Taking leave

When we completed the Master in Public Management programme at NUS/HKS, I was called upon to deliver the Valedictory address. Here is the address:

Chairperson for the valedictory session, Guest of honour, Distinguished invitees, Dean, Faculty members, Administrative staff, Batch of MPM 2010, My batchmates of MPM 2009, 

It’s always good to start at the beginning. Why me for the valedictory address, then? I was only the oldest one in the class. By being in the class, I increased the average age of the class but drastically reduced its average IQ. Given that, I am extremely honoured and deeply humbled by being chosen for the occasion.

 

This is the best of times and the worst of times for all of us. An occasion like this entails a certain emotional ambiguity and collective ambivalence. We are shortly going to complete our course and proudly flaunt three prestigious letters after our names: MPM from LKY School of Public Policy. While we are honoured by the cause of our departure, all of us are also infinitely saddened by the fact of it. No more walks from College Green to reach the class in time. No more daily association with a very special group of teachers who gave each of us so much of individualised attention and whose doors were always open for us despite their very busy schedules. No more joys and sorrows of an A+ or a B-. Above all, no more daily interactions amongst probably one of the most cohesive, high energy batches this school has seen – the 22 of us from eight so very different nationalities and cultures who bonded so very well.

 

I personally think, the biggest thing that happened in the year 2009 was not the first African American to become the President of the most powerful country in the world. Nor was it the global meltdown. Nor was it the death of Michael Jackson or the big blockbuster Slumdog Millionaire winning eight Oscars. The biggest thing that happened in 2009 was the 22 of us coming together through this program.

 

At the end of one year, I am amazed at the amount of ground we have covered. I do not think any other course in the whole wide world has as big a canvas as this one. In our first semester, we were exposed to concept subjects like Economics, Public Management, Globalisation and so on. Through visits, attachment and other programs like the Dean’s lectures, we learnt what impossible heights of efficiency public management can be taken to through some of the mechanisms like Statutory Boards, CEP, HAIR appraisals and so on. Then there was the foreign university component where we rubbed shoulders with a large variety of students and faculty from all parts of the globe.

 

Let me talk a little about that canvas. Economics. While I have been a student of Economics and am reasonably fond of the subject, I was indifferent to the idea of the indifference curves ever finding a real life application. The first few lectures of Economic reasoning followed the pattern. Then came Prof Mukul Asher’s brilliant analysis of Singapore’s budget and we all said wow! Economics is bread and butter issues also! Global trends in finance, how to make the strategic shift, the 5 C’s and the strategic triangle, the game theory and the generic solutions – I have merely mentioned the subjects I was a part of. There were a number of equally fascinating courses the others were exposed to. The attachment when we saw first-hand a different scale of public management efficiency. Then all hell broke loose. We went to outward bound and actually we floated – in more senses than one. I would also like to mention the foreign university component. Let me inform this august gathering that we held our heads high. In most, if not all the courses we took, LKY fellows as a group were ahead of the class average including the course which is supposed to be the toughest one at Harvard – Finance.

 

At the end of all that, we are here today for a number of reasons. We are here to re-live the experience and the camaraderie. We are here to participate in a ceremony of which we are the cause as well as the occasion. We will welcome another group of extremely talented resources which are being called the fresh batch of 2010. Most of all, this is a grand opportunity for thanksgiving.

 

First of all, Singapore. This is probably the best place to learn public management in. I do not think there is any other place in the globe which has taken public management to such heights. Learn through a very low unaccounted for water (UFW) of 5 % of Singapore vis a vis 40 – 60 % in most Asian urban centres or 10 – 15 % in England and Wales. Check the 40 % public assisted arrests in Singapore compared to single digit percentages in most cities. The Singapore port managing a 9-tall stack of containers through POLNET and other mechanisms compared to three or four by most other ports so that it makes economic sense for a container from Mumbai to first come to Singapore and then go to UK. And so on. If there is any place I would like anyone to learn public management in, it has to be Singapore. So, thank you, Singapore.

 

A big thank you to the Dean and our very dear faculty. The one thing we missed at the foreign university was the personalised attention they lavished on us so generously. When we think of the difficulty of sitting through a three-hour class, we realise how much more difficult it must be to give that three-hour long lecture to a group of mid-career professionals who would examine every single word against the touchstone of their diverse experiences before internalising it. So, thank you, Dean and the faculty.

 

Now, I would propose a big thank you to us. Even if I say it, we were such a great bunch, weren’t we? We blazed so many new trails. Ours was the first batch ever when the course submissions of three students of the batch, Ivy, KT and Tristan are getting published in the prestigious International Journal of Water Resources Development. Pankaj scored the highest in the toughest course at Harvard, Finance. Apart from academic performance, we have also started a few traditions – a yearbook is just one of them. I have a fond belief that when the history of LKY School will be written, our batch will be talked of in glowing terms. Most importantly, it will be talked of as a batch which worked hard and also played hard. I don’t think any other batch had as many get-togethers as we had. Everything was an occasion for a get-together. Farewell to Profs Alan and Julie, beginning of coursework, end of coursework, even beginning of exam week. I think what I shall remember the most about this whole year is watching “Small dog millionaire” together over beer and Pizza and, at the end of it, our Vice Dean revealing himself to be a closet Elvis Presley and Paul Simon rolled into one in terms of his singing. I shall also remember the critical importance of the number 3, whether it is the three points that always have to be made, or the three children that I already have and most of us are going to have, or the three angles of the strategic triangle, and so on. There are three things that do not exist. First, ghosts; second, weapons of mass destruction; and third, an A or A+ in Economic Reasoning and Policy. Meanwhile, to paraphrase Dean, Kennedy School, three things are inevitable: Death, Taxes and a mid-life crisis – either we have one before coming here or we shall soon acquire it.

 

Finally, I sometimes feel, the English language is a little inadequate in words for expressing things. Where are the words to thank those two gems – Agnes and See? Both of them are a class apart. Any organisation would be proud of them and it has been our privilege to have so generously benefited from their quiet efficiency. So, thank you Agnes. Thank you, See.

 

Having talked about the past and the present, we must turn our eyes to the future. Where do we go from here? Most of us will go back to our previous jobs or similar jobs but now, much richer in terms of knowledge, skills, horizon, commitment and, most of all, a belief that, “yes, we can.” All of us will shoulder higher responsibilities and battle even greater challenges than in the past. More than the authority that comes with our positions, more than the guns some of us police and army officers wield, more than the power we have over the fates of our subordinates, the biggest weapons we will have in that battle will be the concepts and the possibilities we learnt during this one year. We shall mobilise these concepts like a general mobilises his troops and send them out to war in which the victory will be ours.

 

In the state I work in in India, West Bengal, people never say “we are going” or goodbye when they part. They always say, Aashi which means we are coming back. There are no departures. There are only deferred arrivals. So I shall like to close by saying Aashi. This is not goodbye. This is our alma mater. All of us will try to, and like to, and, in fact, insist, that we come back in the future, be it for a reunion, or a seminar, or a lecture, or, as the trend has started, as the guest of honour. So, Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy, until we meet again, so long.

 

Thank you.

Live another day

The more things change, the more they remain the same. Another day, another edit. Mid-career, I was fortunate to attend a Master’s programme split between National University of Singapore and Harvard University on an LKY Fellowship. My editorial for that yearbook:

 

 

Leaders for a better Asia

 

 

Leaders for a better Asia – that was the class motto we started with.

 

A little ambitious. But then, we were ambitious. We had to be, to seek admission to the MPM programme. We were searching for excellence. Ours was a group of 22 bright individuals from eight nationalities bringing a diversity of experience, talents and perspectives. All at once, there were the policy memos, presentations, graded class participation. The “search for excellence” slowly gave way to “struggle for survival.” Then came the roller coaster ride – butterflies in the stomach before the first presentation; tense nerves before the exams; panic at the approaching deadline; admiration and exhilaration at experiencing Singapore and the US; triumph or disappointment from our grades.

 

As we complete one year spent from College Green through Copthorne Orchid to New York and Cambridge, and sit down to produce the first ever yearbook by an MPM batch, so many vignettes crowd the memory. The orientation programme when even a class size of 22 seemed unmanageable. Get-togethers at College Green and in Marriot. The very first assignment. The careful guidance of Professors for each individual student. Autumn leaves in New England in resplendent colour. “Cultural exchanges between Columbia and Harvard.” The Outward Bound and our amazing, amazing raft. The other 21 lifelong friends who made the entire journey so special. The Attachment Paper. And of course, the Strategic Triangle. As someone said, nostalgia is not what it used to be. It is much more powerful when it is such a small cohesive group which has shared such a variety of experiences. 

The great takeaways from the course. It is sometimes as important whom you know as what you know. The much broader range of public management as opposed to management. The touchstone of the slippery slope. The marriage of counterintuitive Economics with practical New Public Management. BATNA and SBI. It was such an exciting learning curve. We probably learnt how the world moves. We tried to learn what moves the world. Maybe we learnt how to move the world. Definitely, we learnt how to at least move a small part of the small office of the small organisation and the small part of the world we inhabit. And last, probably the most amazing of all, we learnt that we are leaders for Asia and that we can help make it a better place. Despite the policy memos, presentations, class participation marks. Or was it because of them?

Starting it all

 

IIM, Bangalore was a decade old when we happened there but ours was the first batch to move into the new campus parts of which were still under construction then. Two of us edited all the literary outputs from our batch during those heady times. My co-editor (and partner-in-crime) was Rajendra Nargundkar, currently an acclaimed Professor of Marketing and Vice Chancellor of a University. This is what we wrote in the yearbook for our batch: 

 

STARTING IT ALL 

 

We were the lords and ladies of all we surveyed. A campus emerging, Sphinx-like, from the ruminating remnants of prehistoric stones, an open-air mess with cloistered smoke inside and a green nursery without, hundred percent compulsory attendance, a fragmented library providing ex-cases for bus journeys to the City, all this presaged a two-year sojourn that ends with quadrangled card games and bucket-bashes. It was a time for venturesome dreams, gigantic castles in the air, generous undercurrents of apprehension and excitement, for exchanging names and qualifications and identification details with a hundred others, remembering some, forgetting some, and then trying to remember some more. A time for forays into skits and songs. Talks about the Inter-IIM. And first, tentative attempts at beating the system. 

And soon there was a time for waking up. For wiping away the mists of gossamer dreams from one's eyes. For taking stock. For realising that, idyllic existence or otherwise, it's all over. The last card had been dealt. The last supper in what we call the mess, devoured. Tomorrow will be a different territory, an existence separate from Bannerghatta. No more deleterious last-night battles for the next morning's quiz. No longer the long walks to Uncle's at eleven in the night. Time to pack up and flaunt the M.B.A. degree in an evanescent world of corporate make-believe. 

And in between. In between lay a two-year stretch when a lot of dreams crashed, a lot were rewritten and some new ones born. Who wins and who loses- in exams, in Frisbee, in Cricket, in JAM, in Baddy. Who gets a better grade and who gets the rough end? Who is how what. Keeping count till the cows come home. 

Tragic interludes. Of Puneet and Salvo snatched away in their prime. Of visits to the Electric Crematorium. Of ashes. Of bitter butterflies in the stomach. Two who were living were now dead. We who were living were also to come to ashes, with a little patience. Bubbling moments. PJs bandied about with competitive zeal, Mural coming alive with yesterday's headliners. 

Mimicking the Profs. The inter-IIM trophy won in the first year and lost subsequently. Chorus chants of Beatles numbers and limericks to fill the darkness when the KEB calls the tune. Late-night efforts to bring out printed IIMBIBEs (our mags). Finding places of solace on MG and Brigade. And discovering the mysterious ways back to the hostel.

All this and a lot more were what those two years were all about. We will look back upon the memories of this unpremeditated past, we are bound to. 

The new growing campus may, on some distant or not-so-distant date, become the epitome of all that is best in the best possible of worlds, a meeting place for enlightened, avante-garde haute-management. Or it may degenerate into the stale nemesis of dreams relinquished, academic might-have-been. 

Whatever happens, we will have the consolation that we started it all.

 

Dash n' Gunds

March 1984.

[Also from the yearbook, IIMPRESSIONS. Creator: I.K. Gautam]

 

Gratefully yours, gracefully yours

 

I’m 62 now, trying desperately for 63. Before I get completely deranged and "the advancing years disengage the operation of my mind from the content of my speech" and writing, I must express my gratitude to the many, many people and circumstances that lit up my life through the years. Here goes the first instalment. 

I was a very bad student, possibly the worst ever in the first school I attended. This was at odds with what my father thought. In his idea of me as an unlikely combination of Albert Einstein and Newton rolled in one, he’d got me admitted directly in Class 3 of a school called Bazarpara U.P. School in Angul, Orissa. Like most Indian parents, my father put me into private tuitions. The teacher and I tried valiantly but try as we would, I just couldn’t fathom the art of subtraction even though, with difficulty, I could add. In Class 3, I passed but featured at the bottom of all the students who passed. I overheard my father telling my Mom he really didn’t know what the future held for me, going by the early signs. Then someone called Kalpataru Sir happened.

 

I really don’t know why he took a shine to me – probably because he was a student of my father who himself was a school teacher for higher classes in a different school. Under his tutelage, I started to understand many things which were blind spots for me and started feeling a little more confident.

 

In Class 4, we didn’t have a roof over our heads in the classroom. When it rained, we used to cower under some trees and our class teacher (there used to be one single teacher for all subjects per class) used to be under another tree doling out wisdom for the ages. The standards of teaching were very strict and brutal. One day, a parent came and complained that our teacher wasn’t strict enough. When she protested, he said that she wasn’t beating his child at all. When she protested again, he wanted to see an example. After a few tight slaps, he was disappointed and said how was that a punishment when the spine hadn’t been touched. Then, egged on by the parent, the teacher let loose on the back of the child with the hard slate and the father was finally satisfied.

 

Another parent came and asked for his two sons to be admitted. The teacher was happy, asked the whereabouts of the kids and assigned two of the students coming from that village to accompany them. To this, the parent protested. Allaying the teacher’s concern about young children coming to school from a distance of 20 kilometres, he blithely reported that one was 18 years old and the other one was 19 years young.

 

This was all by the way. The real story is, in Class 4, I came across a brilliant fellow student, Hari. Not only was he a topper in each single subject, he was great at sports and at soothing any ruffled feathers, was teacher’s pet, had enough humility for a whole school. In his very artistic handwriting, he used to copy teachings of the Bible. My ambition was to emulate him and I borrowed those notes and tried reproducing and memorising them until my grandfather saw me and told me to also do the same with Veda and Vedanta. Well, Hari was our paradigm for excellence.

 

In the Half-yearly exams in that year, the class teacher rattled out our scores in each paper. We were asked to write them down on our slates, total them up and get them checked by Hari. We did and Hari okayed mine. Then, Hari said he had to total up his own marks and it turned out that his total was less than mine by two marks. The teacher, Hari and I were thoroughly perplexed and checked and rechecked but, turned out, I’d topped, against the run of play.

 

Three months later, a bulky guy (Hari's father) landed up in the class and dragged Hari out. When our teacher ran after him shouting why, he asked who would help him in (manual) scavenging when he was getting old. That was the last we saw of Hari.

 

Kalpataru Sir managed to get me through class 4 with flying colours. In Class 5, he became my class teacher. Somehow, he believed I was capable of better things and, step by painful step, got me to qualify to appear for the National Scholarship examination. He used to coach all of us National Scholarship aspirants in his spare time but I don’t think he was charging any money. One morning, my parents had overslept so I couldn’t make it to his coaching class. He landed up at our house and soundly berated my parents for being so callous about their son’s future.

 

In the middle of all this, my father got transferred so we had to pack our bags and a cow and go away. About two months or so later, by some quirk of fate, he was transferred back to his old station, Angul. The joy on Kalpataru Sir’s face was to be seen to be believed. Much later, I learnt that in those intervening two months, he had abandoned his coaching of the other students also and resumed only after I turned up again. Mid-career, while applying for a Masters' in Public Management abroad, I sat for GRE and many tricks Kalpataru Sir had taught me came back to me in the course of the exam, leading to a 99 percentile score in the quanti paper.

 

When the internet happened, I tried long and hard to “find” Hari and Kalpataru Sir on the net but to no avail. I do hope, Hari’s genius eventually found him. I also hope, Kalpataru Sir had a fulfilling life and many other students benefited from his academic and personal generosity. I went to Angul town after four decades with my kids to show them where I grew up. I located the school with great difficulty and found that it was in ruins and apologising for its last-gasp existence. Only some students in Class 1 were being sought to be taught in a dark, dingy room. The class room where I used to sit in my class 5 under Kalpataru Sir’s watchful eye was practically destroyed. It was all very sad. I’m eternally grateful for my own accident of birth and other accidents which made for a fairly privileged life. To many Hari’s, to Kalpataru Sir, to everybody, my sincere, silent salute.

[What is left of Bazarpara U.P. School, Angul]

The caged parrot

 

For many in India, policing conjures up images of sloth, rudeness, potbelly, corruption and unkempt Khaki. On the other hand, the police officers feel that the depiction is unfair – they are actually overworked, underpaid and subject to whimsical and abrupt transfers that prevent them from knowing the neighbourhoods under their watch. However, everyone on both sides of the divide agree that Policing in India needs serious reforms and urgently. 

Policing is a state subject and the Police in India has been governed by an archaic Police Act of 1861 which envisaged abject fealty of the Police to the rulers. 11 states set up state police commissions led by Kerala in 1959, the latest being in 1984 by Andhra Pradesh, to bring about reforms in policing. Reports of these commissions gathered dust in their respective states. At the national level, the Central government set up the National Police Commission in 1977 with ex–Governor, Dharam Vira as Chairman and comprising four other extremely eminent members. This Commission did ground–breaking work and submitted eight reports between 1979 and 1981 covering all aspects of policing. These reports were outstanding, comprehensive, earth–shaking – and ignored. The Commission also produced a model Police Act to replace the Act of 1861 and that too was ignored.

 

In 1996, Mr. Prakash Singh, a celebrated Police officer who had been DGP of Assam and UP and DG, BSF, along with others, moved a writ petition in the Supreme Court to issue directions to the government to frame a new Police Act on the lines of the model Act drafted by the National Police Commission in order to ensure that the police is made accountable essentially and primarily to the law of the land and the people. Mr. Prashant Bhushan represented the petitioners. After 10 long years, on September 22, 2006, the division bench of Justices Sabharwal, Thakker and Balasubramanyan of the Supreme Court delivered a landmark judgement [case no. 310 of Prakash Singh and Ors vs Union of India and Ors] which promised to radically change the face of policing and, by extension, governance in India.

 

The Supreme Court gave seven directions: (i) Constitute a State Security Commission fairly independent of the political executive which will insulate the police from undue interference, (ii) Transparent, merit–based process of appointing the DGP and giving him a two – year tenure, (iii) Two – year tenure for Zonal IG, Range DIG, SP of district and SHO, (iv) Separate Investigation wing from Law & Order wing, (v) Set up a Police Establishment Board consisting of DGP and four other senior police officers to decide transfers, postings and other service related matters up to the rank of Dy. S.P. and recommend regarding posting and transfers for higher ranks, (vi) Set up Police Complaints Authority to inquire into serious complaints against Police, and (vii) Set up a National Security Commission for selection of chiefs of Central Police Organisations with a minimum tenure of two years.

 

Essentially, what the Supreme Court sought to do was to make Policing and the Police administration autonomous, with loyalty only to the law of the land. India has had an encouraging history of autonomous institutions delivering well. Even officials steeped in a lifetime of wheeling and dealing because of job exigencies and ethos have developed a spine the moment their autonomy has been ensured. The autonomous institution of the Election Commission produced a T.N. Seshan who changed the election landscape of the country into something which is the envy of even the most advanced democracies. The Union Public Service Commission has continued to select the best and the brightest without fear or favour or corruption. Some of the Comptrollers and Auditor Generals have done stellar work and refused to bow down before the might of the Executive. In fits and starts, the higher Judiciary has delivered.

 

It took 10 years after the petition for the judgement. It has been another 17 years since then. Has anything changed? It has, for the worse. The judgement shook not only the political establishment but also the civil administration across the country. Almost all states entered impassioned objections to the Supreme Court ruling. Each single state tried to first resist it, then to delay and then to find inventive ways to circumvent.

 

The first weapon in the arsenal of the government/s was to represent that Policing was a state subject so it was up to the states. To my mind, this logic was spurious. However, even if it had merit, the Centre did not pass a Police Act for Delhi where the Police comes directly under it. After follow-through by the Supreme Court, so far, only 18 out of the 28 states have passed new Acts; there has been no new Police Act for the Union Territories. Most of the new Acts make one hanker for the old 1861 Act.

 

On paper, this is how things stand as of 2021 till which detailed inputs are available. State Security Commissions have been set up for all the states and Union Territories except Odisha. Only five states have allowed shortlisting of candidates for the post of DGP by the UPSC and six states accorded her/him a minimum 2-year tenure. 17 states  and the Union Territory of Delhi have provided for minimum tenures of two years for key personnel. Only one state, Mizoram, made a serious attempt at separating the investigation wing and the law and order wing. All the states have set up Police Establishment Boards. Barring three states and the remaining Union Territories, all the other states and Delhi have constituted Police Complaints Authorities. National Security Commission has not been set up.

 

Is it a mixed bag then? No, no, a thousand times NO. It’s way worse than before the Supreme Court judgement if one looks at the real picture.

 

While states have set up State Security Commissions, some have omitted and some have “forgotten” to include the leader of the Opposition and/ or the judicial member. While, as per the Supreme Court directive, the official members of the Commission should be a minority, many of the Commissions are predominated by the official appointees. Barring Karnataka, none of the states has made the recommendation of the Commission binding. Even the requirement to submit an annual report to the Assembly has been done away with except in nine states. So these Commissions have only one function – produce a few reports which are never read by anyone and are consigned to the dustbins, or, even worse in bureaucratese, “FILED!”. Responsibility without any real power – prerogative of the eunuchs through the ages.

 

That all-important matter of insulating the DGP, the head of the police force, from political interference – well, it didn’t happen. All that the Supreme Court order achieved was legitimising wrongful action by the state governments. They started appointing officers just before their retirement and giving them two-year tenures on the pretext of the Supreme Court order. Either pliable officers were found for this or their pliability was ensured because of the lure of having their service careers extended by two years. The Supreme Court wised up to it very late and ordered that such officers must have at least six months’ tenure remaining. That led to states appointing officers holding “temporary charge” of DGPs in perpetuity. The Supreme Court mandated that the DGP can be removed from the post within two years only on three grounds, indiscipline, conviction and incapacitation. However, many states have included “convenient” phrases like “on other administrative grounds,” “in public interest,” etc. as grounds for removal and this has made a mockery of the two-year tenure provision. At least two of my batchmates were summarily removed from the DGP posts on such ambiguous grounds.

 

None of the states is inclined to implement two – year – tenure for other operational officers, Zonal IGP, Range DIG and so on. Police Acts of some states provide that the tenure would be “generally” or “normally” two years. Further, words like “in public interest,” “any other contingency,” etc. as grounds for removal render the minimum tenure bit meaningless. The transfers have become so frequent that at a certain stage of my career, every day, while boarding the staff car in the morning to go to office, I used to check up WhatsApp as to where I was posted that day and then instruct the driver accordingly. Once I searched for three days for the office where I was posted before realising that the office didn’t exist. In the next posting, a traffic sergeant performing duty 10 feet away didn’t know the existence of the office – it was that insignificant.

 

On ground, investigation has not been separated from Law & Order although some states have passed executive orders with riders. A senior IPS officer of UP carried out a time-and-motion study and found that investigation is devoted some point zero zero something percentage of a Police officer’s work–time while that is supposed to be her/his main task. The issue appears to be manpower provisioning. What will it cost a ruling dispensation to treble the police force one day? What might be the benefit? Tremendous. But the benefits will come three to five years, hence. Political view span in India – one to two years of effective government, rest of five years in trumpeting it and preparing for the next election.

 

Police Establishment Boards (PEBs) were mandated to consist of only Police officers so that Police internal administration is insulated from extraneous influences and pressures. Instead, some states have included others. PEBs were to decide on all transfers of and below Dy SPs and recommend all transfers above Dy SPs. That has not happened. The members of PEBs sign up or sign out after the orders of postings and transfers are issued. Since this is the only Directive that seems to have been implemented on paper, and since Mr. Prakash Singh was visiting IIPA when I was pursuing an M. Phil., I asked him whether asking the Supreme Court to direct video recording of the proceedings of the PEBs with electronic date-time-stamping would be a good idea. His reply: “Agar aap DGP ban gaye ho aur tenure mila hai toh spine kyon nahin ho sakta hai aap mein?” [When you’ve become the DGP and got a tenure, why can’t you develop a spine?] I find that many officers who are championing the cause of Police reforms today are the very same officers who so signed on the dotted line “post-facto,” back-dated, in their heydays, vitiating the entire Supreme Court judgement by that one single act of theirs.

 

Police Complaints Authorities were mandated to be set up both at the State level and the district level to look into complaints of serious misconduct by the Police. A few states have set them up on paper in a half-hearted way but whether the authorities are doing any work is a moot question. Rather than embracing the Directive, Police itself is the institution vehemently opposing it.

 

National Security Commission has not been set up. This is one Directive where the government has objected to everything – the nomenclature, the composition, the functions and even the mandated two – year tenure of the chiefs.

 

So, what is the net-net, or Naatu Naatu in today’s lingo? Governments/Politicians are doing pretty much what they used to do/ what they want; in fact, the transfers, etc. have become much more frequent and vindictive. Only, these misdeeds have Supreme Court validation now, however specious. Why is the Supreme Court not able to enforce its own orders? I am told by someone who should know that just one particular lawyer, presumably at the behest of one particular state, has been stymieing the process through many, many weapons of legal skulduggery, adjournments, non-appearances, frivolous or dilatory objections, and so on. Plus, there are more pressing matters like Arnab Goswami’s bail application.

A state of mind

During my graduation, I used to do a few part-time jobs to support my expenses and joined a full-time job as an Executive Trainee in a reputed organization immediately after graduation. I was all of 19 and posted in Patna for my first assignment. 

Everything was very different. And new. A colleague offered to share his apartment with me on the condition that he was getting married in a few months and within that period, I’d find more permanent arrangements for myself. We used to eat out but decided that since we used to have tea and stuff at home, we should have a maid do the minimal cleaning up of the house and kitchen. I accosted the maid working next door and asked her to help out but she refused. In the other house, she used to do a lot of work like BJP (Bartan Jhadu Pochha), washing the clothes, dusting and so on for the entire family and I offered to pay the same amount for mere Jhadu and Bartan for two bachelors with very small requirements but she refused. I even offered to pay more but she was unmoved. I was a little upset and thought, maybe, something in my appearance or manners was off-putting.

 

A few days later, there was a knock on the door and I found the same maid standing there with bowed head. Before I could figure out anything, she was touching my feet and apologizing profusely for having refused to work in our place. I was thrilled and asked her how much would be the damages and she said whatever I pleased and she had made a huge mistake and she was abjectly sorry, she had committed an unpardonable sin by refusing earlier and on and on …

 

Turned out, she had refused to work at our house because my flat-mate was Christian. However, one day, when the milkman came, I was jolted awake and, in my hurry, had opened the door for the milk without putting on a shirt; the maid had seen my janeu (sacred thread) and was petrified at having committed the “sin” of refusing a Brahmin. I found that caste and religion were all around me. For example, “Ashok kaun, A..sh..ok, oh, achha woh bhumihar ka ghar us tarah hai,” and so on. One of those days was the last time I wore the sacred thread.

 

Shortly before my flat-mate got married, I started looking around for alternative accommodation. There were many houses, flats and even shanties to let but, intriguingly, there was none for me, for love or for money. Finally, after a long and arduous search, a deal was finalised with one person and I paid the advance. A day before moving in, I went there with a sweeper and paraphernalia to give the house a clean-up. During the process, the landlord, staying in the same building, materialised and we got chatting. Things were going well when suddenly he asked, “Aur, aapke family kab aayenge?” [So, when will your family be joining you?] I said, “Sampoorna family toh aapke saamen hai.” [The entire family is in front of you.] He was aghast and started sputtering incoherently. He said, “Sorry, ghar main jawan betiyan hain, makaan toh nahi de sakte hain aapko.” [Sorry, there’re adolescent girls here, can’t rent to you.] While all those earlier rebuffs now fell into place, I had a serious problem – no accommodation and the flat-mate getting married soon. I pleaded and cajoled; I offered to increase the rent substantially; I offered to show him the character certificate issued by my college while passing out – all to no avail. I had to check into a hotel for a few days at prohibitive tariffs until a local guy joined as another Executive Trainee. Since he was local, we found decent digs and checked in.

 

This guy was from St Stephen’s College and I was from Hindu. We decided to bury our famous college rivalries and, to celebrate, decided to see a movie. We couldn’t find a rickshaw to take us so we “borrowed” two rickshaws from a nearby rickshaw stand and merrily pedalled away to the movie hall. After the movie, when we were returning, two different guys hailed our rickshaws. Since they were going our way, we took them on board and pedalled back. On the way back, we were chatting in English on the finer points of the movie. These two “passengers” were first intrigued that we were talking in English, then curious, then inquisitive and finally aghast when they realized that we were actually educated and were out on a joy ride. They got down post-haste with profuse apologies.

 

The new flat-mate was applying for all kinds of things, GRE, GMAT, IIMs, XLRI, and so on. Being bone-lazy and very under-confident, I half-apologetically requested him to fill in a few forms for me, just on the off-chance. Well, I made it to an IIM, he didn’t. Later, he took his revenge. He not only made it to the IAS but was amongst the top five or so and was allotted his home cadre, Bihar and rose to be its Chief Secretary. When we left our first job almost simultaneously and went our separate ways, he owed me 23 rupees and 50 paise. Every time we get together, I gently remind him but he persistently refuses to pay the money back.

 

During my transition from Bihar to Bangalore, I met one of my college teachers who was himself from Bihar and recounted to him some of my adventures there. He smiled and said, “Well, Bihar is not a state; it’s a state of mind.”

Almost a personal Water-loo

 

A little after the Pincon bit, I fell grandiosely out of favour and was given a non-existent assignment. Three months into the posting, I was given some work and I held a meeting in this regard. The same evening, when I was going back home, I received a call informing that my assignment had changed. Again. In terms of pecking order of DGPs, the top of the tree is the Head of the Police Force, the numero uno, the primus inter pares, the He-Who-Is-Above-All. Then there are assorted DGPs like DG, CID, DG, IB and so on. Then there is nothing. About 10 feet below nothing is the post of Director General of Civil Defence. Which is where I landed up.

 

I had read about “disguised unemployment” in Economics. I had never expected to come across an overwhelming example of it, that too in a Police assignment. However, that was a bit of all right since I had long given up any hope or expectation of changing the world. What I had not been prepared for was the rank insubordination that prevailed. It was “disgusting unemployment.”

 

There is a wing called Water Wing Civil Defence (WWCD). Much of West Bengal is flood-prone and, on the face of it, this wing was created to assist in rescue and relief of the water-stranded population during the monsoons and otherwise. What I learnt was that this wing was created not so much to provide relief and succour but to please the constituents of a particular Minister in the hoary past through enabling him to give employment to his constituents. As such, the recruitment into the wing was purely through the whims of this one Minister and most of the personnel belonged to one single district in West Bengal, the erstwhile Minister’s constituency. Their allegiance was to that particular minister even after he was long gone and to nobody else, certainly not to rules. They were recruited without any recruitment rules. There was no formal training. Their job was not defined.

 

A large chunk of them were positioned at HQ. There were two other units for them in Kolkata, both in extremely shabby and dangerous conditions. No one maintained any kind of office hours. In case of need, they would be called from their houses hundreds of miles away. The whole purpose of emergency relief was negated in the process. During monsoons, small teams with boats were deployed at the districts. I learnt that they used to set out, stay for a few days and then hand over the boats to the local volunteers and go back home.

 

One day, on the way to a meeting at about 12 noon, I thought I’d check their attendance and marked the people who were not in office as absent. When I came back to the office, I found the Commandant practically under gherao and the staff shouting filthy expletives because of the affront. The group was led by a person in a backwards baseball cap. Gradually, I learnt that this guy (of a rank below that of a Constable) was the de facto boss of the Wing – the actual Commandant was just an optional extra.

 

Mr Baseball-cap was about to retire but it was almost a given that he was going to get a three-year extension. I decided not to forward his application for the extension. Every day, there was a deputation by the union regarding this. I politely told them that this was not a matter for the union as no collective welfare was involved and the extension was for an ex-employee. They took it up with their Central committee who sought an appointment and I refused, again on the same ground. Despite that, the big leader of their Central committee landed up in my office with a big group and threatened to barge in. I told the orderlies that if that came to pass, I will start a case against them and the orderlies for criminal trespass. After an hour-long stand-off, he went away.

 

On the day of his farewell, I heard that Mr. Baseball-cap refused to accept the garlands because he was coming back the next day. However, days rolled into months; he moved heaven and earth but nothing happened. That was one small victory.

 

The next monsoon deployment, I mixed the WWCD chaps with those of another unit, WBCEF (West Bengal Civil Emergency Force) at each point of deployment. 55 personnel who never used to get deployed for these duties were also deployed. There was complete revolt. The reason was, these two units were at loggerheads. Whenever any personnel of one unit didn’t report or disappeared, the chaps from the other unit were too keen to report. One guy walked in like a Don and asked me how dare I post him for the duty when no one had dared to do so for 26 years. They refused to even cooperate with typing the orders, let alone receiving them. If the deployment didn’t take place, it would have been a personal water-loo for me and they were banking on that.

 

As a part of digitisation drive, I had arranged for email ids of each and every personnel and for that official id, the phone no. had been supplied. I pasted the movement orders at prominent places in the office and emailed/ WhatsApped the order to each person.

 

The force had to move. However, within weeks, they wrote a letter to me with outrageous demands, in effect cancelling the whole monsoon deployment. Other demands included their full discretion on who will be deployed for monsoon duty, no shifting of the force to new premises in Kalyani, no checking of attendance and so on. I was fed up. I called them for a meeting and asked them to verbalise their demands. They reiterated what they had written. I told them I had counter demands. These were as follows: 

·       No disruptive action en masse

·       No irrational demands

·       Everyone to attend office on time

·       All deployments will be checked and absentees suspended on the spot

·       Decorum to be maintained in any communication so such letters were banned

·       Immediate shifting of their office

They threatened to gherao and started mobilising the personnel. I pulled out the resignation letter from my drawer and handed it to my PA for onward transmission. I also signed the charge report handing over charge to the next seniormost person and went home. I told the family what I had done and they were very happy, probably because of their concern about my health. This was a Friday. The office personnel didn’t send my resignation letter on that day and decided to wait till Monday. On Saturday, I kept thinking about it and decided that I should at least go out with a bang.

I rang up the Commissioner of Police and requisitioned a strong Police arrangement because there might be serious problems in my office on Monday. He asked for a formal requisition which I WhatApped to him. We had worked closely in the past as colleagues in a district and SPs of adjacent districts and he obliged. I prepared all the office orders for immediate shifting of all the three offices of the Wing lock, stock and barrel to the new location on Monday. On Sunday night, I issued the orders under “confidential” heading and deployed senior officers to the three offices from 9 AM the next day and the loading of material and shifting started. By the time the union leaders rolled in around 11 AM, they were shocked to find their thrones and their dens disappeared. They were agitated and wanted to indulge in physical fight but seeing the strength of the Police arrangement, didn’t dare. They rushed to the leaders, to the Minister and to media but didn’t get any purchase. Within the day, the shifting was complete. Later I learnt that the Commissioner of Police had given instructions that in case I was attacked, the force should first do the lathi charge and then inform him.

Even at the new place, the personnel continued to try being disruptive. When I closely enquired, I found that 50 % of them, including their big leader, didn’t know how to swim. And these were the people who were supposed to save people from drowning! When I pointed out that their jobs were not tenable, they finally caved in. I arranged for a special watermanship training for them as a reciprocal gesture.

In a long Policing career spanning 33 years, I faced agitating mobs, arrows, bullets, attacks by miscreants, serious political pressures and so on but the worst was probably reserved for the last.

When the HQ office premises previously occupied by the Water Wing was cleaned up, 123 empty liquor bottles were found. Apparently, after office hours, the “Don” (who had never been deployed for any duty for 26 years) used to hold court and, in exchange for certain favours, used to dispense out duties and deployments to fellow personnel.