ONE
afternoon in January 1998, a few senior financial
journalists were invited to lunch with Bimal
Jalan, the new Reserve Bank of India (RBI)
governor. He had taken over from C. Rangarajan
on 7 November 1997. Just before he handed
over charge, Rangarajan had said with unexpected
flourish: "I was a war-time general.
I hope Bimal Jalan can be a peace-time statesman."
The last battle Rangarajan had fought was
against currency speculators in the frenetic
months of July and August 1997. They had destroyed
currencies across Asia with murderous zeal,
but Rangarajan and his team had held them
at bay. The months preceding the handover
had seemed peaceful, but they were to be the
lull before the second storm.
Jalan took the afternoon flight from Delhi
to Mumbai. In those two hours, the rupee once
again hit an air pocket. "I just cannot
understand how the exchange rate can fall
in a few hours, when the underlying economic
fundamentals are unchanged," he told
journalists later. Through his later reign
at the RBI, Jalan always seemed suspicious
of the wild ways of the financial markets.
Did his suspicion have something to do with
his baptism by fire?
That first lunch was a buffet of surprises.
Jalan walked into the airy banquet room dressed
casually in a bush-shirt and sandals. There
was an air of informality about him. And he
did not just take questions. He asked a few
too. All this was in stark contrast to the
formal atmosphere on the 18th floor offices
at the RBI headquarters, where the governor
and deputy governors work.
The subject soon veered around to what could
be done to protect the rupee against further
attacks. The RBI treasury had been selling
a few hundred million dollars a day to steady
the rupee. One editor, perhaps emboldened
by the first benign impressions of the new
governor, suggested: "It's easy. You
should hit the market with a billion dollars."
The RBI had around $16 billion in its war-chest
then, and central banks in countries like
Thailand, Korea and Indonesia had blown away
many more billions trying to protect a fixed
exchange rate. Hitting the market with a few
billion dollars was a certified failure.
Jalan changed gears: "This is public
money you are talking about. Suppose I use
a billion dollars, and lose it. What happens?
The RBI will be under fire, and you'll be
back in your office writing editorials against
us." The editor withdrew with a crushed
look. Then another journalist meekly asked:
"But do you have any other options?"
Jalan: "Don't underestimate the options
that a central bank has."
I later met that editor in the RBI lobby.
"What do you think he'll do?" he
asked, a bit more modestly than before. I
shrugged my shoulders. A few days later, the
RBI hiked interest rates and shackled trading
in the currency market. The rupee was safe.
"He's destroying the market," one
angry banker told me when I rang him up to
find out the impact of the RBI move. "Is
he one of those Planning Commission socialists?"
he asked. That's not true, I said. (The forex
market was unshackled once the rupee stabilised.)
But the lesson had been learnt by us: the
new RBI governor was indulgent, until he was
challenged - either across a lunch table or
in the currency markets.
MY banker friend was too hasty in his judgement.
He would have done well to read Jalan's
writings on the economy or examine his professional
record. Jalan was one of the team of advisers
that goaded finance minister V.P. Singh
in 1985 to dismantle some of the worst controls
on the Indian economy. He was the author
of the long-term fiscal policy, perhaps
the first official document to sound a warning
against uncontrolled fiscal deficits. And
his six-year stint at the RBI showed that
he did not backtrack on financial sector
reforms either.
His background is worth going over. In 1941,
Jalan was born into one of Kolkata's most
influential Marwari families. Unlike the
Bengali bhadralok, this community aligned
itself with Mahatma Gandhi. G.D. Birla is
the best-known example. Jalan's grandfather,
Ishwar Das Jalan, too, was a follower of
Gandhiji, and later the first speaker of
the Bengal legislative assembly. His father
was an eminent lawyer.
Jalan went to Presidency College, the intellectual
grooming ground for Kolkata's elite. The
economics department there was, perhaps,
the best in the country in the 1950s. "The
educational excellence... (there) was captivating.
My interest in economics was amply rewarded
by... outstanding teaching. I was particularly
influenced by the teaching of Bhabatosh
Datta and Tapas Majumdar, but there were
other great teachers as well, such as Dhiresh
Bhattacharya," Amartya Sen fondly remembered
many years later. Sen was in the same class
as two other men who would shape economic
thinking in India: Sukhamoy Chakravarty
and Mrinal Datta Chaudhuri.
Jalan graduated a few years after this outstanding
trio. From there, he went to Cambridge University
(and Oxford). Jawaharlal Nehru and P.C.
Mahalonobis - though not economists - were
also Cambridge men. The influence of this
university on our public life, especially
on our economic policy, is truly remarkable.
It was from Cambridge that John Maynard
Keynes and his followers overturned the
world of economics. Their work inspired
the men in charge of India's economy in
the 1950s and 1960s. That's not all. Ashok
Desai, economist and a columnist for this
magazine, once told an interviewer: "What
I think we all learned at Cambridge was
to think clearly, how to cut out nonsense."
But not every Kolkata boy who went to England
made a mark. Nobel Prize winning economist
Friedrich von Hayek once caustically wrote:
"I have a profound dislike for the
typical Indian students at the LSE, which
I admit are all of one type - Bengali moneylender
sons."
After a short stint at teaching at the Delhi
School of Economics, Jalan followed his
family into public life. He joined the government
in 1973 as an economic adviser in the ministry
of industry. His rise was meteoric - chief
economic adviser, banking secretary, executive
director of the International Monetary Fund,
chairman of the prime minister's economic
council, executive director of the World
Bank, head of the Planning Commission and
governor of the RBI.
AT
the RBI, Jalan succeeded a giant - C. Rangarajan.
This scholarly man had done more than any
other one person to modernise India's rickety
financial system. In 1986, he was a member
of the committee headed by Sukhamoy Chakravarty
to examine the working of the monetary system
in India. It is said Rangarajan virtually
wrote the final report that brushed away
the cobwebs around Indian monetary policy,
and pushed the RBI towards modern monetary
management.
As RBI governor, Rangarajan in Mumbai brilliantly
flanked finance minister Manmohan Singh
in Delhi. The rupee was freed. The current
account was liberalised. The cleaning-up
of the banking sector commenced. Along with
P. Chidambaram, he finished the malignant
practice of automatically monetising the
government's deficits. The RBI would no
longer be the finance ministry's printing
press.
Rangarajan was both a fine monetary economist
and a master practitioner. He had taught
economics at the Indian Institute of Management-Ahmedabad
and, as deputy governor, spent long years
at the RBI. Jalan had neither done any major
academic work in monetary economics nor
had any direct experience of central banking.
He had to work with finance ministers who
did not have Singh's abilities. Also, the
dramatic, headline-grabbing reforms in finance
were already over by the time Rangarajan
stepped down.
This did not seem to deter Jalan. Early
on, he overturned the very basis of monetary
policy. Rangarajan and his deputy governor,
S.S. Tarapore, strongly believed in the
core tenet of monetarism - that there is
a strong link between inflation and money
supply. In 1995, with inflation entering
double-digits, they had slammed the monetary
brakes. Interest rates shot up. Industrial
growth, then zooming at 10% a year, screeched
to a halt. This decision remains the one
big question mark against Rangarajan's tenure:
did he overreact in 1995?
Hidden deep in Jalan's first monetary policy
announcement was a paragraph saying that
the demand for money function in India is
not stable. It seemed like academic quibbling.
Most of the financial press did not catch
its significance. The monetarist claim -
that inflation can be brought down by reducing
money supply - worked only if this function
is stable. Rangarajan had insisted it was.
The new governor was now saying something
quite the opposite.
Monetarism
was being buried. Jalan told me several
years later that he had nothing to do with
the intellectual revolution at the central
bank. The RBI's internal research had independently
come to this conclusion. But it was the
new governor who knew how to use the academic
research to change policies. The shift from
monetarism has allowed him to keep interest
rates low despite occasional spikes in inflation.
During some of these inflationary episodes,
he was slammed by some of the old guard
- especially Tarapore - for letting the
RBI forget its dharma of inflation control.
JALAN IS NOT a man anchored in any particular
ideology. He is practical in his approach
to issues and crises. You could say he is
more focussed on the ends, not the means.
In an introduction to a book he edited in
1992, The Indian Economy: Problems And Prospects,
he warned against what Argentinian economist
Albert Hirschman called "ideological
certainty". Jalan wrote: "In India
too, there is now a need for an open-ended,
eclectic and pragmatic approach on questions
of economic policy."
He cannot be identified with any of the
schools of central banking, either. "Which
economists have left the most lasting impression
on you as far as monetary economics is concerned?"
I asked him a few weeks ago. "There
is no one particular influence that I would
stress. I have been influenced by various
things - from the work of Milton Friedman
to some of the recent research done by the
Bank of International Settlements,"
he said.
Yet, there are some concerns that can be
gleaned from various discussions with him.
He is wary of the currency markets, especially
the tendency of speculative herds to indulge
in momentum trading. Jalan also says he
is fascinated by the policy trade-offs that
mainstream literature often disregards.
And then there are the ambiguities. Falling
interest rates have not led to higher inflation;
in fact, many countries are on the verge
of deflation. The fastest growing economies
are the ones with current account surpluses.
Or there is the problem of targetting inflation
in nations like India, as inflation often
results due to shortages in a few commodities
rather than excess money supply. All these
feed his fear of ideological certainties
and his preference for eclecticism.
Jalan is a political economist in the best
sense of the term. He is deeply conscious
that public policy affects different sections
of society differently. Jalan often talks
about his intellectual debt to Mancur Olson,
the Swedish institutional economist who
did pioneering work on how political and
social coalitions impinge on government
policy.
An economist who worked with Jalan in the
Planning Commission recounts this story.
Jalan summoned him before the Plan size
was being finalised and asked him to walk
down the corridors of the building and see
who occupied the offices there. "This
is the public's money. Ask yourself whether
you would be comfortable giving out so much
money to these people," he said.
LAST FORTNIGHT, when it was already clear
that he would be moving to the Rajya Sabha
soon, a group of industrialists went to
see Jalan at the RBI. They were concerned
that the rising rupee would harm their competitiveness.
One does not know what Jalan told them.
But the subject of the meeting was in stark
contrast with that first meeting with Mumbai's
senior financial journalists. The issue
now is not of how to protect the rupee,
but of how to protect the dollar. This is
Jalan's legacy.
True, the rising rupee and the burgeoning
foreign exchange reserves are not the RBI's
unique achievements. It's the same all over
Asia. What the RBI can claim is of having
won the intellectual argument. Central bankers
across the world now realise there is no
point blindly defending a fixed exchange
rate. And the IMF now warns against premature
capital account convertibility. The Indian
position on these two issues has been vindicated.
Both Rangarajan and Jalan have reason to
be pleased.
Is this his most significant achievement?
"In retrospect, I feel that we were
right in many ways. The RBI remained flexible
and did not try to defend any one particular
exchange rate," he says. "But
I would not say it was my contribution.
It was done by the RBI in close consultation
with the government."
The cheers have not been universal. In a
controversial paper, Deepak Lal and Suman
Bery say the RBI's decision to hoard dollars
has reduced economic growth. Others like
Ila Patnaik say Jalan has let interest rate
policy be subservient to exchange rate policy.
And then there are those in the money market
who accuse him of killing the yield curve,
as there is hardly any difference between
short-term and long-term interest rates
today.
Has Jalan been too conservative just as
Rangarajan is said to have been too aggressive
in hiking interest rates in 1995? I asked
him what he thought of these criticisms.
"Eventually, we have to balance various
interests. Savers want higher interest rates
while borrowers want lower... rates. Exporters
want a weak rupee while importers want a
strong rupee. We have to make choices,"
he said.
I asked Jalan one last question when I met
him in early July, when it had been announced
that he would be succeeded by Y.V. Reddy.
What, according to him, are the major issues
facing the Indian economy today? "The
delivery of infrastructure and more investment,"
he said. And fiscal deficit? "That's
a medium-term issue," he said.
Was that the next FM of India speaking?
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