A colleague the other day said he finds the mix of politics and economics very interesting — social interventions, developmental initiatives et cetera. No less interesting is the mix of business and politics. This world is murky and hence seldom gets written about, though we manage to get a glimpse now and then. Vinod Mehta’s Lucknow Boy: A Memoir (Penguin, 2011) gives us some insights into the worlds of two businessmen: Vijaypat Singhania and Lalit Mohan Thapar.
Of the first, Mehta writes, “Before Richard Branson, there was Vijaypat Singhania.” Apart from running the Raymond group, Singhania was an avid flier, bred sheep, and won prizes for his ballroom dancing skills. In the mid-1980s, he started a newspaper called the Indian Post. That was the Licence Raj, and businessmen could not afford to annoy the government with a pesky newspaper. So there was opposition from the extended Singhania family. But he decided to press on. In 1987, Singhania got Mehta to edit it.
Mehta says some of the articles in the Indian Post were unpleasant to the government, and, consequently, pressure began to mount on Singhania to fix him. The first sign of discord was when payments to freelancers came to be delayed; next was the demand to get rid of journalists who had filed reports that hurt the powers that be. Finally, Mehta says, Singhania sent him a letter that, unless there is irrefutable evidence, the paper should desist from carrying articles on eight people: apart from the usual suspects, the list included Amitabh Bachchan. These people, Singhania told Mehta, could seriously jeopardise his business interests. In hindsight, Mehta says in his book, he felt a sense of admiration for Singhania instead of bitterness: he had laid bare the “appalling reality” of the times. The dilemma he faced was the dilemma that stared every businessman day in and day out. Mehta quit soon after.
Thapar, or LMT as he was known, was Delhi’s most-liked businessman of his time. He was suave and good-natured, and always had a bagful of stories to tell. He had a colourful persona and a taste for art and ghazals. LMT told Mehta how he won the Pioneer “in a fit of absentmindedness” while playing a game of bridge with the landed Srivastava family of Lucknow. And now he had to honour his commitment. His plan was to move the newspaper’s headquarters to Delhi and get Mehta as the editor. Founded in 1865, the paper boasted of having had Winston Churchill and Rudyard Kipling on its staff. Without a job, and though it involved relocating from Mumbai to Delhi, Mehta agreed. Since the Pioneer was a new player in the crowded Delhi market, it would have to be a little daring, Mehta decided. “We had to be both cautiously aggressive and calculatingly adventurous,” Mehta writes. For a while, there was complete buy-in from LMT. Then the usual happened. The newspaper’s reports began to ruffle quite a few feathers in the government. LMT, who had a very wide circle of friends amongst politicians and bureaucrats, was embarrassed and uncomfortable. The relationship between owner and editor went downhill. And Mehta soon quit.
This should not come as a surprise to readers. For time immemorial, businessmen and politicians have been in bed together. Each feeds on the other. Unfortunately, these are stories that never get written. Nobody wants to upset a well-oiled racket.