In his 90th birthday gift to his illustrious father B.P.R. Vithal, who knew P.V.
In his 90th birthday gift to his illustrious father B.P.R. Vithal, who knew P.V. Narasimha Rao closely and well warts and all, as a collector of the district in which PV’s constituency lay, and wrote his famous Tirupati Congress session speech, Dr Sanjaya Baru has written a definite biography not of a person but an year — 1991 — which he illustrates is unimpeachably the most impactful annum in Indian history since 1947.
Aptly timed for release on its 25th anniversary, in his memoir of an year, Dr Baru focuses not on many known, and little known dimensions of the reforms PV initiated, but also gives fascinating snippets of behind-the-scenes negotiations and decisions, moods of people and their thoughts, and beyond the economic reforms, highlights the difference in politics of the “first accidental PM”, and a man with the charisma of a fish (as Jairam Ramesh described PV), and in the journey, has produced a “thriller of a tale” which recreates the dark mood and turnaround of 1991.
“The year made him. He made the year. PV was India’s first ‘accidental’ Prime Minister, and a path-breaking one.”
Elaborating on his theory of judging Prime Ministers by the difference to the nation they made by the end of their tenure from the county they inherited, Dr Baru builds a series of arguments to show that Rajiv Gandhi was the worst PM (amongst those who finished their term), and PV the second-best. The book is scholarly — with references and quotes from many biographies and books including by President Pranab Mukherjee, Natwar Singh, M.L. Fotedar, Jairam Ramesh and Vinay Sitapati, and a range of newspaper articles, personal interviews — without sounding academic.
Giving Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru fullest marks as the greatest PM ever by his second term, Baru showcases how the abyss of 1991 was reached — politically and economically — with the crippling yet vicious grip of bureaucracy and permit raj on an economy spiralling downwards, faultlines along Punjab and Northeast, and the near ignominious “write-off” of India as a nation — in a changing world order.
In describing how PV became PM after the assassination of Rajiv Gandhi, Baru brings forth two strong points to counter the retro-narrative built by Sonia Gandhi after PV’s death — reforms belong to Manmohan Singh but were the plans and vision of Rajiv Gandhi, and had Rajiv lived — he would have achieved similarly spectacular turnaround of India.
Baru rubbishes these claims — after Rajiv squandered the unprecedented majority of 1984 in quick time, he had brought Congress to a depth it could not have recovered.
The second strong case Baru makes is to dismiss the myth that PV owned his appointment as Prime Minister to Sonia Gandhi — instead, Baru says given the majority of MPs from South, PV pipped Pawar based on inner democracy rather than high command’s whip.
Charming details like how Rajiv feared Pranab Mukherjee was eyeing chair of PM both after Indira’s assassination and after fall of the V.P. Singh government, how PV wanted to become a spiritual leader after retiring in 1991; how he was known to have had a series of romantic entanglements, how Rajiv Gandhi brashly pushed Chandra Shekhar to resign, and India in the process to a brink add spice to the book across every page.
From how a young Baru offers a chair to “former CM” PV at the Republic Day parade in 1975 to how PV might have become a priest at the Courtallam Peetham, the book hits you with interesting anecdote one after another — some personal, some touching, some sad, and some incredible, and almost unbelievable were Baru not otherwise so reliable.
Baru enlarges the triumph and glory of PV — not only was the reforms his and belonged to neither Rajiv nor Manmohan — but that he actually gave Congress a new lease of life, laying foundations for UPA’s two tenures, build modern Indian economy, its 2.0 version, but also the basis for India’s strong global acceptance as a nation from the United States to South Korea, from Israel to Western Europe, and solved largely the Punjab and Northeast problems.
His political genius and establishing his authority on politics while running a minority coalition government and simultaneously dismantling the Nehruvian structure, and quoting Nehru in so doing is best brought out in the way he rejects Manmohan’s resignations thrice but accepts those from an “arrogant” Chidambaram and a “bluff-dare” Madhav Rao Scindia will etch themselves in memories of readers trying to understand India’s date with bankruptcy, and relaunch.
It gives a peep into PV’s ability, as a magician, to shift focus on one direction while the trick lay elsewhere — like setting the mood for the historic budget of June 1991, but having the most disruptive government decision to do away with license permit raj through a junior minister, P.J. Kurien.
Baru shows how “Narasimhanomics” was what it was, by a simple anecdote. PV was the only PM to have political courage to confer a business leader with India’s highest honour, when he bestowed the Bharat Ratna on J.R.D. Tata.
The greatest dimension of the book is resurrecting the legend and legacy of P.V. Narasimha Rao is Baru’s expansion of his contribution beyond economics.
Less appreciated have been the shifts on the foreign policy front, both within Asia and around the world, and the interrelationship between the two.
Finally, there was the new turn on the political front with the era of single party dominance giving way to an era of coalitions.
Baru’s insistence that Chandra Shekhar, too, could have been India’s man of destiny is the only arguably flawed view in this book, when he says “ destiny chose PV... After 1947 it was, without doubt, the single-most important year in India’s contemporary history.”
Could “young turk” Chandra Shekhar, the man who said, “I do not want to go down in history as the man who sold gold for buying oil,” might as well have been the “revolutionary Deng Xiaoping of India” as PV, who contrastingly said, “I am not concerned about the reaction of common man. The sympathy of common man is always with the debtor. In all our films, people sympathise with one who mortgages his family silver. The villain is always the lender. My motto is — trade, not aid” will remain the most contentious counterfactual of the economist-historian Baru’s book.
Indian politics will forever use the metaphor he gives to contrast elitist Doon boy but squandering failure Rajiv, who ate with knives-and-forks, versus a dull, dry and deadpan PV, eating with his hands — even if Baru might have meant it literally — to place politicians in the right place, minus the fake Lutyens’ halo.
PV’s greatest line was – ‘not taking a decision is also a decision’ – but your decision, dear reader, is easy – pick up this irresistible book now.
Sriram Karri is the author of the bestselling, MAN Asian Literary Prize longlisted novel, Autobiography of a Mad Nation
