The creation of a class of hyperwealthy commoners owes at least in some measure to domestic economic reforms meant to advance a free market but that, instead, in combination with modernization and globalization, ushered in an era of staggering corruption, with the government machinery simply unable to keep up with a wave of crony capitalism. "The 1991 reforms," writes the author, gave "Indians a taste of a new world of mobile phones, multi-channel television and foreign consumer goods." They also inaugurated an enthusiasm for globalization that is largely unmatched; most Indians, Crabtree asserts, are all for it. However, support for globalization does not necessarily mean support for the greatest beneficiaries of it; anti-corruption campaigns are increasingly commonplace. Yet state apparatus is too inefficient to do much about it. As Crabtree notes, there are so many layers of bureaucracy that a would-be entrepreneur has to negotiate that it's only natural for a businessperson to try "to strike a deal towards the top of the decision-making chain." Corruption has not moderated under the "big-government conservative" Narendra Modi, who, Crabtree foresees, will in his second term yield to the temptation to substitute nationalism for economic reform, following the path set by Putin in Russia and Erdogan in Turkey. Even so, writes the author, it is not inevitable that India become "a saffron-tinged version of Russia."Solid reading for students of economic development and global economics. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof*** Copyright © 2018 James Crabtree             It was a sunny December day when I found it, abandoned outside a Mumbai police station and draped in a dirty plastic sheet. The silhouette revealed the outline of a car, low to the ground and beaten out of shape. A chunky black tire was propped awkwardly against the chassis. Thin white string tethered the sheet to a telephone pole, although this did nothing to stop me lifting it up and taking a peek below.             The scene underneath was a mess. A tangle of metal erupted from the driver's side. The bonnet was bent across the middle, pushed up by a violent impact. Broken tubes stuck out from the engine. Through a shattered windscreen I could see cramped rear seats, once plush red, now filthy and covered with dust. But the passenger's side was in better shape, revealing the classic lines of an Aston Martin Rapide, one of the world's most expensive supercars.             The vehicle had met its demise late at night a few weeks earlier, in an incident whose mysterious aftermath stuck long in my mind as an exemplar of the power of India's new super-rich. It had been roaring north up Pedder Road, a dual carriageway that separates two wealthy sections of the country's financial capital. To the left was Breach Candy, a plush enclave of residential towers offering pleasant views over the Arabian Sea. Narrow lanes to the right led up to Altamount Road, where colonial-era mansions hid behind high walls and iron gates.             It was roughly 1:30 a.m. when the Aston's driver lost control, rear-ending another car. Jolted by the impact, the second vehicle, an Audi A4, spun onto the opposite lane and clipped an oncoming bus. A collision with a third car then crushed the Aston's front end, sending it skidding across the road, where it crumpled to a halt in a whirl of smoke and glass. No one was killed, but as her Audi came to a stop, Foram Ruparel--a 25-year-old business school student, who had driven south earlier for dinner--realized she was in a fix. There were plenty of fancy cars in Mumbai, but Aston Martins remained rare. Anybody owning one had to be rich--really rich. And that meant trouble.             What happened next is fiercely disputed. Media reports said the Aston's driver first tried to flee in his crippled vehicle. Realizing it was too smashed-up to drive, he jumped into one of two Honda sports utility vehicles that happened to have followed him down the road. "In seconds, there was a swarm of security men around the car and they bundled the driver into one of the SUVs and sped off," Ruparel told a local paper a few days later. The security detail zoomed back down the road, heading towards the safety of a house just a few minutes' drive away.             Although not visible from the crash scene, the building came quickly into view as they raced south. A giant residential skyscraper called Antilia, it loomed high above the street, an unavoidable symbol of the prominence of its owner: billionaire Mukesh Ambani, India's richest man.             News of the hit-and-run filtered out quickly the next morning, Sunday, December 8, 2013. The ruined Aston turned out to be owned by Reliance Ports, a little-known subsidiary of Ambani's main Reliance Industries business, a giant conglomerate with interests stretching from oil refining and gas exploration to telecoms and television. Later that afternoon, Bansilal Joshi, a portly 55-year-old driver employed by the Ambani family, presented himself at Gamdevi police station, about two kilometers from the crash site. He had taken the car out for a late-night test drive, he confessed, and had been behind the wheel when it crashed. Then he fled the scene.             Ruparel told a different story, at least at first. "I could see in the rearview mirror the car was moving at a high speed, weaving left and right. And then, in a flash, it hit my car," she told one local newspaper. "I had a decent look at the driver's face. He was a young man." In the days after the crash, rumors spread that the young man may have been a member of the Ambani family, the country's preeminent business dynasty. Yet over the next few weeks Ruparel had a change of heart. Towards the end of December, she signed a statement in a magistrates' court claiming Joshi had been the driver after all.             The Reliance Industries account of what happened that night may very well be true. No one has been able to find out for sure. The police said CCTV footage of the moments leading up to the crash was inconclusive. Pedder Road is one of Mumbai's busiest thoroughfares, teeming even late at night with roadside hawkers, pedestrians, and pavement-dwellers trying to catch a few hours of sleep on cardboard mats. Yet none of those at the scene caught a glimpse of the fleeing driver. India's usually tenacious media covered the story with caution too. "While the cops have maintained a stoic silence so have most of India's leading television channels," a report in Forbes went so far as to put it later. In spite of the denials, the article even named a member of the Ambani family on the basis of rife "speculation online" that he "was allegedly involved in the smash-up."             Curious to find out more, I called a company spokesman in the days following the crash. He told me it was perfectly normal for Reliance Ports, ostensibly a logistics and transport business, to own a sports car with a price tag in the region of $700,000. There was also nothing unusual, he said, in an employee taking such a car for a test drive in the small hours of the morning, or for him to be trailed by security vehicles. The company firmly denied that anyone other than Joshi, its driver, had been involved. In private, many of those I met over the following days were skeptical of elements of this story, although almost no one said anything in public. Omar Abdullah, the outspoken chief minister of the state of Kashmir, was one exception, tweeting: "If friends in Mumbai are to be believed, it seems the only people who don't know who was driving the fancy Aston Martin are the Mumbai police."             Not long afterwards, I went to an evening reception in the seafront Taj Palace hotel, whose Gothic stone facade and pale red dome provide one of Mumbai's most recognizable landmarks. Darkness was falling outside as corporate luminaries gathered beneath glistening chandeliers in the main ballroom. The lights of distant yachts glinted in the harbor. Talk turned quickly to the mysteries of the crash, although only after much conspiratorial glancing over shoulders. Reliance continued fiercely to deny any wrongdoing, but rightly or wrongly many of those I met seemed doubtful about the company's version of events.              Whatever the truth of the matter, the incident cast a revealing light on how billionaires were viewed in India. That evening, I found myself playing devil's advocate. Both theories about what happened seemed questionable, I argued: the Reliance account of the late-night test drive on the one hand and the vague conspiracy and cover-up theory on the other. At one point at the Taj I told the head of a local bank that the Reliance story seemed the more likely of the two. He shot me a look with which I would soon become familiar: a combination of amazement and pity at the foreigner's naïveté. I realized then the mystery of who exactly had been driving was not the real issue. Such was the mystique surrounding the Ambanis, and so comprehensive was the belief in their power, what mattered was that everyone thought they could, if needed, make such a scandal disappear.             A few days later I went to Gamdevi police station to find out more. It was a dusty, chaotic old building, set back a few blocks from Chowpatty Beach and the Art Deco apartment blocks of Marine Drive, the city's crescent-shaped promenade. Bored-looking officers napped on plastic chairs beneath slowly turning fans, guarding rooms filled with overflowing piles of paper. The inspector was out, one told me. He returned eventually and granted a cautious interview.             "Where is the car now?" I asked.             "It has been impounded. For tests," he said.             "And when will those tests be finished?"             "It will take some time."             As we spoke, my mind conjured up a scene from the television series CSI , in which the Aston's ruined body had been carried to a spotless warehouse somewhere on the edge of town, where experts in overalls and white gloves were conducting a careful forensic examination. It was only when I emerged blinking back into the sunlight that a silhouette wrapped in a gray sheet caught my eye, parked a short distance down the street. No, I remember thinking. It can't be. Over the next year, I would stop by from time to time to see if the car was still there. It always was. The sheet got progressively dirtier, its top more deeply encrusted with bird shit. But the car beneath never seemed to have been touched. Sometimes I would stop by the police station and ask the officers how the investigation was progressing. "Ongoing," they told me, a code word we both understood to mean nothing whatsoever was happening.             Here was one of the world's most expensive cars, belonging to one of the world's richest men: a feared tycoon whom no sensible person would want to cross; a man whose power and influence, while enigmatic, was considered an inescapable fact of modern India. And so the car itself--an awkward reminder of events that early December morning--just sat there, ruined, fully wrapped and half forgotten, as if all involved hoped they might wake one morning and find that a passing magician had whisked off the sheet, and made the wrecked vehicle conveniently disappear. Excerpted from The Billionaire Raj: A Journey Through India's New Gilded Age by James Crabtree 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.