Lessons in tolerance and open-mindedness from India’s highly awarded, legendary investor who dresses as humbly as a clerk
At its heart, anekantavada suggests that reality is an elephant and we are the blind men exploring small parts of it. Illustration by C Y Gopinath using AI
Mr Jain looks like he might have visited the temple in the morning; there’s a spot of colour in the middle of his forehead. On second thoughts, no. More likely, he prayed at home before leaving for work. He’s tall and limber, dressed as plainly as a clerk, and speaks in a soft voice with long pauses before he answers. His eyes indicate an active, observant intelligence.
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Mr Jain would want me to be honest, so let me confess that everything I knew about him, I had learnt in the taxi during a half-hour ride. I already knew that he was somehow big in investment and finance and suitable for including in Bombai, the book I’m writing about this city.
However, I was stunned by how much money he had brought to life with his magic touch—4,40,000,0,000,000 rupees. In plain words, R4.4 lakh crore. No one has done anything like that. Not even close.
He is India’s most awarded fund manager and the first one to have managed Rs 1 lakh crore of equity funds as fund manager with HDFC AMC for 28 years. In that period, his Balanced Advantage Fund grew at the compound rate of about 17.9 per cent annually, compared to the Sensex’s 9.6 per cent.
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All of this makes him a legend and a celebrity as an investor. As my taxi sped towards 3P, the company Jain founded two years ago with two friends, I had one question on my mind—what on earth would I, a near illiterate in fiscal matters, ask this financial titan?
This was also why I was utterly unprepared for that reverent spot in the centre of his forehead.
I started with embarrassingly infantile questions. I was nervous. I asked him to explain terms such as high-ticket and skin in the game. He took some notes when I asked him the difference between money and wealth, as though he had never thought about it.
As I relaxed into the conversation, my questions became more pointed and provocative. His 3P company’s newly announced fund targets wealthy investors with a minimum entry of Rs 10 crore.
“Wouldn’t your fund be making rich people even richer?”
Mr Jain did not seem particularly perturbed or offended by my needling so I brought up the Ambani wedding. “The whole world saw it. What do you feel when you see such displays of wealth? Is it inappropriate?”
As before, India’s investing mastermind sat in reflection for a long moment. Then he said one word: “Anekantvada.”
“It is a word from Jainism,” he said. “It teaches us that there are many facets and perspectives to everything. Someone is a vegetarian, someone is a non-vegetarian. Who is right, who is wrong? We do not debate this. I may keep R1,000 crore in a bank, or build a great house, or give it all to charity—or have a fantastic wedding for my son. There is no right or wrong, though there will always be positives and negatives in every situation. You may have your view, but it is only your view. The truth has many more facets. That’s anekantvada.”
At its heart, anekantavada suggests that reality is an elephant and we are the blind men exploring small parts of it. Any one perspective or viewpoint provides only a partial understanding. You cannot capture the truth in one neat statement, interpretation or doctrine. Jain philosophers say that absolute claims about truth frequently lead to misunderstandings, conflicts and intolerance. Instead, they promote openness, tolerance and acceptance of diverse perspectives as different, valid aspects of the truth.
I liked anekantvada. It felt like the medicine the planet needs today. If Mr Netanyahu were to see the world through a Palestinian perspective, maybe he wouldn’t send so many bombs their way. If Hamas saw the world through Israeli eyes, they might not talk about exterminating them.
In a world where everyone feels an imperial certitude about everything, and cannot tolerate dissent or challenge, anekantvada offers a formula for bringing down the temperature and creating harmony, convergence and peace.
But what when clear harm is being caused? I told Prashant Jain about the imminent extinction of the Kumbharwada community of potters at Dharavi thanks to slum redevelopment. Potters on higher floors would be relocated to the noxious suburbs of Deonar, while those on the ground floors would be allotted brand-new flats in new buildings. Families of potters would be torn asunder.
“Bombay has always been that place where people come with nothing in hand and somehow make a living,” he said. “But they also pay a price. Space is limited because 21.6 million people are squeezed into 600 square kilometres. Houses are small, land is costly. The situation may feel wrong—from the perspective of someone who has been displaced.”
Anekantvada would remind us that that’s not the only perspective.
Maybe we should feel less sure about our ‘truths’. Maybe we should be using words like maybe, perhaps and in many cases more often in our WhatsApp chats. Maybe we should ask more questions and understand how others see the truth.
Maybe, like India’s star investor, we should question what we know and believe.
You can reach C Y Gopinath at cygopi@gmail.com
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper
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