‘This part of Pondicherry is neater, not like the rest of
the town. Cleaning and garbage collection is done regularly’, the French owner
of the hotel we stayed at Pondicherry helpfully informed me, marking the area
on the map with a pencil. ‘This Part’
referred to the region that housed the Aurabindo ashram, the French quarters
and the Governor’s bungalow. She was indeed right. A small island of
tranquility and order within the usual, dusty and dirty town of Pondicherry.
You cross the line evidenced by the heritage buildings and hit the promenade
abutting the seashore and the filth stares you in the face. Even in the most
touristy place of Pondy.
Things are the same across the country. Civil Lines or ‘posh
areas’ or ‘upmarket places’ or by whatever name you call them-all have some
common features. Well-maintained roads, better drainage, prompter response by
the personnel of electricity, telephone and police department. Invariably,
these parts of any city or town are occupied by the ruling elite-ministers,
politicians, bureaucrats and other rich people. This is some kind of a
sanitized area which creates a feeling of ‘all is well’ among the inhabitants who
also happen to be the rulers.
When we hardly face power outages, smell no stench from
gutters, glide over newly paved (and repeatedly repaired) roads on a
public-funded vehicle (upgraded regularly), can we expect the rulers to be considerate to the everyday tribulations of the public? When the administrators
(I strictly refer to the bureaucrats here as it is they who plan and implement schemes
on the ground) do not face any hardship in completing daily chores of life,
there is bound to be a total disconnect. Only exceptions for this are those
officers who are empathetic by nature. But they don’t make them these days in
good numbers!
A few years back, while in Raipur, I used to regularly visit
Shastri market with my wife for purchasing vegetables. The condition of the
place, to put it mildly, was appalling. ‘If the municipal commissioner of
Raipur or his/her spouse were to visit the market at least occasionally, would
the condition be like this?’, we used to wonder. Similar is the case of sabji
mandis in Bangalore too - Russel market, KR market, Madiwala, Yeshwantpur. If
the BMTC officers in Bengaluru, including the Managing Director travel in city
buses at least once or twice a month, they would come face to face with instances
of rash driving, abusive behavior of conductors, parking on the middle of the
road, working conditions of the staff, mad evening rush and the plight of
school children. This could possibly result in improvement in the service of
the BMTC and also some welfare measures for the benefit of the staff.
As an occasional driver, I find it extremely annoying and
difficult to drive in the night because of high beam used by many. If the city
police commissioner or senior police officers themselves drive in the night once
in a while and if they experience the terrible trauma of ordinary drivers,
would they continue to be indifferent? Less likely, probably.
One more reason, which I feel makes the babus apathetic to
the plight of fellow-citizens is the inflated ego they carry around their
person. This air of self-importance blankets us (my salute to the rare but
extant exceptions) with such conviction that it blurs our vision. Let me explain
this. Can you imagine any public servant addressing an ordinary person as
‘sir’? But should this be not the way? When a person with a grievance goes to
the police station to file a complaint, will the constable request him to sit
on the chair and ask him, ‘sir, what is your problem?’ When the revenue
inspector visits a farm to verify the boundaries, can we expect him to be
friendly with the farmer, instead of forcing him to arrange a feast for the
‘sahab’? The very possibility of such a behavior shocks us because of its
incredulity. But we are supposed to be the public servants and not masters.
Since when the masters started sirring the servants?
We, the babus, irrespective of the service and grade, have a
terrible weakness for being sirred. It is said that when two officers meet for
the first time, they try to sniff each other’s tail to find out their relative
seniority to arrive at a grave decision- whether to sir or to be sirred! Let me
quote one instance here. Once, a district collector asked a district forest officer,
who happened to be his batch-mate to address him as sir. ‘At least give respect
to the chair, not me’, he pleaded a bit feebly with the shell-shocked forester
with whom he had trained together for three months in Mussorie.
On a more serious note, I have heard about a police officer
who works in a south Indian state, laughing and telling his friends how once an
old woman was trying to explain to him her litany of woes in the local language
and he could not understand a single word of what she was saying. He felt it
funny. Just imagine, had it been mandatory for that apathetic police officer to
address the old lady as ‘ma’am’ or something similar, would he have been so
indifferent? It is more likely that referring to the ordinary people with
respect in their day-to-day functioning (not while the police deal with
criminals, or an officer with his staff), will have some sobering effect
on the government servants. This in turn could lead to more alacrity in responding to the problems
faced by the citizens.
I feel that the mere act of addressing another, especially
less-privileged person as sir or ma’am will bring the master and the servant on
an almost equal pedestal. This is not leftist or rightist but a humanist
approach which the bureaucracy of India needs. Imagine for a moment, any government officer worth his salt in the feudalistic set-up of some parts of India calling a labourer or a tribal as 'aap' instead of 'tum' or 'tu'.
The government has in the recent
past come out with a series of measures on bureaucratic overhaul to increase
its efficiency. It is my silent wish that in the near future, we are asked to
behave like true public servants and not masters.
Happy New Year wishes to all.
