Mr Naidu's favourite scheme
It is a warm evening at a vast park in Hyderabad. A brightly-lit faux water fall cascades from the top, and ancient rocks that litter the city are strewn all over the place for an earthy effect. A makeshift stage clothed in white stands empty with flowers and paper strewn on it; the speaker has made use of the podium already. Hundreds of people mill around. Some sit on red chairs around white-clothed tables, tucking into food; other jostle to catch a glimpse of the man who threw this party.
At the epicentre of all this activity, a politician plays host to some 2000 of his party cadres who had helped him during the gruelling election campaign. Polls in Andhra Pradesh - the state of which Hyderabad is the capital - are over. It is time for N Chandrababu Naidu, India's reform-spewing politician, and former chief minister of the state, to relax and take stock. Mr Naidu, whose regional party, has ruled for 17 of the last 28 years here, says he is confident of ousting the ruling Congress this time. (State and general elections were held simultaneously here.)
"After their hard work, I want to thank my main party workers. So I have invited them all here," he says.
Mr Naidu has also invited us to this private party, hours after our train rolled into Hyderabad last evening. It is an unusually relaxed setting to meet one of India's most prominent politicians and a powerful regional satrap.
When he was the chief minister of the state many years ago, he called me to his residence at five in the morning. When I arrived, I found bleary-eyed bureaucrats outside his door, nearly dozing off. Inside, Mr Naidu checked power generation figures on his computer and answered questions cheerily.
His admirers said he was a man in a hurry, pushing reforms, widening roads, privatising state services, shaking things up, talking about electronic governance. He had invited a multinational consultancy firm to prepare a blueprint for reform in the state. He invited me in to a meeting with these blue sky thinkers, where one of its managers in a sharp blue suit recommended a certain municipal tax to raise revenues. "But we've already been having this tax for years!" said Mr Naidu, throwing up his hands.
I was not surprised when Mr Naidu lost power barely four years later, ousted by an upstart Congress leader, who had campaigned in the villages and tapped into the groundswell of popular dissatisfaction with the chief minister's urban bias. The state was drowning in debt, and the farmers were taking their lives, ruined by a drought and unpaid loans. India's first regional reform czar left office a much sobered man.
Now we are sitting at this 'picnic park', as one of his cadres describes the place. It is packed with shining steel chairs topped with red and white upholstery. Mr Naidu looks as fit as I saw him years ago; and in his trademark khaki shirts and trousers, he looked quite the same. He turned 60 last month. He says he weighs 75kg, and looks ready for challenges in what promises to be a tumultuous political summer ahead.
Mr Naidu is an astute, unusual politician for India. He talks about globalisation, trickle down effect and supply side economics. He talks about the development models for Singapore and Malaysia. He talks about how the Obama campaign spent a billion dollars in a transparent manner. Now, he also talks about the need for "new reforms" to bridge the "gap between haves and have-nots".
"We have to create wealth for all. There is the serious issue of the poor being left behind," he says.
This time, he is promising cash transfers for the poor and middle class. I ask him what this promise means.
"Every month, we will deposit anything between 500 and 2000 rupees into bank accounts of the poor and the unemployed. There will be no leakages. Many countries have done this successfully," he says.
I ask him whether he had done his maths. Where would this money come from? Andhra Pradesh has over 70 million people. The majority are poor.
"We haven't calculated it, but we will. We will work it out," he says.
Then he appears a bit confused. He alludes to taxing companies to raise money for the scheme. Then, he changes tack and says existing money could be used for the scheme. Over dinner, I ask him whether he could find the money he needs by cutting back existing schemes for the poor.
"Sure, why not?" he said.
I felt Mr Naidu was treading a political and economic minefield with his favourite scheme.
It was time to leave. He had eaten very little during the dinner, nibbling into some bread and fruit. He said he had to leave town early next morning. He was taking a well-deserved holiday with family. "After a long, long time," says Mr Naidu, before making his way out of the park hemmed in by a posse of security guards. He has to be back before Delhi beckoned after the votes are counted.
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