When Icons Crumble: The Fall of India Inc.’s Mascots
- Kiran D. Tare

- Nov 6
- 5 min read
The spectacular downfall of India’s corporate champions lays bare how hubris and easy credit hollowed out the promise of liberalisation.

In the heady years following liberalisation, India Inc. discovered some stereotypical heroes in form of the charismatic promoter who would spin ambition into value, the banker who would enable growth and the finance head who would symbolise elevation. These marquee names were intimate with Prime Ministerial corridors and featured on covers of business glossies as emblems of India’s inexorable rise. Yet, in recent times, at least three of those icons - Anil Ambani, Rana Kapoor and Chanda Kochhar - stand as examples of what happens when the cult of the promoter overtakes the discipline of enterprise, and the banker becomes the enabler rather than the gatekeeper.
Promoter’s Mirage
Anil Ambani once embodied India’s post-liberalisation entrepreneurial aspiration. When the legendary Dhirubhai Ambani empire split in 2006, the younger brother inherited the banner of telecom, infrastructure, energy and financial services under the Reliance ADA Group. He launched ventures that drew board-room buzz and media fascination; a global joint venture with Spielberg’s DreamWorks and India’s fastest IPOs were his badge of ambition.
He cultivated an image his more reticent elder brother never embraced: jogging along Marine Drive, socialising with film stars, and projecting an almost cinematic aura of success. His wife, Tina Ambani, a former Bollywood actress, embodied the glamour that helped make the younger Ambani a household name.
But beneath the sheen, cracks were forming. Reliance Communications collapsed under massive debt, banks declared loan accounts fraudulent; regulators began probing alleged diversion of funds. In 2024, the Securities and Exchange Board of India (SEBI) banned him from the securities market for five years, alleging siphoning of funds from a housing-finance subsidiary. More recently, the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) and the Enforcement Directorate (ED) have accelerated investigations into alleged fund diversion and money-laundering at the group.
Today, he stands encircled by regulators and prosecutors, the empire he built from inherited glory reduced to a patchwork of insolvencies, debt restructurings and courtroom dramas.
Earlier this week, the ED attached one of his last great symbols of ambition - the 132-acre Dhirubhai Ambani Knowledge City (DAKC) campus in Navi Mumbai, worth roughly Rs 4,462 crore. It followed the seizure of 42 other immovable assets, including his sea-facing Pali Hill residence, collectively valued at more than Rs 4,400 crore. The agency alleges that loans raised by Anil Ambani’s group companies were diverted to sister firms, funnelled through shell entities, and even remitted abroad under the guise of legitimate transactions.
As per the CBI chargesheet filed earlier, Rana Kapoor, co-founder of Yes Bank, and Ambani allegedly engaged in a quid-pro-quo arrangement. Between 2017 and 2019, Yes Bank extended Rs 3,000 crore in loans to financially stressed Reliance ADA Group entities. In return, the group made low-interest loans and investments in companies owned by Kapoor’s wife and daughters.
Kapoor, once hailed as India’s most dynamic banker, is now in jail under money-laundering charges. He is accused of turning Yes Bank into a conduit for high-risk lending to indebted corporate groups in exchange for personal gain.
Kapoor’s Yes Bank was bailed out in 2020 after a run on deposits threatened contagion. Ambani’s group, meanwhile, has been forced into serial asset sales - an estimated Rs 73,250 crore worth since 2019 - to repay creditors and stave off further collapse.
Banker’s Betrayal
Rana Kapoor’s downfall mirrors Ambani’s hubris in financial form. As Yes Bank’s founder, he promised innovation and growth, branding himself as the evangelist of ‘sunrise sectors.’ His charisma impressed regulators and investors alike. The bank’s balance sheet expanded at breakneck speed. But by the late 2010s, its loans were increasingly concentrated in risky corporate exposures, namely DHFL, Jet Airways and the Anil Ambani Group among them.
By 2020, the Reserve Bank of India intervened. Investigators alleged that Kapoor had systematically under-reported stressed assets while simultaneously enriching himself. He was arrested under the Prevention of Money Laundering Act and later charged with accepting bribes in exchange for loans. His case typifies the blurring of lines between lender and borrower, where personal relationships supplanted fiduciary responsibility.
If Ambani and Kapoor represent promoter and banker excess, Chanda Kochhar symbolises the corporate executive gone astray. Once hailed as the face of women’s empowerment in Indian finance, the former CEO of ICICI Bank was found guilty earlier this year by an appellate tribunal under the Smugglers and Foreign Exchange Manipulators (Forfeiture of Property) Act. The tribunal upheld the ED’s attachment of her assets, ruling that she had accepted a Rs. 64 crore bribe in exchange for sanctioning a Rs. 300 crore loan to the Videocon Group in 2009.
The money trail led from Videocon to NuPower Renewables, promoted by her husband, and then through a series of shell firms linked to Videocon’s founder, Venugopal Dhoot.
These stories of Ambani, Kapoor and Kochhar illustrate much more than greed; they expose a structural weakness in India’s corporate culture. Since the 1990s, India Inc. has rewarded flamboyance over foresight. The ‘mascot’ model of leadership which views the promoter as celebrity, the banker as visionary and the executive as icon thrived on proximity to power, not performance.
For years, regulatory forbearance and opaque governance allowed such figures to flourish. Boards were ornamental, auditors pliant, and creditors indulgent. Success was judged by market capitalisation and access, not by transparency or sustainability. When the tide of liquidity ebbed and the public mood shifted, the cracks became chasms.
Yet India’s institutional response has grown sharper. The ED, CBI and SEBI have become more assertive, even if critics question their selectivity. Courts have tightened scrutiny, and the Reserve Bank of India has overhauled its supervisory frameworks. Still, these are belated repairs to a system that long confused reputation with reliability.
The recent seizures from Ambani’s empire may be seen as symbolic restitution. But the deeper test lies in whether India Inc. can evolve beyond personality-driven capitalism. Governance reforms, stronger boards, and investor activism must replace the old equations of patronage and deference.
In a curious twist, even as Ambani fights charges, his group continues to bid for defence and power contracts; Kapoor’s bank has been recapitalised and lives on under new management; Kochhar, though disgraced, still contests her case. The machinery of capitalism rarely pauses for moral reflection. But the public has changed. In a country where billionaires were once admired as embodiments of national destiny, there is now fatigue with corporate melodrama. The image of a barefoot Ambani declaring bankruptcy in a London courtroom or of a once-revered banker in handcuffs has punctured the mythology of infallibility.
India’s liberalisation produced a generation of business idols. They were lauded as visionaries who would carry the tricolour to global boardrooms. But as the cases of Anil Ambani, Rana Kapoor and Chanda Kochhar reveal, the distance between aspiration and excess is perilously small when accountability is deferred.
Their collapse exposes the risks of an economy where ambition outpaces ethics and where oversight is reactive, not preventive. If India Inc. is to avoid repeating this cycle of rise and ruin, it must abandon the cult of the mascot and rediscover the quiet virtues of transparency and restraint.
For now, the ruins of DAKC stand as both monument and metaphor: a gleaming campus built on debt and dreams, reclaimed by the state that once celebrated its builder.




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