From loose fitting half-trousers to flying a Piper Cub

12-07/10

Having born in a Military Hospital (1955) in Aravankadu, a small town on the way to Ooty, and brought up in an army environment, the olive green shade got stuck in my memory once for all. The tapping of the boots and shrieking commands still reverberate in my ears. My grand-mother was a long time employee of the Cordite Factory in Aravankadu and my father was a Hindi Teacher in the factory high school. We lived inside the sprawling premises of the factory in the then newly built Kal Quarters (granite houses). The screeching periodical sirens of the factory were typical of an army environment measurable in decibels. The olive green Jeeps and Shaktimans are now part of my much cherished childhood memories. The occasional wailing sirens indicating accidents inside the factory and speeding Shaktiman ambulances with the Red Cross painted inside huge white circles on the top and sides of the canopy were a part of my childhood nightmares.

When my father moved to Thiruvananthapuram (then known as Trivandrum), my olive green memories started waning away. Luckily for me during the last leg of our stay in that city (1965-66), I got a chance to join the Auxiliary Cadet Corps (ACC), the Junior Wing of NCC. I was extremely lucky to have been in the last batch of ACC as it was disbanded in the year 1967. The uniform was Khaki half trousers and shirt. As I was puny looking, the trousers and shirt were always fitting loose on my body. The beret was a woollen-felt soft round cap, with a flat crown and was supposed to be worn with one side sliding down. Of the five pieces I had worn, the trousers, shirt, stockings, loose fitting shoes and the beret, it was only the beret which fitted snugly around my head! There used to be a cap badge and a red woollen ball adorning the front side of the beret. I took lot of pride in wearing the uniform of a para-military wing at that age (ten years). Walking on the streets wearing the uniform I always felt that I was the cynosure of all gazing eyes on the street. The Khaki uniforms were always conspicuous on the streets.

Then when we moved on to Coimbatore in 1967, I joined the Junior Wing NCC-Air in Shri Baldevdas Kikani Vidyamandir. During the three years I excelled in Aero Modeling as I was good in carpentry (we had in those days a period every week for craft- carpentry). Among my seniors it was my friend Saravannan who motivated me a lot. He was a sterling example of a senior and fortunately for me we still continue our relationship to date. The uniform was of light blue shade (often called the air force blue). It was during that time that I learnt the techniques of polishing my shoes, belt and the brass appendages on the cap and belt. As we had very strict senior officers, every parade was as good as the ones I had seen in the parade grounds of Aravankadu. The only thing I hated was the switching over to English commands in Tamilnadu. Having got used to ‘Saawdhaan’ and ‘Vishram’ during my ACC days, the way ‘Attention’ and ‘Stand at Ease’ commands in English were bellowed at me, made me feel most of the time uncomfortable. “Am I part of an Indian para-military corps or am I part of a vestige British para-military corps?” I used to seriously contemplate. Unmindful of the linguistic imbroglio, I went on attending the aero-modeling sessions religiously, getting a pat on the back now and then from my instructors. The aero-modeling helped me thoroughly in understanding the basics of flight. Concepts like the parts of the aircraft, the aero dynamic shape of the wings and the fuselage, and also difficult concepts like thrust and lift were all clear in my mind every time when I sat to sand paper the fresh balsa wood.

As a cadet in the Junior NCC Air Wing while in Kikani High School, Coimbatore.

The first thing I did, when I joined Banaras Hindu University for my graduation in Agriculture in 1973, was to find out if they had a Senior Air Division NCC in my faculty. The sprawling university campus had its own Squadron within the campus! I paid a visit to the Squadron office just to find out how good the aero-modeling sessions were going on. To my surprise I found that it was one of the best Squadrons in the region. I also learnt that the university had its own airstrip with a flying club inside the campus and the Squadron was also using it to train its cadets. For me, the uniform was a sort of a freedom from wearing half trousers which were so wide at the bottom that they virtually acted as air coolers in summer! The full length trouser in air force blue was a grace to look at. Another freedom was from English to Hindi commands. For the first time I had a feel that the uniform sets fitted me snugly. I had a dhobi in the hostel for whom I did not have to give instructions to wash and press the uniform. He simply did it. The starch and the creases would remain till the end of every rigorous parade. I always got a pat for the best turn out. My only concern was my pair of spectacles. My hostel mates used to call me Netaji (after Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose) if I wore the uniform. A small solace for a bespectacled para-military enthusiast, I always thought so.

I was religiously present on every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon for the drills. As days passed on I took a special interest in aero-modeling again. Unlike my school days, I had a chance to make bigger models which could be flown with a wire attached to ones hands. On completion of my two years, the Squadron commandant Sqn. Leader Pradhan invited me to his office and expressed his appreciation of my aero-models and said that I should appear for an examination for selection of cadet trainees to fly an engine aircraft. I had sincerely never expected this as I had always known my setbacks of average height and my damned spectacles. The exam was rather easy for me but what came next was a nightmare. I was supposed to present myself for a thorough medical check up and the worst part was to get a letter of undertaking from the parents. The undertaking had lines about any possible death during the training and which parent would sign the dotted lines? I expected my father to reprimand me by asking whether he had sent me to BHU to study or fly aircrafts. But to my surprise he sent it signed and with my parents blessings! In the medical test I had surprisingly got through the eye test and it was no more a hurdle for me in getting selected for flight training! But then came the bolt from the blue. The medical report had measured my leg length as 109 cms and I was falling short of one cm! The leg length was important as the person flying the aircraft had to reach out to the rudder pedal comfortably. The medical report was to be sent to the the Director General of Health Services (DGHS) for clearance. Sqn. Ldr. Pradhan was furious seeing the report. I had my leg length measured again correctly and thank God I was now fit. After a few weeks came the good news that I was one of the cadets selected for flight training. The trainings were in the early mornings and they clashed with my lab/classes in the morning. Though attendance was not a problem, I personally had to cope up with lot of back log of studies.

On the first day of my training I was asked to report at 6.30 am at the airstrip. The flying club had one Piper Cub and there were many other local trainees who were paying on their own for the training. When my turn came the instructor asked me if had any air experience earlier. The answer was an obvious ‘No, Sir’. “In that case do you have a fear of heights?” he asked. It would not have taken much time to tell him that I am from the hills of Nilgiris but that would prove to be too audacious and I controlled my excitement and said again, “No, Sir”. “In that case jump in and let’s go for a ride” he said. I had come with a list of pre-flight checks to be done before getting into the aircraft. He did them all himself and told me to keep the check ups for the next day.

Picture of a Piper Cub aircraft.

I took the rear seat and he was on the front. I strapped on the seat belts. I felt great just sitting there. Something which I had never dreamt of was happening to me that day. For the time being I threw away the guilt of missing the classes and concentrated on the dash board. I could see an altimeter, air pressure gauge, air speed meter, tachometer and the liquid compass. The instructor asked me to not bother about anything and comforted me to just sit and relax. He taxied the aircraft to the end of the airstrip. I noticed the windsock and identified the direction of the wind. Once positioned, he gave full throttle, a nice take off and soon we were air borne. I peeped outside and saw the whole sprawling BHU campus in one go and next I was able to see the Ganges. By the time we crossed 2250 ft the instructor slowly turned and gave a deep look at me. The look was quite obvious. It was to test if I was comfortable and not feeling uneasy. “What are we doing now?” he shouted at me over the sound of the engine. “We are now on a straight and level flight, Sir” I said, thinking that he would turn around again to appreciate my prompt answer. Instead, he pushed his joy stick forward and suddenly the aircraft dived down loosing height steadily. He turned back and gave a naughty look. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Fine, Sir” I said in the affirmative gulping the spit down my throat. After a sortie or two he then turned the aircraft towards the airstrip and prepared for the landing. The landing was smooth. He then taxied the aircraft to the apron. As I jumped out he again watched me closely to find out if everything was fine. He asked me to go with him till the office entrance and asked me to stand in the front till he completed his work inside. I stood there for ten full minutes. He then came and asked me if I was feeling fine. “Yes, Sir”, I beamed with a small smile of gratification. “Report for training tomorrow at 6.30 am sharp” he said and dismissed me for the day. It was one of the happiest days in my life. I also thanked within my heart the Sqn.Ldr. who recognised my earnest efforts and provided me that opportunity and of course, my parents who permitted me to learn flying. As I left the apron I again gazed at the Piper Cub with a sense of having achieved a chance to move from table top airplane models to something real!

Side view of a Piper Cub aircraft.

(Have a look at the twin seats. Also take a look at the tiny rear wheel !)

The Piper Cub is a cute little aircraft mostly found in flying clubs and used for training pilots. Lets see what the Wikipedia has to say about the Piper. “The Piper J-3 Cub is a small, simple, light aircraft that was built between 1937 and 1947 by Piper Aircraft. With tandem (fore and aft) seating, it was intended for flight training but became one of the most popular and best-known light aircraft of all time. The Cub's simplicity, affordability and popularity invoke comparisons to the Ford Model T automobile. The aircraft's standard yellow paint has come to be known as “Cub Yellow” or "Lock Haven Yellow".

The next day I was there on the dot. Though I had gone through all the regular pre-flight check ups to be done, the instructor had his own way. I stood in front of the aircraft. He first asked me to check the propellers for any cracks or dents. I was also asked to check for any loose bolts. He then asked me to go around the plane and feel the belly and the fuselage fabric for any possible wear and tear. Next were the wing strut attachments, landing gear attachments, brake disc functionality, and had to look out for the right level of inflation of the tyres. Further one had to check out for any possible leak of hydraulic fluid, check if the ailerons were free and the condition of the cables. Then came the hind part- the tail. One had to check if the rudder was alright by moving it slowly. The tail wheel had to be checked for its sturdiness. I was always surprised by the size of the tail wheel. Then came the check up for oil leaks, fuel leaks, if cowling pins were in tact, fuel level etc. Being the first time he asked me to go around once again and ensure that nothing has been left out. Once the pre-flight checking procedure was over outside, I was asked to take the hind seat or the aft seat. Once inside I had to again continue the pre-flight check ups like the rudder pedals, aileron movements, reading the dash board instruments... Then I had to check out for the wind direction looking at the windsock on the side of the air strip. In the days that followed I these check ups became a routine.

The dash board of the Piper Cub.

(From left- Airspeed meter, Tachometer, Liquid Compass, Altimeter, Oil Temperature & Pressure Gauge.)

In a few days I was able to smoothly taxi the aircraft and could take off almost smoothly. Landing remained always a problem for me. I had to first learn the art of stalling the aircraft by pulling the joystick back to push the nose of the craft up in order to cut airspeed. This exercise had to be mastered if one had to learn landing properly. By the time I had logged about 30 hours of flight training the confidence level was high for the next step- solo. To do this I had to spend over two months sacrificing my morning lab sessions. The back log was mounting day by day. After introspection, I quit the flight training. It was a sad day for me and the Sqn. Ldr.. He coaxed me to continue the training till I could try out a cross-country flight to Allahabad and back and then obtain my Commercial Piloting Licence. But that seemed like a far cry for me at that stage.

At BHU air strip with NCC cadets after 28 years.

(A wing of a glider partly visible in the hangar.)

After about 28 years I had a chance to visit Varanasi again in 2006. I took some time and went down the road of nostalgia. Surprisingly, the city Varanasi and BHU had not changed much and for me it was like getting into a time machine back to 1977! I made it a point to visit the air strip. I could see a glider and an aircraft in the hanger. There were a couple of Air Wing NCC cadets on the spot. I spent some time talking to them and took a snap sitting along with them. As I left the airstrip I looked out for the windsock. The wind was fast enough. “Many more lucky ones like me would soon be taking off”, I thought as I left the place. It was indeed a pretty long way from wearing loose fitting half trousers to flying a Piper Cub aircraft.

Today I consider being one among the most fortunate citizens of India who were in ALL THREE CORPS- ACC, NCC Junior Wing and NCC Senior Wing and were able to learn flying an aircraft.

P.Uday Shankar

My NCC details:
Cadet No: 80732/1969-71. Unit No: 2 (Tamilnadu) Air Squadron (Flying). Passed Junior Air Certificate II. Grade –C (50% to 64%).
Cadet No: UPSA/74/283271. Unit No 4 Uttar Pradesh Air Squadron (Flying). Passed Senior Air Certificate B. Grade B (65% to 79%).

Reducing the Mahatma to an acronym

11-07/10

I was surprised to read the following news item in the Times of India dtd. 07 July 2010.


Green Dandi project to be launched today-
Times of India
Himanshu Kaushik, TNN, Jul 7, 2010, 01.28am IST.

AHMEDABAD: The Centre has embarked on yet another ambitious project to build a green memorial at Dandi to immortalise the salt march by Gandhi in 1930.

With an aim to rejuvenating Gandhi principles, a Rs 25-crore green project will be launched at Dandi on Wednesday to transform the area into an eco-friendly tourist destination.

Society of Integrated Coastal Management (SICOM), along with Gujarat Vidyapith and Gujarat Ecology Commission (GEC), will implement the unique project aimed at overall development and conservation of the environment of Dandi and its surrounding villages.

To celebrate 75 years of the Dandi march, the UPA government had announced a project to develop the 376-km Ahmedabad-Dandi route into the 'Heritage Road and Corridor' in 2005, work for which is on. The Centre allocated Rs 10 crore as corpus fund for this project.

The green project for Dandi called Green Action for National Dandi Heritage Initiative (GANDHI) will be executed by SICOM, an agency working under the Union ministry of environment and forests, in two years.

The project will be implemented by applying Gandhian principles for environment conservation and village development. Union minister of environment and forest Jairam Ramesh and Gopal Krishna Gandhi, chairman, Dandi Memorial Committee, will inaugurate it on Wednesday

E Balagurusamy, IFS, member secretary, GEC, said, "Various activities to be undertaken as part of the project include mangrove afforestation and bio-shield development, beach nourishment, conservation of coastal features and wetlands, harnessing and encouraging use of renewable energy sources such as solar and wind, conservation of water, waste management, transformation of target villages into carbon neutral areas, improvement in source of livelihood among others" (Courtesy TOI).

My comment:


The project would sound like a lofty idea for anyone, as there is a lot of green concept involved in it. I am not delving deep into the project.

What irked me was the naming of the project as GANDHI (Green Action for National Dandi Heritage Initiative). I was just wondering how a teacher would be teaching this to his/her students. She would be treating the GANDHI as an acronym and would be compelled to ask the students questions like "What is GANDHI?". A diametric deviation from what should be asked as "Who is Gandhi?” This is what happens when you reduce a great person's name to a mere combination of pronounceable acronyms.

The Government that voiced its opinion against Mont Blanc for using the name Gandhi should have refrained from using the name GANDHI as an acronym for a Government project. A simple Mahatma Gandhi Green Action Project would have been a better way of naming the project. In a land of Gandhis it is always important to mention the the word "Mahatma" also with Gandhi to do away with any lingering confusion in gullible minds.

There is a strong case for scrapping the acronym.

I have also conveyed my resentment in a network Gandhi Topia.

Uday Shankar

Rendezvous- Going the Extra Mile

10-06/10

This happened when I was the Rural Development Officer (RDO) in Syndicate Bank, Kotagiri, Nilgiri District. The job of the RDO was not only assisting the bank in appraising loan applications of farmers and planters but also in having an equal footing in canvassing deposits, follow-up of customers, recovering loans, agricultural extension activities and development of adopted villages. Recovery work was more of rigmarole – meeting the same customers again and again and looking forward to trickles of amount coming back in instalments.

It was some day in 1987- 88. Armed with a list of loan default customers I planned to cover the area from Aravenu to Tuttapullum. After completing Aravenu, I reached Gottacombai, a locality predominantly occupied by households of plantation workers. I was in search of a lady by name Ms Kamala (name changed) who had availed a business loan way back in 1982 and had not repaid for quite a long period. Earlier, a scrutiny of the account in the ledger at the branch had shown regular payments from the next month of availing the loan but had stopped abruptly after about 8-9 months of regular payment and her individual file showed that no one from the bank had approached her after the loan repayment was defaulted.

A person at the roadside petty shop guided me to the path leading to the lady’s house. Climbing a few crudely placed steps on a steep gradient, panting for breadth I reached the portal of the defaulter’s house. The house looked bigger than most other houses of the plantation workers in the vicinity. There was no kennel or a bark of any dog- that was one important deterrent for loan officers like me in most houses in Nilgiris. With an air of safety assured, I stepped forward to tap the door. There was absolute silence all around. With no response coming in I tapped again. This time the door opened and there was this lady Ms. Kamala with more of salt and less of pepper hair in an unkempt cotton saree. She should have been in her late sixties, I guessed. She invited me with a gracious smile – a smile which would have been probably different if I had disclosed that I was a recovery officer of a bank. Without even asking me who I was, she asked me very politely to take a seat, as she was briskly wiping her wet hands with the pallu (free end of the Indian saree). “I was washing my dishes” she said as she rushed back to the kitchen. I gazed around the room and found many photos framed and hanging on the walls. Most of them were in sepia tone. She came back with a glass of lukewarm water which I accepted immediately. My panting was put to rest. I introduced myself and surprisingly there was no reaction from the lady whatsoever. I was put off for I had expected a sense of fear on her face. Instead the same smile continued. “Who else stays here with you?” I asked inquisitively, realizing the silence prevalent around the house. “I am alone here, my son” she said and looked at me with a tinge of tear wetted eyes. The serene smile was lost. The ‘my son’ inclusion in her reply and the sudden change in her mood touched me. The next lines of her conversation put me at ease as my job was made easier. “I know that I had availed a loan. It was availed for my son and he had been paying it regularly as long as he was with me. Ever since he got married to that girl he has probably stopped paying the loan” she said with an air of remorse in her voice. “Please let me know the balance and I shall clear the entire loan next week” she said. At this stage my job was over and I could have exited like most other officers of the bank. I stay put.

Somewhere in my conscience I felt that she was going to pay for someone else’s mistake. Curious to know if she had a source of income to pay her dues, I asked her, “How are you going to pay this amount?” She started weeping and started wiping her eyes with the pallu. I felt embarrassed. What a fool was I to ask this question, I thought. She got up from her seat and drew my attention to a photo. “This is my husband’s photo” she said as she was wiping the tears and squeezing her nose. “Our family is a huge one. After successively having six daughters we had a son. We were one of the early planters in this area and owned many acres of estates in Tuttapullum. By Gods grace my husband and I had married away all our daughters before his death. I live here alone”.

I was just wondering what had happened to her son when she opened up the next part of the conversation on her own. “My son was taking care of me and our estates for sometime till he married that girl” she uttered with the same remorse in her voice. “My son Rajagopal (name changed) fell in love with an Anglo-Indian girl and is living with her family” she said sporting a sheepish small smile. This smile was not the same as the earlier ones. I understood her grief. The conversation continued. No where did she seem to be angry with her son or ‘the girl’. “We both had never met since his marriage” she continued her angst on the turn of events and blamed the local community for not initiating any reconciliation process. I saw signs of anger on her face for the first time when she cursed her fate and criticized all those who were known to both her and her son for not trying to patch up the differences. She broke down again and this time I could see tears dripping incessantly. Every drop spoke volumes of her love for her son. Her only cherished son who was gifted by God after successive birth of daughters. “Forget about his friends, my friends, her friends for none had thought of the love for my son. What prevented my son from meeting me? I came to know that they have a baby too” she questioned and seemed to end her conversation. By that time I understood that she was venting her intense love for her only son and was not able to digest the fact that though she and her son were near but yet too far.

The name of her son Rajagopal rang a bell in my mind. The name and the mention about her son’s coffee estate in Tuttapullum struck a chord. I asked her to show me her son in one of the photos adorning the walls. My God, it was the same person I had in mind. I got goose pimples seeing the photo. I refrained from showing any excitement in recognising her son. I went into an instant flashback and recollected how this character had approached me a couple of months back for a loan. The Rajagopal I knew was a sober looking soft spoken gentleman. He came to me with a proposal for conversion of his coffee estate into a tea estate. He had got swayed away by the attractive prices tea was fetching then and like many others in Nilgiris he also got carried away by the fast buck from tea and had decided to join the band wagon of the quick-buck tea planters. As a strong adversary of the monoculture in Nilgiris, I remembered having given Rajagopal a brainstorming session on the need to have multiple crops in ones land and had vehemently criticized the mad monoculture of tea spreading throughout Nilgiris. I remembered him telling me that he had about 40 acres of coffee, cardamom and pepper in his estate. I had successfully convinced him in not going for a fresh loan for tea. The lady’s voice interrupted my flashback, “You might have seen him in the town.” I did not react. It was when she then asked me if she could come the following Monday that a great idea popped in my head. I told her to come to the bank at exactly 10.30 am on Monday. As I bid farewell to Rajagopal’s mother I could see the relief on her face. She seemed to thank me for my patient listening.

The same day I contacted Rajagopal and concocted a situation. I told him that he and his wife may have to come to the bank to sign some documents pertaining to their savings account. I expected them to come with the kid as both had to come. I fixed the time as 10.30 am on Monday and asked him to be punctual.

On Monday at the fixed time Ms Kamala walked in first. She was given a seat in front of my table. Her back was facing the entrance of the bank and she could not see who was entering in. In a few minutes Rajagopal, his wife and their kid walked straight to my table. The mother and son were surprised and hugged each other. Tears of happiness rolled from both the mother and the son. Ms Kamala exchanged pleasantries with her daughter-in-law and lifted the kid from her and started fondling the baby. All three of them realised that I had arranged this meeting and thanked me profusely.

As I saw the united family walking out of the portals of the bank I heaved a sigh of relief. My friend Ravichandran who was close to me was a witness to this real life drama. He was all praise for my effort. Choked with emotion he said, “Sir, you have today done a great service and this mother’s blessings will always be with you.”

For the bank an old irregular loan got closed. For me, I had the satisfaction of having gone the extra mile in understanding human relationships, going beyond the call of the regular duty to arrange a rendezvous of an affectionate mother and a craving son.

P.Uday Shankar

Planters’ Plight

09-04/10

When working in Syndicate Bank in the year 1991-93, I was posted in a branch in Kollur, in Karnataka state where I had to learn Kannada, yet another new language for me. Kollur has a predominant Hindu population around a famous temple. Soon after taking charge as Rural Development Officer, I came to know that a majority of the farmer-customers were Christian settlers from the neighbouring state of Kerala and were rubber planters. They had come to Kollur on the recommendation of the Rubber Board which had identified that part of the Western Ghats (a mountain range along the western coast of India) as a non-traditional area for rubber. Despite the tough terrain, encouraged by the Board, the settlers made it their home and planted rubber after availing long term loans from Syndicate bank’s Kollur branch.

When I joined the branch the relationship between the planter-customers and the bank’s staff was at the lowest ebb. The bank’s ire was mainly due to the fact that despite being the seventh/eighth year of the loan tenure, none of the planters had started paying back the loan. The accrued interest and principal were due from the sixth year onwards. The customers and the staff were virtually at loggerheads and were at the verge of turning it into a religious cold war.

The first decision that I took was to bring in a ‘cease fire’ with an assurance to both the sides that the problem would be solved in a month’s time. Both heeded to it, though an uneasy calm still prevailed whenever the customers visited the branch. In the meantime, I took time for conducting a reconnaissance survey of the planters’ settlements and their plantations and came to know that the real culprit was the climate! After a thorough study of the situation I came to know that the Rubber Board had in fact taken a hasty decision to declare the entire area ‘fit’ for Rubber Cultivation. Despite being on the windward side of the south-west monsoon and having received sufficient rainfall year-in and year-out, the other agro-climatic factors like elevation of the place, humidity levels and the soil status were probably undermined at the time of identifying the area. Having coming to know this as the reason for the non-attainment of the required girth of the trees for starting tapping of the rubber sap, I kept it under wraps.

In the meantime the settlers who had become rough and tough had to be calmed down. I came to know that most of the settlers owed allegiance to the Catholic faith and were members of two churches in their areas. On a Sunday morning I met the parish priests of both the churches and explained the matter in Malayalam. I told them that I have been purposely posted in that area as I knew Malayalam, the language of the settlers and because of my track record as a tough officer for recovery of irregular loans and it would be in the best interest of the settlers to change their behaviour and attitude against the bank’s staff. Both of them were at the first place, impressed by my approach and were very supportive and surprisingly they mentored their members on the same day soon after the Sunday Mass and this worked as a miracle. Soon a meeting of the planters’ representatives and the staff was arranged and the real fact of agro-climatic mis-match was disclosed. The loans were all rescheduled, after the planters came forward to clear the entire accrued interest portion, and within a few months many of the loans came out of the non-performing asset category.

The next year the branch received the best branch award. Although the management had taken notice of the situation, the frustrating part was that I did not even receive a letter of appreciation from the management. All that remains now is the pleasant thought of my effort to bring back the lost smile on the face of the poor planter.

P.Uday Shankar

Coimbatore.

Corruption- The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

08-03/10

The biggest legacy the English rule has left behind for my country, India, is the bureaucracy. The babus (clerks) and the chaprasis (peons/office attendant) at the lower end, business class aristocracy at the upper end, the red taped file-pads and the green ink signatures, the wooden rulers and the writing pads so on and so forth. Visit any office of the state or the central government and just watch the infrastructure, or just observe what is going on in these places and you will be in for the surprise of your life. I have always got a feeling of getting into a time machine whenever I visited the nearby Tahsildar’s office. It may be the Tahsildar’s office, Collector’s office, the Regional Transport Officer’s office, the Commercial Tax office, the court office, the Post Office or the Education Officer’s office; they are all the same. The sight of cluttered files, dumped records gathering dust on shaky shelves, vintage wooden tables covered with faded green table clothes, Turkey towels covering back rests on vintage chairs, ceiling fans doing their rounds religiously on worn out ball bearings giving the office-room the typical audio-ambience of a screechy rhythmic noise without which the description of an office would be one notch less, piles of files page-marked and waiting to be attended with the page marks looking like popping tongues of dead bodies hung on the noose. The best of all the reminiscences is the iconic chaprasi/peon/attender, which is the first hurdle you come across in a series of stumbling blocks, in a stereotyped setting, successfully passed on from the British Raj days. The fetish for the colonial inheritance is so much ingrained in our offices and its systems that most of the state governments still follow the rotten Tottenham system of office noting and drafting. Not much seems to have changed despite all efforts to computerize government offices.

One attribute that would be conspicuously missing in a typical government office is the smile on the face of the employee. This is one virtue that has been thrown to the winds, as the employee has been, over years, successfully indoctrinated by his/her own environment to frown and scowl at the visitor. When you visit a government office the first thing one should consciously do is to save your precious smile for some other responsive social setting. In offices where there is a huge scope for interface with citizens of the country, government employees have been over years systematically transformed themselves into brash morons and even a few friendly faces would have eventually morphed into sullen ones over years of indoctrination .

Having started my career in State Government Agriculture Department, the first stint gave me a chance for an introspection and in the next two years I moved on to a public sector institution and then a private sector company before finally settling on doing something of my own for my livelihood. Based on my observation, I can now say that the incidence of corruption was always at its high in the government departments and I also understand the reason why archaic systems were still being followed in the government offices. A total revamping of the office procedures and systems would deplete the chances of corruption and perhaps that is the reason why we still stick on to an archaic globally forgotten Tottenham system, or for that matter, any other obsolete systems and procedures. More than the office procedures and systems, it is the complete erosion of ethics, by the all time greed to make easy money right from the level of chaprasi to the top echelons that has led to this deep rooted rot in the country.

With corruption having set its tap roots so deep and with adventitious roots and prop roots down there supporting the tap root, it has grown like a gargantuan Banyan Tree. Corruption, symbolically, is not only deep rooted but also wide-spread. If the sub-terrain roots depict the corruption perpetrated by the people within the various departments, the terrestrial prop roots that support the tree can be compared to the outside patronage received by politicians and political parties for permanent perpetration of this practice. Among the various departments there is a scramble for the ‘best ones’ as soon as a new government is formed or whenever a Minister is appointed for the particular department. In the State Government the Transport, Commercial Tax, and Public Works Department are the hot ones as there exists well built concealed conduits in all these departments for transfer of money to the top. As fighting elections has become a heavy investment for political parties almost all of them eye for this opportunity and no body would never ever cut this golden goose. In the name of replenishing the drained out coffers of party funds, the top echelon indulges in this act as a matter of right and in the process siphons off some for his use too (just enough to buy a Porsche, Hummer or BMW for his kids as toys!!) and after a stage continues doing it under the pretext of raising funds for the next election. For the links in the conduit, irrespective of who is the top echelon the foraging process just goes on religiously with a work ethic and dharma that is virtually skirmish free and smooth.
There are departments, like the education and agriculture departments, which are ‘dry’ and do not provide scope for the creation of concealed corruption conduits. It is when the employees of such dry departments indulge in corrupt practices, due to momentary impulses to make a quick buck or two that they get caught in the act by the target-happy vigilance department and news is flashed in the media. These small fries may not be doing the act with the dexterity and knack of the rampant ones in the established conduits and therefore would easily become a prey to these hotly published vigilance raids. A sensible citizen will know that these are the small fries in a rotten system where well established syndicates operate and transact huge sums of money day in and day out.

History of corruption traces the practice to the days of the British Raj when British officers had set the practice of taking small favours/tips from contractors, suppliers and other stakeholders. Post independence, the precedence of the practice was reason enough to continue it. As years passed on, typical conduits of corruption have been devised with well laid down rules of the game which each human link in the conduit will have to religiously follow. Post sixties ministers and local politicians became crucial links in the conduits, so much so, that they have now become the high end terminuses in the conduits.

When in the early seventies politics became a ‘profession’ I still remember an incident which gave a chance for my father to explain the situation. My mother had gone to fetch water from the road side tap in our colony that day. We were living in a housing unit, having ninety houses, where mostly government employees were allotted houses in turns. A new lady had come to fetch water that day and my mother got acquainted to her. In the course of the conversation she informed that her husband’s profession was politics. I still vividly remember the day when my mother, rather innocently and inquisitively, asked my father, “Is politics a profession?” My father explained with a sense of shame and remorse in his deliberately used low voice, “Politics was not a noble social work anymore and the days of great politicians like Lal Bahadur Shastri, Kamaraj and C. Subramaniam are out. Politics has come to stay as a profession as there is money in politics.” He further lowered his voice and said, “Yes. It is now a livelihood and only God knows how they earn their money. They should be powerful too. Just look at the way they have managed to get their flat allotted to them out of turn.” These were words of my father, a teacher since his first day of service, and every word was indicative of the typical middle class moral thinking of that time.

So who are the good ones in a typically corrupt office/department? In a typical office were a corruption conduit exists you would still find a few good ones carrying on their job throwing a cool Nelsons eye on the happenings around. This category of employees may be fully aware of the conduit and still would have opted to remain clean. Such people would not normally be coaxed by the conduit members to join them but in turn would be judiciously used in ‘non-committal’ positions. For example the good ones may end up as a record clerk in a Regional Transport Office, a reception-cum-writer in a police station, instructor in a training outfit of the department, so on and so forth. This person would never speak about the existence of a conduit in his/her office. The links in the conduits never fear this lot of their comrades as potential informers or whistle blowers as the good ones ‘behave’ oblivious of the happenings in the office for fear of reprisal.

The next category is the more good-less bad category. This is the category which cannot afford to be out of the conduit as their very existence in the department would be at stake if they do not do their bit in the conduit. The constant fear of being neglected and ostracized, fear of being transferred to difficult places/ hardship areas, denial of promotions, drive this category of employees to get into the conduit. Therefore, a conscience driven person would still join the conduit and opt to remain clean. Yes, it is a difficult proposition. Given the chance of a constant temptation of taking his/her legitimate share in the conduit, a person needs a conviction of Casablanca to stay put clean in the conduit. Many fickle minded ones would soon sway to the next category. One needs to have a high sense of conviction and a bit of chivalry too to be a part of the act of passing on the greased money to the top echelons without laying ones hands on it for their share or in other words without greasing ones own hands. The person opting to be a more good-less bad category needs a strong will power to desist from the perpetual temptation of taking a share of the booty.

The more good-less bad category may be sticking on to the conduit under the impression that they are only victims of a system and after all they do not take a share of the booty and therefore may be absolved from any attempt of framing them up as corrupt. They may be logical in assuming so. They go by the logic that giving bribe and taking bribe is a crime, and just passing on the money amount as not a crime. All said and done these guys would be in a safe haven till everything goes on smoothly. The fact however remains that if such conduits are sincerely busted all hell would break loose and each one of them would be accountable.

The next one is the less good-more bad category. Here the person sheds all his/her inhibitions and takes full participation in the conduit’s activities by not only enabling the smooth flow of the booty down the conduit but also takes a predetermined small share for being an active member of the conduit. These are the ones which can afford to lead a lavish life style, own cars, possess houses in almost all their household members’ names depending on how long they have been in the conduit. A few years back I had a chance to talk to a senior Central Government Officer in Chennai who had got transferred from another metro a few months back. He said that he wanted to get rid of the rut in that metro and had opted Chennai thinking that his department would be better in Chennai. He soon found out that his compatriots in Chennai were in no way better. Corruption was so rampant that many of the top officials in his office, where there were many parallel conduits working, had so much of their share that many were maintaining more than one ‘family’.

In offices where such corruption conduits work the crucial links in the conduits namely the more good-less bad category and less good-more bad category all work in unison and the whole conduit is safeguarded so securely that no watchdog can ever smell what is going on. No one would know when money comes, from where it comes, and where it goes except the conduit members. All members in the conduit work so religiously that no beans are spilled at any cost at any point of time.

All said and done there is a perpetual danger of a Damocles sword hanging on the heads of these persons. What if someone in the link unexpectedly goes berserk due to personal animosity or personal grudge or due to sheer jealousy? What if he turns out to be the whistle blower? A member of the conduit would indict his compatriot or a group of them by remaining incognito but he would also land up in trouble eventually.

The ultimate category is of the ugly ones. These are the impatient ones which jump the conduit’s rules, out of sheer greed, to make a fast buck. These are the underworld dons of the bureaucracy. These are the ones which own vast stretches of land in not only all names in their extended families but also in fictitious names. These are the ones which blatantly profess the religion of corruption with all impunity when in government service and later seek immunity in politics, religion or social service by starting trusts- a clever way of transition from impunity to immunity.

Corruption is a national sickness- an epidemic where middle class morality, value systems and lip sympathy are the only cheaply available prophylactic- an epidemic which affects all segments of the society, the worst being the poor and gullible- an epidemic for which the diagnosis, prognosis and remedy are all done by the public themselves since they themselves are the vectors (carriers) of the virus - an epidemic which is much loathed and despised but little effort has been put forth to prevent the spread- an epidemic which has penetrated into every nook and corner of the judiciary, police, military, central & state governments, public sector, private sector, and religious institutions. Corruption is an epidemic with which the people of the country have learnt to live with.

P.Uday Shankar