soc.culture.pakistan

If this is a boomtown, then where is all the wealth?

By Jeff Randall
Last Updated: 12:15am GMT 06/03/2008

My first visit to New Delhi was in 1983. I went there as an ambitious
reporter to cover the annual meeting of Iata, the airlines' trade
body.

Having blagged an upgrade with JAL, the Japanese carrier, I
experienced for the first time what it was like to travel long-haul in
the comfy seats nearest the pilot.

The flight took the "silk route" - I recall stopping in Europe and
again somewhere in the Middle East - which gave me plenty of time to
think about what to expect in India: I was braced for tiny pockets of
extreme wealth amid filth and poverty.

In the event, it was much worse than that. From the fantasy of JAL's
deluxe service, I stepped into a reality that shocked and shamed:
ubiquitous deprivation beyond imagination.

The Delhi of 25 years ago was crowded and chaotic. Its infrastructure
was crumbling. Livestock jostled with cars and bicycles on roads that
had holes the size of basketballs.

There seemed to be no rules for driving, other than blasting the horn
when overtaking. Battered vehicles jostled for space with motorised
rickshaws, blowing jet black fumes.

At the roadside, in barren fields, on industrial wasteland, in
ditches, under flyovers, in the cracks and crevices of derelict
buildings, people in rags and naked children huddled together in
makeshift dwellings. At every traffic light, beggars rushed to tap on
car windows that remained firmly shut. It was ugly.

I don't remember much about the Iata gathering, other than I stayed
far longer than intended. Not only was I unable to leave India, I was
unable to leave my hotel. In fact I was unable to get out of the
bathroom. I had been placed under house arrest by the menace of Delhi
belly.

When I eventually crawled aboard the plane to London, five days later
than scheduled, I vowed that it would be a long time before I returned
to India. The promise was kept until last week, when, filled with
curiosity, I finally went back to Delhi.

In the intervening years, the Berlin Wall had collapsed, China's
communists had embraced capitalism and, the mother of all long-shots,
Britain's Labour party had become electable.

Against this backdrop of accelerating change, India is emerging as an
economic powerhouse. With annual growth of about 9pc, only marginally
below China's, India has begun to flex its new-found financial muscle.

Lakshmi Mittal is the world's biggest steel baron, Vijay Mallya owns
Whyte & Mackay whisky, and Tata, the industrial conglomerate that
acquired Corus (previously British Steel), is expected to buy Land
Rover and Jaguar from Ford, possibly as early as this week.

Read the investment columns and it is easy to infer that India is an
unstoppable winner. In a nation of more than 1bn people, the
penetration of credit cards, motor vehicles and internet connections
is only a tiny fraction of Europe's and America's. There's so much to
shoot for.

The country has an "ideal" demographic mix, with 60pc of its
population under 30 and a brand-hungry middle class that is forecast
to number 125m by 2025. It's churning out engineers and IT
specialists, like nuts and bolts on a production line. And the film
industry, Bollywood, is rivalling Hollywood.

When launching Virgin Mobile there, Sir Richard Branson said: "The
Indian market is growing like no other in the world."

As I left the Air India plane last Wednesday, I was keen to see this
success in action. I had flown in from Dubai, which has transformed
itself from desert sheikhdom to the Gulf's Las Vegas in 15 years. And
though I knew that Delhi would be very different, I expected its
metamorphosis to be no less remarkable.

I could not have been more wrong. The most astonishing thing about
Delhi is just how little it has changed. Yes, there are a few more
five-star hotels, some glitzy shopping malls and a greater number of
foreign limousines, but the overwhelming impression is of a city that
continues to choke on squalor.

Rubbish is everywhere and rabies is endemic. Children as young as six
or seven "panhandle" on street corners, while carrying tiny babies.
Millions live close to the gutter. If this is boomtown, then these
wretched people are the Boomtown Rats.

Humped cattle wander about freely, mingling with the clogged traffic.
Motorised rickshaws are still there, so too are the Ambassador cars
that look like relics from the 1950s.

The Indian government is promising up to $450bn for improving the
country's infrastructure. It will take every penny of that. Delhi
airport - a shambles - is being refurbished, but is so far behind the
curve, it's hard to see how it can ever catch up with the best of
Asia, such as Hong Kong and Singapore.

As a guest of Diageo, the spirits group, I had dinner with some
professional golfers who were there playing in a tournament, sponsored
by Johnnie Walker. These were seasoned travellers. Every year, their
work takes them well beyond the comfort zone of the "grapefruit
circuit", to China, Russia and Africa.

Yet, several said to me they had never seen poverty like it - and did
not want to again.

As Golfweek reported: "Culture shock does not begin to describe the
reaction of European players."

When I mentioned this to an Indian businessman, who now works in
Amsterdam, he smiled. "Well, if you think Delhi is bad, don't go to
Bombay [no, he did not say Mumbai]. It is falling apart. And as for
Calcutta, that is the worst of all."

I spent only four days in Delhi - but that was enough. Given the
extraordinary in-your-face disparities of wealth, it is not a
particularly threatening city. It is, however, deeply discomfiting.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/money/main.jhtml?xml=/money/2008/03/05/ccjeff105.xml