Shailaja Chandra's Blog

Governance Grumbles–a one-act play in Hinglish in three scene

Kvetching literally means grumbling, finding fault, whining and complaining. Research by Universities like Cornell has concluded that “complaining fosters a social bond within a peer group stuck in the same leaky boat”. The content of the complaint is not as important as the joy of complaining because it provides “breathing space within an occasionally suffocating culture”. This one-act play captures the archetypal kvetching that goes on within bureaucracy and Ministerhood.

(The characters mentioned in the play are imaginary.)

Act I Scene I:
Starring in order of appearance:
Joint Secretary: Suresh Sinha
Joint Secretary: Ravi Mishra
Joint Secretary: Madhulika Bannerji
Peon: Brahmpal

Room of Joint Secretary Suresh Sinha in the Ministry of Power.
(Joint Secretary Sinha walks over from the desk to the coffee table where Joint Secretary Mishra is opening his tiffin carrier.)

Joint Secretary Sinha: Yaar, this Ministry is a real pain. My batchmate in the Health Ministry is eternally in Geneva. In Power we guys hardly get a chance to step out—whatever opportunity comes is grabbed by those techies.

Joint Secretary Mishra: My wife wants me to lose 5 kg. So she has packed me kheera and gajar once again for lunch. But I’m not very hungry. I ate two huge samosas in the Central Electricity Authority meeting today. They serve such unhealthy snacks at sarkari meetings, yaar. In the private sector they get doughnuts and cappuccino coffee. I am told they even have gyms for workouts.

(Enter the third Joint Secretary, Madhulika Bannerji, wearing an ethnic chic sari and a big bindi and kajal.)

Joint Secretary Sinha: Hi, Madhu, you’re looking pretty stunning today. What’s up?

Joint Secretary Bannerji: What rubbish! (Adjusts her pallu and pats her hair.) Suno, guys, I am so mad at the Secretary. He has sent my keen type Director for the third foreign trip in six months. Whenever my file goes with a foreign trip proposal, he turns it down saying that I am indispensable here. Real MCP.

Joint Secretary Mishra: Yeah, he is so unpredictable. One day he grins at you and asks about the family and the very next day he freezes when you walk in.

Joint Secretary Bannerji: I think he’s trying to become the Chief Electricity Regulation Commissioner when he retires. I heard him on the RAX. He was saying that he was the most qualified but the grapevine says the Mantri is gunning for him because he turned that Bimbani contract into a real spin. He even squealed to PMO and CVC as peshbandi.

Joint Secretary Mishra:Madhulika, you really talk too much. If the Secretary gets to hear you, you’ve had it.

Joint Secretary Bannerji: Why should I be scared? Although the Secretary is a pain, I’m on his side if he stopped all that gadbad.

(A peon enters, carrying three glasses of water.)

Joint Secretary Sinha: Yaar, Brahmpal, mere liye dosa lana. Now I say, jaldi!

Peon Brahmpal: Sa’ab, canteen band ho gaya. Kela ya amrood la doon?
(Phone rings and Joint Secretary Sinha shuffles from the sofa back to the desk.)

Joint Secretary Sinha: Hello! Yes, sir. No, sir. I will bring it now, sir. No. No. Rightaway, sir. I am on the way, sir.
(Puts down the intercom receiver, walks back and continues dialogue.)
This Additional Secretary is a real soand-so. Ever since he got promoted he has become so bumptious. I used to know him so well when we were both JSs. He has changed completely ever since. Just because he wants to impress the Secretary at the 3 pm meeting, he is
demanding a briefing just now from me. I’m famished, yaar.
(Sinha grabs a cucumber slice from Mishra’s tiffin carrier and eats it hungrily.)

Joint Secretary Bannerji: But then why were you sucking up to him so much? You should have told him that you had not eaten lunch. On the one hand you crib about him and on the other you really pander to his demands.

Joint Secretary Mishra: Sinha, yaar, don’t listen to her. You had better go. Madhulika’s ACR will be written after one year. Yours will be written by the Additional Secretary in two months. You’d better keep the AS on the right side.
(Joint Secretary Sinha staggers out of the room carrying a big file, his spectacles hanging on his chest, a notepad and a pen in the other hand, the straps of his sandals remaining undone because of the hurry.)

Joint Secretary Bannerji: You guys are such down and out careerists. I think there is more to life than becoming an Additional Secretary. Forever looking over your shoulder. I believe in calling a spade a spade.

Joint Secretary Mishra: It’s okay for you to spout all this, Madhu, because you have at least 10 years to go before you are considered for becoming AS. Sinha can’t afford to take any more chances, Madhu. Don’t bhadkao him. He’ll get even more disheartened. His last ACR last year was just “Very Good”. Between us, he’s already sunk.

Joint Secretary Bannerji: But, Ravi, there is such a thing as self-respect. Why couldn’t he just say he hadn’t had lunch? He’s got to stand up for his rights. ACRs cannot supersede your health.

Joint Secretary Mishra: Don’t be daft, Madhu. It sounds as though he puts lunch before the Additional Secretary. That will finish him for good. Grow up, kid!

Joint Secretary Bannerji: Ravi, don’t you start getting patronizing with me. My mood is bad already. This place sucks, yaar. Everyone here sucks.

Act I Scene II
Starring in order of appearance: Secretary, Power: Padmanabhan Secretary, Development Commission: Ramanathan

(Secretary Padmanabhan is sitting at his desk, telephone receiver to his ear. On the other side of an invisible screen is Secretary Ramanathan, also on the telephone. The two Secretaries exchange notes while sipping tea. A red light is on in both chambers, indicating that the Secretaries are busy with important matters of state.)

Secretary Padmanabhan: Hi, Ramu. How are things in Development Commission? I’m so tired of all my Joint Secretaries in this Ministry. I don’t know how people become JSs these days. They can’t write two sentences straight and are always sniffing around
for foreign trips without doing a stroke of work. Give even one of them anything less than an “outstanding” chit and they go howling all over the place. Give me a good Director any day.

Secretary Ramanathan: You are right, Paddu. But at least you get the better lot in your Ministry. Most of mine in the Commision can’t see the big picture. But they are preferable to those allknowing armchair experts who keep pontificating all day. They have never seen a district leave alone knowing how a State government functions. And these guys actually decide how the country should be run. I am long past taking “Marg Darshan” from them.

Secretary Padmanabhan: Yeah, I agree. My chhota mantri in Power wants to be in Foreign Affairs next time around. Generation of power just does not interest him leave alone any talk of transmission lines. He can’t tell a Megawatt from MVA and thinks that a supercritical power plant is like an ICU. He is desperate for a change in the next reshuffle. He has been walking on air ever since he heard that the chhota Foreign Minister is being sent as Governor.

Secretary Ramanathan: By the way, what happened to your becoming Chairman of the Electricity Regulatory outfit?

Secretary Padmanabhan: I think the Bimbanis have done me in. They have gone around saying that the Secretary is inflexible. You will have to set me up as Member, Energy in the Development Commission after I retire. They will need someone to look after that in the Commission.

Secretary Ramanathan: I wish such things were in my hands, my friend. But I’ll give it a shot, Paddu, for old time’s sake. You can return the favour when I retire after a year. And, by the way, don’t forget that your Mantri can do a lot for you. Keep on his right
side. The real powers that be have a huge soft spot for him. Old boys plus bachcha network. Deadly combination, man.

Secretary Padmanabhan: I did not know that, Ramu. Thanks for the tipoff. I’d better call off now. That eager beaver Additional Secretary has been jhankoing in twice already. He is just panting to replace me when I retire. What example is he setting to those poor youngsters? The old values have disappeared completely.

Act I Scene III
Starring in order of appearance:
Minister for Power
Minister for Industry
Secretary Padmanabhan
(Dept of Power)

(The Minister for Power and the Minister for Industry are sitting on a sofa, chatting. They both wear white kurta-pyjamas. Both Ministers are very young. Minister for Power wears designer sunglasses and Minister for Industry has spiked hair.)

Minister for Power: PM is very happy with the power sector’s performance. He said so himself. But the trouble with this sector is that it is too national. I’ve not been able to do a thing for my constituency – there are no schemes or projects at the district evel. And the officers are so dull and unimaginative. My Secretary works like a Manager. Always bringing sheets of paper with big fat graphs to show how something extraordinary has been pulled off. The guy has no political sense. When my constituency visitors are sitting around he gives them the cool ignore. If it weren’t for the PSUs doing all that CSR stuff I’d be sunk. Good thing he is retiring soon.

Minister for Industry: I’m new to this Mahan Bharat Sarkar business. All I can say is that these officers cram up all those figures and then throw around all that jargon and statistics at briefings. They see ghosts of corruption everywhere. The latest alibi they have now is this awful RTI thing. One would think they are paid only to find ways of scuttling everything that comes from the Mantri. But were the Cabinet Secretary to tell them even once, they will turn somersaults. It’s all the fault of the bureaucracy, I say. India has not improved because of these blokes.

Minister for Power: You know, I would rather have my Additional Secretary as the Secretary. He is down-to-earth and understands political compulsions thoroughly. What is the basis for posting officers? I have three Joint Secretaries who have been here even before I joined. They’re nice people but I think they have been terrorized by the Secretary. And as for that big bindi woman Joint Secretary, she would have been so much better off in Tourism or Culture, even Women and Child Development. It’s impossible to talk
once she gets started. If such women become Secretaries they will be a disaster. But who can say this? The whole nari brigade in parliament will gang up and shout the place down and make a ruckus on TV too.

Minister for Industry: There will be a reshuffle soon. The grapevine has it that you are going to get a promotion, might even land up in the Foreign Ministry. Good for you. You will have much more visibility there. Everything is so civilized in MEA. The only bad part is that you won’t be able to do anything for your constituency there either. And if you think your big bindi woman JS talks too much, you haven’t heard the Foreign Service varieties – both men and women. They can really stretch a five-minute briefing for five hours. Anyway, I’m leaving for the US tonight for Modernization of Fast Developing Countries Conference. I’d better go now.

(Exit Minister for Industry, talking into a gadget stuck to his ear while holding a mobile phone in each hand, both ringing simultaneously.)
Enter Secretary Padmanabhan: Good evening, sir. Namaskar, sir, vannakam, sir
Congratulations, sir. Did you know there is this great gfiles magazine, sir? It’s all about the bureaucracy. In the latest issue I have with me here they have rated how bureaucrats rank the Ministers. Sir, you have been rated as Numero Uno, sir. Congratulations, sir!
You can show this magazine to the PM, sir. And this is really something huge because gfiles is really the last word on the subject.You deserve the number 1 ranking, sir. It’s all your vision for 2121, sir.
(Getting up to go, Secretary Padmanabhan stands up as if to go and suddenly sits down again.)
By the way, sir, I was going to mention that I am due to retire at the end of the month, sir. I don’t have to say anything more to you, sir. You have always been my benefactor, sir.

Minister for Power: Of course I’ll do what I can. By the way, that Sunil Bimbani industrialist met me the other day about his power plant in Bimnagar. What’s the problem with his case? You are such a good manager, sort it out.

Secretary Padmanabhan: Bilkul, sir. It’ll be done, sir. It’s a small thing, sir. Aur koi mere layak sewa, sir? And don’t forget to show the PM the gfiles article, sir. By the way, I’ve got the National Power Corporation to set up an amusement park in your onstituency as a part of CSR. Every child will remember you forever, sir. g

The donkey’s SADDLE Or, a symbol of the feudal mindset of the Indian bureaucracy

MANDARIN MATTERS | Attestation Of Documents

AMBASSADOR Nigam Prakash (vintage 1966 IFS) tells this story about a souvenir received from a Governor in Tunisia when bidding adieu. He was gifted a donkey saddle with the Governor wishing that his honoured guest would always possess the capacity to rule (the privilege of burdening, beating and kicking people into subjugation). The donkey symbolized the people and the saddle the power to control them. Nigam once used the anecdote to illustrate the attitude of the Indian bureaucracy, which, he felt, embraced the Governor’s philosophy.

Let’s pick an example – attestation of documents. While I was a serving government officer, I had the authority to attest documents certifying that they were true copies of the original. How many people approached me during the 38 years that I possessed this power? I cannot recall more than 20 occasions when I attested documents. As a rule, I did it for someone I knew directly or a colleague’s friend or a friend’s friend.

I do not recall a single instance when a stranger sought attestation of documents. There was a very simple reason: how could a stranger ever approach me?

And how many times did I need to get attested copies of documents for myself – proof of residence, ration card, children’s mark sheets…maybe 500 times.

And how many times did I need to get attested copies of documents for myself – proof of residence, ration card, children’s mark sheets, driving licence, house tax receipts? Maybe 500 times. If you ask me to recall who attested all those documents for me, I do not know. “Madam’s” work just got done.
True, there might be several thousand gazetted officers in the country who would be more accessible to the proletariat than I was but, in the nature of work, gazetted officers function from designated offices. The question of attesting copies for strangers just does not arise. I wonder how the hoi polloi (the donkey) actually persuaded a gazetted officer to attest documents. What, then, is the logic behind insisting on a gazetted officer’s attestation? When the colonial rulers bestowed this legacy, it was founded on the principle of depending only on the dependable. The government’s own servants (gazetted because their appointment appeared in the official gazette) were selected by the British because they could be trusted like head boys. But, after Independence, and three decades beyond, the practice continues. Even after photocopiers replaced carbon copies, the need for attestation by a gazetted officer remained unchanged. What if some bounder made 40 per cent look like 90 per cent while photocopying? So the gazetted officer continued to attest photocopies even after they replaced carbon copies.
And then, in the 1990s, came the age of computers. Scanned copies of documents and signatures began to be freely accepted not just for humdrum daily work, but by banks doing global business, by international organizations and even foreign universities. But here in India the gazetted officer continued to attest documents and affix the rubber stamp under his signature. So what if 99 per cent of people did not fudge documents? That was unimportant. The safety of the donkey’s saddle was more important to the ruler. The low penetration of computers continues to be spouted as the reason to disallow change even now.
A friend who frequently tours rural areas found that young people, frantic to meet deadlines for admission and job applications, and finding it impossible to get hundreds of attestations done by gazetted officers, had simply dumped this donkey business for monkey business. They merrily stocked the rubber stamps of gazetted officers and signed and stamped the documents themselves, sure that no one would ever find out. Impersonating signatures was the least of their problems.

I once described this absurd situation to a group of officers – some serving, some retired – and argued that this antiquated system of attestation by gazetted officers should be scrapped. Astoundingly, the consensus was that attestation by marzi should be replaced by making attestation obligatory. Specific gazetted officers should be earmarked to perform the functions. “Authenticity should not be compromised,” thundered my companions.

IN Europe, the question of attestation of documents just does not arise. Fresh copies are issued by the office that originally issued the document and additional originals are dispatched via the Internet or by post at the price of a coffee. The responsibility for maintaining the data is that of the issuing authority and not of the applicant. How long will it take us to become like that?

Then I recalled a promise made when I was Chief Secretary of Delhi and set about checking what came of it. Imagine my surprise when I found that the Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD) has actually begun issuing birth and death certificates in original and the document can be collected from a convenient delivery point or demanded by courier in seven days flat. That all births and deaths are now registered online by practically all nursing homes and hospitals in Delhi by operating user names and passwords linked to the MCD website. As a result, Delhi claims to have achieved nearly 100 per cent registration of births and deaths, whereas the national registration average is around 60 per cent.

Kudos to the much-maligned MCD! But, to be realistic, the need for verification of documents cannot be wished away altogether and certainly not in rural areas. The US practice of notaries attesting documents – much like is done here for legal documents – would suit us. A professional notary council should be established, to accredit individual notaries on the lines of chartered accountants and architects. Any hankypanky committed by a licensed notary would result in his licence being withdrawn and criminal charges of forgery being filed. Every notary throughout the country could be notified on a district website and in tehsil offices along with the fee to be paid for attesting different kinds of documents. The notaries could be allowed to operate from post offices, banks, schools, and community clubs –wherever an organization sees an advantage in having a licensed notary around.

One major caveat, though. This should not mean setting up yet another government office to administer or regulate the attestation of documents with more factotums to sit on the already burdened donkey. In any case, donkeys are fast becoming monkeys and, whatever gazetted officers say, monkey business is what is actually going on. The way out is to begin dispensing originals, at least in the metros, as the MCD has begun doing in a few cases. The originals of ration cards could be taken up next. In the meantime, a professional service provided by licensed notaries should be prescribed for attesting documents at the district and sub-district level.

Bureaucratic Siberia

When a midlevel civil servant is trapped between the whims of a minister and the ego of a secretary, a Gulag beckons

PERHAPS the biggest challenge that middle-level officers in Central Ministries face is managing Ministers and Secretaries who are at loggerheads – though, fortunately, it happens but occasionally.

A veteran was being inducted for the umpteenth time as a Union Minister. A telephone call conveyed that he would arrive at 10 am and would expect to be received in the foyer. In stout Humphrey Appleby mould, the Secretary refused to budge from his office. An entourage of Joint Secretaries, including myself, awaited the ministerial cavalcade. Alighting in a white silk kurta and flowing dhoti, the Minister was escorted upstairs – all of us smiling and gushing, he in stony silence. His first question was, “Where is the Secretary?” Learning that the Secretary was “in his chamber”, his next question was, “When is he due to retire?” The Secretary had his own hotline to the PMO, possibly a pre-arranged strategy to pull the Minister’s coat-tails should he fly too high. Predictably, a tug of war ensued, leaving the entire Ministry observing the see-saw cranking away every day.

In such an atmosphere, the officers had to perform trapeze acts to survive. Bleating about the Minister’s manoeuvrings to the Secretary was fraught with unpredictable consequences. He might report the whole thing in writing to the Cabinet Secretary or, worse, the PMO – the surest way of getting marked a blabbermouth. Besides, unless the Minister approved proposals originating from a Joint Secretary, the progress of programmes would remain in limbo. And the Joint Secretary would be held responsible for non-performance, Minister or no Minister.

I realized that, instead of playing Joan of Arc, it was better to find ways of securing the Secretary’s and Minister’s approvals with a show of quiet efficiency. One day, as I was leaving his room, the Minister said, “You are head and shoulders above everyone in the Ministry. You have the makings of someone who will one day become Cabinet Secretary.” I was taken aback but could not help preening as I pictured myself ensconced in the hallowed portals of Rashtrapati Bhavan from where the Cabinet Secretary ruled a sprawling bureaucracy. I wondered how I would look, playing God at Secretaries’ meetings.

“You have the qualities of two wonderful officers (X and Y) who worked under me,” the Minister continued, sensing that he had hooked me. “These two officers always found answers to the knottiest problems. You too have their intelligence but you are not using it properly. Find a way.” His gold rimmed spectacles glinted under the 40 incandescent bulbs above. I devoured the story but wondered how I was to solve the “knotty problems” he referred to – what he sought was not just irregular but downright illegal. Telling this to the Secretary would definitely invite a dressing down for hobnobbing with the Minister; worse, he would report the whole thing to different watchdog organizations – in writing. Their investigation would never establish the involvement of the Minister for lack of evidence. His denial would end the matter.

But I would emerge a squealer – not to be trusted with “sensitive” work. One evening, returning to my room at 8 pm after one of the interminable briefings that Ministries are famous for, I found three strangers waiting. Before I could speak, one said, “We thought we would just wait to see this extraordinary officer who does no work.” He tilted his chair and stretched his khadi-clad arms behind the backs of his two companions and bared Pan Bahaar-marked teeth at me. “We have heard so much about your tremendous ability not to do any work that we wanted to set eyes on this great woman who has brought the work of the Ministry to a standstill,” said his rumpled companion.

I kept my cool and asked, “May I know who you are and what I can do for you?” “Oh, there is a lot you can do for us,” was the reply, accompanied by raucous laughter. They did not divulge their identity but continued to be insulting and sarcastic.

As before, I had no options. Complaining to the Secretary would have required me to reduce everything into a laborious typewritten note, which would have leaked out even before an inquiry started. Knowing the system, nothing would happen to the bounders but I would certainly be faulted for ineptitude, for not even knowing how they gained entry to my room, and God knows what else.

The next morning, I was called to the Minister’s office to discuss a file. It never occurred to me that my visitors had come at his behest and I foolishly blurted out the whole story to him. This time, far from telling me that I was Cabinet Secretary material, he said curtly, “But isn’t it true that you have not done many things you have been asked to?” “No, sir. I have done every bit of work assigned to me and you too have kindly praised my work, sir,” I replied. “My dear,” said the Minister, “whatever else you do is of no consequence to me. All that matters is whether you have done what I have asked you to do. Recall what I had asked you to do. Not once but several times.”

“But, sir, I told you many weeks ago that those things simply cannot be done. If I did anything of the kind, it would get exposed by the media and the matter would also go to court – even Parliament. You, sir, would get involved in the whole controversy,” said I, hoping that at least that would cut ice with him. Unfazed by my forebodings, the Minister said softly, “Find a way. And this time if you do not do it, Shailaja, I will have no option but to take away your work. Don’t say I have not warned you.” I was aware that as long as the Minister was politically relevant, he would never be taken to task. My complaint if I sent one would be my word against his. And in the process I would get branded as unfit for handling “higher responsibilities” (read Ministers) – reason enough to be marginalized when promotion lists were pruned.

NOTHING happened immediately. Some months later, the Secretary retired. Just before the new one joined, the work distribution in the Ministry was revamped. I found myself shorn of not only the most important desk in the Ministry but also of all the programmes I had nurtured for the past three years. I was left with not even half-an-hour’s work and ample humiliation in the bargain. The smallest things hurt the most.

The bureaucracy is a complex organization. For all the checks and balances that exist on paper, every officer has to keep both Secretary and Minister on the right side because a reputation for ‘getting along’ within ‘the system’ is vital.

Colleagues changed the subject when I entered the lunch room. My private secretary sought a change. The drivers and waiters had the cheek to snigger, “Abhi bhi aap ko koi kaam nahi diya?” I had been reduced to complete irrelevance – the worst ignominy that can be heaped on a civil servant. I later came to know that the Minister got his way on his knotty problems. I wondered what my successor had done to appease him and yet remain safe and dry. Of course, no one told me. Then, one fine evening, 10 months later, retribution came in the nature of a phone call. The private secretary to the chota Minister was on the line, chortling. “Madam, there is good news for you!” he announced. “The bada mantri has been asked to put in his resignation. Your problems are now over. Congratulations!”

And so it was that nearly a year after I was shorn of all work, a new Minister took over, redistribution of work was ordered and I found myself at last with something worthwhile to do.

THE bureaucracy is a complex organization. For all the checks and balances that exist on paper, every officer has to keep both Secretary and Minister on the right side because a reputation for “getting along” within “the system” is vital. In that pursuit, it is foolish to blab, leave alone make a written complaint. The system is simply not geared to act on complaints because there are political trade-offs which ensure that Ministers get protected as long as they are considered necessary politically. Officers are dispensable and waving a flag of uprightness is considered a sign of naivete, whatever may be spouted about being free and frank, bold and brave.

Yet, however powerful, Ministers are completely dependent on the bureaucracy to get their work done. At the end of the day, financial sanctions have to issue and orders have to be signed in the name of the government – something only officers can do or get done. So Ministers will use every ploy possible to influence officers and zero in on the medicine that works.

In the state governments, the Queen of Hearts will simply order “off with his head” if an officer protests too much. In the Central government, the King of Spades has to manage with the officers he gets. And he will use whatever levers are available to get his work done: bully, browbeat, cajole and flatter – and, ultimately, humiliate. If nothing works, he will find a replacement to do his bidding. Fortunately, not all Ministers are like that.