In a development that has stunned precisely no one with a functioning frontal lobe, India’s billionaire brigade has embarked on a foreign buying spree of such spectacular vulgarity that even the peacocks in Udaipur have stopped preening to stare. As the domestic growth engine sputters and coughs like a rickshaw on its last rupee of petrol, these titans of industry are evidently interpreting 'Make in India' as 'Spend in St. Moritz'.
Consider the audacity. While small businesses in Mumbai’s bylanes are selling their grandmothers’ jewellery to stay afloat, the Ambanis and Adanis of this world are snapping up London townhouses and private islands as if Monopoly money. The irony is so thick you could cut it with a samurai sword, which is probably next on their shopping list. According to my sources (a man with a splendid walrus moustache who claims to be the ghost of J.R.D. Tata), these billionaires have collectively purchased more foreign real estate in the last quarter than the entire population of Goa has had beach holidays.
But why, you ask, when India is supposed to be the next superpower? The answer, my dear Watson, is as clear as the gin in my glass. Growth has stalled. The economy is wheezing like a pensioner on a treadmill. And when the ship starts sinking, the rats with the most gold are the first to swim for the lifeboats. They are not abandoning ship; they are upgrading to a superyacht.
Let me paint you a picture. Rohan 'Income Tax Evasion' Sharma, a man whose fortune was built on selling overpriced cement and underpaying labourers, recently bought a castle in Scotland because he 'fancied a bit of the Highlands.' His reasoning? 'India is too unpredictable.' Unpredictable? Sir, you have been predicting your own profits for decades. What is unpredictable is why the tax department hasn't strung you up by your silk cravat.
Meanwhile, the government is busy patting itself on the back for 'robust fundamentals' while the rupee does a convincingly impression of a lead balloon. The finance minister, resplendent in her chiffon, assures us that all is well. But if all is well, why are the country's wealthiest citizens buying up chunks of Mayfair like it's on sale at a Dubai mall? The hypocrisy is so dense it has its own gravitational field.
This spree is not just about money. It is a statement. A corporate middle finger to the very nation that made them. They are saying: 'We don't trust India. We trust bricks in Belgravia.' And who can blame them? When the air is toxic, the courts are backlogged, and the police are busy enforcing national pride by banning beef, a garden in Surrey starts looking quite appealing.
But let us not be too harsh. After all, these billionaires are merely following the ancient Indian tradition of capital flight. It is a time-honoured practice, right up there with yoga and claiming that poverty is spiritual. They are diversifying. They are hedging their bets. They are, in the immortal words of a Bollywood villain, 'preparing for the worst while enjoying the best.'
It is tragicomic. As the country clambers for jobs, healthcare, and a decent internet connection, its richest sons and daughters are busy holidaying in Monaco and buying up vineyards in Bordeaux. They are the canaries in the coal mine, and they are flying out of the mine shaft at supersonic speed.
So raise your glasses to the Indian billionaires. May their foreign holdings flourish and their tax returns remain miraculously low. And may the rest of us somehow survive the grand joke that is modern India. Cheers.
