India’s well-known reformer proves as cautious as ever over a ‘working’ Sunday lunch with T N Ninan
If you want to eat superb, authentic Chinese food in Delhi, you have to be lucky enough to be invited to the table hosted by Evelyn Lim, wife of the World Bank’s country director in Delhi.
Over shark’s fin, abalone and other delicacies (many of the ingredients are brought in from Hong Kong), and Ed Lim’s fine wine (bordeaux is a male drink, he explains to the table, because “it has spine”, and burgundy is female), you have a rare treat.
Montek, who should win the blue turban (rather than riband) for pushing economic reform in various capacities over 22 years, is a frequent guest at Evelyn’s table. So it is a surprise that, given the choice of restaurant for lunch, he chooses the Taj Mahal hotel’s House of Ming.
Are you sure, I ask, hoping he will switch to less Indianised Chinese fare elsewhere. But no, it is his favourite restaurant and favourite cuisine, and he is booked on all days other than Sunday. So Sunday it is, and as I wait for him in the lobby, I wonder if he will be casual enough to wear a T-shirt.
Sharp at one, he drives up in his Esteem, and under the trademark turban, it’s a light full-sleeved shirt with thin blue stripes. It’s a working day, he explains. He has 60 hours to go before flying out to Washington (via Paris, where he will spend three days with economist-wife Isher) to take up his plum new job, as the IMF’s first independent evaluator. And before he leaves he has to finish two reports for the Planning Commission, on employment and power.
For the next 35 minutes, the kimchi stays untouched, and the food unordered, as Montek plunges into a long monologue on the Orissa experiment with privatising power distribution hoping hard that all the wrong lessons won’t be learnt from the difficulties that have cropped up.
Catching his breath finally, he wants only Chinese tea to drink (it’s a working day, remember), debates whether to try the shark’s fin soup and settles finally for a thick soup that has everything thrown in, and after that king prawn, and chicken in the “jai” style, spiced medium, with steamed rice. The restaurant knows him and his preferences, so the rice is served Chinese-style in a bowl, rather that Indian-style on a plate .
India’s most well-known reformer after Manmohan Singh, had actually started out wanting to be a journalist. When he graduated in 1963 from St Stephen’s, The Economic Times had newly started publishing, and it seemed an interesting way to be an economist, working on a financial daily. And he said so at his interview for the Rhodes.
But the civil service was another option, and friends back in Delhi used to send him their history notes (you had to do papers in several subjects) till he got sick of them. Unilever then offered him a job, as did the World Bank under its “young professionals” programme. The World Bank was more public sector-ish, so he opted for that and spent over a decade there before the return to India as economic adviser in the finance ministry in 1979.
It was the worst possible year in recent memory (drought, rampant inflation, GDP shrinking by 5 per cent, a disastrous Budget), but Montek the natural optimist has only a vague recollection. He is focused far more on the changes since then, in so many of which he has been a key player as economic adviser, then additional secretary and special secretary in Rajiv Gandhi’s PMO, commerce secretary, finance secretary under Manmohan Singh and Chidambaram, and now for the last three years, member of the Planning Commission. “I’ve actually managed to do quite a lot in these three years,” he says.
Apart from the two reports he is just finishing, he was on the telecom group that put together the 1999 policy, and he has helped do the mid-term appraisal of the current 9th plan, and finalise the approach paper for the 10th (approved only last week). It’s been a dream run for nearly a quarter-century. And behind the usual amiability, you sense the satisfaction.
If you’ve watched Montek over the years, you more or less know what to expect over lunch. As Shankar Acharya (on leave from being chief economic adviser in the finance ministry) once said at a seminar, it is difficult to disagree with Montek on anything.
The critics would attribute that to his famed debating skill and effortless articulation, but there is also a sensible practicality and a refusal to be side-tracked into the pettinesses that are a part of life in the government.
And so the style evolves: relaxed as he effortlessly rides a smoothly ascendant career in government, with a natural optimism about outcomes, a predictable taste in upmarket personal accessories (Hermes ties, an Omega Constellation on his wrist, the standard Mont Blanc), and a sensible desire to enjoy life. The easy-going manner extends to his week-end golf.
Refusing to bet on the greens, he says he treats the outings as extended gossip sessions (with, among others, the just retired Chief Election Commissioner, M S Gill). So what’s his handicap? A brief moment of hesitation, then candour: “18 when last checked, but I usually play worse than that.” So this isn’t someone who expresses his competitive spirit through sport.
They say in the corridors that Montek the reformer is actually quite cautious while pushing any policy prescription. So I’m going to test how much this caution is a part of his personality. Would he like to come back as governor of the Reserve Bank? “I haven’t been offered the job,” he counters. But isn’t that the natural next job in India? “You can’t tell which is the most interesting job at any point of time.”
So he is giving nothing away. Among all the prime ministers with whom he has interacted, who has impressed him the most? It’s a relatively harmless question, but he ducks again. It seems pointless to ask him to choose from among the finance ministers. So I try a subtler one.
Would he want his two sons to work in India, or settle abroad? “I’ve learnt by now that I have no say in the matter, and if I express my wish, they might do the opposite.”
But what would his wish be? Well, actually, the younger son passed up opportunities to study abroad and chose the National Law School in Bangalore. And the older son who’s graduated in economics from Princeton came back to spend six months in a Madhya Pradesh district before heading back to New York, to join McKinsey. And still, Montek hasn’t told me what his preference would have been.
So if he is going to be indiscreet, it will be only by accident. Towards the end, he mentions an all but forgotten finance minister who gave a really stupid order in the 1980s (all import licences over Rs 1 crore would need the finance minister’s personal signature, so that imports could be controlled), then quickly adds that the name should be kept off the record.
So I pop the question: Despite his reformer’s image, they say he is cautious about what reform measures he actually recommends. Is that true? “Well, if you want your suggestions to be accepted, you don’t announce in a meeting that you want to drive a tank through government policy.”
But the truth is that he would like to drive a tank through it all, isn’t it? The caution surfaces as he admits with his light laugh: “May be an armoured car.” In which case, isn’t he frustrated at how little has changed over two decades? There’s a statement in the question, which he won’t let slip, and counters. “I don’t agree that little has changed. We have actually done a lot.”
Then, the answer to the question: “If you aren’t frustrated, you can’t push for change. Some frustration is essential.” So has he ever gone home tearing his hair in despair? No, actually never. Then quickly, in case he has disclosed too much: “Does that make me sound dangerously irresponsible? Actually, I’m not given to irrational exuberance.”
But he is optimistic enough to see beyond today’s economic slowdown and sense of gloom. “The mood can change quite quickly,” he insists, and argues for all the policy changes advocated in the approach document, the reports of the prime minister’s economic advisory council, and the Budget speech. But isn’t the next plan’s 8 per cent growth target hopelessly unrealistic?
“That is based on a set of assumptions, on what needs to be done to make 8 per cent possible. If you do none of them, we may continue with 6 per cent, at best.” So what would he bet on? He would rather focus on the essentials: power sector reform, fiscal control, a flexible labour market, reduced tariffs. And he admits that none of them is easy.
There is a restrained exasperation at there being more talk of reform than real action, but repeatedly through lunch, there is more frustration at the inadequate responses of private Indian industry. The two names that crop up repeatedly as worthy of emulation: Dhirubhai Ambani and Narayana Murthy.
I have to ask about the turban. Why the same blue all the time? Well, it isn’t. He wears green and beige, for instance, on weekends. Blue was convenient to match with ties, and suits too. And then it became a sort of trade-mark. He didn’t always wear a turban, he confesses. And when he did, it would sometimes be pink in Oxford (“That was the time pink shirts made their appearance; it was the time of the Beatles.”)
There’s no time now to talk of music. But books have to be asked. What has he read recently? Katherine Frank, of course. And Puzo’s Omerta. That’s typical: his taste runs to biographies, recent history and quickie novels.
The food has turned out pretty good.
And Montek has eaten steadily through the meal, picking up a fork occasionally when the chopsticks can’t deal with a piece of chicken. He passes up dessert, settles for coffee, won’t touch the cashew that is served up and strolls out. Sharp at 3, he is driving away in his car.
Punctual, careful, amiable, optimistic, conscientious, intelligent, articulate. After two hours, there is no trace of a chink in the armour. No wonder he seems to win all the battles.