Hemashri pays tribute to a former IAS officer, who was also a pro bono lawyer. His immense love and compassion for others set him apart. In him, she found a friend, philosopher, and guide. Read more in the weekly column, exclusively for Different Truths.
I was completely cheesed off sitting in a sealed AC cabin, where the AC doesn’t work during peak summer. I was feeling agitated because my boss, a retired man re-employed in the government institution, first wanted me to conduct an enquiry into why the Annual Maintenance Contract (AMC) for these ACs had not been carried out. The gentleman who had welcomed me to that small office changed his colour in just three days. I was determined to endure everything and be patient.
On the first day, when I arrived at the office on the 5th floor, I found that none of the lifts was working. On the very second day of my joining, they cut off the office’s electrical connection due to non-payment of dues. I checked the outstanding amount. It was one lakh and thirteen thousand rupees. For the last two years, this office has not received any maintenance funding. I could tell I was in a challenging post. Even the door of my chamber was dangling on just one screw. Tell-tale signs were galore. This office was a witness to apathy, despite being a crucial institution – one that could provide relief to patients suffering from improper treatment.
To take stock of things, I called in the second-in-command, who was an older man. He came into my chamber with an obnoxious smell. I could make out he was in an inebriated state. He told me frankly that he is not familiar with office procedures and cannot write in English. He said, “Moi English or aaku najnu. Moi jibonot English Dictionary ekhon dekhi poua nai. (I do not know English.) I have not seen an English dictionary in my life. For his utterly irresponsible statements, instead of feeling angry or annoyed, I felt impressed at his absolute honesty. Maybe I realised that beggars cannot choose their fate. No matter what, I shall have to engage him to carry on the work. I used to write his notes and ask him to copy them into the file. He could barely manage to copy, but he was a very cheerful man. Every day, the first thing would be to call him to my chamber to have a cup of tea with him and then make a list of things to do. Within two weeks, I saw changes in him. He used to come neat and well-shaved, and gradually the smell of country liquor vanished. With their support, I wrote around eighty letters over five months, informing them of various office issues, pursuing each issue with reminders and personal visits to those offices, and keeping my senior officers informed. I used to visit the office responsible for repairing the lift every day. The officer in charge of another office was in charge, and the second-in-command requested that I visit less frequently. Still, I continued to visit to exert pressure on them.
Over time, my boss grew increasingly hostile, though the reasons for this remained known only to him. He was a tormentor to everyone in the office and was notorious for it. I could make a judgement from the adverse comments reported to me by the staff and my trusted second-in-command. Sitting in that suffocating chamber had led to a skin allergy. In a desperate attempt, maybe to test my patience, I continued my work. My sick father-in-law had to be frequently hospitalised for dialysis. My husband was frequently posted from one disturbed place to another during the ethnic clashes in the state.
One day, I saw a tall, lean, elderly advocate standing near the lift, which was out of order. We exchanged greetings, and I learned he was coming to my office about a case. His failing health prevented him from walking up to the fifth floor. To my utter surprise, I discovered that the Directorate of Pension occupied the 6th floor. Every day, while climbing the stairs, I would meet a group of retirees visiting the office on the 6th floor. It was pathetic. One day, a young advocate came to my chamber and told me he had heard that I was pursuing various issues in this office and that they would like to assist me. He wanted to know what they could 
do. I asked him to please follow up on the lift issue, as it causes inconvenience to everyone. Furthermore, we had the Directorate of Pensions on the 6th floor. In response to my well-meaning suggestion, the advocate’s response made me feel furious. He said, “Do you know the directorate responsible for certifying the disabled is located on the 6th floor, and there is no provision of a lift?” It reminded me of how things were back in 2001. I had read about barrier-free public offices and that all government offices would be accessible to people with disabilities. In 2012, we were operating from a place which was actually inaccessible even for the non-disabled, let alone the differently abled.
One day, when I was in my hot-oven cabin, the elderly advocate met me. We first discussed his case, for which he had been coming to the office for ten years. It was a consumer court. The Consumer Protection Act, 1986, governed the institution. As per the Act, all disputes had to be disposed of within 90 to 150 days, yet over 50% of cases were still running for more than 8 years. The elderly gentleman was highly enlightening, and talking to him was therapeutic. With little support from those who truly mattered, I was having a very difficult time in that office. Issues back home were stressful. After a few conversations with the elderly gentleman, I suddenly, one day, spontaneously addressed him as “Uncle.” He became my friend and mentor. He appreciated my work, and I confided in him about the hostility I was enduring. Walking up to the 5th floor several times a day with a gynaecological issue was exhausting, but I was determined to continue working. By this time, I had resolved several issues, but I still found it challenging to address the remaining items. Maheshree’s uncle advised me to take leave, recognising the gravity of the situation I was facing at the time. It was unacceptable for me, as I considered it to be an escapist route. Uncle had told me that it was my ego speaking. He guided me to choose my battles wisely. I decided to apply for leave. After some drama, I finally went on leave.
This elderly gentleman was Onkar Mall Maheshree, a retired IAS officer and a practising advocate at the Guwahati High Court. He was my angelic mentor who had guided me through a critical phase of my life. During that leave period, I made numerous visits and was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was a wonderful mentor. In the Consumer Court, he pursued the case of a lady who had been wrongly operated on and suffered permanent damage from a careless doctor. He was pleading the case as a pro bono lawyer, without charging any fees. His study room was full of valuable records and documents. He had lost his only son, a police officer, under tragic circumstances. His wife, an aunt, was a loving lady. They became very dear to me.
Maheshree’s uncle had joined the Assam Civil Service, Class I, as an officer and was nominated to the IAS. He endured frequent transfers for his uncompromising integrity. He was a simple, down-to-earth, noble soul. He told me he always remained mentally prepared for his next transfer and recorded being transferred within 24 hours. He obtained his MA from Allahabad University in 1960, and during his service life, he did his LLB to help people.
One day, when I went to meet him, he was filling out a form. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was applying for an LLM programme. He was planning to pursue an LLM at the age of 80.
However, later he said the fees were exorbitant, so he dropped the idea. Photographs of his younger days adorned his study. I saw a very handsome man and could make out his younger avatar, with excellent looks and profound knowledge. I teased him, “Uncle, thank God you were born much earlier than me.” He would only smile. He could read without using specs or deep specs, and his memory was razor-sharp even at 81 years old.
I used to visit, especially on the eve of festivals. This Bihu, I was carrying a Bihuwan for him in the vehicle, but I could not visit him. Suddenly, his daughter informed him that he had been admitted to a hospital. I took a small bouquet as I went to see him. He was in the ICU and was mentally alert and told me to keep the flowers in his room. I told Uncle that I have some new stories to narrate and prayed for his speedy recovery.
After one month, I was waiting in his home to receive him when he came back from the hospital in a van, all wrapped up in a white bandage. I had lost a dear friend, philosopher, and guide. I felt empty. My last gift for him was a garland made of white flowers. Before coming out of the home that day for the first time, I felt like taking a round of the house. I climbed upstairs and saw Uncle, a beautiful old poster with a pink rose with the words, “The love in your heart was not put there to stay: love is not love until you give it away.”
As I came out, I felt that here lived a man who practised this adage in all earnestness.
Uncle, may you rest in everlasting peace!
©Hemashri Hazarika
Photos from the Internet
#Tribute #LoveOfTheHeart #Hospital #Pension #GovernmentGallimaufry #DifferentTruths
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.
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