Unit Theft of India

I DON’T know whether the Prime Minister should resign or not — but the one man who must not resign at any cost is Yashwant Sinha, vit mantri and witty mantri. As for all those who howled those rude slogans against him on the floor of the House last week — vit mantri istifa do (finance minister give in you resignation), and so on, shame on them. They must all, in my opinion, be collectively attached to a 100-tonne boulder and dropped to the bottom of the sea.

A finance minister who has presided over three full-blown scams — the raid on the stock market, the excise scam and the present one concerning the Unit Trust of India (UTI), in the course of as many months — and can still say with all the conviction at his command that he has nothing to do with the mess, is either a man of extraordinary integrity or of extraordinary ingenuity.

If Sinha is the former and is really no sin-na’, he deserves his job without any doubt. If, however, he has indeed sinned and can still get away with it with such aplomb, he still deserves his job. It’s like this — the state of the economy is a tad better than the state of Sinha’s reputation, and if he can survive his reputation, it may just be possible that the economy can survive him.

In any case, there’s nothing much left of the economy. Sinha, through his assiduous attentions as vit mantri, has ensured this. This brings us to the first principle of Sinhanomics, which goes like this: The less India has, the less it stands to lose should its economy finally collapse and the Reserve Bank of India gets to have less coins in it than my son has in his piggy bank.

It has been Sinha’s constant endeavour, therefore, over these three years that he has occupied the chair, to encourage the economy to do as indifferently as possible, so that when the inevitable collapse occurs the citizens of the country won’t have to waste their valuable time beating their breasts and crying about their losses (since they’ve done it all before) and can get down immediately to the task of foraging for roots in order to survive.

The second premise of Sinhanomics is a doctrine well enunciated in classical economic theory. It goes like this: Don’t blame me, blame Manmohan Singh. This principle can also be termed in more ordinary parlance as passing the buck — which, if you come to it, is what this UTI muddle is all about. The buck — my buck, your buck, everybody’s buck — has just been passed to some extremely fat cats, leaving us all insolvent in the process.

This second proposition provides an extremely useful framework to answer for all those acts of personal omission and commission that Sinha may or may not have done, even while explaining away all those naughty phone calls that someone in the PMO may or may not have made to the chairperson of UTI so as to arm-twist him into investing in a shady flea-trap. Question: How can you, Mr Sinha, claim not to know about the attempts of people in government to influence the investment policies of UTI? Answer: I suggest you put that question to Mr Manmohan Singh. Question: But were you not aware that UTI was making some extremely dicey investments? Answer: To the best of my knowledge, Mr Manmohan Singh was also not required to know about the dicey investments being made by UTI. Question: Who then would you say is guilty of having brought on the present crisis in UTI? Answer: It’s patently clear — Mr Manmohan Singh, of course.

The third proposition of Sinhanomics pertains to the principle of making wise investment decisions, and it goes like this: When in doubt, dig a hole. Sinha would like every investor in this country to take a long, careful look at his/her investment portfolio, study the markets for over a month, observe its fluctuations, study the government, observe its fluctuations, and then take the following steps.

One, rush to the nearest hardware store and invest in a sturdy spade. Two, empty out the contents of a biscuit tin, dust it and keep it aside. Three, withdraw all the money from the bank. Four, wrap the notes in small self-sealing plastic bags. Five, place the money in the biscuit tin and keep aside. Six, look around to see if anybody is watching. Seven, when confident of absolute secrecy, start digging a hole at the bottom of your garden. Eight, place the tin in the hole and cover it up with soil. Nine, mark the area discreet so that only you know where you kept your money. Ten, if you wish to diversify your investment, acquire additional biscuit tins and dig more holes.

This may not be the best way to invest your money, I admit, and I’m sure Sinha agrees with me. But at a time when UTI stands, not for the Unit Trust of India, but the Unit Theft of India, it is at least a safer option.

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