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 Leadership and Farewells

Lao Tzu says "A leader is best when people barely know he exists, when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say: we did it ourselves."

Is such a leadership suitable for the civil services? Can a civil servant be not seen? Should a civil servant be not seen?

The Leadership Module scheduled over two and half days aims at mapping the leadership competencies of the OTs, the future leaders to use but one cliche. The workshop exercises were heavy on crayon sketching and might have resembled a kindergarten class of overgrown OTs drawing their hearts out while the benevolent faculty looked on.

Preparation for the one act play is in full swing. Natural and unnatural actors are emerging. Hope it will be an entertaining evening. [Full disclosure: I am involved somehow with the play].

It seems only yesterday when I started blogging with a very narrow mandate. I had referred to the quintessential bureaucratic process of 'no-dues.' It is time for the 'no-dues' dance to begin. Books have to be returned, accounts settled with the juice-wallah, the Home Turf, Plaza Cafe, Ganga Dhaba, forgetful Bihari friends and so on.

One has grown fond of the fellows who would be completing their professional training at their respective service's training institutions. Future CAG, Chairperson CBEC, Chairman CBDT etc have made excellent friends. Their presence would be missed. 

Another four days remain for the FC to be wrapped up. I may not get time to say goodbye to most friends owing to the hectic schedule. I thank the readers of this blog for their sustained interest. Without your consistent encouragement it would not have been possible for me to write. If writing the blog is half the picture, you readers sitting in front of monitors or smartphones hearing me out patiently, bearing with my rants and acid laced barbs and bureaucratese infested event updates are the other half.

I may yet continue blogging of events in Phase 1. However, it will not be the same. I may start a new blog for that phase. As of now, these are the last few posts for the 89th FC blog. I have had fun writing, as much as I could. There is nothing of interest to the UPSC Civils aspirants and that is how I meant it to be. No coaching advice, no motivational quotes, no challenges to your dignity or mine.

Notwithstanding anything I might have said in this blog, the Officer Trainees of the 89th Foundation Course batch are unique, purpose driven and ambitious. Most are empathetic, concerned citizens. The Rainbow Batch, as I had called it, shall be looked up at to achieve great things.

On a sunset

The sun set on the 3rd of December was the best so far.

The Himalayas were mountains of the moon, shining jagged pieces of blemished silver, looked so sharp and bright as if pain got personalized and projected on to looming granite. Lustrous. The sun did its business for the day and came home for the night, met by the blushing mountains, blushing of the night ahead.

The valleys filled with a gray black haze, a miasma arising from the depths of the earth and filling up the hollows, the crooks and the deepnesses of the valleys while the sunlight fled up the slopes, anti gravitic, hurried and ungentlemanly. The darkness was the ink into which an accidental writer dipped his pen and sketched scenes from memory.

Motor cars turned corners on roads stencilled in to the hill sides, their headlamps intermittent fireflies. Or they were sprites of the seas playing peekaboo with the intense looking sailor gazing at them from the portholes of the upside down star ship Mycadea. The sailor plodded midway through a thin book of stars to chart a course for Mycadea. It was slow work, involved turning pages aided by the infrequent wetting of the index finger tip to provide a grip. The sailor was confused, tired and he clicked the pages with his index finger thinking they were virtual. He felt stupid and so gazed out of the window. It has been 93 days since Mycadea crashed on to this strange sad planet. He had been asked to plot a course to Phase 1 star system. He did not understand the point of the exercise when their star ship was stuck headfirst on a hill on earth. How was the captain planning on getting them unstuck, for instance? How would they be airborne? Do they have enough fuel even to upright themselves? He had no answer and the captain was his usual inscrutable silly self. The cadre comet was a fizzle compared to the anticipation it created. The Toughened Operational Turnips (T-OTs) had already calculated the trajectory and the probable crash points of the comet and braced themselves.

Exhaust vents of Mycadea

The middle ranges were bald nude brown in the sun light and in the rapid night rise were menacing hulks of negative space. Villages on the slopes shone in clusters of light and, to the sailor disoriented by his thoughts, they looked like boats tossed about by gigantic waves. The star ship made sense, but it has capsized, and the aliens and the T-OTs were breathing air trapped under the belly of the boat.

He felt heroic, clever even, for having thought of this analogy. He felt sea sick too, imagining the mountains as waves and himself as driftwood. The villages must be underground cities, populated by pretty mermaids. He thought of all the hill women he saw, prettier than pearls. He wondered if he could stay back on this planet, live in a village for a while, love a lovely hill woman, move to another village, love another woman, an itinerant romantic in eternal search for happiness.

Just then the captain Chip Spik bellowed at him for day dreaming when on the job. He wanted the course on his desk five minutes ago and warned the sailor that in case he falls behind schedule one more time he will be delivered to Ming the Merciless.

 

On few eateries

The Home Turf Cafe is a cozy, well furnished, economical place to have one's snacks or non alcoholic beverages. The snacks are all popular stuff, momos, maggi, egg bhurji, sandwiches etc. The menu at Home Turf is a welcome departure from the monotony of the Officers' Mess. The Home Turf staff is efficient, cordial and talented. The Home Turf is a favourite haunt for OTs who have had their fill of Pooja and Ganga dhabas. The decor is that of a hang out for sports lovers. Therefore there are few board games, posters of sports icons and sports equipment. There are also flash cards with quiz questions on sports. Quite thoughtful, I think. Quite did not understand what the bean bags are doing there, though.

Home Turf, interior.

Illuminated Home Turf

The way to a man's heart is through food...or eyes.

When one is feeling lethargic, it is recommended that one stuff oneself to the gills. What better place to accomplish this noble deed than at Momo's, the place for all edible things Tibetan?! Momo's has an attiribute that sets ia part from other eateries/restaurants in town, namely, consistent quality. The food is tasty and it is so every time one has had the opportunity of dining at Momo's. Consistent quality performance and promise of good quality is an essential element of branding. If they do not do too bad in the future, Momo's will be a strong brand to reckon.

A light fixture at Momo's

The afternoon was given off so that the serious OTs can prepare for the end semester exams. The non serious types went for lunch and since it was a balmy day, decided to take a stroll through Mussoorie town. Hence, Gun Hill was visited, for the first time after all these months. And what an utter, utter disappointment! The area is smothered by tacky commerce. What might have been a good view point-Gun Hill is the 2nd highest point in the local area, highest being Lal Tibba- has been spoilt by greed. We have a talent for killing the golden goose. Take Kempty falls, for example. The area surrounding the falls is infested with tin shed installations blocking the view of the falls. So it is with the Gun Hill. The area was boxed in by tin shacks, tourist traps. There were shacks with games of chance and skill, shacks with shiny clothes, snack shops and a 'binoculars point.' There are 3 binoculars and the slick businessmen characteristic of tourist places charge Rs.30 per person for peering closely at the snow peaks, the same peaks which are visible to the naked eye.

View from the Gun Hill, from the Binocular Point

A sample of shops at the Gun Hill

Temple Bell

The chronic disappointment of the Gun Hill was however offset by the pleasant walk on the Camel Back road. The quiet back roads were a good place to watch birds. There were many pretty bungalows as well.

Blue Whistling Thrush

The longish walk from Gun Hill via Camel Back road, Waverley road and to the academy was timed for the sun set. Sun rises and sun sets have been spectacular of late in these areas.

The after glow

Stairs near the AN Jha Plaza

14 days yet to be chopped.

On Networking and Little Llama Cafe

A 'maha' cultural festival comprising of performances by the very senior officers of Phase 5 training programme and the FC participants, followed by an interaction session between the two ends of a civil servant's career spectrum were the highlights of the day.

It is always a good idea to find a mentor. Few OTs are brilliant at networking. In a twisted, false sense of propriety, a misplaced modesty, a characteristic hypocrisy that typifies us, networking is seen as a sinister activity, as a sign of inferiority complex, a sign that one is taking advantage of people. I believe it only shows a congenital fear of social interactions. Networking is a key activity in professional lives. The word networking is a compact explanation of a complex process of social interaction. There is no need to disparage networking. One only stands to gain from it.

A corollary of networking, or, rather, a consequence of networking is lobbying. This is a dirty word the way it is understood. Lobbying for one's interests is a basic process of social membership. The whole world lobbies for the rich and the mighty. Who lobbies for the common man? The beauty of the Indian civil services is that the Constitution of India mandates that the civil servants be the lobbyists for the poor and the underprivileged.

In a departure from the rut we had fallen in to, namely continued patronage of the restaurant Momo's (on Kulri Bazaar road), we checked out the delightfully cramped Little Llama Cafe on the Kulri road, next to the Union Church. It can seat at most 7 well-fed OTs sans their egos. The compact open kitchen lets one see and smell the food being cooked, a fascinating experience any time. One recalls the many hours spent watching one's mother in the kitchen creating beauty and perfection in food. One also chipped in by helping when possible, chopping, dicing, slicing things. The menu at Little Llama features western snack and fast food at moderate prices. It is a welcome change from the many bowls of Thukpa and platters of meat Saptak one has at Momo's.

At Momo's on Kulri Road

With only 15 days to go, most activities of the FC are winding down. Tomorrow is the last day of academic classes and also of PT. The end term exams start from Monday and will go on for five days. Most OTs are preparing for the exams at a fever pitch.

Two weeks and it is curtains down.