With Great Power, comes Greater Arrogance?

[Due apologies to Ben Parker, the uncle of Peter 'Spiderman' Parker, whose quote has been mauled for supplying the title of this article. I must also say outright that the word 'Muggle' has been used for 'people who neither are in the bureaucracy, nor have any uncles in the bureaucracy', precisely for the reason that the whole expression might be quite unwieldy, and it is not used in a derogatory manner. Thank you, Jo, for creating such a nice word.]

After around 10 months from the date I left my office in Mumbai, it is time to take up public office once more. Most probably it shall come with some of what has been called, by persons ostensibly more learned, but suspected to be quite innocent of field-craft, “trappings of power”. Nothing too wild – a mode of conveyance, a place of stay, a designation that does not sound dodgy – little things, that have been described by some as ivory towers atop which bureaucrats sit and survey their domains. Yes, our kind has been described as suffering from many ills – venality may be the most highlighted one these days. However, as we have been told by many persons – bureaucrats and muggles alike – it is not the venality that hurts the people interacting with the bureaucracy the most. It is the arrogance. People say they are willing to forgive, or even aid and abet, the venality, if only it would help them avoid the humiliation that they face while interacting with the public service delivery system.

            As it is in my nature, I trace all the ills that riddle the governance structure back to our society at large – this article shall be no different. It is not that the author is oblivious to the arrogance the holders of public offices display. On the other hand, it might give some solace to the humiliated muggles that the bureaucracy reserves the best of its excellent ‘PR skills’ for its own people! What makes it worse is the consciousness which is fuelled by the notions of ‘Grade Pay’ and ‘Warrant of Precedence’. While the outrage of a muggle might stem from the public ‘servant’ dictating terms, it is a whole new level of humiliation when a person you know to be drawing a grade pay at least four steps below you makes you dance to his tunes! So, coming back to the point - our society at large has a proclivity towards arrogant behaviour. My ideas are derived from my interactions within the Northern, Hindi speaking belt; the same may be extrapolated, with caution, by the readers based on their experience. We tend to be arrogant in any relationship where there is a power differential in a transaction. The transaction may be of any nature, and the issue of contention may be of any type – the only common factor is that there exists a transaction, and there exists a power differential between the transacting parties.

One of the most interesting ways in which this arrogance manifests itself is in the arrogance of the ‘ladkeywaaley’ (groom’s side) in the traditional arranged marriage scene. Somehow, in this society, a greater stigma is attached to spinsterhood than is attached to bachelorhood. Combine that with the tradition of most brides being younger than the grooms, and the clock is already running out for the girls as soon as they hit the legal age. This puts an enormous pressure on the girl and her family to get a ‘suitable match’ as soon as the possible, putting them at a disadvantaged status in the arranged marriage market. That it leads to venality is manifest in the practice of dowry. However, venality is not the focus of this article. Arrogance is. The traditional arranged marriage scenario sees the worst kind of arrogant display of this power. The bride’s family is treated as second grade citizens, at least till the period the negotiations, or even the wedding itself, are not complete. The clichéd Hindi cinema meme of the hapless ‘dulhan ka baap’ (bride’s father) taking off his turban and placing it at the feet of the recalcitrant ‘dulhe ka baap’ (groom’s father) has more than a grain of truth.

Another common everyday scenario where our innate arrogance comes to light is in our little economic transactions, especially when it comes to our dealings with the little vendors – the roadside grocer, the street corner cobbler, the emaciated rickshaw puller. We would assume our right to a ‘bargain’, even at the cost of the already slim margins of these entrepreneurs. Many would say they are simply extracting their money’s worth. Think again. The same person would happily drink a 100 buck coffee at CCD, or buy a T-shirt, costing some 200 rupees, at a price range 10 times that. However, when it comes to paying a rickshaw puller Rs.15 instead of the tenner we insist on, we become apoplectic with rage, and start plying them with all the notions of market propriety. It is not that we do it consciously. I myself have gone livid with rage when the Delhi autowallah insist on charging above what has been deemed ‘proper’ (who does not). However, the same feeling of being cheated does not come  up that often when we are transacting with the big people – the lounge-suited owner of an upscale eatery, for that matter.

Popular discourse itself shows traces of societal arrogance. We tend to discount, and deem ourselves superior to, the ‘voting classes’. After all, who hasn’t heard of the story that they sell their votes for liquor and amusement? They constitute a class of which the individuals are powerless compared to the individuals of our class – so how could their judgement on how the nation is to be governed be right? As some people are discovering the ultimate helpless of the ‘once-considered-powerful’ bureaucracy, at least in the arena of verbal dueling, a sense of propriety has given way to arrogance. The ‘civil society’ claims that the public ‘servants’ should behave like ‘servants’, not masters. There is an element of scorn in the utterance of the word ‘servant’. This vision of ‘servants’ is quite different from the Western version of the ‘help’ – the ‘servant’ has to be servile, docile, and able to brook all sorts of abuse. No doubt the government is looking to legislate for the welfare of the actual domestic servants of this very civil society, who, as a whole, have not been very civil to their helps.

Is the situation totally hopeless, and are we doomed to a life devoid of propriety and ‘gentlemanliness’ in our social interactions? Well, we have had individual examples of thorough ladies and gentlemen in our lives. At IIT Delhi, we had the good fortune of having, as our Finance instructor, Professor P.K. Jain, an epitome of right conduct. He addressed all his students, the canteen workers, the helpers, in fact any human being, of whatever age, background or qualification, as ‘Sir’ or ‘Madam’. He never used any ‘street level’ word, even when he had all reasons to do so. Even his admonishments, which were rare, sounded like a well drafted letter! We all would have come across such persons in our life. It is a pity that they are so rare that chancing upon them is such a memorable thing.

It is also a pity that in such an arrogant society, a non-arrogant person who has to deal with a lot of public has to develop a retaliatory ‘instrumental arrogance’. I can tell from the experience of holding office for 10 months that a ‘nice person’ faces a hell out there when faced with people who are confused about their parentage – the “jaante ho mera baap kaun hai” (do you know who my Dad is?) types. If it is not their Dad, it is their uncle, their Aunt, their friend, their student. However, it might be a good idea to shut down this defence mechanism once in a while – and to give the other party a chance to show some innate decency. It is one such incident that prompted me to write this piece, and it is quite illustrative. It so happened that I was traveling with family across the length of my State by a train, which touched the departure station at an hour later than the midnight. When we boarded and reached our berths, we found them occupied with a lot of uniformed men, all armed with INSAS rifles! Now this is the point of panic – government servants, in a huge group, armed, uniformed, and in illegal occupancy of one’s berths at 1 a.m. I was preparing to bring out the whole ‘steel frame’ and stuff – asking them to vacate the berths, tell the name of their commander, their post, their antecedents, and their reasons for being in illegal occupancy of the berths of the family of an officer soaring in pay-grades miles above them! I knew nothing lesser would have worked – given their advantageous position, and I was worried if my affectation of righteously hurt bureaucratic pride would be convincing, given the fact that I was in a 2 day old T-shirt and was carrying a rumpled bag on my shoulder. Fortunately, the showdown never came. Dad requested them to vacate, and they did! All they said was – “Sir, kindly let us wear our shoes, and keep some of our luggage in the vacant holds”. I felt bad for them, in a split interval of a moment. So when they had made their way to a vacant berth at the end of the coach, I started small talk with one of them. I learnt that they were no ordinary ‘chowki’ policemen, but the armed security detail of one of the senior-most Cabinet Ministers of the State which I am about to serve, who was traveling in the First AC coach next to ours. It was good I had not pulled rank in front of them – after all, what is a mere Assistant Collector in front of a Cabinet Minister! One may argue that they were in the wrong in occupying our reserved berths, but the society in the area the train was passing through did not set much store by such laws; and anyway, how was one supposed to enforce those laws there. Yet, despite their immensely powerful position in this transaction, those men chose to be civil. They chose not to be arrogant. They chose to do so with a so called ‘aam aadmi’ (a better heeled one, may be, judging by the fact that he was traveling in Second AC, but an ‘aam aadmi’ nevertheless, since we had not been introduced). It was heartening that this departure from the sad societal norm was done by one of the most vilified segments of the society in this regard – the uniformed forces. The incident redeemed my faith in a better future for our social discourse. Let us bring civility back (if it ever was here to begin with) in our society – avoid the innate arrogance, and let down on the instrumental arrogance, once in a while. We might just usher in a more pleasant world.

The Men Who Ruled India (A Book Review)

[This was a part of my course-work. The book is a very widely read and reviewed one. However, this review received good remarks, from a class of people generally known to criticize. So, I guess, it makes the cut for appearing here.]

Introduction

“The Men who ruled India – the Founders” is a book about the foundation of the British rule in India, and the evolution of the Civil Service in India. It covers the history of India, from the point of view of the British, from the early 17^th Century till the days of the Revolt of 1857.

The credit for this work is accorded to ‘Philip Woodruff’. A quick Google search shows that this is the pseudonym of Philip Mason, an ex-English Civil Servant. Perhaps no other person would be so well qualified to write a book on the Civil Services of the Company Raj – since he is both a British subject and a Civil Servant. The work shows his grasp over both these worlds.

Comparison with similar works

The reviewer happens to have read another book covering the topics of similar nature – ‘Sahibs who loved India’ by Khushwant Singh. There are some similarities between the two works – in the general tone of the chapters, which include rosy eyed reminiscences of the lives of the officers in various civil capacities across India. However, while Singh’s book is a collection of articles by various officers of the I.C.S., Woodruff (Mason)’s book is one complete narrative in itself, and quotations are never too long, and form a part of the narrative. Secondly, Mason’s work does not deal with the I.C.S. technically, but with the H.E.I.C.S. (Honourable East India Company’s Service) 

Run through

The book is divided into three parts – Under the Mughals (1600-1751), The Revolution (1751-1798) and the Golden Age (1798-1858).

The first part comprises roughly of the part when the English were just traders, petitioning for minor favours to the Mughal emperor and his officials. It describes the travails of these pioneers, who undertook risky travel to meet and negotiate with the largely inconsistent Mughal officialdom. In addition to their relations with the Mughals, this part describes their skirmishes with the other European powers – mainly the Portuguese, against whom, with the aid of their superior naval power, they forged some sort of proto military alliance with the Mughal Administration, thus giving them a de facto recognition as a military entity, as against a purely mercantile one. The war with the French is also described, which led to the first significant ‘puppet ruler’ being installed in the shape of the Nawab of Arcot. The development of the three presidency towns is also described. This chapter also describes Company officials like Pitt (who sired a line of British PM’s) and Elihu Yale (the founder of the Yale University) 

The second part deals with the rise of the company to the status of “Revenue Minister” under the nominal suzerainty of the Mughals. The books skips over the details of the ‘Blackhole incident ‘ of Calcutta, the Battles of Plassey and Buxar. However, it is described how, at the end of the latter, the company came to be the Diwan of Bengal – and how they proceeded to carry out this task. Initially they began with an Indian Naib Diwan, who had his own subordinate apparatus to deliver the revenue. However, later, the British took the Revenue Administration in their own hands, and thus the institution of the Collector was born. Two chapters are dedicated to Sir John Shore, under whose Governor-General-ship the revenue administration system developed. This part also contains biographies of noted Civil Servants of the era – such as Harry Verelst, who was the first Collector – of Burdwan. His assumption of his charge can be thought as the start of the Indian Civil Service. His instructions to his subordinates are very similar to what is still taught to revenue officers in India.  One chapter is dedicated to the portrayal of life at a typical British Station.

The third part can be read, more or less, as an extension of the second part. It describes the development of the revenue system, with forms of settlement better than the Zamindari system evolving under Thomas Munro and Boy Malcolm. Also described is the gradual absorption of Central Indian territories and the development of Bombay Presidency under Mountstuart Elphinstone. Other luminaries covered in this part are Charles Metcalfe, John Nicholson, and John Thomason (the founder of IIT Roorkee). The title of the part may be derived from the fact that this part deals with the end of various evils, like Sati, human sacrifice and thugee. A very interesting chapter is devoted to the training of the early Civil Servants – at Fort William College and Haileybury. The penultimate chapter is devoted to the conquest of Punjab and Sindh, in addition to the disastrous attack on Afghanistan. Finally, the book ends with a poignant coverage of the Mutiny, with a surprisingly sympathetic (to the Indians) tone.   

Interesting anecdotes and Revelations.

The book is filled with various interesting anecdotes and revelations – here is a list of some of them. The reader comes to know that Mir Qasim, the ‘puppet’ installed by the British after Buxar, was actually quite an enlightened administrator, and tried hard for the well-being of his subjects, by ending preferential trading rights to the Company. One also learns that the local ruler near Madras agreed to sell to the Company, for some amount, a strip of land equal in width to the range of a random cannon shot! The British brought in the largest cannon in their Presidency to encash this blank cheque. It is interesting to learn that the first large territory that fell into British hands was not won in a conquest, but given as a security by the Nawab of Arkot, for the various loans he needed for his profligate ways. There is also a revelation that for the period of a decade in the late 18^th Century, the position of District Magistrate was separated from the Collector, and given to the District Judge – thus creating the nightmare of any modern day administrator. One cannot help but smile when the author says that while a Rajput widow committing Sati was somehow justified, because his husband was supposed not to return as a loser from a battlefield, a Bengali widow doing it was not appropriate, since his husband was never expected to make a sacrifice! The smile turns to laughter when one reads the way revenue was collected in Oudh – the villagers built mud forts and attacked the revenue collector’s party with cannons – and the negotiations were conducted according to the fortune of both parties in this cannonade! To top it all, it is pleasantly surprising to know that the famous economist Malthus was a Professor of Economics at Haileybury.  The chapter about Haileybury is of special interest to any trainee of the civil Services. It is surprising to note that even at the height of the Victorian Age – which is held synonymous with hypocritical morality, the trainees at Haileybury had a very relaxed and enriching program, while its successor can, at best, be judged as a travesty of it – a cross between a borstal, a boarding school and a scene from ‘Catch-22’.

So different and yet so same

As far as the trials and tribulation of an administrative officer are concerned, there are many instances which show that the issues of those times find a surprisingly strong echo in today’s. It is learnt that, much to his indignation, even Robert Clive had to pay for his initiation arrangements when he joined the Service – much the same way a trainee today has to pay for various ‘compulsory’ and officially needed accoutrements – like laptops, riding gear etc. from his own pocket. Even in those days, there was a debate over the salaries, perks and pelf of the officials. The line – “Independence of outlook does not usually occur without some material security” – sums up the argument most succinctly. There is a clear imprint of modern day pseudo-activists in the episode of Nuncomar, who, when his request for favours were spurned by Warren Hastings, accused him (Hastings) of corrupt practices, based on some real (but bona-fide) mistakes. Many modern officers can recognize this form of blackmail today. Then there is the instance of a confrontation with the Judiciary – as when a writ-happy High Court of Bombay issued a writ of Habeas Corpus to separate a child from his guardian, who had been chosen by the child’s father before his death, and with whom the child was very happy, based on a frivolous complaint. The Collector, in the instance, did not give up, and went on to appeal to the level of the Directors in London, and won! Then, there are frequent instances of distinction between the ‘active’ field officers and the ‘sedentary’ secretariat officers – as is done today. Finally, there is the lament of a man no less than Sir John Shore, that how his life is like that “of a galley slave”, and how he was saddened by the “ingratitude, censure and calumny” heaped on him and his Service brethren, by the populace at large. This is clearly a feeling of a majority of the Civil Servants of modern era, when the public opinion is generally critical of anything done by them.

Writing Style

The book is one complete narrative, from the days of the founding of the Company to the days of the Mutiny. Essentially, the book reads as if it were written in two different ages. That is understandable, since the narrative includes various first person quotations from the protagonist of that moment (in the narrative), which are written in an English some 200 years old, and hence jarring to a modern day reader. The author’s own writing is lucid and simple, and shows elements of wit, which is no surprise, considering his background in the Civil Service. 

Recommendation

The book tells us the story of the colonial period from ‘the other side’. While most people in India might have read the ‘national’ version of the British Raj story, this book gives an interesting counterpoint which must be added to the mix to get a complete picture. The book gives an insider’s view on the way our land revenue system was formed – which, with minor changes, remains the same even today. Thus, it is a very necessary reading for any Revenue Officer. While going through the book, one comes to know about the effort and application of mind put in forming the whole administrative and legal framework of the country, and then one understands why, despite 60 plus years of Independence, we are still unable to find viable ‘swadesi’ alternatives to the same. Most importantly, it shows how a few good men can transform anarchy into stability, peace, and progress, if their hearts are in the right place. For this reason alone, this book is a must read.

WST Diaries - Eat, Pray, Love - Southern India & The Andamans

Southern India

After a really memorable time in MP, we rode the road to Gondia and crossed into Maharashtra. Here, we boarded the Jan Shatabdi Express, and after a nice ride through the sylvan beauty of Chattisgarh, we reached Raipur late in the evening. Within the hour, the LTT – VSKP superfast had come in, 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Finding our scattered berths was a clear nightmare. Once settled, it was fun. We reached Visakhapatnam early next morning.

The ride to the Naval Station was bumpy. Somebody here surely had a fetish for speed-bumps. Plus, a lot of roads were cobbled! We reached the officers’ mess of INS Circars – the station of the Eastern Naval Command HQ. The accommodation was very functional – very very functional. Luckily, our engagements for the day did not begin till lunch, so most slept. Post lunch, which was nothing to be celebrated, we met the Chief of Staff. The highlight of the day, however, was the visit to the vessels. INS Sahyadri was the latest stealth ship to be added to the arsenal of the navy, and it looked majestic, docked along with its sister ships – INS Satpura and INS Shivalik. We were given a round of the ship – the fore and the aft deck, the Operations room. We saw the weapons and control systems, and what made the stealth ship so stealthy. However, the most important thing was the state of the art automated kitchen. The cooking crew of 2-3 persons made meals for around 250 persons – 3 times a day. The dosa machine had a capacity of 450 dosas per hour! INS Sindhuvir was another story altogether. This old Soviet diesel sub appeared weathered. The entry hatch was too small – only skinny people can go around this place. Everything was really cramped and generated claustrophobia. Hats off to our submariners, who go out in these tough conditioner for weeks together, to defend the interests of the nation.

The second day was the ‘day at sea’. We boarded INS Rana – the most potent war machine of the ENC, and sailed into the high seas. It was a ship of much older vintage than the one we had seen the day before. That did not take anything away from it. We had many presentations on the technical parameters of the ship, on the operations done by the ship, and all that. We even witnessed a simulated gun boat attack and a simulated missile attack. Yet, the real thrill came from watching the ship zip through the water at high speeds, with the winds blowing and billowing one’s clothes and hair. The real thrill came from the view of the huge wake we left behind, the huge bow waves we created, and the churning that came with it. It also came from firing side arms over the helicopter deck, as well as from watching the school of dolphins – real, marine dolphins – playing around in the coastal sea! Most important was the feeling of being in the high seas – a citizen of the world.

The third day was for smaller, and pretty convoluted, visits. A visit to the Naval Air Station shown us the equipment the Navy flies, but once you have seen Air Force birds, Dorniers and Sea Kings really do not do it. The interesting thing was the Kamov helicopter. It has two main rotors, mounted one below the other, and they rotate counter to each other, thus cancelling the reaction torques on the fuselage, and thus doing away with the unwieldy and vulnerable tail rotor. The technology has been inimitable till now – and hence, a constant source of amazement for our American friends, and a steady paycheck for our Russian friends. However, the highpoint of the day was watching ‘Inkaar’ at the Beach INOX. It was a splendidly made movie, on a sensitive issue, without passing any judgement or such things. And boy, has Arjun Rampal matured as an actor!

The AC-3 ride on the Konark Express to Khammam was mired in confusion. Boarding an AC-3 coach, with the huge suitcases our group has, is a real pain – more for the co-passengers. Plus, this one stopped only for a minute. Some of us had to jump, with our bags, off the moving train. The bus ride to Bhadrachalam was picturesque. The guest house, however, took the cake. The rooms were expansive. The food was excellent. And, to top it all, we had a swimming pool. I got an opportunity to swim after months – and the horsing about in the pool was an excellent relaxation exercise. So we were rejuvenated for the tribal attachment to follow. After being briefed by the Project Officer of the Integrated Tribal Development Agency, we drove 50 kilometres into the hinterland. We saw the base settlement of Kondareddi tribes. These were the first of the few who had been ‘mainstreamed’ by the efforts of the ITDA – the rest still lived in the hills above – in the ways that they have been for thousands of years. Better minds have argued against bringing these people in contact with mainstream civilisation – for what the ‘preservation’ of the quaint old cultures. My view is that we should let them choose for themselves – and for that they should be aware of the choices. This government initiative does just that, and for that reason, it gets my full thumbs up. We also saw a river sand quarrying project, which is being run and managed by the tribal co-operatives – with considerable autonomy. The lion’s share of the revenue is ploughed back to the local institutions as well as the cooperatives. We saw a fair price shop, which, in addition to the PDS foodgrains also stocks and sells tribal minor forest produce and handmade items – and they do make really high class FMCG products, based on the sample we saw. A nice idea for grassroot marketing of a grassroot product.

The next day, we visited Edugarapalli, a border area with proximity to Chattisgarh and Orissa. As suggested by the location, it was a hub of LWE. We were witness to the works being done by the Tribal Agency in this area – under the assault of merciless weather (it was baking in mid January), and the Naxalites. We saw spanking new health centres – functional, but not appearing just functional. We saw an outpost of the CRPF and the Greyhounds – it was less elaborate than the one we had seen in MP, but still, it appeared formidable. We returned for lunch, which some of us skipped for another refreshing dip in the pool. It was good, and in the late afternoon we started towards Khammam HQ – on the way we saw small initiatives that were helping the tribals move on the way of entrepreneurship – a computer / vocational training centre, to help some of them leave the low paying primary sector occupations and join the tertiary sector, a soft loan dispensing centre, which was conditional on creation of income generating assets, an orchard running on drip irrigation – all these measures helping people move towards better realization of their potential. The next day, we met the man under whose overall supervision this all was happening – the DC of Khammam. In AP, the post of DC is given only after a substantial experience, and that was evident in the way this man worked.It is inspirational to see how much a single member of the Service can do – it is sad that most of the people in our socio economic group form our opinions about the Government based on the lopsided view of the sensationalist media houses. Such interactions reaffirm our faith in the job that we have chosen to do.

It took another hurried and confused train ride to get into Hyderabad city. We were put up at MCR HRD Institute – this is the training Academy of the AP State Services. By God – the whole thing looks space age, including the rooms and the hostels that they have been given. Contrast that with the pigeon holes the members of the ‘elite’ service have to put up with! In the morning, we met the State Head of UNICEF, and the heads of the NGO’s associated with them. It was pleasantly surprising that these jhollawala types were, for once, not lecturing us about what is wrong with us, and were instead concentrating on the job. Post that, we visited the Hyderabad Terminus station, where we interacted with the RPF on the methods they use to prevent trafficking of children through the city’s railway stations. We also got the opportunity to vist one of the NGO’s centre for the rescued kids – aptly known as Bal Niketan. We interacted with the girl kids there – they were mostly orphans, but some had parents, who were unable to support them, and one had both her parents in jail – sad, but these kids had accepted the rough life that had come their way, and were generally cheerful. They had high ambitions – two wanted to become Police Officers, three wanted to become Doctors, and one (‘smiling’) wanted to be a Collector. They were also pretty well informed. And almost all were big fans of Salman Khan – so we – the residents and our group – sang a lot of Sallu bhai’s hit movie songs together. It was a cheering experience.

In the evening, we met our Police batchmates at their Academy. Our chauffeur was really clueless about the location of the National Police Academy – however, he was too full of confidence to admit that. Ergo, we spent two hours zipping past Hyderabad’s spanking new and shining locations in the Hitech city, and the speedy outer ring road – the guy even took us to AP State Police Academy! We had to take the aid of GPS and passerby’s to get to the NPA. Once in, it was a joyous reunion – they are really being put through the grind – nothing less than what the Army cadets go through. However, the infrastructure at their disposal is awesome. The main gate was imposing, unlike that sorry shack of ours. The mess also looked brilliant. We returned late night. The next day was reserved for light sight-seeing, before boarding the Bangalore Rajdhani for Bangalore. After the rather cramped journeys of the past few days, this journey in the spacious 2 tiered LHB coach was a welcome break – especially the timings were much more comfortable. The Kumar Krupa Guest House of the Karnataka Government was impressive looking – quite impressive looking. However, the quality of food left much to be desired. For this reason, I joined a large part of our group in going out for the evening. However, instead of having a huge dinner, we ended up dancing at an upmarket discotheque. Well, to be honest, it was enjoyable way beyond my expectations. However, I still knew I’m not a discotheque person – so this one was like a bucket list item for me!

The next day was our attachment with the TCS. Well, at the stroke of midnight, we had received a text message that read like – attire ‘business formals’, timing 0930 sharp, please note. We were really incensed with the timing and the tone of the message. It is a fact that an assault to a bureaucrat’s ego hurts him more than an assault to his groin – and this was just like that. How could they dictate dress codes to us? If we had to take orders from ‘software guys’, we could very well have stopped studying after getting into our Engineering courses! The whole journey to the campus in Whitefield was coloured with abuses hurled on ‘those guys’.

So, it was a pleasant surprise that the reception was really cordial and friendly. The presentations were long, but then, they were interesting – partly because of the content, but mostly because the persons at the dais were really good. We saw to the extent the company was involved with various IT projects within the government at various levels. We were shown a documentary on the lives of the Tata stalwarts – JN and JRD. However, for a foodie like me, the high point of the day was the excellent lunch these people had laid out in their top floor executive cafeteria – surely, the corporate sector guys have got class! On the whole, it was a nice experience, although it may stem from the fact that my expectations were really low – a sort of ‘base effect’! On the return, I saw what exactly is meant by a traffic nightmare. The roads were totally choked, and there was no road discipline at all – not in the Delhi sort of way, where people take short cuts without reason. Here, there were stretched with no clear lanes and driving protocols – it was everyman for himself. It took full two hours to get back, with a throbbing headache in the bargain. If this happened in a nice SUV, I shudder to think of the plight of someone doing this commute everyday on a bike.

The next day was the Republic Day – and it started in a comedy of errors. Many overslept, and had to rush about. Even our designated vehicles were AWOL – so we had to get autorickshaws – in full ceremonial dress! Oh, it did look so odd. Even odder was our placement at the stalls – the passes had been marked VVIP – so we had expected the company of the sort. However, we were seated with just anybody – ladies from the hinterland, kids in jeans and men in short slleves untucked shirts – just the crowd you would find on a Railway platform. The fact that we were seated there was not bad – the bad part was that we were seated in full ceremonial dresses and stuck out like sore thumbs! The parade itself was okay. The columns of jawaans and airmen marched splendidly, those of the paramilitary – not so much. The cultural program would have been much more appreciated had it been conducted in a known tongue. The only highlight of the day was the motorcycle dare-devilry displayed by the Military Police – it including crossing each other in scissor patterns at high speed, bursting through walls of bricks, and walls of glass, jumping over lying men, and, the most daredevil-ish of all, climbing a ladder mounted on the bike, while the bike moved! I gave up the movie outing for some siesta, and rightly so – as the viewers of Race 2 were not so thrilled anyway. In the evening we boarded the Yeshwantpur Howrah Express for Tirupaty.

We arrived at 0300 at the station – and after a lot of fiddling with the switches of the lift, we had to do the hard grind at the platforms’ ends to get to our bus. We halted at SP Guest House. As always, the Andharaites really know their mattresses, and it was a rejuvenating sleep before we broke fast and departed for the Tirumala Shrine.

It was a forty minute bus ride up the hills. Then on, the whole visit pans through a series of turnstiles and barricading – which accommodate kilometres of queues – which can take a full day to negotiate. One advantage of being on an official visit was the fact that we could short circuit it all. It reminded me of how, when the Rajdhani Express moves, all traffic nearby is suspended to give right of way. So, within the hour, we were able to get a glimpse of Lord Venkateshwara Balaji. However, the most interesting part of the visit was the show around of the Hundi – the centre for the collection of retail donations. Huge donation boxes, looking not unlike overgrown mailboxes, which were golden instead of red, were being wheeled into the place. There are two separate chambers – one for the collection of bullion, and another for the collection of cash. The former came closest to anyone’s imagination of the treasure cave of Monte Cristo or the Arabian Nights. The metal donations were being separated into gold and silver, being appraised and then being sown into gunnies. On an average day, they collect upto 2 kilograms of pure gold. The cash collection centre was more abuzz with activity. Currency notes were being sorted according to denominations, bundled, counted and stored. On an average day, cash is collected to the tune of Rs. 2 Crore. Both these were part of retail daan-patra donations. It excluded gate fees and high value gifts from tycoons and power bearers. No wonder it is the highest revenue earning shrine in the country. By the time we returned, it had grown pretty hot – so it was prudent to relax and recharge for another early start tomorrow.

The next morning, we got a chance to relive history by riding in an old style first class carriage from Tirupati to Chennai (Madras). The coach was not air conditioned, so it was good that we reached Chennai before noon – even by that time, Chennai was uncomfortably hot and humid. We boarded our Tempo Travellers and enjoyed a ride through a really good highway snaking through the hills, listening to good music. We arrived in the ex-French colony of Pondicherry by the evening. We took only an hour to get off to the old French area. The ‘beach’ was not much to write home about – it reminded me of the Carter Road Promenade – only dirtier. We had another mission for the day – check off the bucket list item of having French food. So we went to this sea side place called ‘Le Club’. On a four page menu booklet, it had only six items under the heading ‘Vegetarian’ – and out of those, only two items were not appended with the curse of ‘salad’ – so we ordered those. In return, we got a plateful of green leaves, with half a side of eggs, a few pieces of mushroom, and some cheese that tasted like rasmalai gone bad. Yet, a mission was a mission, and we completed it. We returned via the old French town – the roads were labelled as ‘Rue De La Yada Yada’, the police constables wore those funny French ‘De Gaulle’ hats, and the sign boards were in French. We also saw the magnificent archway in the Bharathi park.

The next day was for our official work in Pondicherry – attachment with the NGO ‘HOPE’. At breakfast, I broke one of my teeth fillings, all of a sudden. That kept me worried throughout the day. At HOPE, we could not catch most of the main presentation, because the person spoke at an impossibly low volume! However, from the looks of it, it was an over view of the NGO sector –similar to what we have had surfeit of at the Academy. After that, it was time for us to go out to one of the projects – where they had formed a federation of Women’s Self Help Groups. Most of the ladies were Tsunami affected, including many Tsumani widows. It was heartening to learn how the organization had helped these ladies regain their economic self-reliance and social stature in the aftermath of their unfortunate bereavement. Next, we went to Auroville – the ‘international city’ – I won’t tell what I actually think of that! However, the Matrimandir was truly a sight to behold – a huge golden golf ball structure glittering in the sunshine! It was really peaceful in the vicinity. The evening, after the return, was spent of getting my damaged tooth repaired. As Ogden Nash as put it – some pains are physical, and some are mental; one that is both, is dental. It was hard to find one clinic that would treat me – I walked around the town, hoping somebody will understand my English – it is a Tamil town, colonized by the French! When I found a dentist, I learnt how far damaged this tooth was – a millimetre from another RCT. Well, it was filled again in another torturous surgery – and we returned to the hotel.

The next morning, we took an early start and went off to the boat house to ride a ferry to the aptly named Paradise Island. It was really beautiful, had a clean beach full of nice rolling waves. We had a nice time swimming on them – it was our first beach hit of this WST – out of hopefully many more to come. After our brief return and quick lunch, we embarked on a hurriedly arranged calling on session. We met the Secretary (Revenue) to the Government of Puduchery, the Chief Secretary to the Government of Puduchery and His Excellency the Lieutenant Governor of Puduchery. The visit to His Excellency was certainly one of the highlights of the day. His residence used to be the residence of the French Governor in India, and it reflected the grandeur of Versailles. After the visits, we returned to get all packed and done for the night journey aboard the Nellai Superfast to Madurai.

We arrived early morning, and were driven to the Circuit House. The sheer grandeur of Madurai Circuit House needs to be experienced to be understood. We had less time to appreciate it all before we had to ready up to visit the famous Meenakshi Temple. We were running a little late, but the priests did delay the curtaining of the deity by a few minutes to accommodate us – maybe it was because the city of Madurai has hundreds of temples, and thus thousands of deities – but it has only one DC, whose guests we were! The temple is beautiful. It’s most beautiful part is the hall of a thousand pillars. It is simply breath-taking. We kept the evening for a visit to the City Palace – which was showcasing a light and sound show. However, the evening was too hot, and the place was too infested with mosquitos to allow one to endure a rather tepid narrative. We arrived early for our meeting with the DC. He was a good natured man, of rather recent vintage – and we discussed service and related issues over some really good cookery in really serene hilltop lawns.

The next morning we took an early start – the mission was to cover Rameswaram and Dhanushkodi. It was a big decision for me to sacrifice morning sleep time for visiting a place I had already been to, but, as it will be revealed further, it turned out to be a rather good one. The road was good, and the car did touch 110 kmph at times. We took three hours to get to Rameswaram. This time, we did it the whole way – taking the notional bath in all 22 holy waters surrounding the shrine, before visiting the main shrines. The temple was uncharacterisitically empty today, which was good for us, as we were able to do it all quickly, including the customary photographs in the long ornate corridors. Then, instead of going further to Dhanushkodi, surprisingly, we returned to Pamban Bridge and crossed into mainland India. It was told that we would be taking a ship to Dhanushkodi. Then we lost some time in figuring out our lunch – in a totally Catch -22 –esque fashion, it had been falsely spread across the communication channels that we were carrying packed lunches (when we were not!) But all the frustration with the food business was wiped out when we came to see the ‘ship’ we were to take. It was a Coast Guard Hovercraft! We were next to the Mandapam Coast Guard Station, from where we boarded the craft. Soon it was learn that the craft had to go on another mission – so we were to get just a half an hour joyride. However, even that was totally worth it – the lifting, the shifting from land to water with so much ease, and the breathtaking speed – this GRSE machine was capable of 55 knots! Once we returned from this unexpected and thrilling detour, we resumed our road journey to the Pamban island. After Rameswaram, we shifted to one of those specialised ‘sand vehicles’. I had visited the area as a part of the Railway Foundation Course tour, and we had gone as far as the point where the road ends in sand. We had felt that the expense on taking these sand vehicles was not justified – and we had had a hell of a time in the white sand beach. This time, we took the call to go on. We reached the spot where we had stopped the last time – the sand path seemed to end in dense bushes only hundred metres from there – it seemed we had hired the vehicle in vain – boy, were we wrong. It turned out that next to those bushes, the sand track continued – one or two feet from the lapping waves! And then, it took a very pleasantly surprising turn. The vehicles started going into the shallow waters – yes, we were driving through the shallow sea – for several hundreds of metres! We had thought that nothing could beat the Hovercraft experience of the day, but here we were, sitting in an amphibious vehicle of the primitive kind. It was really beautiful – blue green sea , with vehicles driving though, crossing each other and even overtaking! It took half an our to reach the ghost town of Dhanushkodi itself. Totally destroyed by a cyclone in the 1960’s, it is now home to some of the really tenacious people, eking out a very precarious living through fishing. We spent some time on the beach and with the ruins – it was eerie wandering around in a ghost town, posing for pictures with the old railway station, and the town hall – it was like disturbing a sea grave. After spending an hour, we returned – this time at speeds touching 120 too. We were having supper at Madurai by half past ten!

The next day we set out for the hill town of Kodaikanal. It was some 150 odd kilometres away, and it was a pleasure riding shotgun on one of the fast SUV’s of the TN government. We stayed in the PWD project rest house – which was really beautifully made. Sadly the maintenance left a lot to be desired. Yet, it did not take anything away from the charm of the place. We had a bonfire party planned, but sadly, firewood could not materialize, so we had a lounge party instead. The silent Fern Road reverberated with the deep sounds of our chorus as we sang and generally made merry till midnight. The next morning, we had a lazy wake-up, and a picnic brunch in the sunny lawns. After another snooze, we wandered about the town, and were back by the evening, for a real bonfire party. These people really knew how to build their fires. The flavour was added by the good folks at Dominos. It was nice end to one of the textbook “hill-station days” – lazy and joyous.

The descent to the plains took some time the next morning. Once we had touched the plains though, our driver suddenly discovered his hidden strengths, and drove us at speeds consistently above 100 kmph, mostly above 140, and even touching 145 at times. This was the fastest I’ve ever been on a surface vehicle (barring one ride in the Bhopal Shatabdi) – the irony was that the shot-gun seat belt was broken – and I was half scared of dying a violent death in case of any sudden interruption in our speed binge. We arrived at the Trichy Circuit House an hour before the other vehicles! As soon as everybody was here and settled, we sent off the crew from Dindigul (the district to which Kodaikanal belongs) and boarded the vehicles of Trichy to go off to Tanjore, for a visit to the famous Brihadeeshwara Temple. I had visited this place two years back, but this visit was special for many reasons – one, we had a view of the whole temple, without the restorative packs that had adorned the gopurams during my last visit. Secondly, we had a guide, who claimed an M.Sc and a B.Ed, and was quite dramatic. Plus, the evening lighting gave really good photo ops. After the visit we had a dinner with the officers of 2011 batch, Tamil Nadu cadre. They had with them the All India Topper of the last year. It was a strange moment – I realized that till less than a year ago, she was a celebrity for me – we had read her interviews and seen her pictures in the magazine, and now we were dining face to face. I realized what the new comers to the Indian Cricket Team must feel to share the dressing room with Sachin Tendulkar. Then another thought invariably creeped in – had one had one hundred marks or so less, even my own batchmates (that includes my dear roomie) would have remained distant celebrities for me – a very humbling thought! The ride back was quick, but we had a minor dampener, as some of our mates had to shift to the PWD bungalow to make way for some higher officials in the circuit house!

The next day was for our official work in Trichy – for looking at various projects of development being carried out by the administration. We visited a village some 40 km out of the city, where women were building mud dykes for the local rainwater storage tank. We interacted across language barriers using interpreters – I think I got some feel of how the ICS officers of yore might have felt – listening to the problems of their charges across linguistic boundaries and striving for their betterment. We also visited a State Government backed community funded sanitation project, that provided facilities to women within 2 km radius. We also saw a ‘green house’ – basically it was a house powered with solar panels and connected inverters. The visit ended with a nice traditional Tamil meal at the inspection bungalow. I used the free afternoon to call up an old friend from the Railway Stores – we met, and then we decided to call on another Railway friend, one of my RSC roomies. So we met in his chambers at the DRM office – it was nice to relive old Railway days and talk shop. We had a good South Indian supper and returned after a nice long drive through the city, looking for some ATM which would give me some cash – none did!

The next day was for some local visits, the prominent one being the famous supine-Vishnu shrine of Srirangam. It was again a second visit for me, but one was better able to appreciate the grandeur this time, since it was less crowded. In the evening, we packed up and left for Chennai by the Rockfort Express, to embark on the last, and, may I say, the most awaited part of the WST – the island attachment at the Andaman Islands.

The Andamans

To begin with, it was my longest non stop, and most boring, flight. The travel time from Chennai to Port Blair is around 2 hours, and we landed sometime in midday, after observing a lot of pretty isles from the sky. As we came out of the door of the aircraft, a hot, humid gust hit our faces – welcome to the ‘Kala Pani’. It was a full 30 degree Celsius, and got knows how much humidity. We sweated all the way on the cabs to our place – the Circuit House near the South Point of the Island of South Andaman, after skirting a nice promenaded marine drive. Even the room air-conditioner was fighting an uphill battle trying to normalize the room temperature and humidity. We left soon for the ‘official’ business – our attachment with the forest department. We met the Principal Chief Conservator of Forests and his officers, and were told about the factoids related to the subject. It was known that out of the odd 8000 square kilometres of area the Union Territory has, some 7200 are covered by forests. A mere glance at various islands shows the same. We also got a brief on the flora and fauna on the region. What I was more interested in, for obvious reasons, was the marine fauna, particularly of the apex predator type. We learnt that shark attacks have never been heard of, but salt water crocodiles (salties) do infest waters around the islands, and have often come into conflict with humans, as the tsunami had really messed up the local geography and the crocs’ habitats. We also met the Chief Secretary of the Union Territory – it was a much more light hearted meeting. Finally, we saw the much discussed light-and-sound show at the Cellular Jail. While the tales of British atrocities on the prisoners here were definitely moving, one could help thinking that one had experienced something quite similar back at Oak Grove. It was simply a reminder that to be institutionalised, and to be a part any residential institution is almost a similar experience, the difference being just of the degrees. More on that in a full-fledged article later.

The next day we drove to the jetty to board a ferry to the North Bay Island. After half an hour of ferry, we covered the last few hundred metres on glass bottomed boats – which gave a clear view of the coastal corals and the multi-coloured fish in there. As we landed on the island, a large board, warning us about salties, appeared. It may have been the sheer feeling of ‘now or never’ that led us to the sea, nevertheless. We hit the aqua sports first – the coaster, the aqua jet, the banana ride and the speed boat. It was all a good appetizer for what was to come – scuba diving.

In full honesty, it was an assisted scuba diving – we all had one trained instructor with us all the time, who manned most of the controls related to plunging and rising. Still, it was an immense experience. First, we put on wet suits which were suited for the warm waters of the region. Next, we donned a mask, not unlike the swimming goggles we use in the pool – except for the fact that it had an additional place for the nose – the nose is effectively hermetically sealed, and it feels odd to breathe through the mouth. It takes some time to overcome the instinct to breath via the nose, and to avoid panicking – some were eventually overcome by panic and gave up. Next came the main jacket, which houses the air cylinders and the machinery. The air cylinder is the heart of the SCUBA. Not only is it used for breathing, the air is also used to fill the jackets when one need to raise one’s level. The same air is released when one wishes to descend. The breathing is done through a regulator, which is fitted in the mouth by biting on the anchors and sealing with the lips. The one way valve opens when one sucks, thus sending the air out to the mouth. When one breathes out, the valve closes, and thus one exhales into the water. We dove upto 8 metres (25 feet) in the bay, and observed a variety of marine flora and fauna – the corals being the main amongst them. They were mostly brown, but we also managed to see some really beautiful purple ones. And the variety of fish was astounding – shoals and shoals of little ones in all possible colours, shapes and sizes. As of now, I have seen the photographs we got clicked underwater, and we know that we have been short changed there – the pictures hardly do justice to the rich canvas down below. It was a truly a high point of the tour. Post surfacing, we set sails for Ross Islet, a small island just outside Port Blair. It is the site of ‘mint condition’ WW II battle ruins. It is a small island – one could walk leisurely from one shore to the opposite in hardly twenty minutes. It used to house a British base, which was bombed and occupied by the Japanese forces during the Second World War. The bombed out ruins of the church were really grand. The Ferrar Beach was a small beach at the opposite end, with very fine white sand and red coral rocks. The island is also host to a population of hundreds of deer and peacocks – who are not afraid of humans and come quite close to tourists. We saw two of the peacocks ‘dancing’ in full glory. With so much pack in such a small area, Ross Islet is an ideal one hour tour.  

The next morning started early, and we left for the Navigation Department jetty. The target was the famed Havelock Island. We boarded MV Rangat from the jetty, and started on the three hour long trip. The journey in the passenger cabin was dull and boring, so, after a few minutes, we went outside – first on the stern deck and then on the upper deck. The time was passed in observing the flying fish, as they escaped the plowing bow of the ship. They appeared out of sudden, as if levitating out, rose to about half a feet, an then moved horizontally, skipping a few times, for durations ranging from ten seconds to a full minutes. Usually they came single or in pairs, but we also saw groups as large as ten. Attempts to capture them on our cellphone cameras proved much futile. We finally docked at the Havelock jetty by around eight forty five, and drove off to the Dolphin Resorts – owned by the Tourism Department. Situated right next to its own private beach and reef, the place consists of duplex rooms made on stilts (to avoid flooding?). It was already too hot when one arrived – so the logical thing was to wait for the evening and sleep out the day in the air conditioned room. That was what I started, but luckily I had an epiphany within the hour and decided to go to the beach. The tide was out, so we had hundreds of metres of sea with depth of less than a feet! – the picturesque aquamarine coloured waters that belong to the world of picture postcards – all at our disposal. We went hundreds of metres in. The water was as clear as spring water, and the sandy seafloor was visible clearly as the sun shone on it. By the sunlight, one could see shadows of fish swimming – fish so small and transparent that it was only by their shadows that one could notice them. When one got tired of wading, one could lie down leisurely on the bench by the beachside – taking in the good sea breeze, the heavenly scenery, and good holiday-on-the-beach themed music (like ‘Our Last Summer’ – the Mamma Mia version). It was then that a puppy came and started licking my ears after getting its front paws on the bench – ah, if this was not heaven, it came pretty close to it! For lunch, we visited the ‘famous’ Manju Café. The menu card read all ‘famous-sy’, and the food, when it did arrive after aeons, was tasty. However, the order time, the service and the quantity of the food served left much to be desired. The delay in service almost made us miss our tryst with the famous Radhasagar beach. It was an eleven kilometre drive, through mountainous roads – and took close to forty minutes. The beach has been named the best in Asia by the Time Magazine (that is what Wikipedia says), and according to me, much of the reputation is deserved. For I’ve not seen sand any finer or any whiter, and a beach any flatter. It was evening, and we could hardly do much swimming – but we did go some fifty metres in, and it was hardly waist deep! And the waves were even and predictable – ideal for amateur horseplay. At sunset the waters turned into multiple hues and colours, and later, it was all golden. However, even this multi chrome explosion was not the high point of the day. That honour goes to the evening ‘beach party’ at the private beach at the resort. An assortment of snacks had been made by the good folks of the resort kitchen, and the supply of beverages was also arranged. It began as a music-filled revelry session with photographs and noisy chatting. Gradually, it converted into a quieter, more contemplative get-together (the turning off of the beach lights – intended to break our party -  did help) – we congratulated ourselves on the excellent tour we had. Many might have seen sunrises and sunsets at the beach – but there is something different about sitting on the beach and staring at the stars over the sea, wondering at the beauty of the constellations partially visible through the fronds of the coconut palm, chatting quietly with the people you have grown so fond of in the past two months. The sheer joy of those moments, which was shared by everybody in the gathering in those minutes near the midnight can never be described – it was not just the location, but the perfect group dynamics and harmony that led to it. In this way, it was an appropriate ending to the WST – we might not have got the most glamourous locations on our itinerary, but it was the quality of the group that led to such a wonderful tour.

The next morning, we rose early, clicked a few morning photographs, and had a nice breakfast – these folks at Havelock can teach the Port Blair guys a thing or two about cooking. Then we returned to the jetty, to board the famous MV Makruze. If the incoming ferry was any ordinary Express train, this one was a Rajdhani. Built on two boat hulls over which the whole passenger deck was built as a beam between two supports, the thing looked futuristic. And it took only an hour and a quarter to get us back to Port Blair – it moved like a speed boat – bobbing up and down and splashing back – a good ride for me – but not so much for some of our co-passengers, who got really sea sick. Back to our circuit house, it was time to have a lunch, rest a bit and then to go on to visit the famed Cellular Jail museum. We saw the gallows (all reconstructed – and very shoddily – with nylon ropes!), and the condemned cells (much better than the room at the Jwalamukhi Hostel at IIT Delhi).

The next day, we boarded the morning Air India flight to Kolkata, and this way, I finally visited the Airports of all the original ‘four metros’ of India. After setting up our luggage comfortably, we got an opportunity to visit the old Calcutta again – it was as beautiful as before. In the evening, we boarded the Calcutta Rajdhani Express to New Delhi – for our merger with the rest of the batch for the attachment with the National Security Guards, and finally, the block leave for visiting our homes. 

Conclusion

In the end, it was a very good tour – immensely enjoyable. Did we fulfil the purpose for which we were sent out? I am not sure. Certainly our enjoyment was not the objective of the Academy – for all that I know of the Academy, the fact that we enjoyed must really hurt them! Personally, I feel that the WST is a just reward for the toil one puts in for taking the examination and getting into the Service. One does see a lot of nice things, which one may want to emulate in one’s postings – the cash transfer systems in MP, the excellent roads in Tamil Nadu, the urban masterpiece that is Hyderabad. However, most importantly, it is the idea of India – so diverse and yet so similar – that is the most important take away from the Tour. People in Andamans speak so fluent Hindi, it is hard to believe one is 3000 kilometres away from the Hindi heartland, closer geographically to Indonesia and Thailand than to the mainland. The biriyani made in Dindigul can compete taste for taste with anything Lucknow has to offer – despite the total diametric separation. If one is able to assimilate that idea and make it figure in one’s style of working in one’s career, I feel that the higher purpose of the tour would have been achieved.