I recall the words of an astute man,
now dead. He said, “Never forget that Delhi is a
derivative city. People think they derive power by
claiming to be close to others in power. It is
circular. The mirage works for a few, and doesn’t
for most. But it takes a while to recognise who
really knows what is going on, and who doesn’t.”
Nothing explains Delhi or Washington DC better than
these sentences. These capitals have only one game
in town. It involves behaving as if you are a deep
political and administrative insider; and making
others believe that you are the crucible of critical
information, which you dole out in bits with just
enough veracity for the listener. If your professed
connections fail often enough and in relatively
quick time, you are abandoned for the next
‘in-the-know’ in town. Sometimes to rise like the
Phoenix, usually under a different political and
bureaucratic dispensation.
That brings me to Niira Radia. Until now, I hadn’t
bothered about the tapes. I don’t know her; probably
wouldn’t recognise her even today; and wouldn’t care
to either. What was the big deal about her? After
all, there are at least half a dozen such people
like her floating around Delhi, who are to be seen
at the Chambers or the Belvedere, and in the front
of British Airways flights. What was so special
about her, other than her tattles being taped, and
then being released to the press?
Eventually, I decided to hear some of the tapes. I
found bits of fairly serious stuff interspersed by
mountains of trivia, gross unprofessionalism and a
tragedy. First the trivia. A columnist writing a
piece exactly the way that one of Radia’s client’s
would have liked, and giving her a précis before it
was put to bed. An über rich spouse being irked by a
write-up on her, and having someone ask Radia to fix
it. The connected husband of an adopted daughter and
Radia sharing well known juice about the near death
bankruptcy of a major Delhi-based property
developer-qua-nascent mobile player, whose bounced
cheques were manifest missiles of the past. Some
wickedly perspicacious comments by a retired IAS
honcho, now a Rajya Sabha member, involving Shivji
ki baraat (various creatures in the Union cabinet),
the apparent demotion of the erstwhile Commerce
Minister from glories of the WTO to fixing the
nation’s potholes, and the unexpected rise of Anand
Sharma and Jairam Ramesh in the post-2009 election
dispensation. And conversations with Ratan Tata —
including one where Radia spews nineteen to the
dozen, while Tata says, “Yeah”, “Uh, huh” and “Um,
hmm” thirty-three times.
All of this was fairly known stuff; some cleverly
put; some bitchy; some utterly silly; and nothing
unexpected. To me, an astounding feature of the
tapes is Radia’s inexhaustible ability to yak.
Almost every conversation is 80:20 in the lady’s
favour. Her modus operandi is ancient. Glean some
information from A; play that out to B, adding a
twist or two to get some more dope; stitch them
together and play it to C, and so on. By the time
you reach K and then replay all this to A, everyone
is convinced that you are totally in the know. There
are some past masters of this game in Delhi. Radia
learnt the ropes well, despite talking too much.
For me, the tragedy is a tale of gradual delusion of
a financially honest, semi-retired person with a
desire to be the nation’s Eminence Grise. His need
to be recognised as the advisor to those who matter,
be thought of as a permanent invitee to all in
camera matters of consequence, and be known as a
peripatetic friend who is in the loop with the
highest authorities in Delhi and Washington DC was
cleverly leveraged by Ms. Radia, acting as child at
the feet of the master. Some of this person’s
provenance is true. Some is not, but has taken a
life of its own in the derivative atmosphere of
Delhi. Radia played him so well that he — a
tight-lipped person — felt the need to speak way
more than he should have, dropping too many names
for anybody’s comfort, sharing spicy tit-bits and
then apologising. A tragedy for a good individual
who built and ran a class outfit for over four
decades.
The gross unprofessionalism is Radia’s. For a person
in the game of influence peddling and
getting-things-done-for-my-patron, she was over the
top in talking about her key clients to others.
“Ratan said this” and “Mukesh wishes that”, “Ratan
can’t trust Mukesh” and “Sunil is a difficult nut to
crack” are hardly what serious policy manipulators
say on phones. Or say at all. I was also amazed at
how she shared information about one key client or
the other to various third parties. It was yak,
tease, gossip, cajole, drop little goodies all the
way.
The serious stuff is how Radia worked tirelessly to
influence the outcome of the 2G spectrum sales. She
worked the press; worked Raja; worked his minions;
and even worked those who need not have been worked.
Did she influence the outcome? It is very difficult
to say. If Raja somehow had his brain addled and did
the right thing and the Radia tapes had leaked, we
would have all said that the lady failed. But with
Raja doing the wrong thing, did Radia succeed? Or
did others, who had doled out vast amounts of cash
to unknown coffers, while she kept the band playing?
I suspect that was the case.
What have we learnt that we didn’t know? That there
are PR people who try to influence decisions? That
there are corrupt ministers? That the size of the
take has increased exponentially? That some
journalists do planted stories? Even a decade ago, a
leading newspaper was called The Greenhouse for its
many plants. Radia is a phone-working, hyper
talkative intermediary who is being given way more
importance than she deserves. The real muck of the
2G scandal lies elsewhere.
Published: Business Standard, December 2010