Most senior officers in the government service are full of themselves. They do not have the courtesy to offer seats to juniors, Hemashri laments in her weekly column for Different Truths.

How do you feel when you enter an officer’s chamber and are warmly asked, “Please have a seat!”? ”?

Have you ever been to a place where someone is sitting, and you are not offered a seat? How is the feeling?

For quite some time, I have been observing silently these apparently insignificant or small issues. Is it an indication of a small mind? I have experienced both situations: being offered a seat in a warm tone and not being asked to sit.

It was a bright, sunny day in July 1997. I boarded Circuit House in an old town in Assam to join as an extra assistant commissioner. My mother accompanied me. The day before, I had a telephone conversation with the officer-in-charge of the Circuit House to request a room. I was allotted Room No. 8. On arrival, I introduced myself, and a caretaker opened the room for us. The moment we entered the room, it felt as if a typical rape scene from a Hindi movie had just been shot there a few minutes earlier. The foam of the sofas bulged out, and everything lay in horrifying disarray. As I entered the washroom, I saw the leaking pipe from the sanitary pan, which greeted me with a terrible odour. My mother exclaimed, “We used to live in the Dak bungalows on several postings before getting a quarter, and those were such good accommodations. I heard the Circuit Houses were still better. How come this one is awful?” In the evening, as we switched on the fans, the window curtains started dancing with the fans’ breeze. There were no half curtains, and the gaping holes of the tattered curtains were a threat to the privacy of the room. So I pressed the bell to call the attendant and requested him, “Can you please change the curtains? It is all visible from the corridor outside.” The caretaker left and came back within ten minutes. He told me, “We don’t have any other spare curtains for officers of EAC rank. We only have curtains for SDO and higher-rank officers.” Oh my God! I could make out what this Extra Assistant Commissioner (EAC) designation actually meant on the very first day!

Another batchmate of mine had also reached the goal of joining as a probationer. So the next day, both of us met in the Circuit House for our official joining. We both went to report to the head at 10 AM in his official chamber. We entered his spacious, artistically done-up official chamber. We introduced ourselves and handed over our documents. The Deputy Commissioner, an officer of the Indian Administrative Service, did not offer us seats. He acknowledged the lady probationers with a “Huuuu” and then indicated we should leave with an okay nod. So both of us came out as insignificant non-entities. Not knowing what to do next, we decided to gather some preliminary information about this strange place. Next, we headed to meet a lady officer of the same rank as ours. The lady had a freckled face. We started our investigative process: “How do you feel working here? How is the boss? Do you have a quarter to stay?” She gave replies by nodding her head in negation, and each time her facial expression was weirder. She did not take long to answer our questions. Maybe it was another assignment for her to be finished off within a short time span. She did not ask our names or where we were from. We were officers of the Premier State Civil Service, and our selection was publicly announced in newspapers and followed by congratulatory calls from friends, family, and well-wishers. Parents had to provide visitors with a treat. But when we faced reality, it left us dry and cold. We were not even considered for a seat. At that time, the suffix “Extra” in the designation and the tattered curtains made me wonder what this service was really about. It looked glamorous from afar but was rotten inside! After joining, when I returned to the Circuit House, my mother appeared very anxious. She told me that the Honourable Chief Minister had arrived at the Circuit House. There was a knock on the door every ten minutes from the security personnel of the visiting dignitary. Room number 8 was the restroom for the VIPs’ security personnel. I felt sad to learn that I had received the room reserved for security guards. After some preliminary queries, I discovered that another vacant room was next to the one occupied by a lady officer. Still, some people had reserved it for an evening “adda” session. When I requested a room change, a bald, villain-type assistant told me I would need an order from the deputy commissioner. The next day, I wrote an application requesting a room change. As I entered the deputy commissioner’s room to submit the prayer, I felt very uneasy, and when I turned back, I saw the villain-type man looking at me through the small gap in the door!

We learned there was another lady officer on leave. A few remarks about her made us curious about who that lady was. After two to three days, we learned that the lady officer had joined. We both went searching for her chamber. A beautiful lady in a bright cotton saree welcomed us. The first thing was that, unlike our earlier interactions, she asked us to sit and enquired about us. She asked someone to bring tea for us. After a pleasant conversation, we both came out of the chamber happy and contented. Someone made us feel good by treating us well.

The Deputy Commissioner was an IAS officer, so he had to be a replica of an erstwhile British ruler, albeit a Brown Sahib. He was rude and very often used unparliamentary language. “Ullu ka Patha” (literally, son of an owl, an insult) was his favourite expletive. Once, an officer, after being humiliated by the deputy commissioner in a meeting, sought his transfer. I also had to endure one such session, but that is too long a story to narrate here. Everyone used to be very scared and over-respectful to this imprudent man. There was this local MLA who used to call him by his first name, and that was a treat to my ears. Thank God there is someone who can call this man by his name. The Deputy Commissioner later became known for being overly affectionate with a powerful politician and was evacuated in line with official protocol. I saw this man smile on two occasions, and I was horrified to realise he looked like a monster when he did. I have seen only two men who look like monsters when they smile. It is a strange coincidence that both belonged to the same prestigious service.

Twenty years down the line, I don’t know where that first boss of ours is now. He is still vivid in my memory as my first boss, who made us feel insignificant and awkward by refusing to offer two probationary lady officers a seat. Everyone was so scared of him, but I saw in him what very few dared to see – his poor upbringing. On the very first day of my career, I learned one simple courtesy: to make a visitor feel human by offering a seat. Over the years, my skin has thickened. Often, I try a tactic when going to a senior officer’s chamber: I don’t sit until they offer me a seat. If not indicated to sit, and if, for official compulsion, I have to stay on, I pull up the chair and sit to assert my right as a lady.

The town where I joined as a probationer became my in-laws’ town after three years. I met my would-be parents-in-law in that room of the Circuit House. Years later, I drafted a proposal arguing that no official designation anywhere is called “extra” except for the spot boys of the Hindi film industry. An order was issued renaming the designation as “Assistant Commissioner”, and “Extra” became part of the history!

Also, as a public servant, I have maintained my position. No matter who the person is, everyone has basic human dignity, which entitles them to be seated.

©Hemashri Hazarika

Photos from the Internet

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Hemashri Hazarika

Hemashri Hazarika is an Officer of the Assam Civil Service since 1997. Her research on Assam Civil Service brought reforms in 2015. A first-class Postgraduate in Economics from Gauhati University, she was awarded JRF/NET by UGC in 1997. Her experience as a bureaucrat has sensitised her to human sufferings. A solutionist by passion, she takes an active interest in issues related to Governance, Development, Women, Children, etc. Reading, Writing, Speaking and Painting are her hobbies.