In Honour Bound, Sarosh Zaiwalla, founder of Zaiwalla & Co. Solicitors, looks back on his career – from his passage to England at a time when diversity had barely begun to take root in its legal circles, to now leading a ground-breaking law firm. During an eventful life, Zaiwalla has walked the corridors of power and rubbed shoulders with ministers, diplomats, industrialists and celebrities. Honour Bound is the story of a solicitor who made his way on his own terms, with creativity but without ever compromising on his values.
Beginning this week, Blitz India will serialise Chapter 5 of the book that deals with a high-profile libel case linked to the Bofors scandal. At the centre of this extraordinary story are Bollywood great Amitabh Bachchan and his businessman brother Ajitabh Bachchan.
NOTHING in my life matches what happened to me in the course of the early 1990s. I was happily married with two little children and had finally begun to enjoy the success which my legal training had brought me. I was something of an enigma in the English legal fraternity. I had a busy shipping and international practice with many clients from Greece and Singapore as well as India. Yet from that very satisfactory position I gradually found myself caught up in a high-profile libel case linked to the ‘Bofors scandal’, which turned my personal existence upside-down.
At the centre of this extraordinary set of events was one of Indian cinemas all-time stars, Amitabh Bachchan, and his businessman brother Ajitabh Bachchan – both of whom, of course, were to be guests at the dinner hosted by John Major in 10 Downing Street described earlier.
I first encountered the Bachchans in 1990, and very quickly Ajitabh and I formed a great rapport. He had a reputation as being a shy man, largely because the media compared him to his flamboyant brother Amitabh, with whom he was very close- In private, though, he was very different, and later I saw a side of him that many did not.
Both brothers were clever. Ajitabh, however, appeared to be a shrewd strategist and knew how to handle people. He had a way of getting things done. He knew how to move matters. He could keep a straight face, coming over both as convincing and innocent. He persuaded me to trust him and gave me the impression he was being honest when, for example, he said he was managing his brothers Bollywood earnings.
We developed a close relationship. He would refer to us as brothers, once even saying, ‘We are like Siamese twins.’ He would tell me we were Joined at the ‘cummar* (the Hindi word for hip) and call me ‘Professor’ because he said I was too straight and honest. It wasn’t until much later that I would realize that while he pretended to be close to people, he was never really committed emotionally.
Amitabh, meanwhile, was a likeable character but very different from his brother. (His career was at something of a low at that time, although it was later to recover). He had a sharp memory and was always very courteous and respectful towards me. When I first met him, at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Bombay — shortly after meeting Ajitabh – he was a leading Bollywood star, but I thought I ought to start the professional relationship with him on the right footing. When at that meeting he called me by my first name, I politely told him to address me as sir’. He accepted this was the right professional courtesy and thereafter throughout my interactions with him, he always addressed me in this way. As we came to know each other better I was invited on several occasions by Amitabh to his home, where I met his mother and father, the latter a wellrespected Indian poet. Amitabhs wife, Jaya Bachchan, was a charming lady and on one occasion she invited me to accompany her to a film centre where she was involved. She also arranged for me to have a private dinner with her and a well-known member of a leading Indian business group, the Parsi Godrej family. But all of that was to unfold the more we became entangled together in the Bofors case.
Opening shots
The Bofors case became notorious in the 1990s (and still continues to make waves), embracing as it did accusations of bribery at the highest level against a cast of powerful and high-profile politicians and business people – including the Bachchans – across both India and Sweden.
At the heart of this long-running saga was the alleged corruption of the then Indian prime minister, Rajiv Gandhi, in respect of the purchase of field guns by the Indian Army from Bofors, the Swedish arms company and part of the Nobel Group.
In March 1986, a $285 million contract was signed between the Government of India and Bofors to supply the Indian Army with 410 firearms – 155mm state-of-the-art shoot-andscoot’ heavy artillery guns. A year later, a Swedish radio station claimed Bofors had paid tens of millions of dollars in kickbacks to a top Indian politician and key defence officials in order to seal the deal.
Sensationally, Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was suspected of personally benefitting from the bribe. The claims also included allegations that Amitabh Bachchan, a boyhood friend of Rajiv and later an MP from the Congress, had received the kickback on his behalf.
In brief, the Bofors scandal as it unfolded involved a European country, Swiss bank accounts, a Bollywood film star, politics and, above all, serious aspersions cast on the Indian prime minister.
Unsurprisingly, it triggered a political earthquake in India, starting with Vishwanath Pratap Singh, finance minister and then defence minister in Rajivs government, turning against him in a dramatic turn of events.
Singh was from Uttar Pradesh, India’s largest state and the historic power base of the Congress. He had a reputation of being scrupulously honest, and while he had been a loyal party member, as finance minister he began to signal his independence through some much-publicized pursuits of tax-evading industrialists.
Singh’s actions made him popular with the public but not with big business, and so Rajiv moved him to the defence brief. In the event, this only escalated Rajivs problems as Singh began investigating the Bofors deal.
The consequence was they finally parted ways, and in the 1989 general election, Rajiv lost with Singh succeeding him as prime minister. One of Singhs first steps as PM was to intensify the Indian government’s investigation into the Bofors allegations, in an effort to establish that Rajiv and his friends had received the kickbacks.
Singh was helped by the fact that the scandal had made headlines in Sweden. This northern European nation with an ethos of social democracy and high standards of business probity has been a beacon in the West, presenting itself as a country that not only cares for its own people but for peoples of the whole world. The affair was therefore causing appreciable damage to its previously pristine reputation.
In particular, it shocked the world that the Swedes were producing weapons of war and were prepared to grease the palms of politicians of a developing country to secure coveted defence contracts. It also unveiled the apparent use of Swiss banks as conduits in the deals.
To top it all, the Swedish prime minister who had signed the deal with Rajiv Gandhi, Olof Palme, was mysteriously shot dead one night whilst jogging in the streets of Stockholm and his murderer was never found.
Getting involved
I had followed the events with interest, but only as a spectator. My role changed to an active participant when on 31 January 1990, the leading Swedish newspaper Dagens Nyheter ran a story entitled ‘Breakthrough for Indian Bofors investigators, Gandhis friend received the money’. It had already been reported that the alleged kickbacks had been sent to five secret Swiss bank accounts. The new story claimed Ajitabh Bachchan was the holder of a sixth account and had bought an apartment in Montreux, Switzerland with the money.
To my mind, it was Rajiv Gandhi who advised Ajitabh to get in touch with me. Rajiv and I had remained in correspondence after the success of Zaiwalla & Co., as mentioned previously. On another occasion, Rajiv had referred Sumatiben Morarjee, doyenne of the Indian shipping industry and a friend of the Gandhi family, to me for advice. Sumatiben headed India’s first indigenous shipping company, Scindia Steamship, which had operated from the time of British rule of India.
With the Bachchans also being wellacquainted with the Gandhis, it was natural that Rajiv would want to help them. As an Indian lawyer in the City of London, with extensive experience of working with the Indian high commission, I was an obvious person to turn to. The task of making introductions was entrusted to Gopi Hinduja.
By this time, I had ceased to be the Hindujas’ lawyer. I was naturally intrigued to get a call from Gopi one morning inviting me to come for a meeting, as he wanted to introduce a new client who had some urgent business for my firm. So, I went across to his apartment and met Ajitabh Bachchan for the first time there. The Bofors allegations had a devastating effect on the Bachchans.
Amitabh had been given a Congress ticket to contest the Lok Sabha elections, but he had been forced to resign from his elected position because of public protest. Ajitabh and his wife Ramola, who were living in Geneva, had been asked to leave by the Swiss government on the basis that they were ‘undesirable aliens’. The reasons hadn’t been specified but Bofors must have had an impact. At our meeting, Gopi asked me to help Ajitabh sort out his family’s UK immigration status — what appeared to be a fairly simple matter.
I met Amitabh in Mumbai. The brothers seemed nervous, but I told them that if the allegations were untrue, then we should start libel proceedings against the Swedish newspaper in London to clear their name. At first glance, this was a ludicrous suggestion. How, after all, could a Stockholm-based newspaper, published in Swedish, be sued in London? Surely there would be no jurisdiction in a British court over allegations made in Sweden about an Indian citizen?
However, I had thought of an innovative approach. I told the Bachchans that a suit would become feasible if we could show that at least one copy of the paper was available to read in London. My assistants trawled London’s newsagents and managed to find one.
Having thus secured physical evidence, on 2 March 1990 Zaiwalla & Co. issued a libel writ in the High Court. The newspaper responded with an application to the court challenging the English court’s jurisdiction.
