Sahara’s shadow: The spectacular unravelling of Subrata Roy
Accused of orchestrating one of India’s largest Ponzi schemes, involving millions of investors, Roy was never sentenced, passing away before any judgment could be rendered in the multiple cases against him. By the time of his death, he had spent years in Delhi’s notorious Tihar jail, only to be released on parole—as though even the law was uncertain of the exact nature of his guilt.
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When the Central Registrar of Cooperative Societies (CRCS) launched a portal for investors to reclaim funds collected by Roy’s firms, just ₹2,314 crore had been returned as of 28 February 2025—out of ₹15,775 crore made available under a Securities and Exchange Board of India (Sebi) order. Many investors remain untraceable, adding to the enigma Roy left behind.
Born in 1948, the boy from Araria in Bihar studied at Holy Child School in Kolkata and CM Anglo Bengali Intermediate College in Varanasi before completing a diploma in mechanical engineering from a college in Gorakhpur. The early death of his father meant money was tight. In Sahara: The Untold Story (2014), Tamal Bandyopadhyay recounts how Roy started out selling snacks from a scooter before moving on to electric fans under the brand name Air Sahara. That venture failed—but the name would live on in his aviation business.
His fortunes changed in 1976 when he took over a struggling finance company, Sahara Finance.
The mid-1970s were a tumultuous period in India. Soaring inflation and rising unemployment were pushing people to seek alternatives to staid bank deposits. It was fertile ground for dubious financial schemes—chit funds promising exponential returns were flourishing. When Sahara launched its first fund in Gorakhpur, the infamous Sanchayita scam was brewing in West Bengal, eventually affecting more than 131,000 people before its collapse in 1980. Peerless, too, was operating an insurance-based Ponzi scheme around the same time. These companies were given the seemingly respectable tag of “residuary non-banking companies” (RNBCs)—though there was little honour in their operations.
But while Sanchayita and Peerless fell out of favour after the Chit Funds Act was enacted in 1982, Roy was just getting started. With a growing capital base—thousands of crores collected from small depositors—he began investing in the growth sectors of the 1980s and 1990s. Sahara India Pariwar, the grandiose umbrella for his businesses, expanded into real estate (Aamby Valley City), media (Sahara TV), aviation (Air Sahara), and hospitality (Grosvenor House Hotel in London and Plaza Hotel in New York). By the early 2000s, Roy was a fixture among India’s business elite.
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His lifestyle matched his expanding empire. Though he described himself as “a simple human being” whose first home with wife Swapna was a tin-roofed one-room house, he projected the image of a benevolent tycoon. He fancied himself a modern-day Robin Hood who had taught shopkeepers and panwalas to save through his parabanking model. He expected reverence—for his service to the poor, for his patriotic self-image. That explained his long, sermon-like speeches and the famous “Jai Sahara” salute, which was mandatory for all employees. His official title was Chief Managing Worker, but he sat on a throne.
In 2004, the wedding of his sons was a dazzling six-day spectacle. Thousands of guests were flown in on Sahara’s private jets. Then prime minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee mingled with Amitabh Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan, Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci, and Sachin Tendulkar. The guest list reflected Roy’s political reach. While he was particularly close to Mulayam Singh Yadav—via friend Amar Singh—his network extended across party lines.
But success bred carelessness.
In 2009, Sahara Prime City filed a draft red herring prospectus (DRHP) with the Securities and Exchange Board of India (Sebi) for its initial public offering (IPO). The disclosures revealed that two Sahara group firms—Sahara India Real Estate Corp. (SIRECL) and Sahara Housing Investment Corp. (SHICL)—had raised nearly ₹27,000 crore from millions of investors via optionally fully convertible debentures (OFCDs), in violation of Sebi rules.
It was like a game of Jenga. The blocks came tumbling down. The scheme was a pyramid, possibly the largest the world had seen. At its peak, Sahara was the financial lifeline for 70 million investors—most of whom were left with nothing when the scheme unravelled.
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In 2011, Sebi ordered the company to refund the money. Roy refused to comply—or even respond to court summons. Finally, in 2014, a special two-judge bench comprising Justices K.S. Radhakrishnan and J.S. Khehar sent one of India’s most flamboyant billionaires to jail.
He was released on parole after two years. Until his death in November 2023 at age 75, he continued to run his businesses. The Sahara empire, however, never recovered. And its full story, like the fate of its investors’ money, may never be known.