A Guide to Surviving the FC-Part 2

On a certain side of the thirties, the life and times of Bridget Jones may begin to resonate with your own life. And times. With appropriate gender inversions. Do not panic, though. To quote but Jane Austen, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters."

Needless to say, the good fortune that one possesses is a rank in the CSE. Upon possession, one moves in to the bureaucracy neighbourhood, hallowed precincts. Apart from control over one's privacy, one also loses the agency of free choice in marriage. But when was marriage ever left to the choice of children by Indian parents? They will remain seized of the matter, while relatives, family friends, sundry well-wishers will besiege you with offers galore.

The CSE rank list is a UPSC shortlist for brides and grooms for a tribe of parents. The CSE rank halo shines a mellow light on the heads of the rankers. It smooths over blemishes such as caste, class and creed. More often than not it does not. Caste is still the primary filter through which much of India looks at others. And what is better than endogamy to promote and nurture caste?

So, keep one's head on, especially now that one is past the eye of the needle. Life in The Service can be lonely and demanding. It is better navigated with the help of an able partner. Now there may be various criteria to decide the suitability of that partner. Should he/she be from the services? If from the service, the default preference seems to be for the All-India Services. Cadres change based on marriage. Marriages also happen based on need for cadre change. Either way, one wins some, loses some. C'est la vie and all that.

Since pointed Google search queries with search strings as "author's full name + wife" and other such combinations land on this blog, one feels bemused. Eligible lady enquirers, do not lose heart! There is hope still. Just follow due process and communication channels, approach competent authorities, swathe yourself in red tape. May be, who knows, you will be the answer to the Google query!

:P

Anyway, on with the survival guide after that convoluted matrimonial pep talk.

Sometime after you have qualified and before you receive communication from the powers that be informing you that they were directed by Honourable President of India and so on and so forth, you will receive a curious mail from a tailor and draper from Mussoorie. Apart from congratulating on your success in the CSE, the mailer proposes to drape you in a bandhgala, the last suit you will ever wear, for you are now a celebrated bureaucrat. Very well. A bandhgala is a must have, for you will be wearing it on ceremonial occasions and not wearing one earns a show cause notice, censure and assorted opprobria.You can take up the offer of the mailer or better still, get one stitched at a tailor near your place. The ladies may want to augment their saree collection. 

There is something to be said about being clothed like a bureaucrat. While a bandhgala automatically sets one apart from the crowd (except at restaurants where the waiters also wear a bandhgala, and they do at fancy places), one is well advised to be dressed in smart formals as often as possible. Clothes do make a man and women, in the services. To state but the obvious, one can not have state power draped in shabby clothes. One is no expert on fashion or chic dressing, but time spent observing the sartorial choices of senior bureaucrats over the year leads one to believe that a bureaucrat is an actor-acting in public interest, acting for the state. The costumes therefore must be appropriate, reflective of the status of the bureaucrat.

However, do not fuss over the bandhgalas and starched sarees too much. The laundry services are first rate at the Academy. So are housekeeping services. In fact, one's creature comforts are taken care of at the hostel. Can not start a day without a cup of tea? No problem, the room bearer will wake you up 45 minutes before the morning PT and serve a hot cup of tea. Feel famished post the PT? No problem, the Home Turf, the OT canteen, opens at 8 am. And there are the two dhabas near the Ganga hostel anyway. In fact, your monetary interactions with the two dhabas will be first rate lessons in micro-economics. They are attuned to the demand and supply situation and the FC, Phase 1, Phase 2 seasonality cycles so well that brokerages and stock exchanges can learn a trick or two from them. However, one could never figure out if the inflation rate they tracked was that of Zimbabwe or good old India. How else would one explain the sky rocketing prices of Maggi? The price of a plate of runny Maggi zoomed from Rs.35 at the beginning of FC to Rs. 3 zillion at the end of Phase 1, not including value additions such as lead, cheese and egg. 

Unless there is an urgent need for purchasing quilts (Mussoorie Septembers are super pleasant and there is never a need for a quilt) or other such seemingly exotic materials, hold your shopping horses and unleash them at the shops on Mall Road. Save yourself the usurious (but Economics-wise spot on) prices. The Mall Road, if not over run by plains tourists, is a nice enough place to stroll on most evenings. Provided the OTs have evenings for themselves. Which they normally would not. Because FC OTs do not own their time. They are marionettes in the hands of a clock that ticks of its own will.A hand that beats enormous seconds from the space-time continuum, deafening the OTs. They will wonder if the strings that animate them are from the String Theory and if they themselves are one-dimensional particles. They will not even get time to wonder. Time to wonder is for Alice. Whereas the OTs are just White Rabbits, forever running late, creatures of the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. *Evil laugh.*

Source: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcub32MKS01qlt206o4_250.png

Source: http://www.stellamuse.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/alice_in_wonderland___white_rabbit_by_clairestevenson-d5abdon.jpg

C'est Fini Les Amis

A last push

I adopted a multi modal transport approach to arrive at Patiala after the valedictory ceremony. Why is that relevant? There are two aspects to the mode of travel and this day's events that are correlated. The valedictory gathering was addressed by the Honourable President of India. He exhorted the OTs of the 89th Foundation Course to adhere to the tenets of the Constitution, to be responsive to people and to be responsible for the development of the country. In the mass transport systems that I had availed of, a bus to Dehra Dun, a Vikram (7 seater auto) to the ISBT, a bus to Saharanpur, a general compartment train ride to Ambala, a Magic van (8 seater automobile) ride to Patiala, one rubbed shoulders with the people whose principal representative addressed the gathered OTs that very morning. In those ballooning delays, in the grit of the unkempt general compartment and the grime of the public utilities, in the disfunctioning anarchy of the system we misnamed as 'transport', in that dreamy disjointed multimodality, I found the reason for the existence and the cessation of the civil services.

The valedictory function went off without glitches. The Honourable President arrived at the Academy and has had a group photo taken with the officers of the 89th Foundation Course. The Honourable President then addressed the OTs, his employees in the literal sense. The valedictory ceremony was preceded by a mini drama of sorts involving course completion certificate, the OTs and a few palpitating hearts gripped by the fear of failure. The OTs were given a course completion certificate, a copy of the group photo taken few days ago and a sketch of the director's office building by a very talented artistic OT. 

The OTs with the highest marks in various subjects and the OTs who promoted the esprit de corps were awarded prizes by the Honourable President of India.

The 89th Foundation Course came to an end with a lunch in the Officers' Mess. 

Tears were shed, farewells were said, numbers exchanged, selfies clicked and without much ado, the 89th Foundation Course came to an end.

Heart's strings were plucked, a portion in the pit of the stomach went into knots encountering familiar and fond faces, knowing one would not see them as often as one would have wanted. Pretty faces, handsome faces, friendly faces, smiling faces, haughty faces, faces of civil servants all, they will remain in that portion of the brain which specializes in short term memories and will be over written by more immediate faces, a set of 180 faces, a fresh beginning of understanding old faces. What remains in the long term?

What remains in the long term is our conception of reluctant starts to friendships, of awkward remembering of faces and corresponding names, of human bonds and the surprising transformation that urgency has brought about in the nature of relationships. Would we have felt the same way if the Foundation Course was of 5 year duration?

The star ship Mycadea righted itself after the group photo, opened all the vents of the Karamshila Engine Complex, fired all its engines and achieved escape velocity within an hour of address by the First Citizen. However, 180 T-OTs were left behind and they looked on, many with moist eyes, heavy hearts, restless minds, looked on at the departing 104 T-OTs, their friends, lovers, philosophers and guides over the past 111 days.

Godspeed spacefarers!

PS:

As promised, this is the last post on this blog, Labhashana.blogspot.com regarding the 89th Foundation Course. While I debate whether to continue the same title and merely demarcate the Foundation Course section or to start a new blog with a new title and a different ethos, I would like to thank you dear readers for everything and nothing.

My personal objectives for the FC were realized in parts. Weight loss- yes but unsatisfactory. Books read- yes but far too few. Super power attained- Anonymity- worked well but only to an extent.

And that is all folks.

Post Script: I did decide to blog about the 1st Phase. You can read all about the 1st phase here.
https://firstphaser.wordpress.com

On Counsellor Groups

A practice that is prevalent at the academy is that of a formal, structured mentorship programme called the counsellor groups. The counsellor groups provide informal platforms for interaction between the faculty and the OTs. These interactions are scheduled on a fortnightly basis. As a goodwill gesture and as a courtesy from very senior civil servants, the counsellors host a demi official dinner/lunch for the OTs. We have had one such luncheon this day. The counsellors are guardians for the OTs, their friend, philosopher and guide in times of need. This structure works well. The counsellor group OTs are like a platoon and they participate in various events as a group, competing with other counsellor groups. The tug of war was one such event.

The end term exams start Monday and once again the FC 89 batch is wrestling with Powerpoint presentations of a wide variety of topics. As the marks obtained in these exams count towards determining the final batch inter se seniority which determines the speed at which one is promoted or pushed up the ranks, a lot is at stake for few OTs who have age on their side.

13 days of non-IAS OTs' company left. Less or more is subjective.

On Idiocy of Rules, Lovelorn OTs

22 days for the batteries to run out. What will the Duracell bunny do then?

Autocratic is not a word to be bandied about lightly but few instructions and few strictures now seem to warrant such an action. They walk the thin line between idiocy and absurdity. Long after all the love has vanished, O KS! one only finds faults in one's beloved. The multiplicity of rules which at first appeared charming and idiosyncratic now seem dreadful and suffocating. C'est la vie.

Ours is not to ask why, our is to do PT and die. Though in all honesty, one feels one enjoys PT too much to safely conform to any group norms.

The Honourable Minister of State for Home Affairs, Shri Kiren Rijiju addressed a session this forenoon. The session was informative, interactive and interesting. Of all the valuable advice the Honourable Minister had given, only one point seeped in to my sleep addled brain, i.e., his advice to the OTs to marry for the sake of love and not for cadre and that cadre do not matter in these premiere civil services. Sound advice no doubt but who will heed this advice? The gear wheels in the brains of the bright OTs are shifting and turning as we speak, making mental calculations on cadre probability and caste compatibility, arriving at a list of probables on whom love can be bestowed.

Today was a dead line for submission of village reports and book review. If this sounds school-like then you are not far off the mark. Throw in a strict head master type figure, demanding PT master types, eccentric science teacher types AND throw in sexually repressed adolescent OTs, you have it spot on, school all over again.

I have been receiving many suggestions and topics for the blog posts. The Sunny Leone Shrimati Sunny Leone part was inspired by a suggestion catered to by a gentleman OT. It is always a good sign for the blog when the readers are livelier than Google spider bots.

A gentleman OT, mad and sick in love, requested that I convey his feelings on this blog to his lady love, in case she too reads this blog. I had played Cupid earlier, successfully I must add, for the couple in question are celebrating their 4th wedding anniversary today, let me see if I can reach in to my thinking hat and pull out few love bunnies.

The closest approximation to the gentleman OT's situation can be found in the lyrics of the song 'Hello!' by Lionel Richie. The relevant lines are as follows:

I sometimes see you
Pass outside my door
...

...

...

Hello!
Is it me you're looking for?
'cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely?
Or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven't got a clue
But let me start by saying I love you.

The video of the song, for your viewing pleasure.

There are benefits of being at the academy. One can run in to a certain illustrious gentleman who pioneered the use of zeros in audits and accounts, a veritable re-inventor of zero in the Indian political math. A series of selfies of OTs with the illustrious gentleman civil servant may follow in time. Watch your Facebook feeds.

The Athletics Meet is to be held over two days, both of them happen to be on the weekend. Why, oh why?!

Look forward to the Rainbow Batch making a mark, breaking few records by the way.

On Wardrobe Malfunctions, High Table Dinners and Science Day Celebrations

It is late in the day. And it was a long day. There will be times in the FC when a day just does not seem to end. The day starts with the PT. Even the most optimistic, rationalizing human being would find it hard to wake up early in the morning and trudge down to Polo grounds in the increasingly biting cold, day after day after day. What may be an unequal compensation for the disruption in sleep, comfort and warmth? A glimpse of the sky shy of dawn and full of stars.

Then there are guest lectures. Thanks to small and very rare mercies like documentaries/short films/clippings being shown in auditoria. If the support staff supports by dimming the ambient lights one can catch up on few much needed winks. Even if one tries sincerely not to sleep in the class, taking such extreme measures as skipping breakfast etc, one can be assured of a visit by the Nidra Devi. 

This day was celebrated as Science Day, commemorating the 105th birth anniversary of Homi J Bhabha. There were couple of lectures on implementation of innovative technologies by government agencies. Contrary to the commonly held belief that the abundant number of government run labs and scientific organizations do negligible work, there are few such government run organizations headed by passionate, knowledgeable, courageous civil servants doing commendable work. However, they may be more an exception than the rule. We still have a large number of autonomous, semi-autonomous, deemed autonomous, wannabe autonomous and other manner of organizations purportedly researching weighty matters in science and technology, guzzling public funds like many fat caterpillars and nothing to show for their years of existence. Instead of a bias for action, the bureaucrats and technocrats of these organizations have a bias for status quo.

 As a part of the Science Day celebrations, a declamation contest was held on whether science can be an equilibrium between development and sustainable existence.

The 3rd Cultural Programme was a qualified success. I must clarify, the qualification is of the highest order. Why do I put everything in bureaucratese? The highlight of the show, in my juvenile opinion, is that of the image of an affable gentleman officer trainee holding the dhoti up by both hands, protecting his modesty with admirable ease. We need more near wardrobe malfunctions to spice up the staid proceedings of the FC once in a while. There were glitches in the programme but considering that the OTs were quite hard pressed for time, even the effort of putting up the show was admirable. I always believe that trying one's best despite adverse conditions shows one's character. 

The evening does not end here though. The highlight of the evening was the lecture by Dr. Raghuram Rajan, Governor of the Reserve Bank of India. He has had a distinguished career as an economist and academician. It was interesting to listen to his experiences in navigating the political and bureaucratic maze in India. The lecture was followed by a formal dinner with the chief guest. It was an awkward sight, the chief guest and others at the high table and couple of hundred OTs gawking at the admittedly handsome alum of IIT D and IIM A. One needs to get used to more such awkward sights I suppose.

On Paucity of News

The paucity of material to write about pinches me oftener than in the past. Has the academy become non-happening at once or am I too steeped in my stupor to not notice the colourful goings on? 

History will judge me kindly. :)

The thing about corruption is that any amount of talk on tackling corruption runs the danger of sounding platitudinous. Nevertheless when very senior functionaries with vast experience in policing, speak, they speak from their distilled experience as anti-corruption crusaders.

The Officer Trainees' lounge in the Karmshila building is a cosy place for the OTs to hang out at in their leisure. The lounge has plush carpeting and comfortable cushions seated in which the OTs can make meetings happen till the cows have all come home, had their dinner, bedded down and started chewing their cud. A snooker table finds frequent players who avoid the comfort of the sofas and have taken one too many cues.

There are pigeon hole lockers, sans locks I believe, close to the snooker table and the music room. The lockers yield surprising amounts of photocopied study material, week schedules, forms to be filled for claiming TA, DA, sizes of winter clothing, etc. They are the very magic hats out of which myriad unlovely hares emerge. I recall the 'Water of India' trick of the magician P.C. Sorcar watched many decades ago. The trick involved a 'lota' being filled with water (miracle worth pooja in its own right) from time to time even after being emptied at the same frequency by the magician. I would not be surprised if one day even a genie were to emerge.

Preparations are on in full swing for the 3rd Cultural Programme. We also have scheduled for tomorrow, a speech by a key functionary in the banking system. 

This bulletin ends here.

On Facebook Likes

Narcissism is a must have attribute for writer pretenders. Compulsive checking of number of 'likes' on Facebook and the page view count on blogger are examples of narcissism. Is narcissism harmless?

The 'likes' on Facebook are value neutral. Say, for example, a morally unscrupulous fellow may 'like' many posts and signify virtual acquiescence or enthusiastic endorsement of the content. How would anyone know if the fellow was 'liking' the post in a mocking manner? Likes dripping with sarcasm, perhaps? None would be wiser. Why does not Facebook give a colour code to the 'like' icon? Like, green if the object of FB like is of barf inducing quality or a jealousy triggering post. Yellow for Coldplay's song. Blue for the warmest colour. Metallic pink for iron willed women with a penchant for girly things. Acid red for all things wrong with social network narcissism. Et cetera.

One tries and tries to increase the 'like' count. Most efforts would be quite futile.

 

On the other hand, there are posts by certain others which garner millions of 'likes' and gain one's eternal enmity.

 

However, one knows that the likes are like turds out in the open. They smell only for a short duration and they disintegrate soon enough. Probably the reason why open defecation is still the most preferred and popular method among OTs on long treks, villagers and other country men.

The inbound traffic for this blog is Facebook in preponderance. However, few innocuous Google queries too land an unsuspecting visitor on this blog. A curious cat wanted to know 'chicken being served in lbsnaa,' another finicky citizen queried as to how lbsnaa is pronounced. The chicken being served in lbsnaa is delicious to say the least. We are also served mutton, fish, paneer, fruits according to season, eggs to order, fresh fruit juices, coffee and tea (the milky varieties), delicious brownies, dosas, idlis, uthappams, indeterminate 'Chinese food' and other edible items. Is the chicken being served halal or jhatka? Is it from a certified, free range, organic, natural farm and sustainably marketed? I am not sure. As for pronunciation of lbsnaa, it is pronounced 'labaasna.' If you can do it with an accent and finesse, you can even pass it off as French.

Enough of navel gazing. There is an act for Prevention of Corruption. There are institutions for tackling corruption. There are punishments for the corrupt public servants. Yet we have not moved an inch towards a corruption free country. 

Civil servants are expected to be acquainted with quantitative methods among other desirable skill sets. And so I meet my two old enemies- stairs and statistics. Hopefully they will no longer be my enemies by the end of this FC.

The cross country run race is scheduled for tomorrow. All the best for the long distance runners.

On Diwali at the academy

Diwali/Deepawali at the academy was a semi-festive occasion. The lunch brought the batch together. There were activities by the Fine Arts Club which kept the artistically inclined occupied for the day. Like rangoli and painting. The participants must be appreciated for their efforts. Here are few examples of their works.

To abstraction

Wishing well

Rangoli prepared by the OTs

A sample of the fireworks show

Cross current of fireworks

The artistically challenged like me spent the day lazing, recovering from the hectic non-reading for the mid term exam.

There were attempts made to decorate parts of the common areas with diyas. They were valiant efforts by few people. However, without almost anal retentive level planning, illumination of wide open spaces is a tough proposition. As a KGPian and that too from RK Hall I can say this with certain level of confidence. One only needs to see illumination from KGP to know what they are missing when trying to do anything with diyas. Yes, Diwali is a legitimate reason to get senti about KGP.

The fireworks show was good while it lasted, which, like most crushes, was for a woefully short duration. However, efforts to procure fireworks and plan on having a resemblance of a fireworks show in itself is reason enough to applaud the efforts.

Lady OTs turned out in dazzling, colourful ethnic wear and were by all accounts brighter than a million diyas put together. Gentlemen OTs, those who made the effort to dress up in ethnic wear, were still not a patch on the ladies. 

What was missing? Sweets! Tonnes of them. I miss the wide assortment of sweets that are de rigueur on Diwali in northern India and the gratuitous stuffing of oneself with as many sweetmeats as possible.

One's family is missed on these festive occasions. For those who could not join their families on account of distances and time and archaic no leave rules of the FC were seen trying their best to be present in the academy mentally too. Their hearts and their minds were with their families, their loved ones.

I found a rather curious happening as regards the ITBP guards posted at various points of the campus. Yesterday, few guards were overheard speculating on their chances of getting a day off on Diwali. One was unpleasantly surprised to find guards of a particular community having been posted for the sentry duties today. The motive may have been pious, but the intention can be misconstrued a thousand ways. Such practices are likely to reinforce expectations and behaviours that are contrary to the ethos of the uniformed forces. This is a dangerous path to go down.

How would you as a civil servant deal with such situations? Would you opt for convenience over hard choices? How would you handle the demands for leave from all quarters on such hot holidays?

On monkeys and on mid terms

A distinguished, decorated and senior ex-police officer visited the academy to deliver a lecture on leadership. The part of the message that resonated with me the most was when the visiting dignitary exhorted the OTs to be anti establishment to an extent possible. Here is a civil servant who even after 37 years working inside the 'system' did not become jaded or turn a cynic. Contrast with the outlooks of civil servants of some vintage (say 10 years) as expressed during the literary festival.

An exam chill has descended on the batch. Conversations among the OTs begin and end with the customary query of how far down the preapration lane one has gone. There are hushed whispers of answers of the extent of one's preparation. There are remedial classes by few kindred souls specializing in hard to understand subjects. The KTPs may be sharpening their knives (pens, same thing) to go in for the kill. Then there are the clueless and the give-up (gibbups) types who for some reason feel they have transcended the levels of exams and other methods fo testing one's intellect/memory power. These gibbups may have the added disadvantage of an unfavourable age on their side. A civil servant, the calculative, manipulative, oily character that he is, would have figured out what needs to be done to survive in this OT eat OT world. Or he may genuinely be clueless.

The OTs take a tumble from time to time when not studying like it is the end of the world. They may drop off a horse while riding or be attacked by a troop of monkeys while minding one's business. These are occupational hazards for civil servants. Especially the monkeys. The langurs when they dash across cobble stone paved open spaces make a thundering noise as if they are arboreal equines, sans the horse shoes. They are powerful creatures that need to be given a wide berth. The monkeys, on the other hand, while only a little lesser disagreeable than the langurs, are nevertheless dangerous if the troop has infant monkeys. All said and done, our simian relatives and neighbours tend to be uncivil towards the civil servants. One finds the incline and the steps up to the academic area from the hostels often strewn with monkey faeces, a singularly unpleasant sight when one is proceeding for breakfast.

If a monkey hits random keys on a laptop keyboard for an infinite amount of time, then it will most surely type up all the rules governing the conduct of civil servants or, better still, a blog chronicling the lives and times of civil servants of the 89th Foundation Course batch. Alas! I do not have an infinite amount of time. A second rehearsal 10k run is scheduled in place of tomorrow's PT. A monkey off one's back with this PT substitution.

On FC midway point, movies and on absolute anonymity

Exams may come and exams may go, but I can not shake off the habit of watching movies and reading fiction and eating more than twice the daily calorie requirement during exam time. I watched an anime, 'Perfect Blue' (1997) by Satoshi Kan (who also directed 'Millennium Actress' (2001)) and the ever green big daddy of cool movies, 'Big Lebowski' (1998) (The Dude abides!) by the Coen brothers. 'Perfect Blue' is the source/inspiration movie for 'Black Swan' (2010). In fact, many think (including me, after I have watched the movie today) that 'Black Swan' draws heavily from 'Perfect Blue.' Among the many critiques and analyses available on the net, I found this to be the best that compares and contrasts both the movies.The caffeine driven binge movie watching then dovetailed with listening to the OSTs from both the movies and then reading reviews from various fora.

Do my batchmates realize that the 89th Foundation course is half done already? The 'mid term' exams cleave the course duration in to two neat halves. How do you feel now that the course is half empty (or half full, as you wish). The defining event of the Foundation Course, the Great Himalayan Trek is over. Other high points that the OTs may look forward to are the village visit and the India Day. I am guessing the cultural programmes due every fortnight will have been a matter of routine by the end of the course and not many may be enthused by the cross country run and the athletic meets. So what do the OTs look forward to, now? Many deadlines for submission of essays on various topics and reviews of books etc loom on the horizon, like the snow peaks of the Gangotri group, Chaukambha, Kedarnath groups visible from the campus. We move ever closer to scaling new heights.

There are two places in the campus from where one can get unhindered views of the snow clad Himalayas- the library reception area and the mess hand wash area. The Gandhi Smriti Library reception area has the added benefit of having an almost panoramic photograph of the Himalayas on the horizon, labelled with the peak names pasted on the wall above the window making for easy identification. The bronze plate with the peaks marked on it, on the Kalindi Guest House lawns is of no use. The peaks do not correspond to the direction in which they are present and trees in front of the viewing area spoil the views. Other areas in Mussoorie from which an unhindered view of the peaks can be had is the Lal Tibba. Even the Nandadevi peak is said to be visible from there. A visit to the Lal Tibba on a clear sky day is due. The Chaukambha peak group is the most impressive among all the peaks visible from the campus.

Half way through. I am guessing the academy will be a much duller place once the OTs from services other than the IAS leave after the Foundation Course comes to a close. We will think about it when the time comes. As of now, I am yet to know most of my batch mates and vice-versa. The situation can get a bit comical at times, like how in a class of just 7 OTs (a language class), a lady OT wanted to know if I were in the same class as her. After about 50 days in the academy and after as many as 10-15 language classes, I suppose it was a rather tragi-comic statement on many things. Namely, that mere physical presence does not get registered. That people are likely to mistake me for a wall paper. If it were the first time that this has happened, I would be wallowing in self-pity. Alas! This is the umpteenth time that people wake up one day to find that I have had been their group/team mate/coworker etc for quite some time. My colleagues from my stint at a private MNC would identify this incident with that of the 'kind stranger' moniker. I only hope this sort of presence whitewash does not happen with my wife to be. Imagine the awkwardness and the embarrassment if the future wifey wakes up one day and wonders aloud and in alarm as to what I am doing in her house. 

This level of anonymity has its advantages, too. I am seeing a bright future for myself in the world of espionage where the ability to pass off as a wall paper is a great talent to possess. A fly on the wall type is just the kind that a wannabe spy has to be proficient being.

I sincerely hope that by the end of the Foundation Course there may not be many fellow OTs who mistake me for a wall paper.

On Blessed Rainy Day and Ephemarality of Thoughts

I have decided not to bore anyone tonight. I am hard pressed to find content fit for the blog without resorting to tabloid tactics or talking about the weather. 

What about the weather? It is getting colder. The night low dipped a few notches almost as if on cue on the 23rd September. What gives? It was the same day as the Blessed Rainy Day, a holiday in Bhutan marking the end of the monsoon, as my friends from the Royal Bhutan Civil Service and Royal Bhutan Forest Service, a jolly bunch, informed me.

What a simple and pleasing name- blessed rainy day!

Rain may have taken leave of Bhutan but not of Mussoorie. It drizzled for sometime, drenching the multi-hued garden dahlias growing wild on the hill sides. The delicate flowers were akin to rain kissed damsels, their flimsy clothes hiding nothing. Only, there was nothing to hide for these flowers. The bees visited, reluctant, hesitant. Cliches abounded, like now.

Post the group formation, a sub-group, namely, couples, formation activity is on. Here, if I delve more into this topic I shall be breaching the 'no gossip' rule I put for myself. However, I shall mention any activity that may be of general public interest without compromising anyone's privacy. We shall cross that bridge when we come across it.

A note on the trek. I noticed that the full moon is on the 8th of October right when we would be in the middle of the long trek in the upper Himalayas. I look forward to 'moonlight on the mountain rivers', mists of love, Milky Way to my heart etc. Though the moon, prima donna that she is, would drown out the light from the stars. I was eagerly looking forward to spotting stars I last saw during my adolescence when I used to sit in the balcony of our place, books in my lap for pretence, gazing at the sky hoping I would catch a glimpse of a shooting star so that I could make a wish to fulfill my boyhood fantasies. No, the fantasies did not come true though events more magical and astonishing than my juvenile mind could fantasize about did come about. Such is life. We wish for something, on a shooting star no less, and something else happens, a cosmic surprise, far outshining and underlining the ephemerality and fickleness of our thoughts. Who am I to complain of my lot?!

On a purported blog holiday and on editorial introspection.

Today is a blog holiday. I thought I should rest a bit, sleep early instead of burning the candle from both ends. One is never not busy at the academy. There will be meetings of societies, socializing occasions like dinners, events showcasing one's talents etc to keep one busy the whole day and most of the night. Then there is the PT (sigh) and classes (snore), couple of hours spent eating sprouts and half a day spent dressing in smart casuals. Not that I am insinuating that I am doing any or all of these activities. I am merely suggesting that such are the busy lives of most of the OTs.

I had been musing on what I am going to write in the coming days. There will be events and incidents enough to write about but would that satisfy my pretence of desire to be a 'writer' one day? A prize winning writer no less!

Literary aspirations aside, I have had an occasion to rethink about the content and the philosophy of this blog. The trigger was an anecdote by a fellow OT on how she used to avoid taking pictures of people but has since amended her opinion as she felt photographs without people in them are prone to losing their context. I have a habit of avoiding photographs of people (and that includes me!) as much as I can. I prefer taking photographs of everything else under the sun. However, the lady OT's statement has a deeper meaning (whether intended or not I do not know) which I realized upon meditating on the statement for some time. And the deeper meaning, in my understanding, is whether art should exist for the sake of art alone or have a utilitarian value, a functional existence. Over innumerable weekends spent at National Gallery of Modern Arts (Mumbai) and Jehangir Art Gallery (Mumbai) watching people interact with art, I believe art can and must exist for its own sake alone. Art, like poetry, is the natural instinct of our being. [paraphrased Bill Aitken's line from 'Seven Sacred Rivers.'] People understand art instinctually. They react to it, irrespective of their prior experience with art, in a primal manner. Photography is a form of art and is also like a time capsule. You put in old love letters, photographs of one's beloved, assorted knickknack dear to one at that particular time, shut the lid of the time capsule and open it at a later date. A photograph is similar in its function. Therefore, if I do not include markers, faces and bodies, in the photographs, would the photographs be relevant at a later date?

Similar to photographs, would these blog posts be relevant at a later date without names and specifics? I try not to name anyone in this blog out of various well founded reasons. However, one is bound to reel closer to the boundaries of specifics when one tries to write about an intensive course for a batch in the higher 200s in number. In that case, what is the appropriate action? Desist from posting or go ahead with it and trample on few toes in the process? I am all for a generic blog, let us see how it goes from here.

So much for a blog holiday. However, I thought I might take some time for editorial introspection.

On a trek to Lal Tibba and blue berry cheese cake.

Here is the trek description in a more readable form.

• Trek from the academy to Lal Tibba.
• Started at 7.30 am.
• Downhill walk till Bhilaru pump house.
• Salt sprinkling ceremony to ward off leeches and to maintain pH levels, slaughtered few mountain goats to propitiate trekking gods (ok, this part is made up, the sacrifice part).
• Some more downhill walk on algae covered paths (slippery as hell).
• Bicchu buti kisses in between (painful, painful, irritating initially, but one forgets after a while as the aches in legs from climbing overtakes the bicchu buti sting). Nobody quite grasped the nettle!

  

  Beware of bicchu buti.

  
  

• 

  Some mushrooms enroute.

• Dead wood blocks the narrow path; OTs slide on their bottoms in order not to roll down 80 ft before the fall is broken by trees. Fat bottomed OTs you make the rugged world go round!
• Crossed leech infested area near a pool of stagnant water and a ribbon of a stream that has the deceptive roar of a raging torrent, somehow. Yours truly mistook the leeches for earthworms, steps in to the pool, soggy shoes and socks torment for the rest of the trek.
• Climb begins in earnest. Narrow, gravelly path. Precipitous drop one one side and stinging nettles on the other.
• Crawl on all fours at a place. Palms still sweat when one thinks of that part. Happy because of the paunch which lowered the centre of gravity.
• Climb past hamlets, barking dogs, flatulent cows.
• Climb past fruit bearing trees (apple, apricot), 'mansoor' shrubs
• Climb ends at Lal Tibba view point. Two sleepy, generic cafes. A binoculars on a roof top. Cloudy so could not see any of the upper Himalayas. Do ends justify the means? Not for Lal Tibba trek I say!
• Pleasant walk downhill and some more climb up to ITM lawns for lunch.

• 

  A bee going about its business.

• Kellogg Memorial and St.Pauls churches, old and redolent of 19th century Raj era.
• Char dukaan disappointed few motor vehicle borne pretty young things. Heard the pancakes are worth making the trek to Landour. Should check out the said pancakes.

  

  Signboards at a cafe.

• Kulri bazaar home to quaint shops. Antiques store was a shortcut to an indeterminate past, in to lives of others, memorabilia mundane and mysterious. Reminded me of the saying that love is greater than truth. And commerce in nostalgia did not seem an example of exploitative capitalism.
• Serendipitous discovery of Clock Tower Cafe by friends. Blueberry cheesecake was out of this world. The ambience made it especially noteworthy.

  

  The interiors of Clock Tower Cafe.

  
  

  

  The coffee was good.

So that in nutshell is an account of the trek. Was it tough? You bet it was. Was it memorable? Every bit yes, especially the scary bits. Was it worth all the sweat, salt, fat etc? I suppose so.

A larger collection of photographs of the trek can be found here.

Below is the trek account in its original form.

Lal Tibba earned an enemy in me today. The trek was 18 km long. The unsuspecting batch started a slow walk downhill till we reached a point where we sprinkled liberal amounts of salt on our shoes (a pointless exercise, for dry salt does not stick to dry shoe surfaces), socks and inside the shoes. This pickling of ourselves in salt was to deter potential dependents in the form of leeches. Once sufficiently salted, the batch made its way through a narrow path surrounded by an abundance of bicchu buti. A handwritten caution note pinned to a tree does not prepare one to the full scale horror of bicchu buti rubbing against one's shins and arms, even through a layer of cloth. The resultant sting was bitter, intense for the initial 2-3 minutes and the itch fades away in to the background remaining a persistent irritant for a time. There was a spot in the descent where a fallen tree caused few anxious moments as the OTs had to go around the gnarled roots on a narrow path and descend some 12 ft in an almost vertical drop, land on another narrow strip of loose dirt path of 1 ft width failing which the OT would take a tumble down an abrupt drop of around 80 ft. It was the first instance when one feels a bit of trepidation. One also imagines Final Destination 1 to 5. Then there was another point in the climb where the loose gravel and a slope of close to 60 degrees meant one had to cling to tufts of grass or shrubs and climb on all fours. It was not a dignified sight for the civil servants to crawl on the sides of the hills, but between the indignity of crawling and the reasonable certainty of a headlong plunge to the very bottom of the valley some 1500 ft below, rational human beings choose crawling.

There was this funny thing of feeling giddy the moment one raises their head to admire the vista of trees of the deepest tree-green covering folds of earth, like vertical love handles, the tremendous middle Himalayan Mussoorie range. So, to avoid falling off the mountain side, one tends to keep his head down, eyes peeled to the path, belabored breath like a sputtering engine. Keep one's head down and climb and climb and climb. Through rocky paths strewn with slate slabs, dried cow dung, an accompanying dog and a racket of dog barks. Climb till you wonder if you are ascending to heaven. Climb some more till your calf muscles turn in to mountain goat muscle. Stringy and tough.

After all the climbing one reaches Lal Tibba. The point we landed up at after the rather difficult trek was a small piece of tarred road and couple of cafes. Since it was overcast there was no chance of seeing the snow-clad Himalayas and the prominent peaks. The culmination of the trek was underwhelming to say the least. Post lunch one was free to move to the academy as per one's preference and I opted to walk down to Landour, along with few friends. Landour was pretty as a post card. Of special mention was the Clock Tower Cafe, a delightful cafe with superb views and a blue berry cheese cake to die for.

On a Movie and a visit to Dehradun

"Day 19: Like Darwin’s finches, we are slowly adapting to our environment."

I borrowed the line from the movie 'The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel for the Elderly & Beautiful' (2011). Thanks to the Film Society for screening this good movie. It was an entertaining watch. Due to the recency effect, I shall borrow liberally from the movie. Like this dialogue, for example.

"Evelyn: The only real failure is the failure to try. And the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment. As we always must. We came here, and we tried. All of us, in our different ways. Can we be blamed for feeling we're too old to change? Too scared of disappointment to start it all again? We get up every morning, we do our best. Nothing else matters.

Evelyn: But it's also true that the person who risks nothing, does nothing; has nothing. All we know about the future is that it will be different. But, perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So, we must celebrate the changes. Because, as someone once said "Everything will be all right in the end. And if it's not all right, then trust me, it's not yet the end."

It can be said of the batch of 89th FC that we are slowly adapting to our environment. This point was driven home strangely enough when we ventured out of this environment. Half of the batch visited two institutes in Dehradun for the differently abled. The change in environment was quite obvious. 'The heat, the motion, the perpetual teeming crowds' of Dehradun were, if not of Mumbai level, at least a sea change from the life at Mussoorie. Weather at Musoorie is balmy while in the plains it was hot, humid and enervating. The sweet, fresh, rejuvenating air of the mountains was missed the most. When one starts living in the hills, the plains seem too plain. Now it all makes sense, the reason to locate these institutes and institutions at such altitude. However, there is no such thing as a free lunch after all. The price that we pay for the sweet mountain air is all the walk up and down the hills. 

The visit to the institutes was to sensitise the civil servants to the lives of the differently abled and also to acquaint them with the scope of work and the work that is being done to fully integrate the differently abled in to the main stream society. The issue to ponder about was not what software or hardware to use to aid the visually impaired or what approach to take to care for the intellectually disabled, rather, it is about how we perceive, in the first place. There is an us-them distinction that crops up the moment we talk of the differently abled and in deed when we talk of anyone or anything 'different' from our preconceived notions of the normal. If one can see the visually impaired as only visually impaired and then take actions that alleviate the day to day problems faced by them, as a matter of administrative right rather than as a duty, one feels that the lot of the differently abled will not be an intractable problem as it is being perceived. The incident that made a deep impression on me was how an intellectually disabled child was keen on showing off his talent at drawing to the visiting group of OTs. Dignity, in my opinion, is the foundation of human existence. The dignity and the self-esteem that the children displayed touched my heart. It was an important lesson they reinforced in me this day.

The bus ride to and from Dehradun was spent in blissful, if unstable, sleep by most OTs. One suspects the body is accustomed to sleep during those particular class hours of the day. For shame, KS! For shame.

The dinner was a pleasant surprise in that it was themed- Bangla being the theme. It is but obvious then that fish must be present and it was a delicious dinner that we had. A rohu is not a hilsa, yes, but it came close to the original maccher jhol. Memories of KGP came flooding back. The food at KGP was not the best I have had but it was the company that made all the difference.

Let me end this post with the birds again. In stead of the much maligned PT, we have had yoga this morning. Apparently it was the first time that yoga has been introduced as a part of the early morning PT regime. After awkward twisting and impossible folding of arms and limbs, one got to lay on one's back on a foam mat and watch the sky-blue sky and the underbellies of the swifts and the lapwings lit by the rising sun. I felt the world was a better place for the sun having lit the underbellies of the birds in brilliant gold. Such simple joys of life.

It is late in the day. A trek to Lal Tibba awaits tomorrow. Another day, another day trek. I am surprized we are even finding time to do the things that we are doing. As a character in the movie says, "First rule of India: there's always room."

A general post.

Horse riding is not easy as it seems. The smell. Horses stink. Sorry Gulaab, you do too. Gulaab is my ride. Then there is the infernal riding position. It stresses certain muscle groups. Like a fellow OT had remarked, all muscles are not equal. Gluteus maximus takes the maximum beating followed by other tender places. Horse riding may appear to be fun to the casual onlookers. But for chubby OTs on old horses, it is a different ball game. One tends to cling to the saddle hoping one does not fall off a horse. The horses rarely ever listen to the OT. They listen to the commands of the riding instructor or to the handlers. The OTs are nothing but sacks of fat on horsebacks. If the horses could talk, they would have said, "It is I who run things around here, not you."

I got a close look at a keen type probationer (KTP) today. The said specimen volunteered for a second round of a particularly strenuous activity while the first round was trying enough. It feels good to know that the future of this country is safe in these driven personalities. I expect to see more of these kind to emerge out of the wood works. What is life after all? Is not it a number? A rank? A comparison with every other person on earth? A position at the top in the inter se seniority? To each his own.

Since one half of the batch was out on a visit to two institutes for the differently abled, the campus seemed emptier. Would it be like this post the FC? Sleepy, quiet, no dramas to unfold?

 

On Marxist lectures and Sleep Operas.

What political orientation would the agents of polity have? 

Should the political orientation be declared? 

Can a civil servant be neutral? 

There was a guest lecture today by a faculty from a well known university. The lecture was about socialism (in particular Marxism) and its relation to politics. After the lecutre was over, the common refrain that I got to hear from the batch was that there was a bias towards one particular ideology and a bias against another. This is purely speculative, for a random overhearing of grumblings of sleepy OTs is in no way an authoritative account of their political leanings or preferences, but the majority seem inclined to a particular ideology. In itself, it is no harm. However, one wonders if it is desirable to have homogeneity in opinion. Does that mean heterogeneity is desirable as and end in itself? Another question might be, how has the selection process succeeded in screening so many like-minded people? I suppose it may be answered the day one understands the reason why there is a preponderance of engineers in this batch of civil servants.

While these and other thoughts were churning about, I found, refreshingly enough, that I was awake. It afforded me a chance to see my batchmates in (in)action. Perhaps I too may have snored gently, almost inaudibly. Perhaps I too might have been nodding away to dream lands all these days. We never know. A gentle tap on the shoulder by the kind staff woke those sleeping sitting near the aisle. What of those ensconced in the middle of a row, surrounded by similarly drowsy friends?

Tongue firmly in cheek, therefore, I would like to dedicate this tenor aria by Luciano Pavarotti to the batch, from the 3rd act of Giacomo Puccini's opera 'Turandot.' (I got this information and much of everything else from Wikipedia). Yes, the aria has shades of gray, but take the opening lines literally, please.

For those interested in what the aria means, here is a good source and this too.

A lazy Sunday, 'Roads to Mussoorie'

'Let me have a companion of my way, were it but to remark how the shadows lengthen as the sun declines.'- Laurence Sterne.

Today was a breathing space of sorts. A much needed one. I spent the day idly lazing around in the room and in the campus. It afforded me time to read Ruskin Bond's 'Roads to Mussoorie.' The book is available in the Gandhi Smriti Library, along with few other books by Ruskin Bond. It is a good source material for information on local history, geography, flora and fauna. Like, did you know that Rudyard Kipling stayed in the Charleville Hotel in the summer of 1888? The erstwhile Charleville Hotel is the present LBSNAA as you all know.

So, from one writer to another, hope you enjoyed your stay at the academy. Did you write anything while you were here?

The OTs occupied themselves in various ways. The culturally inclined practiced rigorously for the cultural programme scheduled tomorrow. The invite for the said event is in the form of a memo. A memo is short for memorandum. More about memo in a later post may be?

A bunch of OTs played cricket with tennis ball and few even got injured. Most others went to the Mall Road to see all that one has seen last week too. Once one starts living in a hill station as a resident and not visit it as a tourist, the perspective starts changing. There is one main street and not much else to the sleepy town. The town itself starts contracting in size, especially after one covers the surrounding areas in short but intense treks. Soon enough one starts to look at people after one has had their fill of the trees, hills, clouds, shadows, flowers and birds. Now, people are infinitely complex creatures. And writing about them is fraught with consequences. As a writer, one must write. Therefore, you may find fictitious people in my accounts here. They will never be real people, not even in approximation, but an amalgamate of various characters, various facets of very many people. Any resemblance is surely your imagination.

About the quote at the start of this post. It is best to go for walks in the hills alone. However, it is not bad to have a companion too. Provided the companion can maintain composure not to talk except to remark on the remarkable aspects of the surroundings. That is what the quote means.

Mussoorie weather, Bollywood movie and Mills & Boon

There was a conditioning walk today for the trek tomorrow. I am not complaining. Who would not want to escape the hip gyrations, the awkward bending of limbs, the absurd twisting and exertions that pass off as PT? It may all be good for us, yes, but why would any right thinking individual want to wake up at unearthly hours in this weather, in this place?

The clouds envelope you when walking (climbing, huffing-puffing) to the Officers' Mess at Karmshila, like a beloved draping a coat over your shoulders, a wrapping around of delicate concern. There is a moderate rain in the morning before the PT starts, in the afternoon and in the evening. The sun shines bright and strong in between. In the remaining times the clouds come calling, like fluffy white cows airborne, out in herds for grazing. And graze they do the hill sides clad in million shades of green. With grace. There is always something happening in the skies in Mussoorie. If, by chance, the sun, the clouds, the rain etc forget their lines, a rainbow appears as if on cue and gladdens my heart from this end of the sky to that end. A better prompter of happiness one could not find.

The celestial drama does not end with the sun set, which is poetry in hi-definition in itself. The nightfall reveals the Milky Way in all its glory if the sky is cloudless. It was a full moon day few days ago. The moon hung over Mussoorie, a crown of indescribable beauty to the Queen of the Hills.

Such sights and sounds make one's stay pleasurable. In particular the sonorous call of a bird (have to ID that blessed bird- the call is a 5-6 note call) is most pleasing. A chance to walk in the hills before the sunrise is a rare privilege in deed.

The only disagreeable thing in it all is perhaps the pockets of methanaceous air that one has to pass through where the cattle congregate in groups for rest at night. The odour is quite incongruous with the sweet hill air.

One of the guest lectures was cancelled and a movie was screened in lieu. I had not watched 'Paan Singh Tomar' earlier. It was a good movie. The strongest point of the movie was when Paan Singh Tomar, who transformed from an international athlete to a 'baghi' in the Chambal valley, could not find closure to his situation despite cornering his enemy whose actions forced him to turn to violence in the first place. Violence begets more violence, a vicious circle in which the man confuses an effect for a cause.

The Gandhi Smriti Library springs surprise after surprise. There is an AV (audio/video) section with excellent and extensive collection of movies from different regions and industries and genres. And, who could have guessed, there are two shelves full of mint-new Mills & Boon titles. While one does not understand the need for Mills & Boon titles in an academy for administration, the fact that they seem unread gives one hope, still. Maybe the OTs of this and the previous batches of Foundation Course are not mushy, sentimentalist romantics after all.

On that note, ciao. A trek looms large tomorrow. Leeches, exhaustion, solitude and exhilaration await.

Coffee and baking

The Plaza Cafe is open from 4 pm to 10 pm. It is a hole in the wall operation, in the literal sense. It is located close to the Gyanshila building. The cafe has a coffee machine, obviously, and also serves snacks of a single variety. I have Cafe Americano (a diluted espresso) and the snack. I am finding good company for the coffee nowadays. It is a good sign. A coffee tastes better when one talks in between taking sips. [I should probably patent this idea.]

Every alternate day, the snack happens to be a brownie. The brownies are fresh baked, light, fluffy and taste perfect. To top it all, it costs only Rs.10! Not for me the brownish black lumps of bread that masquerades as brownie at run of the mill coffee shops. I have become a fan of the brownies here.

Mussoorie has a baking culture, probably a vestige of the colonial times. I have read about few places on the Mall Road and Landour that are famed for their pastries and other baked items. Besides, there is an extra curricular module on baking and cooking. Few batchmates were kind enough to share with me their experiments with baking. I am looking forward to them improving their skills and testing the end products of their efforts on me. I am not averse to tasting a cake, brownie or a cookie every evening at 4.45 pm and passing my considered opinion on the baked goods and the baker.

I shall make it a point to visit the bakeries that made Mussoorie famous someday soon. The thing about making promises is that I am wont to break them. Even promises made to myself. But this is about food. I may find my feet walking to these places without me knowing it. All in good time KS.

One would expect the Officer Trainees to be more officer-like sometimes. However, I have no business standing in judgment of anyone. Probably with time one becomes officer-like by default. Time will tell.

The Ganga Dhaba and its unnamed cousin, the adjacent cafe/grocery shop/daru-sutta adda are gaining the batch's patronage steadily but surely. The mess and the cafe within the campus may have to work harder to retain the loyalties of the OTs.

Heritage walk, Debate, Cows and Red Tape

To break the monotony (and the physical exhaustion) of PT, we had a heritage walk, of sorts, near the academy. Walk is a relative term. For a few, a simple climb up a road may be a challenge enough.

Waverly houses an old and venerable institution, the Convent of Jesus and Mary, Musoorie. It was established in 1845. A road in front of the school leads to Hathi Paon. Sir George Everest's estate used to stand there. I hear it is now in ruins. This place may be a destination when I find time and motivation enough to trek to places unbid. It may be a closure to the book 'The Great Arc' by John Keay that I read.

A very old school

Somewhere to go

The highlight of the day must be the debate in which the OTs participated. The topic of the debate was 'Executive should have no say in the appointment of HC/SC judges.' The participants put in a splendid performance. I think I can speak for the audience in saying that we thoroughly enjoyed the debate. Kudos to the participants for sparing no punches on their opponents. :)

I have noticed that the cattle here have an attitude problem. Sample these two:

Whatcha lookin at?

 The bovines charged at two or three OTs during the trek to Kempty falls. One does not relish the thought of a senior civil servant being charged at by the cattle. But what would the poor cows know? They can not differentiate one fat human from the next, and can not certainly read our ID tags which also mention the service we have been allotted. A true blue bureaucrat may try out a project to educate the cows. If not outright reading of the name tags etc, at least to differentiate between the services by way of colour, smell or in any other manner. I am sure the primary reason for their anger at the bureaucrats may be the red tape.