(Continuation of "The Price of Progress" — Lecture Hall, Calcutta University, November 2, 2025)
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Scene: Calcutta University, Department of History
The monsoon clouds had cleared. The morning sun fell through the tall windows of the old lecture hall, warming the ancient teak benches. Dr. Arindam Sen arrived precisely at nine, carrying under his arm a folder of yellowing newspaper clippings and old industrial policy notes — relics of a forgotten age.
As he set them down, he turned to his students with a half-smile.
"Yesterday," he began, "we ended with a question — why India's democracy still runs on colonial machinery. Today we ask another: why India's entrepreneurs were made to behave like dogs on a bureaucrat's leash."
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1. The Kennel Analogy
He drew a small sketch on the board — a dog chained to a gate labeled "License Raj, 1947–1991."
"This," he said, tapping the chalk, "was the Indian corporate world for nearly half a century. The state was the master; the businessman, the obedient dog. You wagged your tail — you got a biscuit. You barked too loudly — you were beaten."
A murmur of amusement ran through the class.
"But sir," asked Ravi, "wasn't the License Raj meant to protect us from monopolies and foreign exploitation?"
"Ah," Dr. Sen said, "the theory was noble. The practice was tyranny. See, in the West, capitalism evolved through competition — in India, it evolved through clearance. Every product, every machine, every expansion needed government permission. And those permissions had price tags, political favors, and ideological loyalty attached."
He pulled out an old Business India magazine from the 1970s. On its cover — the headline read: 'Entrepreneurs or Supplicants?'
"That," he said, "summed it up perfectly."
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2. Hindustan Motors — The Museum on Wheels
Dr. Sen clicked the projector and an image appeared — the Ambassador car, India's once-iconic automobile.
"Let's talk about Hindustan Motors," he said. "Born in 1942, it was supposed to be India's pride — the desi Detroit. But what happened? By the 1980s, while Japan was producing world-class Toyotas and Hondas, we were still building the same Ambassador model with minor cosmetic changes."
Priya frowned. "Sir, why didn't they innovate?"
"Because they weren't allowed to," replied the professor. "To bring a new model, Hindustan Motors had to get dozens of clearances — from the Directorate General of Technical Development, the Industrial Licensing Committee, and half a dozen ministries. Every form was a maze. And if the file didn't move, neither did the company."
He added dryly, "In India, innovation didn't depend on engineers — it depended on peons and babus in Udyog Bhawan."
The students chuckled.
"But it's tragic," he continued, "because the Ambassador could've evolved. India had the engineers, the talent, and even the market. What it lacked was freedom. We locked enterprise behind paperwork."
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3. Bajaj Auto — Waiting for Permission to Compete
Next, he brought up a black-and-white photograph of Rahul Bajaj, standing beside a line of scooters.
"Now, Bajaj Auto," Dr. Sen began, "is an even sadder example — not because it failed, but because it survived despite the system. For years, Bajaj produced the same scooter model — the Chetak — under strict capacity quotas. You couldn't increase production beyond a limit without government approval."
Neha asked, "Sir, but the Chetak was popular, right?"
"Very," said the professor. "But you couldn't just buy one. In the 1980s, there was a waiting period of ten years for a Bajaj scooter. Ten years! People used to apply for one at their wedding and receive it when their child started school."
Laughter erupted in the hall.
"That," he said, raising his hand, "was the absurdity of socialist planning — demand was there, capital was there, skill was there — but permission was not. India was perhaps the only country in the world where industrialists begged to produce more, and the government said, 'No.'"
He paused. "And when you cap ambition, you breed mediocrity. We didn't build competitors to Japan or Korea — we built bureaucratic pets who survived by staying loyal to Delhi."
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4. The Politics of Permission
Soumyajit leaned forward. "Sir, but weren't some business houses close to politicians? Like Reliance under Rajiv Gandhi?"
Dr. Sen nodded. "Exactly. In a system where survival depended on access, the clever ones learned to adapt. Reliance, for instance, mastered the art of navigating political currents — aligning with whoever controlled the corridors of power. That's not capitalism — that's court politics."
He continued:
"During Indira Gandhi's era, industrial houses like GMR or Birla realized that lobbying was safer than innovation. Why take risks when you could ensure stability through relationships? So businessmen became courtiers. Delhi was the palace; the Ministry of Industries, the throne room."
He turned and wrote on the board:
> "License Raj = Political Feudalism in Industrial Clothes."
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5. The Price of Chained Ambition
"Understand this," Dr. Sen said, lowering his voice, "for nearly forty years, India punished success. If your company grew too fast, you were labeled a monopolist. If you innovated too boldly, you were accused of being capitalist. And so we ended up with a generation of industrialists who learned one lesson — don't stand out."
He looked around the hall.
"Hindustan Motors died because it didn't evolve. Bajaj waited too long to break free. Our scientists emigrated, our engineers settled abroad. The License Raj didn't just destroy industry — it broke the national spirit of creation."
He paused, then added,
"When Japan built Tokyo, it built industries first and politics later. We built politics first — and industries never."
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6. The Turning Point — 1991 and the Unshackling
"Then came 1991," he said, pacing slowly. "The economy collapsed. The foreign reserves barely covered two weeks of imports. And in desperation, we liberalized. Suddenly the dogs were off the leash. Some ran fast — Infosys, Reliance, Wipro. But others had forgotten how to run. Hindustan Motors couldn't compete. Premier Padmini died. Bajaj had to reinvent itself. The kennel had been opened, but many of its inhabitants didn't remember freedom."
He paused and smiled faintly.
"It's easy to blame socialism or capitalism. But the truth is — India never truly practiced either. We built a hybrid creature — bureaucratic socialism powered by capitalist survival instincts. A system where paperwork replaced merit and proximity replaced productivity."
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7. The Closing Thought
Dr. Sen looked at the class.
"Never forget," he said, "economic freedom is not about getting rich — it's about letting people try. The moment a state decides what citizens can dream, it stops being democratic — even if it holds elections."
The bell rang. Students gathered their books, whispering among themselves, their expressions a mix of amusement and anger.
Before they left, the professor added softly:
"After break, we'll talk about how India's corporate evolution turned political — how post-1991 liberalization created not just companies, but empires — and how democracy became the marketplace of West called oligarchs, China Called Red Capitalism"
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End of Prologue 3 — "The Kennel of Capitalism."