Lalit Modi: the man who saw tomorrow

March 11, 2005: It was a typically cool, wintry morning in Mohali. India were playing Pakistan in the opening Test and the mood was jovial and upbeat, if just a little charged, in the stadium.

At about 11am, PCA chairman IS Bindra’s aide entered the media box and declared: “There will be a press conference during the lunch break.” A buzz of anticipation quickly rose among the writerattis, loud enough to match the roar outside.

Indian cricket was, of course, embroiled in a bitter power struggle at that time. Will Bindra finally spill the dope on his old friend, Jagmohan Dalmiya? Even as the juicy possibilities were being discussed, Bindra’s aide added: “Lalit Modi will address the press conference.”

Suddenly, the buzz was replaced by a stunned silence: Modi? Who is he? Why is Bindra indulging him in the middle of an important Test match? Intriguing. At that point, Modi’s only claim to fame, as far as cricket was concerned, was that he had just defeated the powerful Rungtas to become the president of Rajasthan Cricket Association.

It was anyway too tempting an offer for any scribe to miss; over 100 of us delayed lunch and grabbed prime seats in the huge conference hall. Modi arrived, dapper in his black suit and neatly combed hair and branded specs, and quickly got down to business.

You could immediately see that he was nervous, that he hadn’t addressed such a huge gathering earlier. Not surprisingly, he couldn’t hold the attention of so many hungry journalists for too long: one after the other, slowly, they started slipping out. By the time he finished, well after 30 minutes, there were barely a score left.

The hall had taken a deserted look not merely because Modi wasn’t much of a speaker though; it did because he was talking about mind-boggling, impossible figures. “Cricket in India is a $2 billion a year market. We are sitting on a gold mine,” he announced grandly.

“Our players should be paid on par with international footballers and NBA stars, in millions of dollars and not in measly rupees,” he added. Indian cricketers were, of course, earning a princely Rs 2 lakh per match around that time. Everybody thought he was talking through his hat.

Next day, the press conference was dismissed in a para or two in most newspapers; barely anybody even mentioned his tall promises. A few months later, however, Dalmiya was ousted and Sharad Pawar came to power. And within three years, the Board started showing an annual revenue of one billion dollars.

Modi had delivered.

But that was just the beginning: in 2008, a quirk of fate and the rebel Indian Cricket League, forced the BCCI to float its own counter. He was thrust into the chairman’s seat and Modi went about creating the legend called the Indian Premier League. Right from the franchise-forming stage, to the auction of players, to sealing each and every deal, he was everywhere.

More importantly, he made sure that every match was immaculately staged, without a single hitch; he even made a sort of a record by attending every game in the inaugural edition. In just a matter of a few months, he had lifted cricket into a new zone, making it a multi-billion dollar industry and every big player a true millionaire.

Of course, it may not have been very difficult for Modi to execute this plan; it was, after all, a dream that he had been angrily nurturing for quite some time.



Lalit Kumar Modi was born into a rich, business family. He studied in exclusive schools in Shimla and Nainital before moving to the United States for higher studies. He came back to head Modi enterprises, a Rs 40 billion conglomerate with interests in varied fields.

Through one of his ventures, he brought ESPN to India; eventually, he persuaded the sports giants to enter the cricket arena too. That was the beginning of the satellite revolution, raising the stakes in the game and changing the face of sports television itself.

Around that time, in the early Nineties, he proposed a limited overs cricket league; but the BCCI had no time either for him or his dream project. That is when he decided to fight the battle from within. He found an ally in Rajasthan; he reportedly concealed his last name to become a member of its cricket association.

With some help from the BJP government there, he soon became the president of RCA too. He played a key role in evicting Dalmiya from the office and was rewarded with the vice-president’s post. He worked on the commercial aspects and soon showed his mastery over figures and marketing.

Modi, however, didn’t remain everybody’s favourite for long; his brash style of functioning and abrasive manner soon put him on almost all hate-lists. Friends slowly became foes but as he kept bringing in the big bucks, he only became more and more powerful.

Soon, though, the Vasundhara Raje government fell and he was cut down to size on his home turf itself. The foes went back into his life and came up with a criminal case. As a student at Duke University, he was convicted for “possession of 400 grams of cocaine and charged with assault and kidnapping.” He had pleaded guilty and a plea bargain helped him escape with a suspended two-year prison sentence.

Modi refuses to talk about that episode, brushing it off as a teenager’s indiscretion; soon, he managed to return to India and began life afresh. He was, however, not meant to sit in air-conditioned rooms and make millions or billions as an unknown face. He likes to be in the spotlight and takes particular pleasure in taking on impossible challenges.

Last year, when the Indian government seemed to be creating hurdles for IPL-2, he whisked it away to South Africa. In less than three weeks, he put everything in place and made it almost as successful as the first edition itself. Today, he is rated as one of the most influential sports administrators, even if the Kochi-Tharoor saga is stealing away some sheen.

If you really need to see his power, though, you need to walk into his IPL headquarters in Mumbai; of course, that is easier said than done. Right at the entrance of the plush five-star hotel, there are close to 10 NSG-style commandos, all armed to their teeth. You walk through the gate at your own risk.

There is an IPL help-desk, next to the reception. When you say you have an appointment with Modi, a call is quickly made; only on confirmation, the hotel staffer reveals the floor number. Another one steps forward and punches in the card that gives you access to the floor.

When you step out of the lift, the corridor is eerily silent. In the far corner, you can see another bunch of armed guards; nobody is allowed here without valid IDs. One of them asks you to sit outside while a second one goes in to announce your arrival; the secretary comes out to do her bit of fact-finding. You are given an audience after another brief wait.

At the end of it, as you step back into the lift and finally make your way out of the hotel, you feel like you have just met a king, a president or even a gang lord. Modi, of course, has been extended Z-plus security because of an assassination threat from Dawood Ibrahim and his man Chota Shakeel.

He lives with three layers of security and even travels in a bullet-proof car. Quite clearly, at least during IPL season, he becomes larger than life. At the moment, though, it looks like it might not last for long. Will he go back to the old days when only a few would turn up to listen to him? We will have to wait and see.