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Want a house in Delhi? Steal public land

Some 150 years ago, French anarchist Joseph Pierre Proudhon wrote a pamphlet titled What is Property? He proceeded to answer the polemical question himself, "It is theft." Proudhon's links to India are unknown if not entirely non-existent but his memorable one-liner is the reigning mantra of contemporary Delhi. In a city where the quest for land is almost an atavistic impulse, this past week's Union Cabinet decision to legalise a whopping 1,071 unauthorised residential colonies suggests a staggering historical vindication of Proudhon. At one stroke, every neighbourhood created by encroachments on public land between 1977 and 1993 has been deemed lawful. Amid the plethora of JJ (jhuggi-jhopdi) colonies, one oasis stands out. Anant Ram Dairy is prime real estate -- and home to Delhi's rich and famous.

The Government's argument is the affluent gentry that has grabbed the land will have to pay the going market rate plus a 50 per cent penalty. This money will be ploughed back -- if anybody can believe that -- to make the rest of Delhi more livable. Such logic is only a face-saver for a moribund and corrupt civic regime. Illegal colonies don't spring up overnight nor can it be said that their regularisation will not irreparably damage Delhi's "master plan". Ironically, the man who masterminded that master plan and is currently the bane of every middle-class dweller who has converted a balcony into a room, Urban Development Minister Jagmohan, has fallen in line with his cabinet colleagues. Not that he had much of a choice. In the case of the fortunate well-heeled colony at least, the beneficiaries are politicians, bureaucrats, industrialists, journalists and sundry lobbyists. In short, Delhi's -- and by implication the country's -- cosy, incestuous and self-serving elite has fattened just a little more. No wonder they call India the world's largest kleptocracy.

Talk Don't Run

Bihar's Indian-cricket's salvation doesn't lie in muzzling the captain

For anyone particularly missing the attitudes of a 19th century public-school headmaster, the mindset of the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) must be gladdening. In a move guaranteed to enhance its opaque reputation, the BCCI has asked the Indian captain to stop speaking to the media. He has also been forbidden from inviting visitors, even family members, to his room and in fact meeting anybody without the manager's permission. What's more, at the end of a series the BCCI can unilaterally hold back the captain's emoluments on the basis of a complaint by the manager. Bonded labour, it may be pointed out, is governed by similar regulations. The BCCI's decision to muzzle the captain is part of its measures to check the damage following the match-fixing scandal. In a supremely over- defensive measure it has concluded that retreating further into a shell rather than allowing greater transparency is its best bet. Not surprisingly, the BCCI itself is quite impervious to any serious discussion on the state of cricket in the country. The reticence virus, in fact, extends to the International Cricket Council, which in recent years has imbibed the BCCI's ways and means.

It is instructive that while asking the captain to shut up the BCCI has said nothing of the sort to officials like secretary J.Y. Lele, who has made a career of indiscreet statements and immediate denials. That apart, to treat the captain as an errant schoolboy makes no cricket sense. The captain is not merely a good player, he is leader, motivator and mentor to his team. In a sense the ability to communicate, with the press or with a rookie fast bowler, holds the key to a captain's success and development. Imran Khan and Mike Brearley would certainly think so; pity the BCCI doesn't.

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