With malice towards none
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A civil servant’s light-hearted recollections of real life incidents during his career spanning nearly five decades
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Muthusamy Varadarajan
THE ENDURING BABU — Memoirs of a Civil Servant: K. C. Sivaramakrishnan; Har-Anand Publications Pvt. Ltd., E-49/3, Okhla Industrial Area, Phase-II, New Delhi-110020. Rs. 295.
The Enduring Babu is a worldwide (witness “Yes, Minister”) phenomenon! Be the Webster’s definition of a Babu as an “Indian clerk who writes English” as it may, K.C.Sivaramakrishnan’s book is a refreshing departure from outpourings of former civil servants largely with averments like “I told Atalji”, “I told Rajiv” (usually) “in no uncertain terms.” It steers clear of the first person singular, zeroing in on the inherent humour of situations that accost and oftentimes redeem the civil service, as in the case of his intrepid joint secretary who deflected the insistent minister, “I want to know the truth,” with these well-chosen words: “Madam, we are answering a Parliament question, it has nothing to do with finding the truth which is a completely different process.” How true, even today!
From Metcalfe House as a probationer whose biggest nightmares were horse-riding and the not-so-subtle evaluation by senior civilians of his eligibility as a son-in-law-to-be, to his unhurried reception after a two hour wait by the Nazirbabu with the proverbial mindset (what are two hours in an entire lifetime of Babudom!), and to many other harmless misadventures, the undercurrent of non-accusatory humour runs through the book. Swiftly does he realise the enduring sagacity of Nazirbabus who guide the administrative acolyte to the wisdom of “non-action” entombed in files. It is the basic guarantor of success (read, safety) in the service.
Humour
Humour is not without its own wisdom. Of interest is the advice a very senior member of the Indian Civil Service (ICS) B.B. Ghosh: “In a job of this kind, Sivaram, you should not only do your work well but also be prepared to apologise for doing it well.” This reminds me of the recipe another senior ICS A.N. Jha doled out to my own batch in Uttar Pradesh: “If you want to be happy (he didn’t say, successful) in the IAS, learn to treat bouquets and brickbats with equal disdain,” — one that ensures the peace and happiness of today’s Indian Administrative Service (IAS) except the spineless.
Lessons
As Secretary, Urban Development, Siva discovered that periodical fires in the record room of the Estate Officer were unparalleled in disposing files, erasing deeds and misdeeds of the past in which ministerial munificence of OT – Out of Turn – house allotments was often evident! It was from that office too that he discovered the secret of the health of a group of simians that sat on the windowsill and audited his meetings; none of his staff would chase them away; they cheerfully dispersed only when the sumptuous leftovers of snacks had been offered to them. Even better is the postscript; there was a second group of monkeys one day but which was shooed away by his staff contrary to tradition. His query as to why this discrimination, he was told that they were from the neighbouring Health Ministry, and “they had no business to cross over to our side.” “Defending bureaucratic turf was indeed a derivation from the animal kingdom” was another lesson he learnt.
Siva’s account of the attempts at locating Mahatma Gandhi’s statue near the India Gate is classic. At least five reasons, each seemingly incontrovertible why it should not be located inside the chattri, or in front of it etc. were trotted out. But the most telling was the last one: “It was a preposterous idea to sandwich the Father of the Nation between two imperial monuments,” the chattri and the India Gate. To this day the statue languishes uninstalled, but Babudom unaided was perhaps not to blame for this monument to indecision. His account of how he reduced the staff of the Directorate General of Supplies and Disposal (DGS&D) by 5000 impressed me till I discovered that he had only “dispersed (it to) various departments.”
A fitting epitaph is his comment that very soon the entire decision was reversed. He confesses without despair that his own efforts in rationalising the system “lasted only for a fleeting moment in the history of government.” In this, arguably, lies at once the heartbreak and the euphoria of the Babu; the moments may be fleeting but they are the salt of Babudom.
No malice
The “steel frame” ICS, excoriated variously during the Raj became the IAS on its “namkaran” in free India, when Nehru and Patel acknowledged its indispensability. The “stainless steel” service, though, has much to claim for itself, owing to its intellectual equipment, emotional commitment to development and ability to perceive, as Agastya Sen did, its foibles and perceived megalomania, and the humour arising from situations like when the unopened flag with the knot intact crashed on his head on a certain August 15. Retaining his dignity, Siva saw the flag quickly spread on the ground, tied to the pole resurrected in a trice, for him to salute. The tricolour flew aloft, the magistrate’s dignity was unimpaired! (Janda uncha raha hamara, aur kayam rahi magistrate ki izzat!)
A small variation in Tennyson’s words quoted by Siva might be more apt for the aspiring Babu: “To strive, to seek public weal through one’s efforts, and not to yield.” Siva does not preach; he joyously recites simple recollected moments with malice towards none, as does R.K. Laxman’s Common Man, while sandwiching too accounts of what Babudom can and does achieve; indeed most often does!
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