Shashi Warrier | The reign of the business model

I wasn’t in the least surprised when Murthy, with his nose for other peoples’ Scotch, turned up 15 minutes later. He was passing by, he said, and had a little time to spare. I introduced all of them, and Vineet, who had unwound quite a bit, mentioned that the street food he’d got in Varanasi had been wonderful. “Out of this world,” he said, “just out of his world.” Like most attentive husbands, he became aware of a dangerous glint in his wife’s eyes without even seeing it, and he added, looking earnestly at me, “Almost as good as these samosas!”

A couple of drinks later, he had unwound a little more. “We’ve got companies selling these plastic packets of plastic junk food all over the country,” he said. “I wish someone would start selling the kind of junk food you get in Varanasi. The range there is incredible!”

“It doesn’t fit their business model,” said Murthy, who himself was unwinding. “Won’t happen.”

“You mean…” Vineet stuttered a bit. “They sell only what fits their business model?”

“Exactly,” replied Murthy, emptying his drink and pouring himself a fresh one.

“That’s terrible,” Shobha said, joining the conversation, “because it means that we eat what sells, not what we should!”

“Right,” said Murthy. “Everyone follows the model, not just the private sector. Farmers produce large quantities of grain using fertilisers and lots of water. The government makes sure these farmers get paid enough for the grain. That’s what the minimum support price is for. They do it because if farmers produced grain the traditional way, we wouldn’t have enough grain to feed everyone.

“If that grain lacks nutrients, when enough people know, companies come up to sell those nutrients as supplements. If the deficiencies bring on ailments, pharma companies provide medicines to fix those ailments...”

“That’s terrible!” said Shobha. “I’ve read about this. Hunter-gatherers who lived thousands of years ago had a more varied and balanced diet than ours.”

“Perhaps,” said Murthy, “but only for a very small population. Most people lived very difficult and short lives. Especially in colonies.”

“Really?” asked Shobha, an edge of sarcasm in her voice.

“Yes,” replied Murthy. “Short life spans, high child mortality, starvation in years of poor rainfall, and so on. Those stories of paradise in ancient times — fairy tales. Traders were exactly the same then as they are now.”

“What!” said Vineet. “Do you mean that people followed business models back then?”

“Do you think a shopkeeper a few centuries ago would have stocked goods that he wouldn’t be able to sell at a profit?” asked Murthy.

Vineet said, “Well, no.”

“There you are,” said Murthy. “The business model has always been important. In many ways.”

“What do you mean?” asked Vineet.

“What do you think tourism is?” asked Murthy. “If you have something beautiful and rare to show but access is difficult, or staying is uncomfortable, how many tourists do you think would visit? The whole purpose of developing tourism is to make money through demonstrating that your place is more fun than any other place.

“If you have something rare and beautiful but you need to spend more to make it accessible and comfortable than you would earn out of it, would you spend that money?”

“N-no,” said Vineet.

“The business model,” said Murthy. You see it in pharmaceuticals, arms, energy, food, construction, everything…”

“But it does a lot of damage, doesn’t it?” asked Vineet. “To health, to technology, to everything… Industry is built on greed. A reasonable profit is fine, but many people make extortionate profits. That’s what makes the business model so corrosive.”

“Are you sure?” asked Murthy. “How much is reasonable, and how much is extortionate? Who decides? Who decides what’s corrosive and what’s not? Do you want the government to interfere in every business?”

“No,” said Vineet very definitely. “Well, I suppose the answer is education. Make people aware.”

“Ah!” said Murthy. “But education also follows a business model.”

“What do you mean?”

“We judge how good a college is by the jobs its students get when they leave,” said Murthy. “Would you send your child to a college that leaves its students unemployable?”

“No,” said Vineet.

“What about a university that produces people taken by Google?” asked Murthy. “You would. Perhaps the education system is the most… What was that word you used? Corrosive? Yes. The most corrosive part of our society.”

“Not all of it,” said Vineet. “It’s got reservations for backward caste people, and so on. That’s hardly following a business model.”

“Really?” said Murthy. “Our colleges have reservations for backward caste people and the government pays for their education in the hope of earning votes from those caste groups. But then private colleges have reservations for rich people!”

“Of course not!” said Vineet. “How could you say such a thing?”

“What do you think ‘management quotas’ are?” asked Murthy. “Pay enough and you can get a degree in education or medicine or whatever even if you’re nowhere near the top one per cent or whatever that would get that education on merit. That’s the irony of it. There are places for backward classes, and for rich people, but nothing for poor people. What kind of an education do you think you’d get from a system like this?”