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Updates - 15 June 2007
Ambani
builds a palace in the sky Mukesh Ambani, India's wealthiest resident, is building a 60-story vertical palace in Mumbai, complete with a helipad, swimming pool and space to park about 170 cars. Ambani, chairman of Reliance Industries and No. 14 on Forbes' list of the world's richest people--with a fortune we estimate at $20.1 billion--is reportedly spending $1 billion for the home in posh south Mumbai. That would make it vie for the title of the most expensive home in the world. Ambani bought the 49,000-square-foot plot in 2002. The tower, complete with three floors of gardens and two floors of pools, will rise to 570 feet, or the height of a 60-story residential building, but will have only 27 floors. The top four floors, with a panoramic view of the city and the Arabian Sea beyond, are expected to be for Ambani, his wife Nita, mother Kokilaben and the couple's three kids. Around 600 staff will reportedly be employed at the house to wait on India's first industrial family. Two others floors will be exclusively for guests and a mini-theater. Construction firm Leighton is working on the home, expected to be completed in 18 months, said a person familiar with the deal. Leighton's fees will be about $110 million. Interior design, for which another foreign firm has been contracted in, is extra. Though the house won't be ready for a while, hundreds of construction workers are trying to finish its ballroom by October, in time for Nita Ambani's birthday bash, the source said. The Ambanis aren't answering questions on the house, to be named after the mythical island Antilla. In a city cramped for space but not yet spotted with skyscrapers, the Ambanis' idea has found favor with leading Mumbai-based architect Hafeez Contractor. "This is a right way to build a private house in a congested city. A man like him in any other city would have 10 to 15 acres of land to himself. In a congested city, he wants to go high up and enjoy the view; the whole city becomes his open space," Contractor says. The architect didn't know of any other home as opulent but said that India's wealth transformation was apparent in the way clients wanted larger homes and opted for bigger imported cars, egged on by liberalizing trade and tax policies. "Ambani's choice will make high-rises more acceptable," says Contractor. "I've been advocating high-rises that are environmentally friendly, since you occupy less space on the ground that can be used for gardens." Economic growth rates of above 8% in the last few years have increased the wealth of Indians, but the socialist-backed Congress government still frowns on extravagant displays of wealth. Last month, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh said companies should stop giving promoters large remuneration and reduce "socially undesirable" conspicuous consumption. "We cannot afford the wasteful lifestyles of the Western world," Singh told a gathering of industry leaders, noting that India has scarce natural resources to fritter away. Social commentator and author Jerry Pinto says extravaganzas have always been expected from India's rich. "What always startles visitors to India is the contrast between abject poverty and ostentatious displays of wealth. … But there's no active resentment [among the poor], otherwise there would have been class wars years ago," Pinto pointed out. And assuredly, once Mukesh Ambani's house with its multiple pools, gym and gardens is ready, thousands will flock to the surrounding streets for a glimpse of how the rich live.
India's life of the party It's no wonder they call Vijay Mallya the "King of Good Times," because the Indian tycoon sure knows how to throw a party, but he's also enjoying a new level of corporate respect. A week after bagging Scotch whisky maker Whyte & Mackay Ltd. for $1.2 billion on May 16, the 51-year-old chairman of India's UB Group Ltd. staged one of his epic bashes aboard his 311-foot yacht, the Indian Empress, anchored off the French Riviera. Among the 300-odd guests were steel baron Lakshmi Mittal and other Indian industrialists, European aristocrats, and celebrities such as American hip-hop artist Jay-Z. A DJ flown in from Mumbai spun Bollywood tracks. And while Indian dishes such as fish Amritsari and Tandoori chicken were served, the wine that flowed all night came from the Loire cellars Mallya acquired last year. Mallya, you might say, is India’s Sir Richard Branson. Like the British entrepreneur, he has a larger-than-life personality and owns a slew of businesses, from breweries (his Kingfisher beer is a staple of Indian restaurants from Kolkata to Cleveland) to Kingfisher Airlines, a leading Indian carrier. UB Group is the worlds No. 3 spirits conglomerate, after Diageo PLC and Pernod Ricard. Mallyas empire also spans engineering, fertilizers, and petrochemicals. Among his personal investments are thoroughbred horses, a game lodge in South Africa, and small newspapers in the San Francisco Bay Area. "I'm not making money on [the papers], but it's a fun business to be in," he says. Mallya's latest move: a May 31 takeover bid for Indian low-cost carrier Air Deccan. Even in a country thats minting millionaires by the hundreds, the silver-maned liquor baron is in a class by himself. His net worth is estimated at $1.5 billion—a figure he doesn't quibble with. And he’s not shy about flaunting his wealth, with a collection of 42 homes scattered across the world, 250 vintage cars, a customized Boeing 727 and two other corporate jets, and three yachts—including the Kalizma, a 165-footer once owned by actor Richard Burton. "Everybody calls me flamboyant, as though it's my middle name, but I've always been the way I am," he says during an interview at his sprawling, 10-bedroom Mumbai home overlooking the Arabian Sea. Mallya is dressed down, in jeans and a bright red T-shirt emblazoned with the Kingfisher insignia. But as usual he’s dripping with jewelry—gold chains, an antique diamond-studded watch, diamond earrings, and a gigantic bracelet with his initials spelled out in diamonds. Despite Mallya's obvious success, his freewheeling lifestyle long cost him the respect of India's straitlaced business community. Mallya was only in his 20s when his father died in 1983, leaving him in control of an empire with annual revenues of $100 million. He spent the next two decades winnowing the 22 businesses he inherited—ranging from a brewery to a drugmaker to a battery manufacturer—to just a half-dozen. Those he kept, though, have flourished. Today, revenues for the UB Group run to $1.2 billion. Yet for years, Mallya was dogged by allegations that he dipped into his companies' coffers to fund his lavish lifestyle, something he vehemently denies. "I was born with a silver spoon, so why should I spend the company's money?" he says. It wasn't until Mallya launched Kingfisher Airlines in 2005 that he earned the corporate acceptance he craved. With its seatback video screens, smartly dressed flight crew, and attentive service, Kingfisher raised the bar for domestic Indian carriers. The five Airbus A380 superjumbo jets Mallya has on order will surely generate additional buzz. After the Deccan acquisition, Kingfisher will be in a strong position to take advantage of an expected doubling in India's air passenger traffic, to 60 million, by 2010. "Mallya has become an important part of Corporate India," says Vijay Chugh, an analyst at JP Morgan Chase & Co. in Mumbai. "The airline business has changed his profile completely." Now, he's aiming to go global. Mallya hopes to begin Kingfisher flights to the U.S. and Britain by the end of the year. He's also stocking up his liquor cabinet. The Whyte & Mackay acquisition gives him an international brand in spirits to add to the French wineries he bought last year from Champagne Taittinger. (He wanted the bubbly, too, but was rebuffed.) The spate of deal making has powered a 150% increase in the market capitalization of his eight listed companies over the past year, to $3.5 billion. Still, Mallya remains quintessentially Indian. He refrains from negotiating during Rahukalam, the hours during the day that some Hindu faithful believe are unlucky. And he has his planes blessed at Tirupati, a Hindu temple in southern India, before putting them into service. That's not to say, though, that he thinks his current streak is just a run of good luck. "I had to show the world that I was quite capable of standing on my own feet, making money and shareholder wealth," says Mallya. "And doing," he adds with a smile, "what the hell I wanted to do."
How IITians help the poor crack IIT-JEE A poor waiter in Patna has become a celebrity of sorts after his son cracked the IIT entrance exam this year. The overjoyed man gives full credit to I-Desire - a small group of former IITians in Bihar who coach underprivileged kids and provide them study material. Mani Bhusan Singh and his parents are getting privileged treatment in their neighbourhood after the 18-year-old cleared the Indian Institute of Technology Joint Entrance Examination (IIT-JEE). "I am now one of the most sought after people in my workplace and also my neighbourhood," says a proud Lallan Singh, Mani Bhusan's father. "I got to know about I-Desire through a friend. They agreed to help my son prepare for IIT-JEE. It wouldn't have been possible if I-Desire had not helped us by providing coaching, study material and a proper guide," said Lallan Singh, a waiter in Hotel Maurya here. Lallan Singh, in his 40s, said his son could not appear for the Central Board of Secondary Education (CBSE) exams in Class 10 and 12 due to financial constraints.
Former actress finds fame in unlikely place RISHIKESH - Maggie O'Hara may have left the false eyelashes and spike heels behind when she ditched Hollywood for the banks of India's sacred Ganges river, but the 50-something still knows how to command an audience. Up the winding mountain path, at the home she built for disadvantaged children in this north Indian town, a crowd of admirers is gathering, offering cash, checks and even a white sheepskin rug. Prabhavati Dwabha, as she is now known, drapes it dramatically over her chest and laughs. It's the fame and recognition the Colorado native dreamed of as she struggled to make it in Hollywood in the 1970s, taking roles most other actresses avoided -- the bad girls, lesbians and prostitutes. But while she still loves a bit of drama in her life, the ego has gone -- shed like the 22-pound make-up case on a transformational journey that ended here, in the foothills of the Himalayas, where for the past 14 years she has fought to improve the lives of women and children. Ramana's Garden, tucked into the side of the mountain and overlooking the green-glass Ganges. With its Hindu temples, yoga ashrams and morning chanting, Rishikesh couldn't be farther from the cutthroat world of Hollywood and the Palm Springs, Calif., party where Prabhavati's spiritual awakening began. Her refusal to submit to Hollywood's notorious casting couch cost her an acting career. In between bites of a beetroot pesto pasta, fresh from the school's organic farm, Prabhavati describes how eight years ago a mob armed with sticks turned up at the school and drove them off the land -- prized, she says, by timber merchants for its centuries-old trees. So she did the next best thing: She rebuilt her school about four miles down the mountain and added an organic cafe that draws western spiritual tourists from nearby Laxmanjhula with its home-cooked curries, salads and fresh fruit lassis - a yogurt-based drink. “If the kids are at our school, they're learning English, they're learning vocational skills, they're getting fed and clothed and receiving medical care. Their parents are less likely to pull them out and either send them to work or sell them to a brothel or into marriage. It makes a critical difference and ensures the children can have a livelihood -- a legitimate and productive one,” she says. It's an unlikely transformation for someone who admits that up until her arrival in India wanted nothing more than fame. “But as hard as I tried to stay single-minded on acting, life was pulling me in a different direction,” she says. The “spiritual circus” climaxed one morning in 1978 after an all-night Hollywood party in Palm Springs. The 28-year-old was facing an ultimatum -- sleep with the producer for a part or forget about working in Hollywood again -- when an argument over who would be the most marketable spiritual guru of the time broke out. Dressed like every other wannabe starlet in spike heels and a string bikini and clutching a margarita, she was hoisted onto a table and commanded to read from one of the gurus' books. She recalls the words with absolute clarity: “You're a beggar. And you know it. And you're always going to be a beggar until you find that which was never given so can never be taken.” ''I knew instinctively that he was right,'' she says of the Indian guru, Osho, who died in 1996. 'I mean, how much more of a beggar can you be: in a string bikini on a table in front of 100 men who you want to beg for a part. And I thought, ‘I'm not going to do this. I can't.' So I got off that table, left Palm Springs, left Hollywood and flew to India.'' A medical clinic was first, then a school. Over the past 14 years, Prabhavati has helped 1,800 children get an education. Hundreds of women have been trained in tailoring and in growing organic vegetables and herbs bought by Ramana's Garden for the children's food and medicine. “It's a small difference, but it's like a stone in a pond. There will be ripples” she said.
Lady of the Raj In the early 1830s, Fanny Parkes had also become a bored young wife in India, in her case married to an official in Allahabad whose job was to make ice. She ran away from the stiff officialdom of the Raj and immersed herself in the country. Soon Parkes was exploring the length and breadth of the country, and, on returning to England, she wrote possibly the most enjoyable and exuberant travel book 'Wanderings of a Pilgrim in Search of the Picturesque' to come out of the south Asia of the East India Company. It was Parkes's curiosity and enthusiasm that distinguished her approach to India, and her journal traces her journey from prim memsahib, married to a minor civil servant of the Raj, to eccentric sitar-playing Indophile, critical of British rule and passionate in her appreciation of Indian culture. That night, I opened up the two heavy volumes, filled with the author's own illustrations, and immediately fell under Parkes's spell. Parkes was an enthusiast and an eccentric with a love of India that is imprinted on almost every page of her book. From her first arrival in Calcutta, she wrote how "I was charmed by the climate; the weather was delicious; and I thought India a most delightful country ... could I have gathered around me the dear ones I had left in England, my happiness would have been complete." That initial intuition was reinforced the longer she stayed in south Asia. In the 24 years she lived in India, the country never ceased to surprise, intrigue and delight her, and she was never happier than when off on another journey, exploring new parts of the country: "Oh the pleasure," she wrote, "of vagabondising in India!" Partly it was the beauty of the place that hypnotised her. She found Indian men "remarkably handsome", while her response to the landscape was no less admiring: "The evenings are cool and refreshing ... The foliage of the trees, so luxuriously beautiful and so novel, is to me a source of constant admiration." But it was not just the way the place looked. The longer she stayed in India, the more Parkes fell in love with the culture, history, flowers, trees, religions, languages and peoples of the country, and the more she felt possessed by an overpowering urge to pack her bags and set off to explore: "How much there is to delight the eye in this bright, this beautiful world! Roaming about with a good tent and a good horse, one might be happy for ever in India." It is this joy, excitement and even liberation in travel that Parkes managed to communicate so well, in striking contrast to the haughty ennui of so many of her male contemporaries. In the same way, it is her insatiable curiosity and love of the country that immediately engages readers and carries them with her as she bumbles her way across India on her own. She is wilfully dismissive of the dangers of dacoits or thugs or tigers, as she turns her hand to learning the sitar, enquiring about the intricacies of Hindu mythology, trying opium and collecting Hindu statuary, butterflies, zoological specimens preserved in spirits, Indian aphorisms and Persian proverbs - all with unstoppable glee. Even when she disliked a particular Indian custom, she often found herself engaged intellectually. Watching the Churuk Puja, or "hook swinging", when pious Hindus attached hooks into the flesh of their backs and were swung about on ropes hanging from great cranes for the amusement of the crowds below, she wrote: "I was much disgusted, but greatly interested." The longer she stayed in India, the more Parkes became slowly Indianised. The professional memsahib, herself the daughter of a colonial official (Captain William Archer), who came to India to watch over her colonial administrator husband, was gradually transformed into a fluent Urdu speaker, who spent less and less of her time at her husband's mofussil (up-country) posting, and more and more of her time travelling around to visit her Indian friends. Aesthetically she grew slowly to prefer Indian dress to that of the English. At one point, watching celebrations at the Taj Mahal, she noted how "crowds of gaily dressed and most picturesque natives were seen in all directions passing through the avenue of fine trees, and by the side of the fountains to the tomb: they added great beauty to the scene, whilst the eye of taste turned away pained and annoyed by the vile round hats and stiff attire of the European gentlemen, and the equally ugly bonnets and stiff and graceless dresses of the English ladies." Gradually, over the years she lived in India, Parkes's views began to change. Having assumed at first that good taste was the defining characteristic of European civilisation and especially that of her own people, she found her assumptions being challenged by what she came to regard as the philistinism of the English in India, and by the beauty of so much of the country. At the end of her travels, Parkes looked forward to seeing her family in England. Yet when she finally set foot on English soil again, her return was a moment not for rejoicing, but for depression and disappointment: "We arrived at 6am. May flowers and sunshine were in my thoughts. But instead [...] it was bitterly cold walking up from the boat - rain, wind and sleet, mingled together, beat on my face. Everything on landing was so wretchedly mean, especially the houses, which are built of slate stone; it was cold and gloomy . . . I felt a little disgusted." When she arrived home, her mother barely recognised her. It was as if the current of colonisation had somehow been reversed: the coloniser had been colonised. India had changed and transformed Fanny Parkes. She could never be the same again. Parkes is an important writer because she acts as a witness to a forgotten moment of British-Indian hybridity, and shows that colonial travel writing need not be an aggressive act of orientalist appropriation - not "gathering colonial knowledge", as Edward Said and his followers would have us believe, but instead an act of understanding. As Colin Thubron has pointed out, it is ridiculously simplistic to see all attempts at studying, observing and empathising with another culture necessarily "as an act of domination - rather than of respect or even catharsis ... If even the attempt to understand is seen as aggression or appropriation, then all human contact declines into paranoia." When reading travel accounts by early visitors to the east, such as Parkes, we should certainly try to resist the temptation, felt by so many historians, to project back on to it the stereotypes of late Victorian and Edwardian behaviour and attitudes with which we are so familiar. These attitudes were clearly entirely at odds with the actual fears and hopes, anxieties and aspirations of the early travellers in India, who did not look at south Asia with the hauteur of the high colonial, as much as with the pleasure and surprise of the inquisitive wanderer, in search, as Parkes would have it, of the picturesque. |
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