In India, corruption often thrives not because it is hidden, but because it is inconveniently visible. Everyone sees it, yet no one acts. The story of a so-called “Hi-Tech Textile Park” in Telangana is a chilling reminder of how political power across party lines can converge—not to serve the public, but to plunder it.
This is not merely another bureaucratic irregularity. It is a story of how a welfare project intended to uplift poor weavers was allegedly converted into a massive land grab worth hundreds of crores. And perhaps the most disturbing aspect is that almost every major political formation appears to have conveniently looked the other way.
The origins of the project go back to 2003–04, when the government led by Atal Bihari Vajpayee at the Centre launched the ambitious Scheme for Integrated Textile Parks (SITP). The idea behind SITP was straightforward and noble: create modern textile infrastructure to empower traditional weaving communities struggling to survive in a rapidly changing economy.
Under this scheme, a group of 108 individuals—many belonging to the weaving community along with a few textile entrepreneurs—came together with a dream. Each invested between ₹1 lakh and ₹5 lakh. In total, they pooled ₹7.94 crore, a substantial sum for small investors, to purchase 142 acres of land at Chegur village in Mahabubnagar district.
The company they formed—Hi Tech Textile Park Private Limited—was meant to transform the lives of hundreds of weaver families. The location itself was strategic, lying close to National Highway 44 and not far from the rapidly expanding Rajiv Gandhi International Airport.
The project was formally approved under SITP. The Ministry of Textiles sanctioned ₹12 crore through the infrastructure advisory firm Infrastructure Leasing & Financial Services as the nodal agency, while the then state government of undivided Andhra Pradesh contributed ₹1.10 crore.
In theory, in my view, the framework contained adequate safeguards. Government-nominated directors were appointed to ensure transparency and accountability. However, what unfolded later—according to documents accessed by your e-paper from aggrieved investors—reads like a textbook case of institutional manipulation.
Certain directors and promoters allegedly began sidelining government nominees and altering company records. Statutory oversight mechanisms were reportedly weakened or eliminated. What began as a community project slowly morphed into a private playground for a handful of powerful individuals.
By 2011, the irregularities had grown too glaring to ignore. The Ministry of Textiles under the then Indian National Congress-led government cancelled the project after detecting serious violations. A recovery notice for ₹12 crore was issued.
The land acquired for the project was subsequently attached under the Revenue Recovery Act, and its transfer was prohibited under Section 22-A of the Registration Act.
At this point, the story should have ended with accountability. Instead, it took a darker turn.
Despite the land being legally attached, an MoU was allegedly executed on March 23, 2019 to alienate the same land for just ₹23 crore. Anyone familiar with Hyderabad’s exploding real estate market would instantly recognize the absurdity of that valuation. Given its proximity to NH-44 and the international airport, the land’s market value is estimated at nearly ₹800 crore.
In other words, a public asset created with community investment and government funding was allegedly being transferred for barely a fraction of its worth.
During that period, Telangana was ruled by the Telangana Rashtra Samithi, the powerful regional party led by K. Chandrashekar Rao. At the Centre, the government was headed by Narendra Modi.
Ideologically, these parties claim to be poles apart. Yet in this case, silence appears to have been the only common language.
Investors who questioned the transaction allegedly faced intimidation and threats. Some claim they were discouraged from pursuing legal remedies. The result is devastating: more than a hundred families from the weaving community—people who invested their life savings in the hope of collective progress—now stand on the brink of losing both their land and their money.
Repeated representations were sent to authorities, including the Prime Minister’s Office. Predictably, these were forwarded to the relevant ministries, where files seem to have entered the familiar labyrinth of bureaucratic indifference.
Meanwhile, political power in Telangana has since shifted to the Indian National Congress government. Yet the investors allege that instead of correcting past wrongs, influential figures are now attempting to legitimise the questionable transaction.
If these allegations hold even a fraction of truth, this episode exposes something far more disturbing than a land scam. It reveals a systemic failure where political parties that publicly attack each other privately protect the same networks of influence.
For the weavers who invested their savings more than two decades ago, the project was supposed to be a symbol of empowerment. Today it stands as a monument to betrayal.
The tragedy is not merely the loss of land. It is the erosion of faith—faith in institutions, in governments, judiciary, and in the promise that development projects meant for the poor will not be hijacked by the powerful.
The investors still cling to a faint hope that Prime Minister Narendra Modi might intervene and order an independent probe to uncover the truth and restore justice.
Whether that hope will translate into action remains to be seen.
But one thing is already painfully clear: when political interests converge around valuable land, ideology conveniently disappears—and the poor are left to count their losses. (Your e-paper will soon place many more facts linked to this mega scam before the public, sparing none. A detailed series exposing every layer of this scandal is in the works. Watch these columns closely—because what you have read so far is only the trailer.)
