(Or, the benefits of timely transfers)
Permanency of posting in a transferable government job is
an uncommon boon. The actual job may change—from ministry to department, from
department to a deputation—but as long as the station of posting remains the
same, the family has much to be grateful for. The children continue in the same
school, with the same schoolmates and neighbourhood friends. The wife, whether
working or otherwise, benefits from the stability and is spared the periodic
trauma of packing up a home, moving and setting up another one, where a leaking
bathroom may once again be a charming architectural feature.
But there is a limit to everything. Being in the same
office for more than a certain length of time—I would put the limit at two
years—begins to tell on one’s shoulders.
One handles an astonishing number of papers, letters and
files in the course of one’s duties. These may broadly be divided into three
categories. The first category is disposed of the same day. These are the easy
ones. There is nothing to be decided, nobody important to offend, and no
precedent to be created. One signs, initials, marks, forwards and closes. The
file disappears, and one goes home with the satisfying feeling that governance
has been conducted.
The second category requires a little deliberation. There
may be some toing and froing, a reference to another department, perhaps a
meeting, a clarification, an opinion from somebody who has an opinion on
everything, and finally a decision. These files, too, eventually find their way
out. After all, things must move. It does not matter how much back-and-forth
movement is required before the file actually moves forward. This is the hard
work one does.
It is the third category that is dangerous. These are the
files that begin to accumulate. The matter may be too complex and require more
thought than our engagement in the mundane business of administration permits.
It may require a decision that cannot conveniently be passed upward, because
the boss may spurn such moves. Nor can it be passed downward, because the
subordinate may actually expect some guidance. Worse still, the matter may
involve taking a view.
Taking a view is an especially hazardous activity in
government. A view, once taken, becomes a view. It can be questioned,
challenged, examined, audited, reviewed, investigated and, in extreme cases,
remembered. It is therefore prudent to allow some matters to mature. Such files
are placed on the proverbial back burner, or, more commonly, on the back shelf.
At first, there is no cause for alarm. The file is placed
there with every intention of returning to it shortly. One merely needs some
time to think. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or, after the meeting. Certainly, by Friday. Friday
comes and goes. The file remains.
After a while, the pile begins to grow. One puts another
file on top of it. Then another. Eventually, the stack acquires a certain
height and, with it, a certain authority. It is no longer an unattended file.
It has become a pending matter. This distinction is important. A file
that has been pending for a week is an administrative problem. A file that has
been pending for six months is an institutional phenomenon. A file that has
survived for two years has become part of the furniture.
By now, the pile has also acquired a personality. It sits
quietly on the back shelf, apparently doing nothing, but making its presence
felt every morning and every evening. It becomes self-protecting. It is an
eyesore, a monument to indecision, and a standing reminder of something that
was, quite literally, the purpose of one’s job.
The shoulders begin to droop a tiny bit every time one
passes by it—figuratively, if not physically. And then, one fine morning, the
pile speaks. “O Mighty Bade Sahib,” it seems to say, “what happened to your
phenomenal administrative prowess? What became of that famed ability to sift
the wheat from the chaff? When, pray, do I get your attention and permission to
move on?”
One ignores it for that is what back shelves are meant for.
The department has, meanwhile, been sending reminders. The boss has mentioned
the matter. The boss’s boss has mentioned it. There has perhaps even been a
meeting in which it was decided that the matters should be “looked into
expeditiously.”
The file is duly looked into. And then looked away from. Another
reminder arrives. One marks it to the concerned person. The concerned person is
oneself. This arrangement can continue for quite some time.
Eventually, even the reminders stop. This is not
necessarily bad news. It may simply mean that everyone has forgotten the
matter. Or that those who have not forgotten have learnt from experience that
the file is stuck for good. The system, in its infinite wisdom, adjusts itself
to the existence of the pending file. Life moves on around it. But the file
does not.
By now, two years have gone by. The pile continues to sit
there, quietly accusing one of having failed to become the perfect sarkari sahib
one had imagined oneself to be when one first joined. One may be indifferent to
many things in life and office, but it is difficult to remain indifferent to a
hulk of waiting papers staring down at you every day from the back shelf.
This is the point at which a transfer becomes necessary. Not
because one is tired of the place. Not because the work is difficult. Certainly
not because one wishes to escape responsibility. One simply needs a fresh
challenge. A new office offers the ideal solution.
The old files can be left behind. The new officer will
arrive with the same enthusiasm with which one arrived two years earlier—fresh,
energetic, determined to make a difference, and blissfully unaware of what is
waiting on the back shelf.
The family, meanwhile, need not suffer. One seeks a
transfer, preferably to another office in the same town. The children stay in
the same school. The wife stays in the same job. The house remains the same. Everybody
is happy. And, most importantly, the pending files remain where they belong: now somebody else’s problem.
There is, however, one small flaw in this otherwise
flawless system. The person who has preceded you in the new office has probably
been operating on precisely the same principles. He too had arrived two years earlier with
enthusiasm, administrative zeal and a determination to dispose of all pending
matters. He too had discovered the third category. He too had found the back
shelf. And he too had eventually concluded that what his department really
needed was a change of leadership.
But that, as they say is a matter for consideration
separately, and no longer one's responsibility.
