Nobody says you areuntouchable in India

a true story

Nobody says you areuntouchable

inIndia

a true story

by

Shamim Akhtar

Shamim Akhtar : Nobody says you are untouchable in India, a true story, New Delhi, 2016

© 2016, Shamim Akhtar

Front Cover : © Shamim Akhtar, Infra-red picture of Safdarjung Tomb, built in 1754, one of the last Muslim architectures in New Delhi, India

Back Cover : © Shamim Akhtar, Infra-red picture of Qutub Minar, built in 1199, one of the earliest Muslim architectures in New Delhi, India

All rights are with the author.

All rights reserved including the right to reproduce any part of this publication in print or electronic media.

Dedicated to

NETAJI SUBHAS CHANDRA BOSE

Preface

My father Abdul Hafeez Ansari was 12 years old at the time of Partition.

Being the eldest son of my clan, I grew up in the lap of my grandparents.

My grandparents and my father used to narrate horrifying stories of

riots during the Partition of India. But, they also used to tell about the

protection that they got from their neighbors, who were Yadav.

When , I grew up, I asked my grand parents, why they chose to stay in

India instead of going to Pakistan. The answer to that simple question I

understood much later:

“apne watan ko chor kar kahan jate?” (Where could we go leaving behind

our nation)!

I am sure this must be the story of every Muslim family who chose to

stay back in India. That makes all the Indian Muslims patriots beyond

doubt. What happened in the last seventy years or so, that almost every

Muslim in India is “seen” with suspicion?

Why there is not a single Muslim in our top Intelligence agency? When

some people with vested interest talk of reservation for minority, do they

know that the biggest employer in Government, the Indian Army already

has Jats Regiment, Gorkha Regiment, Sikh Regiment, Rajputana Rifles

etc. Do they not have absolute reservation?

Why then there is no Muslim Regiment till date?

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Why this book ?

I have been deeply influenced by Zen Buddhism, and have been trying

to “explore” ways of peaceful coexistence in a multi-ethnic nation like

ours. Justice is a prerequisite for any peaceful society, more so when

almost all faiths exist in one nation as in India.

Is India today a just nation?

Discrimination in one form or another exists in every human society,

but the injustice towards the downtrodden communities have crossed

all human limits in India. Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains are also discriminated

against. Ironically they are also treated as “minority” despite being

“officially” Hindu, as per The Hindu Marriage Act,1955.

Atrocities against Dalits (Scheduled Castes) and Christians is also a well

known fact. But the growing hatred towards Muslims in particular, in

the last few decades in India, forces one to think, where are we headed

as a nation?

I, as a student of Sociology am “trained” not to live in false consciousness

and secondly, I firmly believe in the power of truth. Coming out of the

comfines of our closet and exposing the prevailing injustice is the first

step towards achieving a just and peaceful nation.

I wish readers read this book without any pre-conceived notion and

I hope this book will contribute towards having a more humane and

better world for our future generations in India through constructive

diologues.

VII

Satyamev Jayate

I. The free bus ride in Delhi on Thursday the 10th of September 2015,

The heat of Delhi’s summer has mellowed down. Winter, my favorite season will soon set in; but today, I am far from happy. Travelling in Delhi in a bus, has been something that I could never do in 23 years of my stay here. The traffic congestion, the relentlessly blowing horns, the dust settling on my sweating body, a pungent smell wafting past my nose are not the only reasons that are making me sick.

I am in a Delhi Police Prison bus; sitting at the back with two armed policemen, on the way to Tihar Prison. The Prison bus has four segments. In the first one, there is a driver and an armed policeman. In the middle there are two caged segments having prisoners stuffed like cattle. In the last segment are two armed policemen and I am allowed to sit with them.

It is quite a scene each time the traffic light changes to red. The prisoners from within their cage beg the passersby for “bidi” and in return all they get is looks of despise. Why not, this is a transport for the “human garbage” of the society. A free citizen has all the rights to hate and despise these “animals” who have been caged for the betterment of the society.

I sit in absolute silence trying to block the cacophony both from the outside and within. The caged youngsters take their chance at nagging the policemen too for tobacco in some form. The repeated denials from the policemen are not quite effective and the request continues unabated. Yes, the job of the armed policemen also does not seem to be easy.

There is a young boy staring listlessly at the road. With every passing vehicle, he monotonously announces, “ neel ho gayeeen aankehe meri, gaddi dekh dekh ke” (My eyes are worn-out watching vehicles).

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What he means is beyond my comprehension, but the way he is saying it is definitely making me uneasy. For some reason he turns his gaze at me, fixes his eyes on mine and enquires, “Are you a staff?”

I simply nod in disagreement. He then asks the policemen why I am not holed up with the other inmates. The policemen do not reply but the boy mischievously continues, “I know you are staff. You will have great fun inside.”

Finally, the longest road trip of a road warrior like me, ends as the bus halts at the gate of Tihar Prison No. 1. I am asked to step down first and wait for further instruction.

The policemen and the prison staff start calling out the names of the inmates alphabetically, to be lodged in Jail No.1. Almost all the names are of Muslims. Then I am asked to enter the jail from the usual small gate.

Devoid of expression, I robotically step in. Even in this devastated state of mind I did not fail to notice the wet eyes of the Durban.(Gate Keeper)

The expression of the Durban seemed contagious. Two Delhi Prison constables, with similar expression, approach me and request me to accompany them to the chamber of the Dy. Superintendent. She seems to be a nice lady wearing the same carry over sad look.

She offers me a chair, but I politely decline saying that as an under trial prisoner, I am entitled to sit on a stool only.

After a few minutes, another constable comes and asks me to accompany him to the chamber of the Superintendent. The Superintendent is a promoted officer, close to retirement. He asks me very politely, “ What can I do for you? If you need anything that is within my power, just tell me.”

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In gratitude I reply, “I am sorry, but I am wearing jeans. It is not allowed in prison, so please if you could get me a pair of pajamas, I will be very grateful.”

There were four to five staff in the room. Even before the Superintendent utters a word, two of them rush out and return with many track suits and t-shirts for me to choose from.

The Superintendent asks me if I would like to take a bath in his private rest room, before dinner.

I smile. I badly needed one. My first bath after forty eight grueling hours. By the time I finish, I see a decent vegetarian meal on the table. It is more than a day since I had a meal.

While having my meal, one person in the room asked “ Sir, when were you posted here?”

I could not help but look at the role of Honor of the Superintendent Tihar Jail No.1 and my eyes stop at serial number 38;

Shamim Akhtar

Yes, I am Shamim Akhtar, who had served this prison as a Superintendent ten years back till 29th of July 2005.

Coincidently, the only Muslim name on this role of honor in Independent India till today, i.e. 10th of September 2015.

After the dinner, many of the officers and staff who had worked under me, came to the chamber of the Superintendent and expressed their grief and anger at the system of justice questioning how I have been sent to prison when all the allegations were bail able.

I did not want to discuss, “what actually happened”, but was happy to

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see that even after ten years, the prison officers and staff still hold me in high esteem.

The Superintendent informed, “Sir, all the staff here was worried for you after reading the news. You can see that their love for you is unconditional.”

In unison, I said, “Yes, it feels that almost four years of my life that I served in this institution has not gone down the drain.”

One junior officer added, “You have also been very kind to the inmates and the prisoners narrate your generous remission to the well behaved inmates even today. But you are also remembered for being extremely rule bound and very strict with hardcore criminals, terrorists and gangsters”.

I manage a smile.

“Since many hardcore convicts who were punished by you are still lodged here hence your life is at great risk being an inmate in the same prison”.

“Makes no difference to me,” I reply.

“I was not afraid of them then, and I am not afraid of them now”

“But sir, your security is my responsibility,” the Superintendent explains, “so I am giving you the cell that is allotted to Assistant Commissioner of Police, MR. Rathi.”

“What is an ACP (Assistant Commissioner of Police) doing here?” I ask.

“Mr. Rathi and his team of nine Delhi Police personnel are convicted for the murder of two businessmen in Connaught Place and they are

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serving life imprisonment,” says the Superintendent.

“Then, why are you still addressing him as ACP Rathi, he is just another convict,” I prodded confused.

The Superintendent had no answer, but he reveals that Mr. Rathi has gone out on Parole for a fortnight and I am being given his cell , as my bail is assured tomorrow.

The Superintendent is also kind enough to lodge two loyal convicts in my cell for my security. When I walk into the prison from the inner gate, to my surprise, it is 8.30 pm and many inmates are roaming around without restraint. I am escorted by two Prison Constables and four convicts to Ward No. 7, which is quite a walk from the “deodhi”.

There does not seem to be any discipline. Inmates are roaming around and the prison staff are being mocked at. This is not the prison that I had served. When I enter Ward No. 7. I am literally shocked to see the cell of ACP Mr. Rathi. It was like a well furnished apartment! TV, air cooler, jogging shoes, plug points and even a coffee maker!

None of these were permissible to anybody in my time. MR. Rathi really seems to be enjoying the status of a serving ACP of Delhi Police.

At about 10.30 pm the cell is locked up; both the convicts who are lodged with me are concerned. They say that it’s not easy to sleep in the prison the first night.

I thank them for their concern and try to sleep. The softest pillow is a clear conscience, and I do believe that I have one. So, falling asleep was not an issue. But one question kept haunting me:

“Why am I here?” A question that sent me back in time to 1996 , the year I qualified this so called prestigious Civil Services exam.

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II. The Exam- a matter of life and death for me

The summer of 1996 in Delhi was hotter than ever. It was the month of June, and the mercury touched almost 46 degree Celsius. My tiny room in Kishangarh was full of the odor of my own sweat.

More so, it was heard that in Rajasthan, the temperature touched new heights especially in Dholpur. But more than the rising temperature, the reason for my restlessness, was the fact that the final result of Union Public Service Commission (U.P.S.C.), Civil Service was yet to be announced at the Dholpur House, Shahjahan Road, New Delhi.

Usually, the final result of any year CS exam is announced before the preliminary exam of the next year, but in 1996, the final result of the 1995 exam was not yet announced even though the preliminary exam of 1996 was already held. I had appeared for that too.

But the final result of the1995 exam was a matter of life and death to me, literally. I am born in a family of eleven kids as the eldest son and my father, who was an officer in Government of Bihar, had retired and my girlfriend wanted me to qualify this exam so that we could get married.

I have been on my own since the age of 15, and this exam was hardly on my radar ever; but due to the extreme pressure from my father and girlfriend, I had taken a vow that if I fail to qualify in this 1995 exam, I will commit suicide. I am a lover of life, and a god loving person, but this vow was almost imposed on me by fate.

More than my family, my girlfriend knew that I am a man of word and if this final result was not in my favor, it only meant the end of the road for me.

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Sasmita Sarangi

My girlfriend, my breeze, the reason of my life. I met her in Jawahar Lal Nehru University ( JNU). How I wrote the JNU entrance exam and qualified is another dinner.

I was the last entry in M.A. Sociology and had missed almost 15 days of class. It was my first day and the very first class I attended was being taken by Prof. Maitreye Chowdhry. She was delivering a lecture on methodology, and most of it was beyond my comprehension. More so, when I had entered the class, I did not know anyone but for one Samir Singh, who was also from Patna University. My entry into the class went unnoticed, but I could not help noticing a girl sitting between two girls in the front row.

I sat on the last bench, trying to think whether, it was due to the ambience, or the jargons of Maitreye in heavy English, or the pretty face of the girl sitting on the front bench, my head was spinning. The next one hour, I tried to figure out my restlessness. I was 22 and had never even spoken to any girl! I was too much in love with my passion of riding solo on my motor bike and continuously looking for some “frame” to be captured on my camera, so much that I could never think of any girl. Another reason of course was my not so good looks. But I sensed, that my life is about to change. The pretty face on the front bench got embedded in my soul and I knew that I was going to meet my soul mate at the end of the class.

Finally, the longest hour of my life got over, and we all came out of the class. I, as if walking in a trance, went straight for her!

Me: “Excuse me, could you please tell me where is the canteen?”She: “Do I know you?”Me: “You will. Just tell me where the canteen is.”She: “It’s down in the basement”Me: “Can you please accompany me. I don’t like to drink my tea alone”

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Bewildered! She took me to the canteen and paid for the tea also.

While taking tea, we sat on a small table facing each other; one sip of the tea was enough to flush me with courage, I said to her: “I am going to tell you something, please don’t freak out. And I don’t want you to say anything. Just listen. I think I am in love with you”

After that, it’s been a long journey. She happened to be the prettiest girl of the class and I was far from being good enough in many ways. But, destiny has strange ways of connecting people. She became a good friend instantly. I had missed several lectures and the first mid-semester was just in three days.

She shared the class notes with me and it so happened that I scored more than her in that exam.

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Love too can lay a trap

I went back to Patna, to bring my bike to Delhi. I told my mother about Sasmita. My parents were extremely happy to hear that I was “interested” in a girl. My father was thrilled, since I have been a backpacker and footloose, he always wondered if I will be of any good to the family. To my parents, the religion or caste of Sasmita was not an issue at all. They knew she would succeed in anchoring me.

Little did I know the “trap” my parents were laying for me!

I reached Delhi after a two day long ride and stopped at her hostel gate. On hearing that I have arrived she came running from her room, bare foot! Seeing her bare foot, my eyes glowed.

“So! You indeed love me,” I said. She smiled, and few months later, clarified that her intention is not just a relationship but marriage. Now, that was un-chartered territory for me. Marriage meant, domestication et al.

We knew that the path would not be easy. She is a Brahmin from Odisha and I, a Muslim from Bihar. We decided to marry only if both our parents agreed. A condition that surely appeared impossible, considering our society.

Destiny…

My parents came to JNU and then I realized the trap of my father. They not only approved her as a would be daughter in law, rather my father became a friend to her instantly! Later, Sasmita’s mother and brother also came to the campus and, only God can explain the reason for their approval, but yes they did approve me.

The catch was I was supposed to qualify Civil Service in order to marry her! I don’t know what made my father think that I could qualify this

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extremely tough exam. He himself had failed to clear this exam during his time despite being a brilliant student and a post graduate topper of Patna University.

I, on the other hand was always a loner, following birds and trying to catch butterflies in the garden; reading comics and other mythological stories all the time. In my teenage, I became a backpacker though I always stood first in my class. Studying hard for a living was the last thing in my mind. At one point of my life, when I was 19, I wanted to become a truck driver!

Besides, there was no money in my family to afford any kind of coaching or tuition. So, other than investing his ambition in me and bestowing loads of affection, my father was sure that if I make one honest attempt, I would qualify. Hence, Sasmita became the adorable would be daughter in law and there I was …

left with no choice but to prepare for this exam.

By the end of my M.A, an incident in the campus disillusioned me from the intellectual community and I decided not to appear for my M.Phil entrance. In the campus, Sasmita and I, were quite a talk. Many also tried their level best to separate us while many others mocked at me saying that she would never marry me.

Sasmita continued in the campus in her M.Phil and I started looking for a cheap accommodation nearby. Kishangarh, a village pocket in Vasant Kunj was not connected by public transport, so the rental was not very high. It’s a village of the Jat community and it was good to see the values of village life so intact in the middle of the posh Vasant Kunj.

How I managed to convince my Jat landlord to rent me a single room in that village is quite a long story. But yes, due to my motorbike, commuting to the near about 5 km JNU campus was not a difficult task.

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So, I got a room, and a bike, a collection of books needed for the preparation of the Civil Service exam, a cheap table, my favorite S chair, and bedding on the floor. The bigger question was the monthly expenditure.

I went home to discuss that with my father and the condition at home was far from rosy. My father had retired, my ever nagging mother (for whatever reason, she never had any warmth towards me and her youngest daughter was 21 years younger to me, rest is left to your imagination), was at her worst, my younger brothers and sisters all appeared to me like little birds chirping at me for food. My parents were rather angry because I left the campus. Though I have been funding myself since the age of 15, at that point of my preparation, all my father could offer was his blessings.

I returned to Delhi, and talked to Sasmita, whether it was really essential for me to qualify this exam? And the answer was that she can’t dare to ask her parents to let her marry a Muslim, who was merely a struggling photographer. So, I, the backpacker had no home to go to and the only way to retain my girl-friend as a lifelong companion was by qualifying this exam.

While taking a stroll with Sasmita in JNU, one odd day, I took a conscious decision to commit suicide if I don’t qualify the exam that year. As a reminder of the vow I started growing a beard. The month happened to be March, 1995 and the preliminary exam was scheduled to be in June as usual. My vow shocked Sasmita. Knowing me well enough she tried to convince me not to resort to such extreme measures.

But that’s the way I am.

After few days, I told my father about my vow over phone and he was rather happy saying that if I really try nothing is impossible.

My batch mates were sympathetic to me, but not aware of my vow or

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financial health. My father would send me a meager amount once in a couple of months. With an often empty wallet, devoid of any support but for Sasmita and her meager pocket money,

I started preparing. I managed minor odd jobs, like writing for a magazine to repairing motorbikes to pay the rent. Could not afford not to pay the landlord on the due date, for reasons obvious. I resorted to self isolation and studied methodically totally on my own. My beard kept growing and the upper lip grew stiff.

First hurdle was over; I did qualify the preliminary exam. My batch mates in JNU were surprised as they all were enrolled in M.Phil and had not decided to take this exam yet.

Passing prelims is just a small step towards preparing for the Mains exam. One gets only few months, four to be precise. I knew that I can’t work and prepare for the Mains at the same time. To be able to devote full time to my studies I decided to borrow some money. My childhood friend, Vinay, was in USA and he was kind enough to send me $ 400. At that time it was approximately 14000/- INR- enough money for me to sustain till the Mains.

Destiny, I am really in love with you.

When I got the cheque from Vinay, the bank told me that it would take one month to encash it. And just few hours after coming from the bank, while sipping tea at the dhaba, I coughed and vomited blood.

In a nearby market, there was a retired Army doctor Mr. Cheema. Students used to go to him for treatment. He examined me and got my x- ray done. The next day, when I went to him, he was very upset and informed me with a grim face that I have caught the worst kind of T.B and it was already in an advanced stage. He advised me to get myself admitted in a T.B centre at Meharauli immediately, warning me that delay of even few days would be fatal.

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On hearing that I have to write the Mains exam of Civil Service and I was already having enough trouble, he refunded his fee.

But he refused to treat me saying that I must be admitted in order to live.

Now, the only way I could have got my medicines, was from Dr. Khursheed. Dr. Khursheed was a private doctor and our landlord in Dinapure Cantt, Patna. My father was posted there once, and I had done my schooling from there as well. Yes! He would help. But he was only 1100 km away! Do I have two days or not? Without bothering I caught the train and went straight to him. He was happy to hear that I have cleared Prelims….

When he saw my x-ray (the one I had taken from Dr. Cheema), his heart sank. But within few seconds, he said that Allah must have sent me to him, as he was an expert in treating T.B. He gave me the entire dosage of four months and did not take any money. He was a friend to my father. I requested him not to tell this to anyone and he promised.

Back in my room in Kishangarh, my already shattered girlfriend stood with me like a rock. She cleaned my room, cooked for me at times, and helped me find the right study materials, prepared notes, hugged me to infuse strength and also cleaned blood which I occasionally vomited.

And yes, I did qualify the Mains exam as well. The year 1996, was really a happy year. JNU was blooming with flowers, and I was looking good after the shave (the beard had grown too long to be taken to the interview board). Sasmita was looking more beautiful than ever. My T.B was cured (May Allah reward Dr. Khursheed).

The money that Vinay had sent really came handy as the last few bucks were utilized in dressing up for the interview. I was never a part of any study group, so no coaching, and no mock interview for me. I knew that this part of the exam is not under my control and hence was extremely

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nervous. So , a good trouser, new shoes, fine belt, branded shirt (first one of my life) and tie, topped with a hug from my lovely girlfriend was all I could afford for the interview; and thus I appeared before the Board.

Waiting for the final result was tough. I felt lonelier than ever. She had gone to Bhubaneswar, during the semester break. As such, I did not know about the interview board’s impression about me, but they had certainly left a very bad impression on me. I was not satisfied.

Was it the heat of the room, the smell of the sewer flowing alongside my only window, the furious face of my Jat landlord or the absence of my girl friend, is hard to decide, but I decided to start the preparation for my last ride, in case my name did not figure out in the list.

I thought of buying a new rugsack for myself. I had earned some money by writing some articles. So I rode my rickety 100 cc bike towards the Tibetan market near ISBT to buy gears. While riding in the scorching heat, my mind could not stop thinking and re-thinking about my interview that had certainly gone wrong.

The chair person of the Board was Ms. Kanta Kathuria. Probably, it’s my face or the way I talk, mostly people refuse to believe the truth that I say. In my form of the Mains exam, I had mentioned photography and solo motor cycling in the Himalayas as hobbies and she definitely had doubts about it.

She asked me, to explain a zoom lens. My first simple answer did not convince her and she asked again. I, on the other hand, was thinking that if I had to educate these recruiters of Civil Servants about the zoom lens then I should have been in the interview board of the National Geography magazine. And then I “described” the zoom lens in such a way that probably only Ansal Adam could have understood. But I knew by looking at the face of the lady, that I might have to go on my last ride.

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With these thoughts, engulfing me, I rode towards the Tibetan market and at Shahjahan road, I saw a huge crowd in front of the Dholpur House. My heart pounded harder. I guessed the result was out. I almost got down from my bike….

I asked myself, why do we say “what’s in a name?” It’s all about name. Today is the hottest day in Dholpur in Rajasthan, and the same heat can be felt here at the Dholpur House in Delhi. This is Shahjahan road, named after one of the most glorious rulers of India, in Delhi, and it houses a body which “produces” the modern rulers.

“Am I in the list… and what if I am not?”

I won’t back track from my vow, I knew, so instead of seeing the result, I decided to go and buy the rucksack first. I went to the Tibetan market and silently bought an economical “Love Alpine” rucksack (of course a fake one) without even bargaining.

As if the calmness of the monastery at the Tibetan market had entered my mind and soul, nothing really mattered.

All I could think was , that if my name is not there in the list , I will have two regrets, first I won’t be able to look onto the eyes of my love in heaven and second, I won’t be able to return the $ 400 to Vinay.

I returned to Dholpur House and parked my bike. With the empty rucksack on my back, I started looking for my name from the last page. Few pages passed, and at the end of every page my hope diminished further. My finger froze at a point, it was my name in the list!!!

The spinning wheel stopped. My finger refused to budge from the name in the list and tears involuntarily flowed down my cheeks. Someone was yelling out loud, “Shamim, you made it”. I turned with my wet eyes. My hazy vision could see friends from JNU. Then someone shouted, “aare isko to baisakhi bhi hai” (Oh, he has crutches).

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Without seeing the face, I murmured, “What does that mean?” and I was answered back “you are in the reserved category”.

“Yes, so what am I in Other Backward Category (OBC)?” Leaving them gasping, I rushed to my bike and rode aimlessly around India Gate, tears still flowing ceaselessly. For the first time in my life, I felt the tears of joy. From a phone booth, I rang up home and informed my father about the result. “What’s your rank?” was his instant reaction.

Poor me... I had not even counted. “How was your prelims this year?” was his second question! I hung up the phone and called up my love.

She came on phone and both of us shared the silence. I whispered that I made it and that was a moment I missed- wished I could check out the expression. That was our moment. I had physically written this exam, but we had written this together.

We were happy... knowing little what lay ahead!

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The ride after the success in the Civil Services exam

I did go on the ride though. Now the new rucksack felt very light. The ride was more of a glide. My eyes were moist most of the time. I went to Nainital. From the lake side phone booth in the star light conversing with Sasmita was heavenly.

The air tasted so fresh, the Himalayas appeared more beautiful than ever. The cool breeze made me say sorry to Almighty for my vow. If I could have wasted the precious life given by Him, it could have been the biggest sin.

I never felt so alive, and for a fortnight, I just rode drinking deep of the Himalayas. I went to Almora and was fortunate to discover the Vivekananda Rock. Almora, a place in the lap of the Himalayas (now in Uttarakhand), the divine land, where Vivekananda said he saw the Goddess in the Nanda Devi peak.

The moon looked so divine; I wished I could actually share my “hobbies” of riding solo in Himalayas and photography, with Ms Kanta Kathuria. I could feel the smile on my face while thinking about her.

Anyways, parents on both sides decided that we should get married at the earliest and the miracle happened. When I came back from my ride, Sasmita was back in JNU and hugging her this time was more than divine.

I knew that I have ranked low, just to get any allied service and had to rewrite the exam to become I.A.S. This time I knew that would be quite enjoyable.

My parents were also happy.

They were now flooded with marriage proposals for me along with heafty dowry.

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I had gone to Patna for sometime, and an old friend of my father who was also an officer came with a proposal. His pretty daughter was being offered with a spacious apartment and 6o lakh cash. When I told him that I have a steady girlfriend, whom I would like to marry, he dismissed it saying, “everyone has a girlfriend in college, but you always marry someone from your own caste and religion”.

My mother had a glitter in her eyes assuming I might dump Sasmita, but my father knew that’s not going to be. If not Sasmita, then I would have gone back to my backpacker’s life.

Hence, my father decided that we must marry soon. He exchanged phone calls with Sasmita’s parents and then it was decided that my mother, my younger brother, my elder sister, her husband and their two children and I would go to Bhubaneswar for the engagement.

All was arranged. My father told me that, I should arrange some money for this engagement.

Now, the date of engagement was fixed, Sasmita had gone to Bhubaneswar and I was supposed to “arrange” funds for my own engagement. I love life more than ever! I genuinely thanked my parents for being large hearted enough to forgo the huge apartment along with 60 lakhs cash as dowry and allowing me to marry my girl. Arranging funds for my own engagement was a tiny thing in lieu of this magnanimity.

All my friends have been pauper like me, so did not know from whom to borrow money. The friends from my graduation days in Patna were very happy that I had qualified this prestigious examination and was also marrying my heart throb, and that too with the consent of parents.

My friends always knew my condition, so we decided to take the help of Anil Bhaiya. Anil Kumar, a very jovial person, used to run a book shop in front of Patna College. He was not exceptionally educated, but always knew the right books for every exam.

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During my preparation also he had generously given me lots of books. So, three of us, Raju, Narendra, and I went to his shop.

After eating samosa and gulping his tea, the condition was told to Anil Bhaiya. He was very happy to help, but when he checked his cash register, it hardly had anything. He gave us some money to go and watch a movie and return after three hours.

We went for the movie and when we returned, his cash register was full of small bills. He gave the entire cash of some 5000 odd rupees. He was not very happy, bothering how I would manage my engagement with this tiny amount.

Later, I came to know that he had offered heavy discounts on books to students so that he could collect enough money for me in three hours. Such affection of strangers has made me believe that water may be thicker than blood at times.

By the time, I booked the train tickets for everybody and bought some sweets and fruits for the ritual of engagement, I was broke.

Jhantu ji! Time to take his help. During my graduation in Patna I used to live in a rented mud house at the bank of Ganga, near Gaay Ghaat. Suresh Prasad lovingly called Jhantu ji, was the younger son of my landlord and a very dear friend. A happy go lucky man, after post graduation in commerce, his life was confined to milking his only cow morning and evening, playing carrom (professionally) and drinking toddy till late in the night.

Jhantu ji and I used to share two common passions, one was carrom (of which I was an unbeatable champ) and watching Hollywood movies on his color TV and VCR, whenever that was not sent on rental. In Jhantu ji’s home barring the rent, I was like family. So, time to take his help.

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I went and he was so very happy that he called the entire gang ( people ranging from professionals to workers, shopkeepers, pick pockets, petty criminals and soft looking guys from rich families). Soon a tournament was organized, which obviously I won and the prize money was good enough for me to exchange rings with my sweet heart.

The ring, of course was a gift from my mother, the cheapest and the lightest the gold smith could manage. While feeling the breeze on my face in the second class train journey, my heart was filled with intrinsic joy.

Reaching Bhubaneswar could not have been more pleasant. Sasmita’s elder brother, Debasis, had come with his car and took all of us to the State Guest House.

Debasis, a criminal lawyer, only looked tough from outside; something in his eyes told me that we were going to be the best of pals soon. Sasmita’s house was decent. Her father had retired as a senior engineer, mother is from an esteemed family and younger brother Subhasish, had joined the Indian Navy as an engineer. They all were happy for me and Sasmita. The ritual was as simple as it could be. We literally exchanged rings and sought blessings.

As expected from a benevolent elder brother, Debasis, never let me touch my wallet. He showed us around and took us to the Sun temple in Konark as well. I saw the ocean for the first time in my life at Chandrabhaga beach. I was on cloud nine. Taking a walk with my fiancé now on the beach of Puri, I asked Lord Jagannath, how this miracle was happening! The divine wind at the sea shore as if whispered- perhaps we were connected from the past life.

Now comes the best part, Debasis and I got to have a conversation heart to heart with drinks and smoke (I told you, we were going to be best of pals). His “concerns” were three. First two, in an open discussion was whether Muslims can divorce very easily and, whether she will be my

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only wife. Laughing at his apprehensions I vowed that come what may, neither will I divorce his sister nor will I marry anyone else. He was relieved.

His third concern was about dowry. I made it clear to my in- laws that I will not take anything, nothing at all. Whatever they wished to give us, it had to be in one suitcase. They were shocked, wondering how that would be possible, especially when Sasmita is the only daughter. I assured them, asked for three years, and if they felt that we were still not happy, they could give Sasmita all the riches that they desired.

Back to Delhi. Now the small room in Kishangarh village was not stinking at all. The sewer flowing alongside my only window had transformed into a mystical river from which flowed music!

My mark sheet from U.P.S.C arrived and it was pleasant to note that I had scored fairly well in the written part. 983 was good enough and I knew that I was going to score much more this time. Kanta Kathuria’s expression did match the marks she had given me- 120 out of 300 in the interview.

Now geared up with fresh breeze in my lungs, I bought a cot to sleep on, cleared my table and worked out my strategy to take the final call.

It was at this point of time, when I was aiming higher than usual, lady luck, my eternal beloved, played a trick again! My angry mother made my father write a very nasty letter to me. The content of that letter is not even worth mentioning here.

Sasmita was shocked to receive that letter as it was posted to her hostel address. My father, the one who got married twice, and his only desire was that I should make it to I.A.S, took it away from me. One part of the letter that shattered me completely was “…. Your success is not the result of any puja,(Hindu act of worship) but my blessings.

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If my blessings can take you to the sky, my curse can bring you down as well”.

Suddenly, the lady who was only a verb - cleaning, cooking, washing, rearing children…. to him all his life had become very important, and to her , I was nothing but an unwanted member in the “ family”.

I did not share a very warm relation with my mother from the beginning of my life, but I had loads of desire to honor her in times to come. That letter took away my reason to write the exam again!

Still on Sasmita’s persuasion, I wrote again, without any preparation. This time in the interview board I faced Mr. P.C. Hota. The interview went as cold as the look on his face.

Somewhat, my father knew where he had hit unknowingly. My father was a scholar and was aware that “every time the old man is not dreaming about lions at the sea shore”.

He tried to make it up. Sasmita’s parents were invited to Patna and Sasmita and I were informed that our wedding date has been fixed on 23rd of April 1997.

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A wedding to remember

I went to Patna, she went to Bhubaneswar. It was decided that the wedding will take place in Patna and Sasmita’s family and some selected relatives would come to Patna.

My father tried to talk about my performance in the current year exam but the look on my face told him that I might be interested in chasing butterflies forever.

He gave me money for the wedding, some 20,000 odd rupees. I borrowed 40,000 from various friends. Around one lakh had been sent to Sasmita by her parents, and we did get married on 23rd April 1997.

To make me write the exam again in order to justify the reason for my conception, my father was glad for any puja to be organized. Both parents had decided that, the wedding will be solemnized by both Hindu and Muslim rituals at the same venue, on the same day in the presence of all.

From our rented flat of Aashiyana Nagar, along with my friends and family I reached the Arya Samaj Bhawan near Biscoman tower. She reached the place along with her friends and family from the hotel at the same time. I stared hard at her, a fully dressed bride and a voice within confirmed- for such a diva to accept me, our love had to be eternal.

Now, she was a fully dressed bride, the mandap (a covered structure with

pillars), as per the Hindu ritual, was well decorated and here I was in my cheapest trouser and the cheapest non- branded shirt.

The purohit (priest) Chaube ji was a very old associate of my father. He happened to be a peon in my father’s office, but a qualified purohit to solemnize weddings.

To me, he was a father figure and many times during my graduation

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days my father send me money from Siwan, through him. Whenever he visited me, I cooked for him and occasionally even used to massage his legs as he had to walk two kilometers from the bus stop to reach my mud room. He too loved me like a son. It was indeed touching that he was going to solemnize my wedding.

First, I was asked to get ready, how I had no idea. Every body was present, my mother, sisters, brothers, friends, guests, around 25 people from Sasmita’s side, but my father was not at the venue. When I asked Nasim, my younger brother, he had no idea.

Then Mr. Umakant Mishra came forward. He is Sasmita’s uncle but agreed to take the place of my father. He tied me a dhoti, Subhasish, the younger brother of Sasmita, handed me a white Arrow shirt and Sasmita’s best friend Sanghamitra “decorated” my forehead in typical Odia style. I was now ready for the Hindu rituals. In the presence of fire, I was asked by Umakant Mishra (who I now can address as my father) to choose a Hindu name. Samir was all I could think of. Thus, I was rechristened as Samir Mishra.

While circumambulating the fire, I promised God never to ask for anything after a job like this and a wife like Sasmita. That was a moment when time froze.

My father was left alone at our flat in Aashiyana Nagar by my mother. He was sad that he missed the wedding, but was glad to hear that it went off well. In the evening, he personally dressed me to be the groom for the Muslim rituals. With the sehra (Headdress of the groom)on my head, we arrived at the venue again and the Nikah (Muslim wedding) was held. The wedding ended with a reception and gala dinner.

For all the 200 people who were there, it indeed was a wedding to remember!

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The bride adorned with heavy jewellery and a solo suitcase stepped into my house the same night.

On 1st May, a week later, with 5000 odd rupees that was gifted to the bride as “muh dekhai”(first glimpse of the bride) by my family and a draft of 5000 as the last pocket money from Sasmita’s parents,

I joined DANICS, the service that was allotted to me through the 1995 exam.

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III. Probation, and “ taming” in Lakshadweep

A week old marriage, me, in the U.T.C.S training institute in Shahadara; Sasmita in her hostel in JNU; my rickety red 100cc bike still going strong; life was fault free!

The mornings seemed fresher with every passing sunrise, and the evenings superb. All the probationers were like one joint family. It was a small group of 13 officers to start with; people from all over India and all sorts of family background; the Director was a lady with motherly attitude.

We all felt like kids, being trained for good work and better life. Initially, I got a single room, but soon when the seniors got posted and rooms were vacated, I was allotted a family suite meant for married probationers.

All of us, including the lady probationers were extremely warm towards each other. Many times we discussed our career possibilities, but you can understand that I was settled. Though the result of my next exam was about to be out in a month’s time, I was far from excited. I had several attempts remaining, but was not keen on facing the interview board again.

Sasmita joined me once in a while and life was literally a four letter word for me. Some of the seniors were generous enough to treat us as equals saying one year seniority in DANICS does not matter much and soon became very dear friends.

Me, the solo, was surrounded by several new good friends. Ravi, Sanjeev, Rajesh, Ranjana, Arvind, Abid, Gauri Shankar, and Philip, Kamal and Pankaj from the senior batch.

I smelled the roses.

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The content of the training material was hardly of any interest, but I did get hooked up with the computer training. It came naturally to me. While my other batch mates were more interested in “multi media” stuff and internet download, I was keen on drinking it deep trying to understand the operating system, hardware configuration, various usable software etc.

The mess was extremely nice and the cooks were like family. Kuldeep, one of the cooks, I remember took care of each ones needs. Soon, I was myself again- laughing, cracking jokes, playing the mouthorgan, singing songs, happy and sharing joy; I became a buddy to all. I was made the mess secretary.

The lady Accounts Officer Suman Rajdan was a friendly person. She was pleased to see my interest in rules and regulations. She said I could consult her whenever I needed any clarification about the General Financial Rule. With her help, I also got trekking included in our training programme.

There used to be fish fights as well amongst us, but those were extremely enjoyable. We all behaved like kids. Most of us were from middle class families and this was a life we had dreamt of.

The result of that year’s exam was announced, my name was there in the list again, but far below to be an I.A.S. Later my mark sheet told me that 1013 in written was not good enough, since I got 120 in the interview again! No regrets, as such I had decided not to humiliate myself again and again before the interview board.

After a month, all of us had decided to take our salary in cash and Suman was happy to give us fresh bills. The first salary was more of a disappointment to me. It was 5,300/- The whole night was spent thinking what to do. The mess bill itself was 1400 per person and with Sasmita around, it was 2800. Besides, it was time for me to bring smile on my mother’s lips.

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We decided to start our own kitchen. In our balcony, we made a make shift kitchen, and bought the provisions. We calculated that we would be able to pull it off. So, I called Nasim, my younger brother to Delhi so that I could help him prepare for the Civil Services. Two of my old friends Vinay, and Dinesh wanted me to guide their younger brothers as well. Thus Babu, Mithilesh and Nasim were put in a two roomed flat along with all my books, new furniture, and culinary paraphernalia. I started giving him 1800 rupees every month.

With the remaining 3500/- a month, it was not possible for me to take Sasmita on trekking or Bharat Darshan. During Bharat Darshan, I fell in love with both Andaman and Lakshadweep. On completion of our training, my posting order was funny. Gauri Shankar and I were posted to Lakshadweep, the logic only Ministry of Home Affairs can explain.

My friends were sad, knowing my family condition. But I was comfortable with it. In any case one has to do one posting outside Delhi, in that case this was the best time. Besides, I thought of doing a coffee table book on Lakshadweep. I was happy with my transfer grant, and with the help of Suman, the cash was the biggest amount I had seen in my life. Part of my debt (that I had taken for my marriage from friends) got re-paid and without even availing the entire joining time, I reported at the Cochin office within ten days of the posting order.

I thought God had gifted me a prolonged honeymoon, knowing little that it was the beginning of my plight in service.

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Lakshadweep, the hard area posting

During the Bharat Darshan, we had seen that reaching Lakshadweep was not easy. The flight is always booked and the ship always overloaded. Despite booking our flight tickets well in advance, on reaching Kochi, we were forced to cancel the flight ticket and board the ship, during “Bhart Darshan”

While most of my batch mates complained about the ship journey, I enjoyed it to the hilt. On that cruise, while enjoying the breeze, I met Mr. K.C. Somanathan. He was a regional manager of S.B.I in Kerala. He was on his LTC along with his wife and son, Krishna Prasad (KP). In no time we became friends and then he introduced me to his son, KP.

KP and I too became pals instantly. During the cruise he played the flute and I, the mouthorgan.

A year later, after reaching Kochi on my way to Lakshadweep, I called to inform them about my posting and they were overjoyed.

From my hotel room at M.G Road, I went to the Liaison Office of Lakshadweep Administration at Willington Island. I was told that honorable Administrator Mr. Rajiv Talwar is at the airport and would be leaving for Kavaratti in an hour.

I had met Mr. Talwar during my Bharat Darshan, and he indeed was a very charming person. A class apart, an I.A.S officer who can make any fashion icon feel inadequate. He had shown us his collection of hats which spoke volumes about him, his riches and his exposure to the globe.

I rushed to the airport, which at that time was on Wellington Island itself. I went to him and introduced myself.

Me: “Sir, I am a Danics Probationer, and I am here on posting.”

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Mr. Talwar: “You are Shamim Akhtar Tamanna? I had seen your posting order. Did you not try to get it cancelled?”

Me: “No sir. I absolutely have no problem with this posting. I really liked Lakshadweep during my Bharat Darshan.”

(He was accompanied by a dashing middle aged man Mr. P.K. Kasali. Kasali… hmmn… later! )

Mr. Talwar: “Very well then. Your joining is accepted. You can enjoy Kerala and come to the island at your convenience. As such, I am going on two months training from tomorrow and will decide about you after I return.”

He took the flight and I wondered what I would do in Kerala (after all I had to pay for my accommodation). I thought, I should go that day itself so that he could decide my posting and I would not have to wait for the next two months doing nothing. There was another flight after few hours. So, I went back to the hotel, collected my luggage and boarded the flight.

I was in shorts and a t-shirt, with only one suitcase as my luggage. After landing at the Agatti airport, while waiting for the helicopter to Kavaratti, I met Liaqat.

Liaqat, a doctor who was struggling to get a job in the government hospital, turned out to be quite a jovial person. He mistook me as a tourist and proudly listed all the good things about Lakshadweep. I also forgot to tell him that I was a probationer. (Maybe my shorts and t- shirt made him think I was a tourist).

The Liaison Office at Kochi had informed Kavaratti about my arrival and when I landed at the Kavaratti helipad, a jeep was waiting for me. Liaqat was glad to know that I was posted there and I did not resent it.

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The driver first took me to the rest house, where I was given a room. All I can say is that the room reminded me of my bachelorhood den in Kishangarh, only the toilet was worse here. There were around eight rooms in all and the other residents were mostly very junior government officials/ PWD construction workers. They were shocked that I was given a room there instead of the circuit house. I assured them that I was happy to be here and the room really did not matter.

I wanted to call on the honorable Administrator, so I asked the driver to take me to his office. Secretariat was only a walk away, I realized. It was a new building and I entered the chamber of Mr. Talwar.

What a chamber!

The first thing that caught my attention was the glass door. It was like a dream office of some king or at least a Governor. Carefully placed beautiful plants, excellent quality furniture, the table full of artifacts; but what caught my attention was the sleek black laptop and its ultra thin black printer. So, he is not just fashionable and classy, but also tech savvy!

Mr. Talwar: “You really seem to like Lakshadweep.”Me: “Yes sir, it’s a beautiful place.”Mr. Talwar: “You could have stayed in Kerala and enjoyed. People here die to go to the “mainland” and you seem to be rushing to the islands”, he stated with a charming smile.

(Obviously I could not tell him that, firstly, it was heavy on my pocket and secondly, I was not given any government accommodation in Kochi)

Mr. Talwar: “So tell me about yourself and also tell me what interests you here, so that I can decide your posting?”

I told him that I also happen to be a photographer, and during my Bharat Darshan I had taken some pictures of Lakshadweep, which had

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been liked by all my friends. Also, I was recently married and my wife was my class mate, from JNU.

Mr. Talwar: “Wow. You are married to an Odia girl. Was it a love marriage?”

Me: “Sir, it was love which got social sanction from both the families.”

(His eyes widened with obvious disbelieve)

Mr. Talwar: “So! Tell me what you would like to work on here. Since you have come here happily, I will give you whatever you so desire.”

Me: “Sir, I have a desire to do a pictorial book. Sasmita can write a monograph supplemented with my pictures. I think I will be able to contribute significantly in “tourism and information.” That will also give me a chance to visit all the islands and I can also take pictures for my book.”

Mr. Talwar: “Dear! You are not on a holiday. You are a probationer and I am supposed to tame you. I will decide your posting tomorrow morning.”

He did offer me a cup of his finest Darjeeling tea though!

The first lesson that I learnt was never ask the authority anything that you really desire!

I was told the M.D (Lakshadweep Development Corporation), who held the charge of the Collector, was expecting me. I went to his office.

The M.D’s office

In front of the Secretariat, on the sea side, a relatively small humble chamber, with minimalist furniture and huge glass windows, overlooking

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the ocean. The sound of the waves made music and I felt that the person sitting across the medium size table could only be an angel.

One look at him and his office, somewhat reassured me that I was at the right place. There was an aura about him, a charm which I immediately felt. He was Mr. Gyanendra Shrivastava.

Mr. Shrivastava was a calm, composed and cheerful person. He was equally happy to know that I liked my posting. He told me a few good things about the island and the islanders. His style of conversation was poetic; I could connect with him at a much deeper level. I was really lucky to have him as my first Boss.

I went back to the rest house and in the evening Liaqat showed me around. The evening at the jetty was, as if I had transcended to heaven. The simple people in the street, the cuttan tea at the local tea shops, the fish fry at Bismillah dhaba, and of course the azure lagoon, that was probably my happiest evening.

Next morning, in the Secretariat, I was escorted to my chamber. The room was equipped with the basic requirements. I sat on my chair, took a deep breath, in the line of sight, over the boundary of the Secretariat, across a narrow road, was the ocean. I could feel the waves gently caressing my feet. I felt like an “officer”. After an hour, I was served my posting order. I was posted as Settlement Officer cum Additional District Magistrate, Returning Officer of Lakshadweep Parliamentary Constituency, Electoral Registration Officer, and also the additional charge of Senior Administrative Officer to the Directorate of Education.

With closed eyes, I tried to gather, what that meant. Almost half of the Secretariat staff came to congratulate me for the “powerful” posting. After some time, Mr. Talwar called me on intercom and I rushed to his chamber. He briefed me on several topics, but all I could understand was that he was leaving the island that day for two months training and would reconsider my posting after that.

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He left the Secretariat and I was back to my chamber. All the staff came and introduced themselves.

The first thing I realized was that I quickly need to pick up their language, Malayalam. Then I met Mr. Ashokan, who was supposed to hand over the charge to me.

Mr. Ashokan

In his late fifties, this man was not to be taken at face value. One had to look closely to make out whether he is smiling or that’s the way his lips are. His chamber was adjacent to mine, and he was with the Lakshadweep administration since his early adolescence. He was from mainland Kerala and educated till class 10. With the extension of DANICS to Lakshadweep, he was also inducted into the service along with his post. He was the Settlement Officer for more than 15 odd years and none of the island’s record was settled; that also made Lakshadweep the only place in India, where the settlement process was still “going on”.

Thanks to Mr. Ashokan, the settlement of land records in Lakshadweep was not the priority, and the charge he desperately wanted to get rid of was the Returning Officer (R.O) of the Parliamentary constituency of Lakshadweep. The relevance of his desire, I came to know only after I was transferred back to Delhi.

Anyways, he handed over the charge along with physical possession of several other stuff, paper seal, and safe deposits of various records as ADM etc. Then with the staff, I had a brief meeting. My P.A, Kadisa bi, a very nice lady, was an English stenographer. She was good at everything, but English. My Revenue Inspector (RI), Mr. Koya, a wonderful human being, was thankfully aware of most of the things and good at English too.

And then they arrived! Piles of files on my table and I had absolutely

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no idea how to dispose off any of them. The training talks about all the big things that run our nation, but I knew that the actual training hasd just begun.

I called Mr. Koya, and without any hesitation told him that I had no idea of file work. Though taken aback, he smiled and assured that being a young and smart officer, I would learn in no time. Mr. Koya opened up a file, showed me the markings and told me that it was disposed off and I could just mark it to him. Still I asked him what to write and as per his direction I wrote, “Please do the needful” and marked it to R.I (HQ). Walla! I signed and S. Akhtar, the officer had disposed off one file, with the help of his real teacher Mr. Koya.

It was monsoon time, and there were very few officers in the Secretariat. Since the Administrator was away, and even the regular Collector was on training, office was easy going. I went to Mr. Shrivastava in the evening and shared with him my day.

He just nodded about my posting and said that once the Administrator returns, he would try to get me under him. He informed me with a meaningful smile that my regular boss, Mr. A. K. Chaturvedi would also be returning in two months after his training. That meant that I only had two months under Mr. Shrivastava and to relax as well.

The evening at the jetty, allowed me to make a couple more friends, Abdu and Ashique. As four of us, Liaqat, Abdu, Ashique and I, sipped tea at the local tea shop, the islanders were surprised to know that I was the Settlement Officer. I was supposed to be number three in the U.T. I was informed that Mr. Ashokan had started his career in the island as a watchman, then became a lower division clerk, and finally S.O, but he had never shared tea at the local tea shop with the islanders. I smilingly told them, that my campus JNU has taught me at least one thing that, at the end of the day we all are just humans, in search of another human, as equal.

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Next morning, in my office I recalled my understanding of Public Administration as a subject in Civil Service Exam. I was wondering whether administration means to “get the things done” or it also means “to do the things”! Would I like to be “do the needful” kind of officer? No! I must learn the work of everybody working under me first. So, I walked to my branch, about 100 meters away in the same Secretariat and the staff was shocked to know that I was willing to learn the work from the lowest level. I told them that I would have a working life of 34 more years in government and spending some time learning was absolutely essential.

So starting from sharing the desk of the Diarist (the one who receives the communication) to the Dealing Assistant (lower division clerk, who puts that in the relevant file by marking with a red pen and giving serial number of “received”) to the Head Clerk (the one who “examines” the paper under consideration) to the Block Development Officer ,who submits the file to the Sub Divisional Officer for consideration, and the Sub Divisional Officer, who sends the file to Settlement Officer for decision. I shared each of their desks, and in a week, I knew the process. I came back to my chamber after a week, ordered for a new chair and disposed off a very important file of service matter. My teacher Mr. Koya was very happy. The Diarist with whom I shared the desk for writing the green pen issue serial number wondered, what kind of pen I would like to use. I simply replied that I am a Group B Allied officer and in all my working life would only use blue/ black pen.

The next thing in the course of self training was to learn all the rules, since most of my staff was not proficient in English I ordered all the rule books like General Financial Rules, FRSR, Handbook of Returning Officer, etc. and started reading. I had to reply to one of the departments and my first dictation to my P.A Kadisa bi was a hell of a joke. I spoke very confidently, and she “understood” every word of it listening very carefully. She took the short hand, went back to her desk and typed the letter for me. It was a nicely typed letter, but the only problem was, not a single word I had dictated was there and the content was all Greek

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to me. She was afraid that I might shout at her. Instead I couldn’t stop laughing. I only asked her how to get a computer for myself.

The Election office staff was called, the smart election Tehsildar who was P.A to Mr. Ashokan for a very long time, even before he was promoted, immediately provided me a computer. Now, along with rules and regulation, I also had to learn typing myself. I enjoyed the process of self training in the same spirit as I had prepared myself for the exam without any external support.

Mr. Ashokan invited me for a cup of tea in his chamber, I went (adjacent room only, not much of an exercise).

First, he gave me the key of my official vehicle. I wondered about the driver! With a flat face he said that it would not be proper to have a driver for a Kinetic Honda scooter. What! A scooter as my official vehicle? I had no hang ups getting “tamed”!

“And what vehicle do you have?” I asked.

“I am also the Chief Protocol Officer along with Secretary Administration that’s why I have a jeep,” he replied, not forgetting to add that there is a limit of petrol for the scooter, which becomes even more scarce in monsoon.

Though I was more comfortable riding a bike, I didn’t mind the seemingly new scooter. I rode every bit of the island; a distance of 12 km seemed really short. Before I could get a hang of the ride amidst the fresh breeze of the ocean, the island got over. I also realized that, that there was no privacy on the island. The densely populated island had only some uninhabited portions near the Chicken Neck (the narrowest point of the island in one end). In the evening at the jetty, my friends mocked at my official vehicle. I had read about a previous Administrator, Mr. Ramuni, who used to travel in a tractor here few decades back.

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I assured my friends that it was perfectly fine, besides the roads were too narrow for any four wheeler.

The food in the guest house went from bad to worse as most of the residents were mostly construction workers. I decided to eat my lunch at the Kerala Canteen near the Secretariat and dinner at the dhaba (small eatery) near the jetty. The food used to be simple, rice and fish for lunch and fish and rice for dinner, but life was good. The perk was watching the sunset over the lagoon and everyday it used to look more beautiful; clicking pictures here and there, missing Sasmita and enjoying the company of friends; occasionally going on boat rides with my local fishermen friends, the day used to appear really short.

15 days, since I had been posted and I am called by Mr. Ashokan again for tea.

“So! Have you decided your party?” Sounded as if he spoke from a deep well.

“Pardon me?” I failed to understand. Then he “explained” that there was extreme politics in these islands, and the entire population was divided between Janta Dal and Congress. Each one, including the officers. had to declare his alliance.

He then described about the Congress leader, Honorable P.M .Sayeed who had been the consecutive winner in the election for Member of Parliament. Mr. Ashokan was all praises for him. Yes, I had also heard about him and was aware that he was a very generous man, considered a holy-man by virtue of being the descendent of Hazrat Ubaidullah (the saint who had come from Makkah to these islands in the 6th century and subsequently converted the entire local population to Islam).

Dr. Koya, the leader from Janta Dal was, on the other hand, described as a very arrogant man and a continuous looser. Since he owned the only other Ambassador car, besides the Administrator, he, it was joked,

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thought himself to be the real Administrator.

Mr. Ashokan locked his eyes with mine and whispered that honorable P.M. Sayeed should be my natural choice, as he would help me not only in Lakshadweep but also in Delhi, since he was the Dy. Speaker of the Lok Sabha.

I needed time to adjust to this shocking revelation, and all I could say was, I needed time to think about it.

The evening, at the jetty appeared gloomy to me. What could be the reason for such extreme politics in these islands? The coral atoll was nothing less than a paradise, and the entire tribal population was like an extended family. Life was simple and almost all the people seemed prosperous and happy. As I pondered over the choice of alliance, I saw my “gang” coming.

Liaqat: “What man? We have been looking for you at our regular tea shop. Why did you not come today after the office?”Me: “Tell me first, which party you belong to?”And all three burst into laughter. “So! Mr. .Ashokan has already asked you to choose your side,” Abdu quipped.“Will he spare any one to remain neutral,” Ashique added.

Then all four of us had a long conversation. Ashique was from Congress and a hard core devotee of P.M. Sayeed, Liaqat and Abdu preferred the Janta Dal. They also told me about the prevailing caste system – the Koya was superior and the Melacheri was at the bottom of the hierarchy of caste system.

The thing that never crossed my mind was also the tussle between the islanders and the people from Kerala. Initially, the people of Lakshadweep were not into education, hence all the government jobs went to the people from Kerala, who looked down upon the islanders.

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So, now the picture was clear. Mr. Ashokan was not only the Returning Officer for a long time, but was also informally the P.R manager of the Congress party. I was expected not just to make a choice between Congress and Janta Dal, but also between the islanders and the people from Kerala (all outsiders)!

Next morning, I did not need the invitation for tea. I went to Mr. Ashokan and informed him that it wasn’t necessary for me to choose my side here. Firstly, I would be leaving after two to three years, and secondly, I had no interest in participating in the island politics.

I also reminded him that as a Civil Servant I am supposed to be neutral. Especially since I was also the R.O and ERO, I must honor my oath and remain neutral. I also told him that absolute neutrality could be expected from me, and I would always be a good officer for all.

His lips were not smiling for sure. They were made like that. A look on his face told me that he was lucky enough never to go to a college or university. He was also saved from the over the top Civil Service training. Definitely, he was free from the ills of institutions while I lived in the confines of rules and regulation. I had absolutely no idea of what was coming.

Just after two days, I got a call from the Director Education. I suddenly remembered that I was also given the additional charge of Sr. Administrative Officer in the Education Department. I went and met Mr. Sharad Chandra, the Director Education.

Mr. Sharad Chandra

A school teacher from the distant state of Punjab, he had come to serve in Lakshadweep to be closer to his state Kerala. An arrogant Malyali, who saw no difference between humor, wit, satire and sarcasm; as long

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as his staff laughed at his words, he felt like a king.

Since he was Director Education, I was supposed to report to him. Later I came to know the source of his arrogance; he happened to be the leader of the Malyali / Outsider Association. The Malyali Association virtually ruled the island.

The very first meeting, can’t be said to be either pleasant or officer like. I was “shown” my room, which was worse than a nightmare, and I was supposed to share that room with another suspended Malyali school Head Master.

I tried to reason it out that this also being a full time job I would not be able to handle so many charges. Then he did not take a second to humiliate me by saying,

“Mr. Probationer even I.A.S start their career as SDM and you have been made ADM and it has gone to your head.” The tone in his voice would have put any nagging lady to shame.

“Excuse me. I never wanted to be posted as ADM. I had requested the Administrator for Information and Tourism” I answered back.

There were four to five other subordinate staff in the room. All of them burst into laughter. Then Mr. Sharat told me, that no one in the island could have given me Information and Tourism. The Information and Tourism Department had too many perks and it was with Rasheed. Rasheed, the manager of the Government Press was holding that charge and he also happened to be a favorite of Sayeed Saab.

Then things started becoming clear to me. The neutral person was like a football to be kicked by all. Instead of reacting to their remarks all I said was that I would talk to the Administrator on his return.

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I then went to Mr. Bala Krishnan, a senior DANICS officer, who was posted there by choice. He was Secretary Education and I went and told him about the behavior of Mr. Sharat Chandra.

He put down the novel on the desk (the only thing he was said to be doing during his working hours was reading novels) and said that I should respect the seniority of Mr. Sharat Chandra and he was not in a position to relieve me from the additional charge of Sr. A.O of the Education Department.

I had almost a month, before the administrator would return. Just within a month, I could see the road ahead. The Civil Services is not what I thought it to be. It’s not just about ones talent or commitment or integrity but it’s more about saving your own skin and flowing with the current, by making the right choices in order to climb the ladders. One has to be a run of the mill and out of box ideas were to be strictly kept personal.

The only solace was the telephone and unlimited calls. I used to speak to my father at length. The condition at home was going from bad to worse. My mother fought with my father all the more, pressurizing him to ask me to send more money. My brothers were all going crazy thinking why all of them had not become millionaires already.

My first salary in the island was some relief. By adding the special allowances and the benefit of double HRA that is admissible in hard area posting ( I did claim my HRA of Delhi as well , since I did not have any government accommodation there) .The salary was 13, 500 rupees.

I calculated my expenditure and first send 5000 rupees to my mother which I continued every month. 3000 rupees to Nasim for his studies in Delhi, 2000 rupees to Sasmita for her hostel expenses and kept 3500 for myself. Thanks to the island condition, there was hardly any expenditure. Out of 3, 500 rupees I even managed to save around 1000 rupees, every month.

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My father also was an honest officer and he knew that it’s a tough life. He kept on asking me to write the exam again and become I.A.S. I told him that I have no interest and the service to me is just a living. I value life more than living. He must have spoken to me for hours, explaining what he really meant in his letter and how my mother had instigated him to write like that. Sometimes, he used to worry, how I would be able to take care of my responsibilities, fearing that all other sons didn’t seem to have any commitment.

I always assured him, that I will do whatever I can.

In office, there was not much to do, so I started “understanding” the settlement process- its stages, hurdles, status report, and immersed myself in understanding the computer. In no time, I came out with a handbook on the Settlement process in the U.T of Lakshadweep. I shared that with Mr. Shrivastava and he was pleasantly surprised wondering how I could compile it so fast. I waited eagerly for the Administrator to return.

One fine morning, at about 10.30 am the Administrator returned. He opened my half door and shouted at me.

“Shamim! Have you become so senior an officer? I have heard lots of complaints against you”, and he left for his chamber.

Almost shattered, I wondered what I had done to earn this remark. Does a senior officer that I was accused to be, stay in a stinking room of the rest house along with the construction workers? Or my friendship with the locals had made me earn this?

In the middle of the day, Mr. Talwar called me. I went, with a heavy heart.

He was little composed (probably he had again changed his hat). He started in his Stephenian English, to let me know how vernacular I

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was. He did not forget to remind me of my Group B service, which is not I.A.S. (as if I was not aware of it already).

With almost wet eyes I asked “Where have I gone wrong sir?” And then it came, “Why have you not been going to the Education Department?”

Oh! I understand. I tried to explain him the situation, but he said that I should not be taking my ADM status to my head. (Wow! the old man Sharat Chandra literally put words in the Administrator’s mouth).

I politely told Mr. Talwar that I had been working on a handbook on the status of the settlement process. He wanted to see it.

I rushed to my chamber and brought the neatly bound around 50 paged booklet containing the background, island wise status, facts and figures and also the proposed plan of completing the process along with the computerization of land records. He was impressed, and told me that he will not change my posting but I am also supposed to go and work in the Education Department as well.

Mr. Talwar also inquired about my photography in the evening and I showed him some pictures that I had recently taken. He took note of it.

The night in the stinking room, was moist. I wondered, whether I would be able to cope up with this kind of humiliation… knowing little that this was not even the beginning.

The Administrator was still kind enough to have a heart to offer a chair and some tea, every time he called me to his chamber. But then came the real senior officer.

The regular Collector Mr. A.K. Chaturvedi arrived from his training. My happy days under Mr. Shrivastava were over. I called on Mr. Chaturvedi in his camber.

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Mr. A. K. Chaturvedi

In eastern India, caste rules. Mr. A.K.Chaturvedi belonged to that category of Brahmins. His fair face had very small eyes, apparently trained since thousand of years to look down upon people. A DANICS officer, he was promoted into I.A.S in his fifties and was blessed with a daughter only few years back; an absolute vegetarian, full of hatred for the island and the islanders.

I entered his chamber, few subordinate staff were sitting in his office; he looked at me with great pain and asked me what made me think that I could handle an assignment like this? Neither was I offered any chair, nor the obedient probationer that I was, pulled one. The short conversation ended on the note that I should only enter his chamber when called and not otherwise.

I shared a moment with Mr. Shrivastava in his ocean side chamber. The waves were really hitting hard and I could hear a lot of noise inside my head. Mr. Shrivastava had all his affection for me, but I was told that only the Administrator decides every thing in this U.T and he had very little to offer.

The gloomy evening, made me look for a silver lining and even the jovial local friends could not make me smile that day. The clouds in the monsoon sky had all the beautiful colors, but I sensed that with every passing day, this hard area posting, was going to be harder for me. I wished I was only a fisherman in that heaven without having to face the Lords sitting in the Secretariat, who only thought power implied snatching the smile of others.

My search for the silver lining ended when my batch mate Gauri Shankar arrived bag and baggage.

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Gauri Shankar

My batch mate, whom I consider an icon of struggle and success. He had lost his father when he was only six. His mother took a class IV job in Government of India on compassionate ground. She is a very brave lady, a widow in her prime youth, with two sons. Gauri is the elder one. She reared both her sons to be successful men. Gauri was also a Chartered Accountant and had been working since the tender age of 18. He had started his career as a lower division clerk in CBI, but continued studying. He became a Probationary Officer in SBI and then landed in DANICS. He was even younger to me by a year and being a reserve category candidate, I was sure that he still had many more milestones to achieve. He was posted with me to Lakshadweep, but tried his level best to get it cancelled.

Finally here he was. I had mixed feelings. I was sorry for him as he was marooned in these islands, knowing his desire to further prepare for the exam and by now knowing a little about the prevailing politics in the islands. But, I was also happy to have him with me. We were friends in training and in Lakshadweep, we became family.

We shared the room in the same rest house. I told the Administrator about his calibre and he got posted as Project Officer DRDA and eventually also got a higher pay scale.

I knew to survive in Lakshadweep, the only way was to work harder and harder, without expecting any recognition or praise from any body. So just went on working on every assignment that was given to me.

Soon, I was considered an expert in computer as I was working on the computerization of the electoral roll and the land records.

The small recognition for my work came when the Executive Engineer (Electrical) wanted to go for overall computerization and I was invited to train more than 100 employees in computer operation.

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In a mere three day workshop, I trained all of them.

The settlement process was going on full swing, and so was the making of the EPIC card. We achieved almost 96 % coverage in just four months after I took over. The computerization of the electoral roll was a big challenge. The roll was in Malayalam, (it was typed in UNIX using ISKI 7 Malayalam fonts) and converting that into Windows was such a big challenge, that even the NIC engineers were baffled.

But every thing in Lakshadweep on the personal front was a big hurdle. It took four months just to get our entitled accommodation. In Delhi we are entitled to a Type IV quarter but the Administrator was of the view that we should settle with a Type II quarter meant for the clerks.

I got all the papers from Delhi faxed to me by some friends, including the notification of the LG of Delhi that DANICS officers along with I.A.S are “entitled” for type IV quarter. When the file was sent to the Administrator, he approved it with a pinch of salt and directed the PWD not to give us any furniture. I did not mind.

Sleeping on floor in my entitled quarter was acceptable to me. Gauri and I shifted to our “achieved” quarter.

I wanted to buy a cycle for my own use, as petrol was scarce in the islands. The file could be a case study of the Collector exercising British power! When the proposal was sent from the Election Office to purchase one bicycle, Mr. Chaturvedi first put a query, “How many cycles are there in the Election Office and being used by whom?”

I submitted that along with the list of usable and non- usable cycles to him. His second query was, “ Why the non- usable cycles were not auctioned first?”

To auction, an auction committee was required. It was never formed in Lakshadweep till then. So, in the capacity of ADM, I proposed and formed

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the auction committee, which took three months to be finalized, another two months for finding the bills and inventory. When the cycles were to be auctioned, Mr. Chaturvedi put another query about auctioning everything non- usable in the Election Office including old typewriters, broken chairs etc.

In next one month, when all these could be completed, he puts another query of the “entitlement” of the people using the various cycles in the Election Office. Six months had elapsed, and I was still far away from my cycle, which was to be used as an official vehicle in the absence of petrol in my scooter. Then while reading the rules and powers of the Returning Officer I realized, in any Union Territory the Returning Officer is also the District Election Officer (DEO). I was the DEO and had all the financial powers to purchase. So I did buy two cycles, one for me and another for my election Tehsildar, using my power as the DEO.

Sasmita was still in the campus, and it was time for her brother Debasis to get married. I was invited by my in- laws and Sasmita knew that I could not afford to go. Neither could I afford the travel nor the right gift. Sasmita went to attend the wedding. Debasis was so upset about my absence at the wedding that he decided to come with his newly wedded wife to Lakshadweep to meet me. I was in a fix. I did not have any furniture in my flat, so wisely, with the help of a local friend in tourism, I put him in the three days island tourist cruise on the ship, where he was only supposed to spend the day in Kavaratti and then visit two more islands, Kalpeni and Minicoy. I asked them to consider that as my wedding gift.

Then, when they were about to reach Kavaratti from Kochi, I went to Mr. Chaturvedi (despite the order that I should be going to his chamber only when called and not otherwise) and told him about their visit. When he came to know that I am married to a Brahmin girl from Odisha, his small eyes became smaller.

I had gone to him to seek permission to go to Kalpeni and Minicoy with

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them and would return with the ship after dropping them at Kochi.

Yes! You guessed it right. He did not allow me. The Administrator was away and I could not have asked Mr. Shrivastava to help me, since he was not in the line of reporting.

So, Debasis came with his wife and we spend the day together, on the island. I was happy for them. He failed to understand, why I couldn’t accompany them to the other islands, which was very much in my own jurisdiction as ADM. I simply said that there was some urgent official work to attend to.

My hard work, dedication and my attitude of being comfortable in my skin was soon noticed by the majority of the islanders. Representatives from both parties (Congress and Janta Dal) came to me and expressed their satisfaction with my work. They were happy with a neutral officer and extended their support in my entire endeavor.

I continued to go to the Education Office, though there was no work for me; but now Mr. Sharat Chandra had become mild towards me and used to offer me his favorite black tea. Probably what impressed him was my dedication to learn Malyalam. In any case he was almost of the age of my father and it was certainly not pleasant for me to have an adverse relationship with him. He had understood by then that I was not interested in any “perks” and also the fact that I was truly a neutral guy. He introduced me to Rasheed.

Rasheed.

A Malyali from mainland Kerala, Rasheed was a go getter. He was just a diploma holder in printing technology, and knew almost every thing but printing. He used to take pride in being a U.P.S.C man (since his last promotion as Manager, Government Press was approved by U.P.S.C). On the personal front, he was excellent friend material. He somehow developed a sense for liking for me and also “offered” that I could come

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to Information and Tourism as long as he remained the boss. I simply smiled.

He had seen some of my pictures of Lakshadweep and was very impressed. Then, he showed me the collection of cameras that he had in the Information Department. Wow! What a collection! Poor me, I had only a basic kit of Canon with very few lenses and here was the entire range of Nikon equipments with every lens and accessory one could imagine. It was another story that most of them were not working, as they had never been used even once since the date of purchase. Rasheed asked me to maintain the usable ones and also offered that I could use them for my own photography. I could not have asked for more. I serviced/ repaired most of his collection and borrowed the Nikon F90 body along with 80-200 mm telephoto and one 28 – 105 macro lens.

With those equipments in my hand, the output of my photography multiplied. Rasheed introduced me to Dr. Sayeed, Dy. Director in Science and Technology.

Dr. Sayeed Ismail Koya

A very religious man, yet comfortable with a Muslim like me who never went to the mosque. I don’t know much about his ability as a scientist, but he was an extremely able fisherman. He was said to be the luckiest man at the sea. Fishes were said to be waiting for his hook in the lagoon and the ocean.

Dr. Sayeed once offered to take me to Pitti, the bird island. Pitti, the only known breeding ground of sea Terns in the entire Indian subcontinent is a sanctuary. He wanted me to take some pictures of the Terns to be used for his department. That must have been my chosen day.

One Sunday, we sailed to the enigmatic island in two Pablo boats. It so happened that I was allowed to spend the whole day on the bird island alone, while the others went fishing. By evening, I knew that I

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had some unseen pictures of the birds, their behavior and even their nesting. Salim Ali could have kissed me on my forehead, if he was alive, I am sure.

On return, Dr Sayeed saw a Boya floating in the water. Not knowing what it was, he ordered both the boats to pull it to the island. Both the boats tried with their full engine power. I realized I was not the most stubborn of things created by Almighty, the Boya even bypassed me. Several hours of effort could only move it by a few yards. Dr. Sayeed took the reading with his GPS device and said that he would send bigger boats to pull it.

The next day, I came to know that the Boya was installed by the Department of Oceanography to monitor the tides and the Administrator had received several distress faxes from Goa saying that someone was trying to dismantle it ! Dr. Sayeed did catch a lot of fish though that evening while returning.

I made the mistake of giving six exposed rolls to Rasheed for getting them processed from the mainland, three of them were shot in Pitti alone. After a week, when I enquired about them he tried looking the other way.

For a couple of days, he avoided it saying they were still to come from the mainland. But Lakshadweep is like an open toilet. There can be no secrets. Now people at the jetty looked at me with lot more respect and I was told that my pictures were the best Lakshadweep had got.

I got alarmed and went to Rasheed. He admitted that the processed pictures along with four negatives and two slide rolls have been received. In his enthusiasm, he also mentioned that I was the best photographer he had seen and even the Administrator was extremely happy with the pictures especially those of Pitti. To my horror, he blatantly refused to return my pictures and negatives.

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I asked all my friends to convince him to return my property, but he bypassed even the Boya in being stubborn. My friends gave up.

To me, my pictures were more important than anything and it forced me to think. I came out with a brilliant idea. I hid the Nikon F90 camera and both the lenses and then went to him. I told him after sipping his tea, that he could keep the pictures and negatives and I would keep his equipment. Very cunningly, he asked how I could keep government property. My reply forced him to go on nature’s call.

I told him that since he had taken no receipt of the equipment given to me, I would simply make them disappear from the island and then ask one of his enemies to file a complaint against him saying that he has sold them. On enquiry, when they would be found missing from the inventory, it might lead to his conviction. After attending to nature’s call, he returned along with the envelope which contained my property. He requested me to remain a friend forever adding that I could retain all the equipment as long as I was with Lakshadweep Administration. And I told him, that all my pictures were available for Lakshadweep tourism and information/ press, free of cost and it continues to be so till date.

I enjoyed time with Gauri and we laughed aloud discussing several issues. I really missed Sasmita. Six months had passed, and she was preparing for the same exam from the campus. But after one of our sentimental talks, she decided to jump into my cage.

She decided to drop further studies and ambition, de-register from the campus and join me. Her plan was fixed. I again went to the chamber of Mr. Chaturvedi, uninvited, and requested for a mainland official visit to receive my wife. The official visit by chopper and flight was a routine for most of the officers in the island, including the local island officers. Sometimes the chopper was sent to Kochi just to bring fresh vegetables for the “senior” officers. All, I requested was to be allowed to go by ship on official duty also because I urgently needed to go to Trivandrum Election Office to tie up for the computerization of the electoral roll.

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Looking at the ship schedule, unmoved, he said he can’t allow me the luxury of going on an official visit to receive my wife.

Rather, I should take leave and go on ship. The Administrator was again away, and Mr. Chaturvedi had all the power. Surrendering to his power, I asked, “On which date then should I ask my wife to board the train, so that I can receive her in Kochi?” He looked at the schedule and gave me a date, according to which I would have to be on the ship for two days as the ship was supposed to go to Minicoy from Kavaratti and then to Kochi. I nodded in agreement. Accordingly, I conveyed the date to Sasmita and she booked her ticket in the Trivandrum Rajdhani, which used to reach Ernakulam in the middle of the night.

I was supposed to reach Kochi as per the ship schedule, in the morning, 12 hours before she reached; still agreeable.

She booked her ticket. Mr. Chaturvedi must have had compulsions he changed the ship schedule. Now the ship was supposed to reach Kavaratti the morning after Sasmita reaches. Cell phones were yet to invade our lives and getting through the constantly busy hostel line was not different from expecting a lottery. Wish Sukhram had done what he did, at least five years before to save me from this situation. Somehow I managed to convey the message to Sasmita minutes before she left for the station.

I went to Mr. Chaturvedi’s chamber again, uninvited. He smiled. The cost of my plight was a smile on the face of the Collector. I had a stiif upper lip and he offered me a chair for the first time. I simply looked into his eyes, he failed to look into mine. He suggested that I should take the flight if I did not want to see my wife spending the night alone on the platform in Kochi.

He did not deserve to know my pocket. I simply left his chamber. All my friends in the island were shocked, Gauri had wet eyes. Mine were dry.

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The setting Sun that day, told me that one day, I will understand why was I being treated like that?

Then I remembered my friend Krishna Prasad and his family. They are also Brahmins.

I called KP and, more that him his father Shri K.C. Somnathan was shocked. He heard the situation and told me not to worry.

KP, asked me how he would recognize Sasmita, as they had not even seen even a picture of her. Sasmita knew about them, since I spoke about them while narrating anecdotes of our Bharat Darshan. After getting assurance from KP’s father, I was relieved.

I told KP, “The most beautiful girl getting down from the train with a VIP suitcase in hand, would be my wife.” They all burst into laughter. They are family till eternity.

KP and his mother were on time at the station to receive Sasmita. The next day she boarded the ship alone, not without the help of KP of course, and joined me in Kavaratti.

Water indeed is thicker than blood!

It was like a fairy tale. We used to go on long rides on the scooter and I also used to take her on my bicycle, which was very dear to me, you can understand.

Sasmita and I went through all the pictures that I had taken and decided to do a meaningful book. There were very few books on Lakshadweep, all reproductions from the British writings. There was no book which depicted the modern present Lakshadweep and its people.

We decided to come out with a book that would be a fusion of a monograph and a coffee table book. It had already started taking shape. One fine

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day, the Administrator wanted to see my pictures. He saw the pictures and the only thing he asked was who would be writing the text. I told him that Sasmita was working on it and soon we will be done with it.

He only nodded.

Time passed by. Another officer to be posted there was Mr. Deependra Pathak.

Mr. Deependra Pathak.

He could be said to be an example of what Civil Service does to the talents in India. A scientist, from JNU, specializing in the depletion of the Ozone layer, became an I.P.S officer. A good natured man, with an even more pleasant face, but surely, a no nonsense person.

The thing that bound us probably was the JNU connection and our ability to speak out our mind. He had been posted there, probably to be the senior S.P, but somewhat landed on a post, that had just been created- Commandant of India Reserve Battalion. He was given no office, no staff, and no accommodation in the circuit house. Probably he also talked to the wrong hat of Mr. Talwar at the wrong time.

One thing I understood in Lakshadweep very clearly was that, we are fortunate to be a democratic nation now. Lakshadweep only gave a glimpse of what aristocracy could have meant to its subject. Many a times, we all felt like nothing but the subjects of the honorable Administrator. On his sweet will depended, what we would eat (as the fresh vegetables came in the chopper, which of course he commanded), when we could go to the mainland and how we would travel (chopper seat, even the first class and owner’s cabin were at his discretion). Prohibition is exercised in the island, so who would go to Bangaram to have a drink in the Casino was also in his control.

So, Mr. Pathak also landed in a shed as his accommodation and office.

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I was somewhat allowed to be his friend and associate. My face, my body language and my vernacular diction, always made my bosses forget my previous achievements.

I was probably taken to be of no use to Mr. Pathak.

When Mr. Pathak discussed his plan of recruiting the battalion, I got hooked up, as at one point of my life I badly wanted to be a soldier myself, so here was my chance.

I gave him some of my staff, my photocopier and even the computer. He lived in a make shift shed just adjacent to my flat, so virtually, we were all time buddies. He was senior to me, in age, rank and even in intellect, but he never threw his weight around and we became a team. I don’t know how good a subordinate he has been, but for sure I could understand that he must be one of the finest bosses, one can work under.We, the duo, decided how to go about it. He made the organizational chart and got it approved. The recruitment started. I was of the opinion that we could go for a funny, but relevant physical test, as we were first recruiting the constables for the force.

In Lakshadweep, the caste system is quite strong and despite coconut being the life line of the economy most of the climbers were from mainland. The higher caste Koya would never climb the tree and the lower caste Melacheri had stopped climbing it. So, I was of the opinion that we should put that as a test; climb the tree and pluck the nuts; this would also free them from their dogma of caste system as well.

Though we couldn’t go ahead with that test, the recruitment made a history of honest, transparent enrollment in no time. Mr. Pathak came out with the idea of 80 marks in written, 20 marks for physical ability.

Everything depended on the secrecy of questions and the time keeping of the physical (running) test. We distributed our task. He wrote all the

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questions alone; eight pages and that too hand written.

We photocopied those; Gauri also joined for photocopying and making the sets. We made all the sets in a locked room in his shed and went straight to the parade ground, where the candidates waited. The question papers were served “hot”. After the written exam, the physical test was also conducted by me. I had the clapper and the stop watch hanging down my neck. Thanks to my fast photographic reflexes, I did not error, not even once.

All the papers were collected, sent to his shed again and sealed.

I had “written” a small database programme for calculating the result. (By that time I had learned Visual Basics myself). In the evening, the officers and their wives assembled in Mr. Pathak’s shed. They were all examining the papers as per the supplied answer sheet (it was all objective questions with four choices, just like the prelims of C.S exam).

The examiners were only supposed to calculate the exact marks as per roll numbers. In my laptop I had the entire database of all the candidates. By searching each roll number, all I had to do was enter the marks and by 2.00 am all the papers were examined; one click at the “generate result” button declared the result. Mr. Pathak and the “core” team were pleased and others were shocked. The printout of the result was pasted on the wall of his shed and in the morning, the islanders were too happy with such a transparent and quick recruitment.

Mr. Pathak had become more of an elder brother and I also took full advantage of it. He had just got his brand new Gypsy King, for IR Battalion, which I borrowed to drive. The jeep was a bit too powerful, and four by four was not accepted in the island by the coconut trees, so out of sheer jealousy, one of the trees hit the jeep, as I relished the curve of a narrow road. A headlight broke; I went to Mr. Pathak with a sad face but he just broke into a smile.

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We only exchanged glances and he sent it to the garage.

One fine morning, the Administrator returned, after a short vacation in Delhi, and again, he pulled my half door, I was engrossed in a file.

“Shamim, I want to introduce some one to you”, he said aloud, cheerfully. I immediately came out and he introduced me to Mr. Nitin Rai.

Nitin Rai

A guy just a year or two older than me, but had lost much hair, thus looked much older. The name did ring a bell. He is the son of the legendry photographer Raghu Rai. I worked as a commercial photographer in Delhi from 1992 to 1997. But didn’t think he would’ve heard of me since he was a journalistic and editorial photographer.

Mr. Talwar while sharing his finest Darjeeling tea told us that Mr. Raghu Rai had been invited by the administration to do a coffee table book on Lakshadweep. The text was to be written by Mr. Talwar.

He elaborated that “the idea is to come out with a real good book, which will promote Lakshadweep tourism”, of course he did not forget to enquire about my humble book.

“Sir, the orientation of my book is very different and is nearing completion”, was all I could say. Few weeks before, I was also made the “Chief Protocol Officer” (though the jeep was still retained by Mr. Ashokan), so showing the place around to our celebrity guest, Mr. Nitin Rai, was also my official duty.

I took him in a “borrowed” jeep and he enjoyed the island. On the whole a sweet person who was passing through the bad phase of his divorce, nonetheless, well aware of his status, called the Administrator, Rajiv, something I could never do.

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I dutifully took Mr. Nitin around, and the next day Mr. Talwar was kind enough to “allow” me to accompany him to Bangaram Island (my first visit to the booze island). Mr. Talwar did not forget to specifically mention that everything was on the house, but drinks. To “assist” us Mr. Koya, the Liaison Officer accompanied us.

Mr. Koya, the Liaison Officer

He used to call himself the “Ambassador of Lakshadweep” as he was the longest tenured Liaison Officer posted in Delhi. He was recently transferred back to the island, and was willing to do anything to go back to Delhi.

We all went by chopper to the beautiful Bangaram Island. It was a lovely day, Mr. Nitin had the best of equipments and I had the finger, which he could not help noticing. We definitely became friends, though he kept asking me why I chose to become a “clerk” if I was a photographer. I held the post of “Chief Protocol Officer” and he was a State Guest. By sunset, the manager of the Casino, Mr. Cherry came and offered us drinks. My wallet did not allow me to have one there and Mr. Nitin was also not very keen.

Mr. Cherry insisted and said “it’s on to him.” He also told me politely that since I had taken over the position of the CPO his bills got cleared really fast. I was on my first visit to his hotel and hence, we agreed to take the offer. Nitin and I had only two small pegs of Old Monk Rum; Mr. Koya took the entire bottle to his room. We returned. Mr. Nitin went back to Delhi and I was back to my chamber, struggling with the settlement process and computerization of the electoral roll.

After three days, Mr. Talwar called me to his chamber, and shouted at me in the filthiest possible manner. His refined Stephenian English failed to camouflage his Punjabi abuses.

Mr. Koya had asked the manager Mr. Cherry to charge for the drinks in

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the bill and I was shown my “status”, by the honorable Administrator, for being corrupt. I decided that, I won’t let my eyes get wet. I might be just a probationer, but was gifted with an “eye” even then. So, I drank the humiliation and went back to my chamber.

My first exposure of “corruption” however was altogether a different experience. One day, my smart election Tehsildar came out with the idea of utilizing the remaining funds in our account by purchasing, dish antenna for the Administrator, sofa and dining table for the Collector and TV and VCR for all and many more items. I asked him, who the sanctioning authority was and he said that it was me as DEO but the Chief Election Officer (Mr. Chaturvedi) had agreed for this proposal. Getting a TV and VCR for me too sounded good enough and I asked him to bring the proposal. When I saw the proposal, I lost my temper for the first time in office. The prices were too high and I could not take it. I took the file to Mr. Chaturvedi and he shouted back at me saying when would I do one thing right. He asked me to simply submit that file to him. Shattered I send him the file “for kind perusal and approval please”. With his tiny initials saying “approved as proposed”, the file came back. The Tehsildar took the file back silently.

Next morning, Mr. Tehsildar came back to me and wanted to talk. I offered him tea and he said, that both as a person and an officer I was one of the finest that he had seen. He was also aware of my financial condition as I used to send the money order to my mother, brother and Sasmita through him. He said very politely that my share of the last purchase was 50,000/- and I should take it.

I was thankful to him for his kind words about me and his “integrity” to tell me my share, but I did not even take a fraction of a second to say no. I said, better should have taken dowry from Sasmita’s parents then.

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He assured me that the amount would remain with him and I could claim it at my free will.

Time passed by, and I went to Bangalore for the election training and to Trivandrum also in order to understand the Malayalam fonts in Windows. Finally with the help of one junior programmer, I came out with the first publication and sale CD of the electoral roll, which was showcased in the open space in Secretariat by Mr. Talwar. Lakshadweep became the first State / UT to do so. Cracking the technical problem of converting the ISKI 7 format UNIX database to ISFOC Windows was worth some technical award. Kerala was yet to do so.

Sasmita had joined me full time, and time passed by. My conversation with my father was always regarding me taking the exam again, and my answer was always the same. My mother constantly repeated that 5000 rupees was too less and I should try to send more. My brother Nasim always had something to ask for. In the evening the stroll with Sasmita was the only solace.

With increasing recognition of my work rose Mr. Chaturvedi’s reprimands. Mr. Talwar’s behavior as usual depended on the hat that he wore, which most of the time I failed to guess.

Vijay Singh, an Indian Civil Account Officer and his wife Tulika, friends from JNU, had come to visit Lakshadweep on my invitation. We had plans of visiting some more islands together. While they cooked lunch with Sasmita, I was working in my office.

Mr. Talwar calls Gauri and me to express how upset he was with both of us for taking the furniture from PWD. He consciously reminded us about our Group B service and clarified that we shouldn’t behave like the I.A.S. We were expected to be hard working.

Gauri and I went home for lunch. Such firing had become routine hence the intensity with which it affected us lessened with time. In the midst

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of an enjoyable lunch with Vijay, Tulika, Sasmita and Gauri, the phone rang.

I lifted the receiver; on the other side was Nasim in Patna; he informed me, “Bhaijaan, Abbaji nahi rahe”.

My father had passed away a few minutes back.

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...high tide does not always erase the foot prints...

I lost my father

That was not just another phone call. There was a long silence, dazed I dropped the receiver back on the hook. My life would never be the same, I knew. I had suddenly grown much older.

I looked seemingly calm but, all others could sense that all was not right. Tulika was the first one to burst into tears. Vijay and Gauri hugged me and cried. Sasmita and I were too shocked even to react. I went to the office with Gauri. From my chamber, I called and had a long talk with Nasim. I remained calm and told him that “now I am in the shoes of Abbaji and no one has to worry”. It was only me who had become an orphan. I enquired about the last rites and he said that he would take the body to Chapra and do the burial in our hometown where all other ancestors were buried. They were about to start from Patna and the burial was on the next day. As the body in Muslims never waits for anyone, not even for the eldest son, no one could even understand this loss of mine.

Now Gauri took me to the Administrator’s office. We saw him on phone (he had the glass door, you remember). We waited for almost 30 minutes and then he came out of the chamber, probably was on his way for lunch. Gauri almost whispered, “Sir, Shamim lost his father”. (Gauri knew, since childhood, what the loss of father meant).

Mr. Talwar showed me his human face for the first time. He was taken aback and murmured something.

“Shamim, take the chopper and go now. Don’t worry; I can do anything for you. I will get you transferred out of Lakshadweep soon and will help you get a good posting in Delhi so that you can take care of your family.” He was really very kind at that moment.

I burst into tears; he carried on, “How much money do you need, just tell me.” That was a moment, I can never forget.

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I told him that I would manage and there was no point going by chopper till Kochi, since I wouldn’t be able to reach Chapra for my father’s burial.

He was shocked, I could see in his eyes that he could connect with my loss. I just told him that I would be taking the ship arriving the next day.

Mr. Chaturvedi was on his trip to Bangaram Island and Mr. Talwar gave me the owner’s cabin. I requested Vijay and Tulika to stay back and Gauri would organize their visit to the other islands, but they insisted to return with us.

Water is thicker than blood again in my life.

Of course I did not have any money. I called the Election Tehsildar and requested to lend me 20, 000 rupees. He literally begged me to take the 50, 000, that was my share. But I insisted that he lend me only 20, 000 rupees which wouldn’t be too big a loan. (All my father had given me was blessings and faith in integrity; I could not have gone for his burial with money earned as bribe)

We boarded the ship and from Kochi, the train was in next two days. Three days journey in the train, and almost after a week, I was at Chapra. Nasim was already there and we went to the grave to pay my last rites of giving him soil. The fresh grave told me something was not right. But the fact was that he was no more, nothing really mattered. Nasim did not even leave me alone for a moment with anyone in my own hometown. Many of my father’s friends had lots to tell me, about his last days and several fights with my mother, but to me that was totally irrelevant now.

We then went to Patna. The situation at home was nothing similar to what I had expected. They had changed the house. The neighborhood was new, I did not know anyone.

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Now it was in Police colony. Both the motorbikes (mine and Nasim’s) had become rickety.

All my plants (I had around 50 plants in pots in my previous apartment and I loved to indulge in gardening whenever I was home) had disappeared. I was taken aback, but couldn’t help noticing the neatly stacked pots. They were certainly not the ones that I used for my plants. They all looked new and there was not even soil in them, forget the dead plants.

No one in my family looked sad or bereaved. My sisters were more curious about what Sasmita had brought for them. Eid was after a week and to get new garments and more money from us was their only concern. Nasim appeared to be the ring master holding the reins of the family and the mother looked calm and composed.

Neither they wished to disclose, nor was I interested in knowing how Abbaji died. I desired to be near him so went to Chapra again. When I returned my mother had invited few people and discussion over the prospective groom for my younger sister was going on.

Destiny…. do what you can and I still love you.

I reminded my mother that, the ritual is to wait for at least 40 days before resuming anything auspicious. She flew into a rage and abused Sasmita and me to the hilt. It was very difficult for me to take the continuous squabbling and my aching heart did not allow me to stay there longer. I decided to pay a visit to my in-laws along with Sasmita.

We went to Bhubaneswar, and they were mourning. I felt more at home there than my own family. Debasis assured me that I was not alone and they were always there if I ever needed anything. They wanted to discuss my financial condition but I assured them that I could take care of it.

Back to the islands after a month; nothing had changed much, but for

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my eyes. They used to be wet most of the time. In his last conversation Abbaji had expressed his desire to visit Lakshadweep along with his friends. I decided to work harder in my office and also on my book, which was to be dedicated to him, so that at least he could see from heaven how beautiful the islands and its people are.

Mr. Talwar continued to be kind and even wrote a very strong letter, to the Ministry of Home Affairs, for my transfer. My respect for him had grown manifold.

Mr. G Shrivastava had been transferred out to Delhi and Mr. Verma had taken over as new M.D (LDCL).

Mr. Rajnikant Verma

A genius of Sociology, he had recently come back from Harvard after securing A+ in financial management. He was there in the island to take care of LDCL which hardly had any turnover (2 crore to be precise). Besides being extremely kind to his subordinates, there was a sense of nobility in him.

He was like an angel. We used to spend enough time together. Sometimes Gauri also joined us. He ensured that I was never alone or feeling sad. The day I used to say, “Sir, not today,” he used to insist that today “it has to be.” I was really very happy to have him there. He once told me that the secret of life is in believing that “you will never meet a grateful person in your life” so what ever you do, don’t expect any returns and you will never be sad. He was one day very impressed with some of my ideas and he got me posted as Director Marketing and Supply of LDCL. I had promised him, to take the turnover of LDCL above 50 crores in just one year and he did believe me.

Mr. Chaturvedi, who was like the permanent monsoon always pouring on me, had a problem with my new posting now. He insisted that I must continue as his ADM and RO.

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When even the Administrator tried to convince him, he sent a fax to the Election Commission saying that in the light of forthcoming Lok Sabha Election, I should not be changed (the election was not even announced then and the code of conduct was far away from being in force. The DEO had bought his cycle and the CEO used his power now).

So, LDCL continued with a 2 crore turnover. After getting that order cancelled, while regularizing my leave period (the time when I had gone for my father’s last rites), he issued me a memo asking, how I left the island without proper sanctioned leave and why my probation should not be extended?

I lost it.

I could have done much more than just abusing him. I went to the Administrator crying and told him about the incident. He was very sympathetic and asked me to ignore him.

Life went on; land record of three islands got finalized along with the digitization of the maps. I worked a lot more now just to avoid depression.

Now, my in-laws wanted to come to Lakshadweep and I asked Nasim also to come to the island, so that I could send his share of money to Ammaji. Nasim came to Kochi and so did my in- laws. From there, together three of them reached Kavaratti. After spending a week, parents left and Nasim continued with us. Though he was not studying at all, I allowed him to take his own time.

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Encounter with the celebrity photographer in the Paradise Island

One fine day, Mr. Raghu Rai arrives. I was glad to meet the legend.

I was again given a chance to show him around. Special flight of helicopter with the door open to take aerial photographs was also arranged for him. I was obviously not allowed to go on the chopper with him. Once I was in Kadmath and was fortunate to share the flight with him, which gave me some stunning aerial shots as well. Mr. Rai was very particular that no one else should shoot with him. He saw my film, Fuji Velvia 50 ASA and asked if he could borrow some!

He had a gunny bag full of rolls, and to me every shot counted as I could not afford to buy many rolls. Honoring him as a guest in the island, I gave him all the three new rolls I had. While taking pictures of Eid celebrations in a mosque, in Kavaratti, he once put his palm in front of my lens as I was about to capture a scene.

One evening we chanced to meet him at the Paradise Hut Resort while taking a stroll. He asked Sasmita to pose for him. She refused politely.

Offended, the legend lost his cool. He boasted about how women die to be shot by him and he had shot more beautiful women. Blah! Blah! Blah!

Then he pulled a chair, puts his feet on the table and shouted “My feet are far more beautiful than you, you *^%*&.”

Only God knows how I managed to hold my temper and also control several of my islander friends with clenched fists and red faces.

Mr. Rai slipped into frenzy and continued clicking like a maniac. Sasmita was at the shore unaware but I, being a photographer, knew that he had taken her picture. I maintained the decorum of being an officer in a place where he was the State Guest.

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Next morning, I briefed Mr. Talwar the incident. He did not take note of it, instead said that I should respect Mr. Raghu Rai for his celebrity status.

Time is the best healer. Mr. Talwar got transferred out of Lakshadweep and Mr. Verma was given the temporary charge of the Administrator.

Sasmita conceived and had to go to Bhubaneswar. Nasim was sent back to Patna to take care of the incessant quarrels between the other siblings which many a times required the intervention of police.

Now, the election was announced and my preparation was in full swing. Since it was monsoon time, I got a chopper exclusively for the election purpose. Election was a week away and Mr. Chaturvedi pondered over seeking extension of the date from the Election Commission. I assured him that everything was in order and he need not worry.

Now, Mr. Chaturvedi posts Mr. Ashokan as Joint Chief Electoral Officer and asks me to report to him. Mr. Ashokan’s lips were actually smiling this time and he “orders” many transfers of my election staff. I protested and sent a file to the Chief Electoral Officer saying that it will hamper in conducting free and fair election and I, as RO was fully competent to conduct the election without any interference from anyone in my jurisdiction.

We exchanged heated discussion. Mr. Verma intervened and said that it would be better for me if I got transferred out. I agreed. A strong letter from Mr. Talwar recommending my transfer many months back had not even been considered; and now within a day, I got my transfer order. Mr. Verma came back from Delhi and relieved me with a smile. I was happy too.

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IV. The New Century brought me back to Delhi, in 2000

Back in Delhi, I wondered how the RO of the constituency of Dy. Speaker of Lok Sabha got transferred out just few days before the poll. In Lakshadweep, the poll day was postponed for a month. The election was held and the winner won, the looser lost again.

I reported to the Services in Delhi and had to wait for some time before I got my posting. I had nowhere to go, so went back to Ms. Savitri Kashyap, the Director of our training institute. She was very kind and immediately gave me the Family Suite not forgetting to mention that I did not even have to pay the license fee till I get my regular accommodation. The hostel was empty since there was no new batch of DANICS. Kuldeep, the cook, was very happy and told that food will come from his house, as I am family.

Water indeed is thicker than blood in my life.

In two months time, I got posted as SDM Patel Nagar and also got my quarter in Gulabi Bagh; a decent Type IV quarter. The transfer grant came handy and I could buy the basic furniture, and the culinary paraphernalia. Time to call my mother and eight siblings to Delhi.

I called them, asked them to sell everything and just come with their clothes so that we could start afresh. They came, and were happy to see the well furnished house. My mother was happy with her room and her bed. She did not “know” that I also had “nesting ability”. In due course Nishka was born and Sasmita and the new baby filled the house with smiles.

It is another story that when Nishka was only 35 days old, my mother abused and shouted at Sasmita in front of guests and neighbors. I knew the road ahead, and was fully ready to tread on it.

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Patel Nagar was a big subdivision, and the posting of SDM was demanding, but Lakshadweep was like baptizing with fire, so everything after that was a cake walk. I was noticed by my superiors in no time and was already a favorite of my Divisional Commissioner.

Almost six months had elapsed, when one day Mr. Rajanikant Verma invited us to his residence. We went happily!

At his residence that evening, Mr. Chaturvedi was also present. We shared a couple of drinks together and Mr. Verma informed that the book on Lakshadweep was out. He showed it to me saying he wondered how a picture of Sasmita featured in it.

We saw that page; the huge feet of Mr. Raghu Rai perched on the table in the foreground and behind it Sasmita walking at the shore.

Something in heaven went dark.

Neither Mr. Verma nor Mr. Chaturvedi could look into my eyes. I simply rose with Sasmita and asked for a copy of the book. Mr. Verma could not give me one. I did not have to look at the face of Mr. Chaturvedi to know his reaction. I just looked in the eyes of Sasmita and she knew that Mr. Raghu Rai would soon be a bygone era in the world of photography. I am going to be the best that the world has seen, and Mr. Raghu Rai will not go scot free!

God heard me at that moment.

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The long road ahead

At home: my newly born daughter, my mother nagging for more money, my truant brothers and sisters, especially Nasim, the ring master, all gave Sasmita and me sleepless nights.

For days we kept discussing, our course of action. Should we just forget and move on with our responsibilities and take it as our fate in this secular democratic nation? Neither of us would give out nor give in.

Nishcam was born, named after our new born daughter, Nishka Akhtar. Nishcam, the professional photographic firm managed and run by Sasmita was to bring that extra buck to feed the ever hungry mouths of my mother and kin. That was also supposed to train me as a future personal photographer.

While Sasmita went to Hauz Khas Village with some friends to rent out a basic place to start our studio, I made one desperate attempt to defer the long battle ahead by calling Nitin Rai.

Nitin and I had shared some happy moments together and were always in touch. I called him and asked why that derogatory picture of Sasmita was published in that book. He used to call the Honorable Administrator, Rajiv (don’t you remember) and he said, “Rajiv will be speak to you shortly.”

Mr. Talwar did call me up. All of 45 minutes, he was all abuses; reminding me of my poverty, low caste and Group B status ; he further threatened me saying my life would be destroyed if I take this any further. He snarled at Sasmita asking her to remind me about the favors he had done to us in Lakshadweep.

His abuses only added to my conviction of getting justice however prolonged a battle I might have to fight. I first went to office and told this incident to my boss. He was a young and honest man.

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He also “knew” Mr. Talwar and advised me to file a detailed complaint against him to the worthy Chief Secretary. I did so, through proper channel.

Debasis being a successful lawyer in the Odisha High Court, convinced me to file a case against Mr. Talwar and Mr. Raghu Rai. We needed a copy of the book. It was not available in the stores; I even tried getting a copy from the press, but in vain. So, I decided to go to Kavaratti.

I reached Kochi and KP’s family was shocked to know that the senior officers could be so petty. There was nothing that they could do. KP, also a lawyer, told that he will draft the petition but just needed a copy of the book. I boarded the ship and reached Kavaratti.

Now, Mr. Chaman Lal was the Administrator. I met him and gave a written grievance; as such the book was made by spending a lot of public money and it was a government book. Mr. Chaman Lal had his own set of problems; he sympathized with me, but could do nothing, not even provide me a copy of the book as it was yet to be released.

No one in the island could help me get a copy of the book. I had not gone that far to garner sympathy. The local islander friends shared my pain and invited me to come for a week long deep sea fishing. I went along with them to Perumal Parr (a tiny sand bank) for Sheer fishing. I had a real good time with my fishermen friends. I realized that the book that we have written, Mr. Talwar or Mr. Raghu Rai could never think of, solely because they held an “aerial view”, a looking down upon attitude. When I retuned to Kavaratti I was told that the Administration was planning to arrest me, saying I had come to the island without permit.

I could simply laugh at them. I was ADM and a master of Entry Permit rules which I had defended in various courts of law on behalf of the Administration. All I said was, “I hope the Sr. Superintendent of Police knows how to write an FIR.”

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Mr. Verma offered all kinds of help and also advised me not to take this any further. He knew my family condition and only told me that time would heal my wound and he would always be there, but I must not file any case since that would be embarrassing for the Administration as well.

I could not tell him that there are grateful people around. I simply showed my respect and returned to Delhi empty handed. I assured Sasmita that, when our book on Lakshadweep will be out, every body will know. A comparison would be the defeat of the big people. With that thought in our aching hearts, we moved on.

The present posting as SDM Patel Nagar, was going smooth and my success in public actions was noticed by my superiors. In my subdivision started the sealing of water polluting units in Anand Parbat Police Station, and the demolition of the sensitive Raja Garden marble market was also carried out by me.

With a tech savvy Dy. Commissioner; I contributed significantly towards generation of computerized caste certificates etc, and also the digitization of maps of Delhi districts.

But, just after 11 months in that subdivision, I was “hand picked” for a transfer, to SDM Darya Ganj.

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“Hand picked” transfer to Darya Ganj Sub-division

Safely, one can say it was the most difficult sub- division, which was vacant since four months. A very demanding sub-division where half the day is spend in the mortuary getting the postmortem conducted and the remaining time goes in fire fighting in the slums along the Yamuna River. Not to forget the sensitive “Muslim” area of Jama Masjid. At that time, my office was in Tees Hazari Court.

I assumed it to be just a routine transfer but soon came to know why it was vacant since the last four months. As per the High Court order, the encroachments from the Meena Bazaar (at Jama Masjid) was to be removed, approximately 1600 shops to be removed and the SDM (Darya Ganj) was the Nodal Officer.

On the personal front, Sasmita went to her studio regularly and I, after slogging in the mortuary and slums, went there to help. She used to leave for home, after my arrival, to take care of the baby and the family; I used to return home at mid night only to wake up early for more inquest calls and recording of dying statements in various hospitals.

Since, we had “handed over” the kitchen to the mother and Sasmita managed not the household but the studio, my mother behaved like a queen and my siblings as her heir. I badly missed my father but did not even have time to grieve. I was told two months after, Shakeel and Wasim dropped out of class 12, when the session was already over. I got both of them admitted in class 12 in a government school with the intervention of Director Education, an angel who has always helped me out in my darkest moments.

It was almost four years since, I had been funding Nasim solely for preparing for the CS exam and he had not even taken it once.

He not only stayed in a rented flat but also went for the coaching of all the subjects (a privilege which I never had).

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My mother had a lot of faith in him and was of the opinion that he was far more intelligent and will secure a much higher rank. Since he aimed for I.A.S and not allied I was not supposed to interfere with his “strategy”!

I gave Nasim the ultimatum that he either has to qualify the exam or look for a job after that year. The same year after the preliminary exam, he showed me the question paper to confirm the answers. I calculated and was satisfied that he will clear the first hurdle surely.

The worst was the youngest, Akil, who failed consecutively in class 8 and justified it saying “so did Sachin Tendulkar” (even icons sometimes set real bad examples)! My mother was not only comfortable with the unnecessary demands of my younger sisters but also “invited” my eldest sister, married for more than 15 years now, to be “helped” by us. My eldest sister is married to a man, who could never earn a penny in his life and survived by selling his ancestral property. So, I was “directed” by my mother to extend financial help to her so that she could start some business, maybe also to “prove” how caring a mother she is!

It’s not possible to show sunshine to a blind, so surrendering to her will, Sasmita and I calculated that we had a little over a lakh in all our accounts put together. I gave my elder sister one lakh and begged her not to come ever again. She left, saying we were a heartless couple.

The mother never believed that I actually had no money. She conveniently forgot that when they came to Delhi, all they had was only 60,000 rupees (the retirement benefits of my father and money acquired from selling old household stuff), which was deposited in the name of my youngest sister, only 21 years younger to me.

What it meant to be an eldest son was now clear to me: a horse, who is supposed to win the “race” and then pull the cart with all the “family” members and their next generation on it.

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Most people including (especially including) ones own family think a civil servant becomes instantly rich and powerful.

One day , when I came back from office in the evening, I could not take anymore the stress of my mother and siblings always insulting Sasmita. I asked my mother and Nasim, what they wanted, and I was asked to “leave” the house along with my wife and six month old daughter. So be it. After all Abbaji had given me all the blessings so curses do come in package as well.

I left the house with two suitcases at about 11.00 in the night. We first went to Karol Bagh and had some food at a local dhaba, and then headed to our studio. There was no bed, but we had a good night’s sleep on the floor, spreading the backdrops that are used while taking pictures. We made the studio our make shift home. We again bought some basic utensils and next four months, the studio was home to the three of us. Some times, while drying the bedding of the baby I used to look up to the sky. The blue sky was at times silent and filled my heart with emptiness.

The family pension of my father, some 5000 odd rupees was not sufficient, so I had to give the entire monthly expenditure to my mother. The best part was, Nasim had not even appeared at the preliminary exam and the question paper that he had showed me was of a friend. So taking a call, I asked Mr. Nasim to start earning his bread and butter.

Things in my office had gone from bad to worse. Once, my boss, Mr. Mehto, even asked me how I “rent out” my government accommodation to my mother.

I just kept to myself the PWD allotment rule allows the dependents (mentioned in the Service Book) to stay in the government accommodation provided to the employee.

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I had entered the names during my training days itself as my father had retired and I was the sole bread winner of my family.

The office at the Tees Hazari court was to be vacated and we were looking for some office space. How I located and started the entire D.C Central Office would be worth documenting; anything is possible in government if there is a will. My new boss Mr. A. C. Verma was like a friend and together, we could achieve anything. Computerization of Sub-Registrar office and making our own EPIC centre were some of the things that we achieved together.

The silent sky started drizzling slowly, and the earnings in the studio was good enough for us to afford a rented flat. So after staying in there with our baby for four months, we rented a decent apartment in Vasant Kunj Pocket B4&5. By dint of hard work, the empty flat soon had decent furniture, and all the house hold equipments.

1st January 2002 was probably the happiest New Year eve in our lives. We organized a huge party on our roof top, invited all our old friends and some from the service as well. For every body the New Year bash was a party to remember. All the neighbors were also very pleased.

But for going to my Gulabi Bagh flat once a month to give money to Ammaji, we did not have any other contact. A few months after being told to earn his own living, Nasim got married to the daughter of a relative living in Old Delhi. Everyone in the family had participated, and I came to know about it two months after the wedding. Good for him. So, all of us were happy with life.

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Meena Bazaar encroachment removal

Now came the real challenge in my present posting at Darya Ganj for which I was “hand picked” by the authority. Honorable High Court had taken a very serious view of non-compliance of its direction for encroachment removal of Meena Bazaar at Jama Masjid. The High Court had also warned the Vice Chairman Delhi Development Authority, Mr. Hota that he might be sent to judicial custody if soon action is not taken.

A high level committee was formed, involving the senior officers from DDA, my boss and I from the executive side, and the Dy .Commissioner of Police (Central) Mr. Uday Sahai. The first meeting was just to understand the situation and at the end of the meeting, all the senior officers got stuck with one of the observations in the High Court’s order “SDM Darya Ganj to be the Nodal Officer for this operation” and that was me.

Now comes the better part. The senior officers needed to discuss the strategy in the chamber of Mr. Sahai and I was asked to leave the room. I did so, since my boss Mr. Verma was in that meeting so, it did not matter. I, “the Nodal Officer” was called in to be told that Law and Order is the baby of Delhi Police and even if High Court has made me the Nodal Officer for this operation, I can’t invoke section 144 of CRPC as the power lies with the police and not the SDM. As if, I was keen to use any power; nonetheless, we all also knew that no power could make this operation a success.

The next day we all gathered at the Shahi Road of Jama Masjid, the road and the Gate No. 3 through which Emperor Shah Jahan used to go to the mosque to offer prayers at the glorious Jama Masjid. The Commissioners from DDA, a platoon of Delhi Police in their shining amour, various senior officers from I.A.S and DANICS played General Macarthur’s game of “wait and watch”. Even after waiting for two hours, nothing happened.

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Thousands of locals (goes without saying Muslims) watched us silently and one of the Commissioners of DDA ordered the bulldozer to move in. The moment the JCB started its engine, with a loud noise, Shahi Imam, Mr. Ahmad Bukhari along with hundreds of his men approached us. He not only openly shouted about the corruption in DDA and abused all related to it, but also was about to assault one of the officers.

The Nodal Officer, moves in with extremely calculated steps, and Mr. Bukhari raises his hand to slap me; one of his men holds back his hand and whispers something in his ears. Mr. Bukhari looks into my eyes and goes back to his mosque along with his men.

Now, every body in the “team” knew that no power or force was going to work here; all noticed some respect for me in the eyes of Mr. Bukhari and suddenly I became the adorable boy of all. The Additional DCP and the S.H.O were immensely pleased, saying that I pacified the Imam without saying a word. I had no idea, and then some people came from the mosque and I was told that Mr. Bukhari wanted to meet me.

The officers from DDA were jubliant and they asked me to go. I said that I will not be meeting the Imam alone and requested for two more officers to be nominated officially for any conversation or negotiation. At that time, V.C. DDA and honorable Lieutenant Governor Of Delhi were on hotline; on my request a three member committee was formed, with me as the chairperson (being the Nodal Officer), Mr. Surjeet Roy and Mr. Binay Bhusan Directors of DDA. Both these two officers were very senior to me in the same DANICS cadre, but we worked as a team. Three of us went in and we had our first conversation with the Imam.

It will not be proper to tell about the entire operation, but everybody involved in it can easily recollect that it was the smoothest operation in Delhi, where no force was used at all.

Even the alternative allotment was done in an absolutely transparent manner by making a make shift office of DDA there itself.

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I became the blue eyed boy of the VC, DDA and also the honorable LG.

I was also told by my superiors that I would be considered for some good assignment after this. Mr. Roy and Mr. Bhusan were all praises for me; on the last day of the demolition, when we were lightly discussing about going to Kareem (the famous eatery in Old Delhi ), to have some good lunch to celebrate our success Mr. Bukhari overheard our conversation, and the Imam, who was totally against the Administration and DDA around a month back, took us all to Kareem and hosted a gala lunch. That was definitely a high point of my professional life.

I had completed three and half long years in that difficult sub division and it was about time that I was given some easy assignment (which most of my batch mates enjoyed since the time I was sent to Lakshadweep).

On the family front, one day my maternal cousin came with wet eyes to my rented flat in Vasant Kunj, and informed me that his father had passed away and his body was lying nearby at a friend’s place. My uncle had come with his entire family for the annual Urs of Khwaza Garib Nawaz and had suddenly died of heart attack. I tried to call Ammaji, she too had gone to Ajmer Sharif along with another brother. I could immediately connect with the loss of my cousin.

Without wasting time, I went to the place where his body lay, and tried to consol my aunty. All she could say was, if she could afford, she would have taken the body to Darbhanga, his home town for burial. I assured her that I will do the needful.

It was really difficult to find a vehicle to take the body that far, but I managed to find a Muslim driver with a Jeep who agreed. I made the necessary arrangements for the journey; to me, it was doing that tiny bit which I could not do even for my own father.

Ammaji returned with her brother from Ajmer the next day, and came to my Vasant Kunj flat for the first time. She was emotional and blessed

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Sasmita for doing all that for her brother. She insisted that we return to Gulabi Bagh. Though we were quite happy in Vasant Kunj, I definitely missed them too. Assuming things would be different now, we decided to go back and in the process, had to sell off many things at a throw away price. We all were again in Gulabi Bagh.

From the Darya Ganj sub-division, I expected to be transferred to a better assignment, but the transfer came to me as a big setback.

The Administration had decided to reward me by posting me to Tihar Jail as Superintendent. Mr. Roy took all the credit for the removal of the encroachment at Meena Bazaar, and I was supposed to go to an assignment which starts with day break and ends in the night. I would not even be able to help Sasmita in her studio.

This shock sent me in deep depression, deep enough for me to live like a zombie. That must have been toughest time for Sasmita, as neither of the siblings was of any help. My mother and kin were unmoved and my eldest sister returned with the proposal of an I.A.S, for my younger sister, saying that only one crore dowry would do.

Infuriated, I asked my mother and four sisters to go and live with Nasim, with an assurance that I will still be giving money every month. Since Shakeel and Wasim were preparing for their engineering entrance (I had taken a hefty personal loan to provide both of them coaching at Fit Zee) I decided to allow them to stay with me. Akil, who had come up with the idea of taking his class X exam through some open board, also stayed back. This was almost six years after the death of my father.

At the Darya Ganj office, the relieving order duly signed by the newly appointed ADM Mr. Krishan Kumar, was waiting for me. Mr. A.C.Verma was human enough not to face me, and Mr. Krishan Kumar handed over the order with a smile. I reported to Mr. Aggarwal, the Director General of Prison the same day.

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V. After the fire is extinguished, the fire engine is sent to Tihar Jail.

In just a span of seven years of my career, I might be the only officer in the cadre of DANICS to be posted in Lakshadweep and Tihar. It is difficult to compare the two postings; comparing orange and apple may not be the correct analogy, but to me both these two postings were “thrown” as lemon; and I did make lemonade out of them in due course.

I was posted as Superintendent (Head Quarter) and the then DIG Mr. Mukesh Prasad, who was also a JNU-ite, was nice to me. I don’t know what kind of briefing Mr. Aggarwal was given about me, but he always appeared to be very skeptical.

Initially, only irrelevant files were routed through me. I was as such in deep agony, suffering mentally, physically and was in a state of shock. Every Tuesday, the meeting of Mr. Aggarwal was nothing but humiliation. Since I was the Superintendent HQ, I was supposed to make the minutes of the meeting and circulate it to all for action.

Mr. Aggarwal was an ex army officer who later joined I.P.S. He was extremely tough from outside, but was soft within. Slowly, he did notice my “work” in simple minutes making and following it up. In one of his routine meetings, when he was firing me, a colleague of mine laughed and, then Mr. Aggarwal took him to task, saying, “SP (HQ) is like my son, and I can say anything to him. How dare you laugh at him?” He also added that no one would be able to work in my position for more than two months.

That gave me a new life, and when I went back to my chamber, I saw that on the roll of honor of Superintendent (HQ), all other names were of extremely short duration. I went to the DIG and asked, why no one wanted to remain as SP( HQ) and he replied laughingly, that the workload of HQ is extreme without any perks, where as in Prison, the SP is all in all and also has lot of untold perks.

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He also asked me whether I would like to go to any prison, and I refused. Now, I wanted my entire tenure to be in HQ. I got activated and started learning everything from the security equipments, to communication, and also the security procedure of circulating the high risk prisoner et all. For the first time in my career, I got a chance to learn the desk job, and I knew that this experience would not go down the drain. Of and on, whenever any Superintendent went on leave, I got a chance of holding the additional charge of the prison. That gave me the opportunity to understand the desk and the field as well.

Frankly, Tihar was the most enriching experience for me. I was more broke than ever. One scale up salary was the only solace. A lot of installments were to be paid and my lunch was always the 10 rupee rice and curd from the movable “Punjabi Rasoi” which used to sell food for the laborers at the entrance of Tihar HQ. My orderly wanted to know why I did not bring lunch from home. At home, we could not afford any maid, and the baby was to be taken care of and Sasmita had to slog alone without me being available for help. She would have managed but I insisted not to.

I had nothing else to do, but to drink deep of prison administration and to contribute in its functioning. Once there was an escape from the prison (the escape of Rana was a path breaking one) and a high level committee was constituted to review the security of the Prison. The committee came up with a 250 paged report in which I made a significant contribution. My tech savvy attitude helped me in understanding the most complex technical security equipments in no time.

Thus I became a part of the technical committee, and was the junior most officer in it. The Commandant of Tamil Nadu Special Police, Mr. Sanjay, had become a friend, and we teamed up enthusiastically for every new project.

Once delegates from China came; they were interested in knowing our ability to house 15,000 inmates in a sanctioned capacity of 4000. Mr.

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Aggarwal, after a brief introduction, left it on me to take the entire delegation round the prison and brief them about our operation.

Fully understanding the sensitivity of the task at hand, and the trust of my DG in me, I put my best foot forward. I briefed the delegates everything that we could have shared, without compromising on our own security. The delegates went happy, my DG was happier.

The new DIG Mr. Devender Singh Nijjar takes over.

My first day encounter with the latter can’t be said to be pleasant. On the very first day, he needed two vehicles for himself ; as if the brand new Ambassador was not good enough he ordered my Gypsy also to be attached with his personal branch (to be used by his family). I was shocked and went to DG. DG asked me to cancel that order and I did.

The new DIG, Mr. Devender Singh, a post graduate in English from Punjab was obviously very proud of his English, which according to him could destroy lives. It at least destroyed mine eventually.

Mr. Devender Singh was passing through a “rough phase”; before this assignment he was posted as Dy. Director Education, a post much junior considering his seniority, but his kind boss had re–designated him as Joint Director. Again he was posted as DIG, a post meant for a selection grade officer and he was already in JAG. Fully understanding his frustration, I tried my level best to avoid him.

Mr. Aggarwal retired and Mr. R.P. Singh took over as Director General.

Subsequently, I was “invited” by the Chinese authority to come and present a paper in Singapore.

The new DG. Mr. Singh, however, thought it was appropriate to send the Public Relation Officer, Mr. Sunil Gupta, to Singapore in my place.

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Promoted from DANIPS to IPS, Mr. Singh had his roots in eastern India. He was nothing less than an ancient king. Wearing a yellow shirt on Thursday and going to the dargah of Nizamuddin, was proof of his “secular” status. He was money, and all of it in its entire glory. I missed the fault finding Mr. Aggarwal.

The new DG changed the meeting from Tuesday to Friday and recording of minutes were not so important anymore. The escapist Rana had made some contact with media and offered to surrender before Mr. Singh; in the first security meeting, I was not needed and was asked to leave. My friend Mr. Sanjay was surprised, I was not.

If every cloud has a silver lining, then certainly I could use one; Mr. Gyanendra Shrivastava was posted as Additional Director General. It was a stop gap posting for him, but it gave me a reason to smile again.

He was the same boss in the Education Department who had re-designated Mr. Devender Singh as Joint Director, but here in the Prison Head Quarter, Mr. Devender Singh could not even find a room for him.

Mr. Shrivastava was polite and kind as usual and I begged him to take my chamber, till I got a new chamber fabricated for him. On my insistence he agreed and within a month, his chamber was ready.

Nothing in comparison to his sea side chamber in Lakshadweep, but with the choice of furniture and humble décor, he was satisfied.

Being Superintendent HQ, all the personal files of all other SPs used to come to me, and once I noticed Mr. Amar Singh, Superintendent Jail No. 3 claimed his uniform allowances. I was surprised and called up to ask him, if he wore the uniform; he told he was claiming what was admissible to him.

That made me read the jail manual and according to it the uniform is not a choice, but a requirement.

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I sought the DG’s permission to wear the uniform. He gladly agreed. I immediately ordered for my uniform, and wore it for the first time on 15th August. When I entered his chamber and saluted him, I could see his eyes glittered. He was impressed when I told him I wanted to be a soldier and this uniform was like a dream come true. I assured him that I would always honor my uniform. Some what he trusted me on that.

All my other colleagues, those who were supposed to be “civil servant” mocked at me saying it’s a disgrace for a civil officer to wear a uniform. To me, the one star and Ashok on my soldier was worth dying for. I was extremely happy and decided to wear it to job.`

When I was given the additional charge of Jail No. 2 for two months, I saw the tremendous scope of working in prison. That was a convict jail and a close interaction with the inmates made me understand that everybody deserves a second chance and reforms in prison is very much needed. If the inmates are reformed enough, never to return, it would result in a better society for all. I was loved by not only the subordinate staff but also the inmates.

After a little more than two years in the HQ, I was given the posting of Jail No. 1. By now, I was more accustomed to the HQ. But getting a chance to manage Jail No. 1, was surely because of another intervention by the angel in my life.

In Jail No. 1 the first thing that I noticed on the roll of honor was, I was the first Muslim officer since independence! I knew my responsibility well.

I read the entire jail manual first and in no time, I was like a prison officer, totally accepted by the subordinates and the inmates.

Me wearing the uniform was also a factor of winning respect in the eyes of the team.

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Life was more or less smooth. The daily routine was to report to the DG at 7 am in the morning and leave the prison after the lock out at about 8.00 pm; virtually no time for Sasmita or home; but no regrets.

I would consider my posting in Jail No. 1 as the best that I got in my career.

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Tsunami Calling

And then, Tsunami hit the coast of India, in January 2005. I was disturbed to the core, since I had worked in Lakshadweep and was aware of the kind of devastation it must have caused. I called my friends in Lakshadweep, and was happy to know that there was no impact of Tsunami there due to the protective coral reef.

News about Andaman did not give the real picture. I expressed my desire to DG about going to Andaman as a volunteer. He was skeptical and asked me who else was going. I enquired from the chief minister’s office, whether any team was being sent to Andaman for relief work and was informed that there was no such plan yet. So, I decided to go on my own. My batchmates who were posted in Andaman were asked to report immediately. Requesting that I would pay for it later, I asked one of them to book my ticket as well. Rajesh was kind enough to book my air ticket to Port Blair; when I was about to leave Delhi, (not before collecting around 5 lakh rupees from the prison staff and the inmates as a contribution to be given in the Chief Minister’s Relief Fund), I received a call from Mr. Surjeet Roy,

“Congrats Shamim! You have been relieved from Tihar and going to Andaman on posting”, he said. I failed to understand whether he was sarcastic, or just being himself. As such in due course, after claiming all the credit for my work at Meena Bazaar demolition, Mr. Roy had been “employed” by Mr. Talwar in a real estate company. Yes, the same Mr. Rajiv Talwar left the service and runs a big time real estate company now.

I was on the way; I met Mr. P.R.Meena and Mr. Devesh Singh and was informed that Delhi Government had made a team of Delhi officers to be sent to Andaman and my name was also there. I was least bothered. We landed in Port Blair after four days since Tsunami hit the coast.

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48 hours after Tsunami hit the coast, the Administration had declared that, there has been no damage. True, there was no impact in Andman, but the condition of Nicobar was far from normal.

The regular officers there were all very capable people, and the first impression was that they did not need any volunteer. Instinctively, I surfed the available news of the affected islands in Nicobar, and I could see a tiny island on the map, Teresa; an island with approximately 3000 population. There was no news from that island. And the officers literally abided by the phrase “no news is good news” in their scheme of rescue and relief operation.

I went to the Chief Secretary’s office, and requested to be sent to Teresa. The OSD of the Chief Secretary was pleasantly surprised to see a volunteer DANICS officer, requesting to be sent to a remote island with extremely harsh conditions even during normal times. I simply told that I was there to help and would be interested in working in the most neglected area. He got me a team of few local officers immediately, and an I.A.S probationer and I was made team leader. I was literally a volunteer and being a leader or not was irrelevant to me.

In the evening, I came to know that Mr. Meena had chosen Kamorta Island as his base. He had served as SDM in Kamorta some 20 years back. The bigger question was how to reach either of these islands.

During Tsunami, a joint command was declared and the Army, Navy, Police, Para Military, and the Civil Administration were all supposed to work as one unit. Mr. Meena and I did not wait for the “official” transport; we went to the airport and were happy to know that one AN 32 aircraft was to leave for Car- Nicobar the next morning; we could take the chopper for Teresa and Kamorta from there. We informed our team and the next morning, we took the AN 32 flight to Car- Nicobar Island.

At Car – Nicobar, we got a vivid picture of what Tsunami meant. The

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entire base and the colony of the Air force were totally erased. Not even the foundation of four storey buildings was left. There were enough relief material, but indeed there was need of committed officers and officials for effective collaboration.

I was given one MI 17 chopper and along with my team I made a list of the first round of relief material to be taken to Teresa. I had taken few gen sets, electrical tools, wires, tube lights, bulbs, some medicine kits, food grains and some onions and potatoes.

Next morning, my team was flown to Teresa by the pilot, Mr. Pankaj. When we were about to land, we could see hundreds of people near the make shift helipad. It was almost a week and, we were the first administration party to arrive. My team members were apprehensive, but I assured them that the tribal here are harmless (had read about them while studying Sociology in JNU).

After landing, the locals helped us in unloading the relief material. We found a structure which somehow was not destroyed by Tsunami and set up our camp office and accommodation. After few hours the defense team also arrived, and we helped each other to set up the basic unit for relief operation. My team had two satellite phones for communication. Almost by evening, when we decided to cook for the entire team, a basic khichdi (a dish comprising of rice, available pulses and vegetables), I asked the locals, whether they would like to take the food grains or share our meal. It was unbelievable to hear that most of them had not eaten since a week but still without saying a word, had helped us in setting up our camp.

That was really soul-touching. So, we served them first and asked them to tell every body in the island to come to the camp and take the relief material.

By night, the situation in Teresa was assessed. It was one of the worst affected islands; my instinct had brought me to the right island. Now

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we were supposed to send the communication; though the army radio was working, there was no electricity. The engineers told that they could restore communication, if they had electricity.

My life of a backpacker and doing a lot of odd jobs for a living came handy. We had brought many gen sets even in the very first sortie, but the brand new gen sets did not have engine oil. There was no way to start the engine without oil.

Disaster is the time, when one is forced to be innovative. From a dilapitated tractor engine, I extracted the engine oil, filtered it with a t- shirt of mine and the gen sets started, as we had brought some diesel and petrol as well. The lights were fixed, communication started and Port Blair control room was shocked to know that this was indeed the worst affected island.

The Choura Island nearby had totally disappeared and the survivors had come to this island. Out of the 3000 original population, almost 2000 were killed and the survivors from various islands had raised the population from the erstwhile 3000 to the present 4000. The island did not have enough natural resource to sustain this population.

After Tsunami, not even drinking water was available to them. What we could gather on the very first day was, this was an island, which had lost its entire assets, more than two third were dead, and the present 4000 population, was hungry, without much roof above them and totally deprived of civic facilities.

Within a week, the team work resulted in significant changes: basic roof for every house hold (including tents), enough food for the entire island for one month, basic medication, electricity in every village.

Mr. Meena came and stayed in Teresa for a day. He was very happy with the work and wanted to go to Kamorta to brief the L.G who was coming there the next morning. There was no chopper flying that day and a ship

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was about to pass, but the jetty was broken and there was no functional boat left in the island. I had seen one boat hanging on a tree. I thought of taking a chance, so I requested Mr. Meena to ask the ship to divert and come near the shore.

He trusted me and the ship was about to reach the island in next two to three hours.

With around 20 men, we pulled the boat from the tree and pushed it into the water. It was an inbound boat, and other than me there was one more person who could sail it (thanks to my Lakshadweep experience); fortunately there was diesel left in the tank, and the engine started. Walla!

The boat carrying around six of us moved towards the ship, but there was no radar. God was on our side; I found the broken radar in the boat and fixed that too. We did reach the ship and embarked on it in Lakshadweep style i.e. literally hauled ourselves up. That was the first local boat ride in Nicobar after Tsunami. This tiny incident restored the confidence of the islanders in the sea again. The other local boatman took the boat back to the island, and we in the cabin of the ship were talk of the crew. Mr. Meena’s eyes were filled with affection for me, and I was glad to be in his team.

We reached Kamorta and briefed the Lieutenant Governor about the situation. Now, I was stationed at Kamorta to help Mr. Meena in the entire operation of rescue and relief in the Nicobar group of islands.

Next ten days were the most satisfying days of my life. Unloading the 400 metric ton of relief material from “Harsh Wardhan”, the ship, to documenting the details of the operation, to making the format for reporting “ status before Tsunami and status after Tsunami” to briefing Mr. Navin Chawla on his visit, to hosting a dinner for the Queen and the local tribal in the end, I did feel it is worth being a part of the Civil Service.

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Back to Port Blair, after almost 20 days of sleepless nights in a pair of single shorts and a t-shirt, I had to return home as the wedding of my sister, Suraiya, was being finalized.

I went to the Chief Secretary’s office and informed in writing that I was leaving for Delhi; as such the rescue and relief operation was over; rehabilitation, which was the job of regular officers had started.

In Delhi, I was shocked to receive a memo from the Ministry of Home affairs, that how I left without being “relieved”! That did pain me. I had gone on my own expenditure, by availing leave and now this!

Mr. Meena was also shocked with the memo and asked me to say that I had come back with his permission. I gave back a detailed reply. I could not stop myself from narrating a story to the Ministry of Home Affairs,

“The Horse of Baba Khadak Singh”

“There was a saint named Baba Khadak Singh, and he had a very nice white horse with him. One of the bandits wanted his horse, and when the baba refused, the bandit decided to snatch it from him. So, one day the bandit, disguised as an ailing beggar, sat in the path of the saint. Baba Khadak Singh stopped his horse and showed his compassion. The beggar asked for a ride; the Baba stepped down and offered him his horse. The moment the bandit sat on the horse, he snatched the reins. When he was about to gallop away, the Baba asked him to stop. The bandit said, he won’t return the horse. The saint asked him to keep the horse but not to tell this to anyone. The amused bandit asked the Baba, why and the saint replied that if people came to know how he snatched the horse, no one would help an ailing beggar!”

Citing this story, I requested the Ministry of Home Affairs not to let anyone know about this memo otherwise, in a time of calamity any willing officer will think twice before volunteering.

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In Tihar, my entire period was considered as on duty and my traveling allowances were reimbursed, the angel was smiling.

Post Tsunami, my tenure in Tihar Prison

Probably, my selfless service to the victims of Tsunami was accepted by the Almighty, and things started improving in my personal life as well. Ammaji was now more sober, (had lived with and seen the second daughter in law). Shakeel and Wasim had qualified the engineering entrance test. Shakeel went to hostel in Sikkim and Wasim was in Guru Tegh Bahadur, Delhi. Thanks to the facility of education loan I managed their admission and recurring fees. Nasim had also become a father and the four sisters had all the freedom to do whatever they wanted under the protection of Ammaji. So we started looking for the right groom for Suraiya.

Since, I have been living under the rock and not been socializing with the people of my own community, I had a hard time looking for a groom. My request to all my relatives to find a decent groom was a futile exercise. So, with the help of a friend from Delhi itself, I finally found a groom; a sober person from a humble family in Old Delhi. My mother, sisters and Nasim visited them several times and were satisfied with the relation. The date was fixed and my financial condition was far from normal. Goes without saying, the entire arrangement was done by Sasmita and me. Nasim was hardly in a position to help as I still extended financial support to him to meet the monthly expenditure.

Borrowing money from many friends, we solemnized the wedding in the presence of friends and relatives. The wedding was the best we could do. Every one seemed to be pleased, and the reception in my Gulabi Bagh colony was appreciated by all.

In the middle of the night, when Suraiya was about to leave with her groom to her new home, Ammaji did what she does best.

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At the venue itself, she started abusing Sasmita in the filthiest of language, accusing her of not doing anything (needless to say that the entire wedding preparation including the shopping was done by her alone).

She, the bride’s mother, felt that the jewellery and clothes given to her daughter were inadequate! All my guests were shocked. I have been living with my curse; we drank the humiliation and continued with the “bidai” (the ceremony when the bride leaves for the groom’s house) ceremony.

After few days when every body left, we decided to fine tune our life once again. Thinking that Sasmita, Nishka and I could now have a normal life, I concentrated more on my prison administration and did a lot of innovative work there.

In Jail No. 1, I realized that due to water shortage and long queues for the toilet, the inmates were more prone to fights in the morning. I decided to experiment with music. I changed the entire public addressing system to music quality speakers and made the circuit myself.

The new system was such that I could play music from my retiring room or from the central control room and could also address the entire prison from any place. I availed the Prison Welfare Fund and the entire new system was even cheaper than the repairing cost of the old archaic PA system. I made a collection of CDs each to be played at a particular time. In the morning, we started playing devotional tracks of all faiths. In less than a fortnight, the fights in the mornings reduced drastically.

The staff and the inmates relished music the whole day. The prison was like one extended family and I was more of a head of the family rather than a British Superintendent.

Gradually, we organized several yoga camps and started a music room, where the more violent inmates were encouraged to learn music and it did help them in anger management.

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The painting section was revived by me, and the painters were provided all the required facilities. I also organized the camp of Baba Ramdev,(the renowned Yoga Guru) twice in my jail. Baba Ramdev, was not only very happy with my arrangements, but also praised the quality of our sound system.

The DG Mr. Singh was pleased with all these measures.

The love and affection of my junior officers and staff made me show my gratitude to them. I requested the DG to allow for a “Bada Khana” (an

army tradition which was recently organized by Tamil Police for their cadre) for the entire prison officers and officials. He did not show any interest. So I organized the Bada Khana for all my officers and staff in my additional quarter, allotted to me in the jail premises. We started at 7 pm and continued till late in the night. The timing was kept such that every one from all the three shifts could attend. Some of the old staff poignantly said that this happened for the first time in their entire career. That night, I was not a commanding officer but a son to them.

Water indeed is thicker than blood!

Then came a transfer, internal of course. DG was not happy with the Superintendent of Jail No. 3 and decided to post me there. I politely said that there were some notorious inmates from Bihar and since I happen to “know” some of them I might get implicated; moreover my promotion was due and I could be transferred any time. DG assured me of his support and I was sent to Jail no. 3. DIG, Mr. Singh was not happy with this change; perhaps he shared a “functional relationship” with the outgoing Superintendent.

Mr. Shrivastava had also been relieved from Tihar now.

Life has always been a four letter word to me. Now, both the family and the office seemed to be on track when, one day on a holiday, in my Gulabi Bagh residence, I vomited blood.

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Sasmita was very upset. I was calm and composed, and told her that it looks like something serious, we should rush to the hospital. She was bewildered wondering why I thought it to be serious, because I looked absolutely healthy; but I had an intuition that it was not just another minor problem. She drove; I asked her to stop at an ATM. I first withdrew some money using my credit card.

I was in the emergency of St. Stephen Hospital and they took my blood sample. In less than fifteen minutes, I was a surrounded by a battery of doctors, looking at me as if I was a wonder boy. They wanted to know, for how long I have been sick. What could I tell them, till a day before, I was fit like a horse.

They whispered that I only had a count of 5000 platelets and they had never seen a man, with so low a count, walking. I was in the ICU, the immediate diagnosis was that it was some incurable disease.

Now platelets had to be infused. The news had reached the prison. Staff from both Jail no 1 and 3 thronged the hospital. There were several volunteers to donate platelets; but when they reached the Rajiv Gandhi Cancer Institute, more than a dozen B + could not match my platelets. By some divine intervention, the female technician donated her platelets, which matched. I never got to know her name, but I owe my life to her.

In the ICU, the platelets were infused, and after three days, the count was fixed at 38, 000. So, I was shifted to a private room and a plethora of tests, including the bone marrow test continued. After a week, the count was still the same. One fine morning, my doctor Ms. Parul , who was quite sympathetic, explained to me with a very brave face that this could be incurable , and she was going to put me on steroid from the next day.

My staff was helplessly praying; Sasmita and I had a flat face. Ammaji, my newly wedded sister and her husband, all came only to complain; cursed me for not doing anything for them.

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I requested my staff to call a barber from the prison. Barbers are not allowed in the hospital, but I took special permission saying that not a hair would spill. The barber came, and gave me a hair cut and a shave. One of my acquaintances visited me and presented me a nice shirt. He did not know my diagnosis.

I took a bath, ate the food of my choice, wore the new shirt, and discussed with Sasmita about the debts that we had to pay, assessed my insurance policies and told her not to fear. Both of us listlessly stared at the signage placed on the wall of hospital, “Oh Jesus, today not mine, but your wish should be fulfilled” and dozed off.

Next morning, my platelet count was around hundred thousand. Dr. Parul was extremely happy and deduced it to be just a drug induced thrombocytopenia. I was discharged the next day.

The Chief Medical Officer (CMO) of the prison also visited me in the hospital and was appalled to see my reports. When he tried to tell my condition in the weekly meeting of DG, he dismissed it saying, I was only pretending in order to get a transfer out of the prison. The CMO was surprised at his apathy but could say nothing further. This was conveyed to me by my colleagues who were present in that meeting.

What happened to my medical bill? I wish I could meet another Suman Rajdan. The Accounts Officer “used” all his knowledge and power on me, as the DIG was fully “using” his English as well. I was in gratitude to Lord for sending me back, so it hardly mattered.

Finally, I was promoted and was hopeful that I would get some easy assignment now. DG Mr. Singh had gone on fifteen days leave to his home town, and on the day of “Raksha Bandhan”(the festival where a sister

ties a thread around the brother’s wrist and he vows to safeguard her), which was celebrated in prison with lots of enthusiasm, the DIG “allowed” a TV channel for live telecast from my prison. That was for the first time that a television channel was allowed to telecast live from prison.

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The team came and was surprised with the arrangements and the transparency in the prison. They had all the freedom to talk to any prisoner. So, the live telecast was as positive as it could be. This infuriated the DIG; he was watching the telecast from his chamber in the HQ, and came rushing to my prison. He first sat on my chair and started shouting at me in front of my subordinates.

I told him, that this would disrupt the functioning of the prison and we had a heated argument. He left after stopping the telecast and threatening me that I will suffer for my “heroism”.

The DG was away. I did not want to disturb his vacation, so decided that I would speak to him once he returns. Fortunately, I was transferred as Dy. Secretary (Service).

After promotion, that was a junior position, but was glad to be posted in the Secretariat. I went and called on the Secretary Services Mrs. Gamblin. She said she looked forward to my joining.

I called on the Joint Secretary, Mr. S.P.Singh too and thanked him for this posting. He told me that this might be a junior position, but I would be given a posting of my choice after six months. I told him about my estranged equation with the DIG and requested for a stand relieve order, so that I could join.

The DG called me from Varanasi, and wanted to know, whether I would be interested in continuing there. I never knew that I looked so stupid to his old eyes. I denied, obviously.

He “requested” me not to get relieved till he returned. Since Jail No. 3 was a sensitive jail and he wanted to decide that posting on his return. Owing to my commitment to the organization, I agreed to be there for next fifteen days or so.

What a mistake of my life!

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Within a week, there was a routine entertainment programme in Jail No. 3, organized by the subordinate officers. Such programmes are routine in prison, and the performing party had performed many times earlier in almost all the prisons.

Out of blue, next day a Hindi newspaper reported that a sleazy evening was organized in Jail No. 3, by me, to please a notorious politician lodged in that prison. That news was re-produced in various other English dailies and was probably also telecast on some TV channels.

Little did I know, what was happening to me and who was doing it.

The DG returned. He was extremely angry with me. A week back, the one who begged me to stay back, now roared like a lion as if he had been abused if not by the goat then probably by the goat’s father.

What to expect from him, who thought of me as an “actor” even on my death bed? When I went to the Services Department, the Secretary Services refused to meet me. The Joint Secretary, sympathized with me, and when I reached the prison, I was “relieved”.

Next day when I reported to the Services, I was told that my transfer as Dy. Secretary had been cancelled.

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VI. The “reward” for hard work in Tihar Jail

It took almost a fortnight for the Services to decide my new posting, and I was posted as Dy. Director (Social Welfare Department). A position, meant for the newly promoted subordinates into DANICS or a DANICS probationer. I was almost ten year old in service and that too had already been promoted.

Beggars can’t be choosers, so I reported to Mr. G. Kumar. Mr. Kumar is a straight forward person and a man of integrity. He did not hide the fact that no officer wanted to take me, and in his department there was a need of a direct officer. So he had willingly taken me, and he assured me that I would be judged by the kind of work I would do, and not on my “reputation” of organizing a sleazy evening for the notorious politician in my prison.

I nodded.

When my service book and the last pay certificate was received from Tihar, I came to know that the DIG, Mr. Devender Singh had also re-fixed my pay scale on his own and issued a recovery certificate against me of 52,000 rupees. I don’t know about other officers as to how they manage their expenditure with their salary, but to me 52,000 was a huge amount and this recovery was totally illegal. I decided to file a grievance against this recovery order. I wish I knew that this would only add to my never ending plight.

Mr. R. P. Singh retired from the Prison, and was respectfully re-employed by Mr. Rajiv Talwar in his empire of real estate and DIG Mr. Singh became the blue eyed boy of the Chief Secretary, Mr. Narayan Swami and got a plump posting of his choice, while I was made to share my office room with a Head Clerk.

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Days getting darker in Social Welfare

The office was located in a special school for the differently abled children. The ambience of the office was such that a 100 watt bulb looked like a candle. Lights were dim and the rooms claustrophobic. I had already suffered intense depression, so here I could only heal.

There was not much work and the Joint director, Mr. Sanjay Gihar, had become a friend and sympathized with my plight. I respected his seniority.

Mr. G. Kumar kept his word and I was treated well. He also made me the head of office, and I contributed in my own ways. In that department even a small improvement could have been seen as a major achievement, but I did not have to prove myself much.

My blood platelets played hide and seek with me and I had to undergo several tests. Mr. Sanjay’s wife was a doctor. Once he took my reports to her, and was very sympathetic saying that mine was a unique case, not easy to diagnose. He was probably, one of the finest persons I had met so far other than the angel from the first posting.

I can say that destiny was compensating me with its own scheme. Every fortnight I gave my blood samples and waited outside the lab in tenterhooks wondering what the platelet count would be. Once after a prolonged series of tests at the Bara Hindu Rao Hospital, I assured myself that I had been sent back by the will of Lord, so leaving my life to fate, I decided not to undergo any further test.

In a department, where officers are supposed to be posted to loose their sanity, I was getting mine back.

I put my understanding of Sociology to use, and contributed significantly in many schemes and programmes, which became a reality in due course.

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I also “helped” in improvising the procurement process in various Homes.

I had time to help Sasmita in her studio, and slowly the burden of debt started reducing.

I had given a written grievance to the department regarding the recovery from my salary issued by the DIG of Tihar. I knew changes had to take place at the heavenly level to get a normal posting in the Government of Delhi, so instead of asking for a transfer, I only requested the Services Department to take a decision on my request for turning down the illegal recovery.

I used to visit Mr. S. P. Singh, the Joint Secretary Services (as the Secretary Services never met me) once every week. Mr. Singh was always polite and each time assured that he would look into the matter. His compulsion, he claimed, was that the worthy Chief Secretary, Shri Narayan Swami was very upset with me.

I wish I could be told the reason.

Officially, I was never “asked” about the so called sleazy evening in Tihar, and personally I refrained from talking about it either to my friends or to the media, since I had also bled for the security of Tihar and could not say anything which could have diluted the water tight security information. Assuming that truth will prevail some day, I kept silent.

Almost two years passed like that, and Mr. G Kumar was transferred to another department. Mr. Anindo Majumdar his replacement was equally good to me. My time was exactly moving in clockwise direction at the destined speed when a small ramp appeared.

I was given the additional charge of CEO, Delhi Waqf Board.

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I went to the Joint Secretary and protested saying that it’s a voluntary posting and my consent was not taken. I was not willing to work there and the order may kindly be canceled. He said that he was not in a position to do so.

I came out with a “solution”. The Waqf Board Act says that only a “Muslim” officer can be posted as CEO. So, I wrote an official letter claiming that, “I am not a practicing Muslim, and hence, as per the act I should not be posted to the Waqf Board”. Mr. Majumdar was kind enough to forward that letter.

I thought that I exercised my “right to freedom of religion”. Mr. Narayan Swami, who was already upset with me and never gave me an appointment, called and blasted me in the worst possible manner. He threatened that if my desire is not to be terminated from the service, I should go and join the Waqf Board immediately.

Poor me! I started working in the Waqf Board and Mr. Majumdar “decided” to go to Calcutta on posting.

Mrs. Raghuraman takes over.

Mrs. Raghuraman, the daughter of an army officer, was half General herself. But to me, she was warm. After all, I was the only continuity left in the department. Both the joint directors had changed, and I was there since last two odd years. She relied on me and discussed all relevant matters. As such, my designation was a misnomer, and I worked more as Officer on Special Duty ( OSD) to the Head of the Department (HOD).

I was well aware of almost every thing. For a month, I was her eyes and ears, and she was considering ending my plight by making me the Joint Director (which was my rightful position since my promotion, two years back).

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Somewhat, lunch time has always been the bone of contention in my official life. I am a very private person and normally do not like to eat in a group. Most of my colleagues like to meet each other and besides sharing lunch, they also dissect someone who is not present. But the result of such lunch sharing could be immediate, this I realized in the Department of Social Welfare.

After a month of her joining as HOD, a guest came and shared lunch with her. The guest and I only looked into each other’s eyes briefly. I left for my routine work and with sunset, was at home. The sunrise took me to the office, and Mrs. Raghuraman called me to her chamber; the General within her had awakened.

I was given my new assignment.

For the upcoming Commonwealth games, Delhi had to be made beggar free. I was supposed to take a team and hire a mini bus, go to the streets, catch the beggars, produce them in the beggar’s court, use my articulation to convince the judge to send them into custody and report to her every evening as to how many beggars had been sent to the “Home”. Attending office wasn’t necessary during this operation.

Not difficult for my cadre colleagues to guess; the guest at her lunch was Mr. A. K. Chaturvedi, now Special Commissioner Transport.

In my ten years of service, I entered on leave for two months for the first time.

Mr. Chaturvedi reminded me that the time to publish my Lakshadweep book had come. The book was submitted to the Publication Division of India and was approved; but even after two years of “consideration” it could not be published by them.

Mr. Gyanendra Shrivastava had joined as Secretary, Social welfare and wanted to help me. I told him that it would be best for me to take a

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break for two months. I will manage to get my book on Lakshadweep published, and would also get freedom from the Waqf Board, which was taking a toll on me. My leave was sanctioned.

On the personal front, living in Gulabi Bagh had become a bit too painful. I needed to shift to a new place to get over the sad memories attached with that house.

We shifted to 33 Rajpura Road. The ridge close by and the calmness of the area seemed inviting. Shakeel was still in the hostel in Sikkim, Wasim and Akil stayed with us.

Alas! Wish one knew what nature has in store.

We had conceived the book some ten years back and had grown since then hence, started re–doing it. In a month’s time, the first dummy was ready. I decided to go to Lakshadweep and update the book by adding two more chapters. The trip to Lakshadweep was pleasant as expected. I did not have to meet, or take any favor from any of my colleagues there. The locals were like family, and they showered their affection on me. I was at home. I spend some 20 days there and, came out with much more visuals, and enough content to update the text. I knew that this book would work as our balm.

I was happy. I came back in the fag end of December 2006.

Shakeel was also here on vacation. Nasim dropped in to meet him and all the brothers decided to hold a New Year party at my place. I was a bit too tired after the long trip of Lakshadweep, and was not keen to have any party.

I had asked Akil to live with Ammaji after he lied to me that he had taken his class X board exams. He had not only bunked the exam but also flunked in it the previous year.

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Now the three musketeers of the mother, Nasim, Shakeel and Wasim insisted that the party would be a humble one and they would invite only few close friends; I agreed.

As such , 1st January 2007 also happened to be Eid – ul- Joha and after the demise of my father, every year on Eid – ul- fitar and Eid – ul – Joha, I used to take all my brothers to pray, for my father.

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VII. The darkest New Year eve in the colony of civilized officers

That night of 31st December 2006 was heavy on me.

In my small drawing room, Nasim, Shakeel and Wasim chatted along with their friends, while music flowed out of our home system; we were celebrating the advent of the New Year. Goes without saying, there were many parties happening at a much larger scale in the colony. I was in the bedroom, with my daughter and Sasmita, who was expecting again. We tried to catch up on the moments during my absence.

At 12.10 am, many police officials entered my house on the second floor, beat and dragged all of us barring Sasmita and my daughter, to the ground floor.

My mind refused to believe, it was happening to me.

I rushed to two of my juniors Mr. Vishwendra and Mr. Shailendra who were SDM and requested them to intervene. They alone can explain what triggered their wrath that they also started beating my brothers.

Many senior officers from Civil Services and Judiciary were witness to this entire episode. Shattered was too mild a word to describe my state of mind. Next morning, without going into the details, I asked all my brothers to leave my house and never show me their faces again. I did not even go to pray and that Eid was a day of mourning for me.

No one from the colony either came to me nor did I go to them. On 4th of January, The Times of India, which I regularly read, told me that an FIR had been filed against me by Mr. Gurdeep Singh under section 506/34.

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FIR no. 3/07 dated 03/01/2007District North, P.S Civil LinesUunder Section 506/34 of Indian Penal Code 1860To SHOP.S Civil Lines, DelhiSub:- Nuisance by occupant of flat No. 12/33 Rajpura roadSirIt is to submit that on the intervening night of 31/12/06 and 01/01/07,I along with my five year old child and wife were sleeping in our flat no. 10/33 Rajpura road. At about midnight we got up with blasting full volume music. My child started crying due to sudden disturbance of sleep. I waited for about 15 minutes for music to stop or slow down which apparently was on the occasion of New Year. When the music did not stop, I asked my wife to go and request them to slow the volume as it is also violation of Supreme Court direction on noise pollution. She went upstair as the music was coming from flat no. 12 and after pressing bell requested one person who came out to slow the volume as it is disturbing the sleep of the child. The person went inside and thereafter Shamim Ahmed occupant of Flat no. 12 came out and said Madam it is New Year. My wife requested him to slow the volume as it is disturbing the sleep of child. On this, sh. Shamim Ahmed who was apparently drunk use filthy abuse which can not be mentioned and said you do not know who I am and you may call the police and do whatever you want to do. My wife returned and told me this. On this I asked her to make telephone call to police. She called police at around 12.25 AM/ after some time noise increased. Police had arrived in the mean time. He also misbehaved with Police to know as to who had called them. There after we heard noise that we will burn him who has called the police and noise and threats increased. In the mean time my bell was also pressed several times to provoke me and invite me for fight but I did not open the door. Sh .Shamim Ahmed along with 4- 5 persons present in his house created nuisance, violated Supreme court order of noise pollution and also extended threats to burn me alive. Kindly take action as per law.

Your’s faithfullyGurdeep Singh

Additional District and Session Judge10/33 Raj pura Road

01/01/07

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After the news was published, Mr. Devesh Singh, my senior, called me and extended his support. By evening, Mr. Devesh and Mr. Azimul Haque tried to call for a meeting in the colony, and Mr. Manpreet Singh, agreed to hold a meeting in his house.

I went alone. I was a little taken aback seeing Mr. Vishwendra Singh and Mr. Shailendra Singh, in the meeting. Many of my cadre colleagues were present and Mr. Manpreet Singh started the meeting by addressing Mr. Gurdeep Singh,

“What has happened to you Mr. Gurdeep Singh is beyond the tolerance of anybody. In your shoes, no one could have tolerated; but we believe in the teachings of our Gurus and we should be brave enough to forgive. And I request you to forgive Shamim.”

The judgment was already passed against me, and almost all the people present there were treating me no less than a terrorist. Mr. Gurdeep Singh was adamant that the FIR had to reach its logical end and he will not withdraw it. His allegation was that I, along with a few others pressed his call bell and threatened him.

I asked Mr. Gurdeep Singh, “Why did you not open the door and how could you see without opening the door that it was me, who pressed the call bell?”

He replied with a smile that, whether it was me or my brothers, he did not care and I must face the consequences!

Mr. Manpreet Singh was angry that I dared to cross question the honorable Judge and the meeting ended.

Now, I was advised by some well wishers that I should not be staying at home, since police was planning to arrest me and most likely I would be sent to prison.

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I was totally devastated to use my brain, which ached more than my heart.

It was winter time, and Sasmita was in her sixth month of pregnancy; I ran from pillar to post calling my friends in police (whom I had helped in my SDM days) and also the various investigating agencies (I had gone overboard in Tihar to help them). No one came forward to help me.

I then requested Mr. Devesh and Mr. Azimul Haque, who had volunteered to help me, to do a signature campaign in the colony, where each one in the name of truth should state what they saw that unfortunate night. Their reply was,

“Shamim, you have not been conducting yourself well. Not even a single person is in your favor!”... I wondered if that included Mr. Devesh and Mr. Azimul Haque as well. On hearing that, all I could say was,

“Oh! Thank God! I am solo again. Now I won’t loose! ”

I came home, and refused to take any bail, believing in the truth that I am a victim and can’t buy this injustice. The Additional DCP Atul Katiyar I.P.S wrote a letter to the Director ( Social Welfare Department) vide letter No. 557/SO-DCP ( North ( AC-III) Delhi dated 9/01/2007. Mr Katiyar had the audacity to add allegations against me in addition to the false FIR of Gurdeep Singh Saini by mentioning

“ ....One of them namely Shamim Akhtar claiming himself to be SP (Superintendent of Police) shouted at SI that how he dared to come there and threatened him with dire consequences. Mr. Shamim Akhtar and his men manhandled SI Brij Mohan by pushing him. The uniform of SI was torn by him in this melee. On inquiry ,it has come to notice that Mr. Shamim Akhtar is an officer of DANICS cadre and is presently posted as Dy. Director , Social Welfare Department, Govt. of N.C.T of Delhi. ....” The Indian Penal code was written in 1860, just three years after the

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execution of the sons of Bhadur Shah Zafar in Delhi after the Revolt of 1857. It has not yet lost its purpose. The FIR is not supposed to be delayed as per the Rule of Law and when it is delayed by three days, it results in such fabrication.

There was a circular by the Commissioner of Police in Delhi prohibiting from registering cases under section 506 (threat to kill) against people with no criminal background if not supplemented with other charges. Hence Mr. Gurdeep Singh‘s FIR under section 506 had to be supplemented with other sections like 186, 353 etc which Mr. Atul Katiar fabricated beautifully.

The police officers entering my government accommodation must be blind not to see my name plate along with my service to accuse me of claiming to be Superintendent of Police.

Mr. Gurdeep Singh must have some supernatural vision to “see” that I misbehaved with the police in my flat, a floor up , without even coming out of his own flat or opening the door.

Mr. Gurdeep Singh “counted” the persons to be 4/5 without opening his own door.

The letter of Mr. Atul Katiar I.P.S did not surprise me much. It only showed how much hatred against a particular community prevails in the heart of men in uniform. No one seemed to remember that I was a pro-police officer in my SDM days, and was always ready to help any agency during my Tihar term.

Forget about anyone remembering that I wore the uniform myself as Superintendent of the prison just two years back.

Then came the memo from Mr. Ved Prakash ( Director Vigilence, GNCT of Delhi). The letter dated 23/01/2007 is confidential, hence will not be proper to be re-produced here, but just a paragraph will clarify the

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existing reality that some people don’t even deserve any hearing before being declared a culprit.

“… Shri Shamim Akhtar, DANICS officer being a senior officer of the Govt. of NCT of Delhi was expected to maintain a responsible and decent standard of conduct in his private life and not bring discredit to his service by his misdemeanors, but he miserably failed to do so. The manner in which he conducted himself lowered the reputation of his service and brought disgrace to the government.

.. this issued with the prior approval of the Chief Secretary , Delhi”.

I did send a reply to the memorandum. So, not just the meeting in the colony, even the “system” thought that I don’t even deserve a hearing, and passed the judgment. I can’t say, that I had any hope left in my heart, still decided to contest the case. I called on the District Judge and he was kind enough to give me a patient hearing. He seemed to be aware of the reality of the incident hence, he duly forwarded my complaint against Mr. Gurdeep Singh to the High Court.

Investigating Officer Inspector Bhatia “used” all his powers and “investigative expertise” against me. I was often called to the police station by a proper “summon” of Inspector Bhatia. I was made to sit on a wooden bench along with other “criminals” in the Police Station. Everyone in the Police Station including sweepers used to call me by first name and I was treated no less than a terrorist. Not just in the Police Station, but in our civilized colony, the children of neighbors used to taunt my seven year old daughter that we were “terrorists”. Seven year old Nishka, once came back from the play ground of our colony and asked the meaning of “terrorist”. A neighbour’s daughter had asked her if we were terrorists because all Muslims are! After that she never went to play with any of her peer group in this colony.

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Despite my pathetic financial condition, I hired a lawyer and filed a petition for quashing the FIR. It’s been almost ten years, and the decision is yet to be taken. I am not a learned person, neither do I understand the complex procedure of law, but these three points make me wonder, how many more years to go, before I get justice:

1. The FIR despite being filed by a responsible Judge was filed three days late. (The alleged incident happened a little after mid-night on 31st December, and the FIR was filed on 3rd of January).

2. The complainant says that it was me along with some other persons (hence section 34), who pressed his call bell and threatened him. Though he did not open the door, but he “knew” that I along with some more people was present. The names of other persons are not even mentioned in the case.

3. This is a trial case, to be tried by a Metropolitan Magistrate, and the complainant has filed the FIR in his designation as, “Additional District and Session Judge” who is higher than Metropolitan Magistrate.

In Social Welfare Department, the General, Ms. Raghuraman send me an order at my residence to immediately join as Dy. Director, ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme).

I wondered, whether any of these Civil Servants ever read Elton Mayo during their pathetic training or practice. “No man is an island. Every officer also brings a part of his family to office and takes back a portion of office home”, both my personal and professional life was made a living hell.

So much, for protesting against a celebrity photographer and a billionaire IAS officer for insulting me by publishing a derogatory photograph of my wife in a government funded book on Lakshadweep!

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By the time I reported back to her, Ms. Raghuraman had made me an adjective. “Don’t behave like Shamim Akhtar”-

this is how she used to “warn” the lowest staff !

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Face the wrath of the Supreme Court in ICDS, or implement 16 new projects along with conducting MCD election without any support staff

The new office of mine was in the newly created Department of Women and Child. The office was located in a shed at Canning Lane on Kasturba Gandhi Marg. The office was as bad as one could possibly imagine. If one, who did not suffer from asthma, had to spend a fortnight in that set up, then the inhaler would become a life partner.

It was a small 8 x 8 porta cabin, with three broken chairs and a table which had cracks all over. A computer whose key board was missing and the only staff was a peon, Sanjay. He suffered from heart ailment, was also a graduate and an orphan. That made two of us.

There were four lady Aanganwari Supervisrs and a middle-aged lady who was the CDPO. The cherry on the cake was the Senior Accounts Officer, Mr. Bhatia, who was adamant to start the recovery that Mr. DIG from Tihar had given me as a departing gift.

The true reason for my new posting was revealed to me soon. Honorable Supreme Court of India was monitoring the implementation of Integrated Child Development Schemes (ICDS) and was very unhappy. More so, 16 new projects had to be commissioned in a time bound manner.

The situation was similar to the shifting of the Meena Bazaar, where someone like me was “needed”! Since the project was close to my heart, and I could relate to the beneficiaries I started understanding the project. The team was small but very cordial. I knew that, this would be a satisfying experience. So forgetting about the office and the paraphernalia, I became a sort of social worker myself. Just when I was gaining command over the project, the Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD) election was announced. I was made the Electoral Registration Officer ( ERO) and the Returning Officer (RO) of four wards in West Delhi.

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That was surely very disheartening; neither had I the staff nor the luxury of neglecting the ICDS project. I went to the Election Office and the glitter in the eyes of the authority there told me that I was again “hand picked”. Instead of requesting them to relieve me, I decided to give one month of my time to the election while planning the commissioning of 16 new projects simultaneously.

There was an apparent shortage of staff in the department, and expecting any help from Ms. Raghuraman was out of question. She mockingly told me that the RO has all the powers and the department would not be of any help in the election process.

The wards that were allotted to me were one of the most sensitive ones in Delhi. All four wards of Shalimar Bagh and Pitampura were the stronghold of BJP and a name like Shamim Akhtar did raise eyebrows. I was totally confident, thanks to my Lakshadweep experience. I was given four AROs and even if they were not the most competent people, we were one team. I assured them that they don’t have to bother much, I understand the entire procedure myself and they are only supposed to help me in the process.

The first phase of reconciling the electoral roll was published as per rule and after the specified time, it was finalized as per the established procedure of law. A leader of opposition approached me, and “asked” me to change that by incorporating his objections. I told him that after publication of the final roll, it was not in my jurisdiction, but only the Chief Election Commissioner could amend that. Initially, we had heated arguments, and in the evening I got a letter from the Chief Election Commissioner saying that if any court case arose due to my decision, I would personally be held responsible.

Wow! Till now, the “system” gave me the impression that I don’t deserve any hearing, now the authorities were declaring me a convict even without a case being filed! Ignoring the “warning” of the Chief Election Commissioner, I continued.

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The area MLA along with all the councilors and two very senior advocates came to my wretched office and, I gave them all the papers to be examined. After two hours of critical examination, they all agreed that my position was correct. Now they were more than happy with my transparent method of working. They assured me all the co-operation and extended their trust in my ability and integrity.

The Observer came, and was shocked to see that I did not have any staff. He wrote letters to the Election Commission saying that it would not be possible for me to the conduct election. I still got no staff.

I passed an order under the statute for five staff to be posted for election work from my department and Ms. Raghuraman turned that down.

My entire team, Mr. Observer, all the candidates know very well, what I had to go through to conduct the election. For printing the electoral roll in the press, I was the last in the queue; there were always shortage of vehicles when my team needed it; the space earmarked for training my staff, was taken over by another “Dabang” RO at the designated time; in the name of counting hall, I was given an open veranda, which was left out by others.

For lifting the impressed money also, my ARO had to spend the whole day in the Election Commission. But yes! Everything was in order and on the day of poll, my driver did not turn up. From my residence in Rajpura Road, I drove myself in my own car and when I reached my control room, it took half an hour to convince the police personnel that I was the RO and needed to go inside.

Conducting the election in any hostile nation would have been much easier. When I reached my control room, the engineers for the maintenance of EVM, did not know any human language, forget about their ability to fix the machine.

The poll finally started, and by 10.30 am the control room was flooded

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with the news that in 18 of my polling stations, the poll had not even started. The reason was non-functioning of the Electronic Vending Machines (EVM). I looked at both the engineers and could assess the situation in no time.

I decided to go to the polling station myself to fix the EVM. I took Sanjay and handed over the control room to one of my AROs. I went to each poll station myself, and fixed the EVM. When I was at the last polling station, one of the candidates demanded to defer the poll at that polling station saying it was post mid-day. I first changed the ballot unit and on seeing that I was fixing it myself, she was impressed. I passed an order there itself, saying that every man standing for voting, would be allowed to vote at the time of closure.

I returned to my control room, sweating like a pig.

Now the poll was going on smooth and about 4.00 pm a message comes that at one poll booth, the EVM was not working. I rushed to the polling station and was shocked to see the smart Junior Engineer from MCD who was the presiding officer had already conducted 180 polls despite the ballot unit not responding to the control unit. How he managed to pull those 180 votes (duly entered in the register and the diary) could be worth doing a PhD! I changed him on the spot with a new presiding officer and provided a new EVM. I returned with a heavy heart to the control room. The Chief Election Commissioner had finally caught me. I answered that as per the rule of election through electronic machines, it would depend on the result. If the margin of the winning candidate would be more than 180, then the invalid 180 votes would become null and void, and if the margin would be below 180 then a re poll had to be conducted on that particular booth.

My poll party started arriving with the polling material, and the strong room was planned and prepared by me in a very meticulous way. I started keeping all the EVMs and the relevant papers one by one, myself. Mr. Observer was shocked to see me marking and physically carrying

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them to the strong room. It was getting late and my team including the polling parties was really tired. So, I requested for dinner to be arranged for all. Mr. Observer and his PSO, the Police Inspector laughed saying that not even police could provide dinner at that hour, in the control room. All other ROs had finished their work and had left to return the next day for counting.

Hmmn! Not even police could arrange dinner at that hour! Who “knew” the power of the uniform more than me?

I asked one of my committed staff to leave all the work. I gave him the number of a local search service in Delhi. I asked him to locate any caterer in the vicinity and let me know. After ten minutes, he told me that a caterer was on line, but he had already refused. I took the phone and had a word with the caterer. I had to talk for about fifteen minutes with the stranger on the other side, explaining the urgency and the work that we were doing and it would not be possible to continue for the next three hours without food. And in the next 45 minutes, all were served a hot meal. Mr. Inspector did take three to four helpings. There are more patriots outside the Government than there are inside.

Water indeed is thicker than blood.

After locking the strong room at about 3.30 am, I returned home. The next day was 7th of April, a date that I had been spending in silence since 37 years; had to go for the counting.

The kind of strong room arrangement I had I could have announced the fastest result in Delhi. It was not to set any record, but that’s the way I work. But when I reached the counting hall, to my dismay, the Dy. Commissioner who was least bothered about my arrangements until then and was busy distributing cards for his son’s wedding, was very angry with my arrangement.

Mr. Observer also instigated the candidates and their representatives

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about the improper sitting arrangement and they delayed my counting by at least two hours.

They created a mess and even without my instruction, EVMs were brought from the strong room and on one of the tables, I saw a person opening the sealed area of the control unit, which could have erased the data. I lost it.

After removing that person from the counting team I literally wailed. Everyone was astounded and when they come to know that it was also my birthday, they all felt ashamed at the behavior of the Dy. Commissioner and the Observer. Seeing the reaction of the entire team the DC and Mr. Observer left. I wiped my tears and the counting started. In less than two hours, the result was announced and the candidates were smiling. When I was signing their certificates, Mr. Observer sent me a SMS requesting me not to retaliate by filing the negative facts in my RO report. Mr. Observer had “lend” me two of his staff, owing to that favor, I just kept silent.

The winning candidate in the constituency, where 180 invalid polls had been made, won by a margin of more than 2000, so the process was completed. For the next six months, there was no court case relating to any of my wards and the poor Chief Election Commissioner could not convict me. The process got completed and filed. They can better explain someday how, without the final report of the RO the election process was considered complete!

Who cares?

Back at the Women and Child Department, it did not matter how I conducted the election but they were certainly concerned as to how to implement the 16 new projects.

I was far more calm and composed, so I did not see any problem. The fear of the Supreme Court does get things going.

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I suggested hiring on contract, as many Supervisors and Child Development Project Officers (CDPO) as possible by calling applications from the various colleges of Social Work. And the Administration did that in no time.

First the Supervisors were recruited and posted with me. I motivated them to go to the field, and hire the Aanganwari workers and helpers and also locate the places where the centers could be opened. They were yet to be paid any remuneration, but I promised them to reimburse all their expenditure. So on war footing, in less than two months, all the centers of all the 16 new projects were commissioned, with basic facilities with the help of the local people, and also by selecting the Non Profit Organization (NPO) for supplying the Supplementary Nutrition Programme (SNP) to all these centers. The team from the Supreme Court was happy to see that. Later, the Supreme Court appreciated the steps taken by the Government of Delhi in ICDS.

I did not have any financial power so, the salary and the reimbursement of bills of these student workers were pending.

On the personal front, Sasmita became publisher and our first coffee table book “Floating Pearls in Arabia Sea – Lakshadweep by Sasmita S. Akhtar and Shamim Akhtar” was ready to be unveiled. So, one fine day along with my first solo photography exhibition in India Habitat Centre, the book got unveiled by Shri Wajahat Habibullah, former Administrator of Lakshadweep and the then Chief Information Commissioner, at IHC. The unveiling function was grand, and out of around 50 cadre colleagues who were invited, a handful did attend the function.

It was almost four months after successful commissioning of 16 new projects of ICDS, and still owing to the accounting ability of Mr. Bhatia and the apathy of the Administration, none of the hired people had got any remuneration. I could not look into their eyes, and when I raised the issue in a meeting with Mrs. Raghuraman, her response was that I again behaved like Shamim Akhtar!

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I could not take that anymore and requested for six months EOL (leave without pay).

As such an agency after seeing my photography exhibition was interested in hiring me for doing a shoot in Thailand.

On EOL I could have done that.

Mrs. Raghuraman, despite the efforts of the Secretary, Mr. G. Shrivastava, did not sanction my leave, but removed me from the charge of Dy. Director, ICDS. As such, the task for which I was posted was already over.

Neither I was sanctioned leave, nor was there any response from the Services Department on the issue of the recovery. But the honorable High Court order came as a drizzle. Honorable Justice Manmohan Sarin, and S.L Bhayanain in their judgment in Writ Petition ( Criminal) no. 662/2005 dated 22/5/ 07, had ordered Hindustan Times to publish an apology on 27th May 2007 at a prominent place:

“The High Court of Delhi had taken suo motu cognizance of a news item appearing in the “Hindustan times” dated 15.09.2005 titled “Bikini Show has Tihar blushing”. The Cognizance had been taken in a criminal Writ petition bearing no WP(CRL)No. 662/2005 titled “Court on its motion Vs State”

After hearing the concerned parties and detailed examination of the matter, it was found that the programme conducted in Tihar Jail was a cultural and entertainment programme for the inmates of Tihar jail. Such programmes are organized for the well being and emotive needs of the prisoners. It is regretted that the news item gives an impression of the programme being otherwise than a cultural show. The error is regretted.”

I happily took that judgment to the Joint Secretary, he read it with a

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straight face and said, “How does it matter? Since the Administration had not even taken cognizance on that.”

Really, I thought to myself.

I asked if the recovery would be set aside now, as always he said yes. After holding my patience for the next six months and sitting at home without any posting or vehicle or office or even sanctioned leave, I filed an RTI ( Right to Information ) application.

They did not provide any information, but the recovery was set aside in no time. Mr. Singh was transferred out, and I was still sitting at home. So, thought of pursuing the matter with the Services. I went again.

This time, the Joint Secretary Services was Ms. Alka Deewan. She just took a minute to understand my position, and asked what I would like, the EOL to be sanctioned or to be rehabilitated.

I told her that since I missed the Thailand assignment so EOL was of no use and the good lady got me posted as Dy. Commissioner (VAT), within two days.

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VIII. Department of VAT (Trade and Taxes)

The first normal posting in my career and at par with my seniority. Little was I aware that I was headed to the den of the lions, where all invest in the empire of real estate and my condition was about to become suicidal.

I was extremely grateful to Ms. Alka Deewan for giving me an opportunity to live a normal life. Going to office would not be a day to day war anymore. I was very positive about my new posting and went to report to the Commissioner Sales Tax. When I came to know that Ms. Geetika was posted in my place, I was sad for her. I went to her chamber and found her really upset about her posting to a junior position. She was one year senior to me. I told her about the prevailing condition in the Department of Women and Child and asked her to take her own time to get this order changed. I was told by the Administration that it usually takes time in the Department of VAT to decide the charge. As such, it was the month of February; I was told that my charge would be decided after the end of the current financial year.

So, I had to wait for two more months; I had no problem. I had been sitting at home for quite some time without any charge, so there was no harm waiting for two more months. After a month, on 1st of March, 2008, I got a call from the Commissioner Sales Tax (CST) office that my charge had been decided and I should go and take over. I went to the office and as expected I went to the room of Ms. Geetika as I was posted against her.

Mr. U.K. Tyagi was sitting in that room. He had recently joined and had already got half of Geetika’s charge including Administration, all the staff, and even the chamber.

He was posted earlier in this department as STO, then Asst Commissioner Enforcement, and now as Joint Commissioner.

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He was senior to me and I had no idea about the department. So, I had to sit in the room of a VATO, still under construction and on the 12th floor, with one peon and one clerk.

Strangely, the Last Pay Certificate ( LPC) that came from the department of Women and Child still mentioned the recovery of 52, 000 rupees. So, even after the decision of the Government to set aside that illegal recovery after I filed a petition under RTI, Director Social Welfare, Ms. Raghuraman had not bothered to rectify it. In the Department of VAT, the Accounts Officer was adamant to start the recovery saying that the order passed and conveyed by the then Joint Secretary Services, Mr. S.P. Singh was not clear.

Mr. U K Tyagi was the Joint Commissioner, Administration and on hearing my entire story very sympathetically, advised me to send my personal file and the LPC back, saying that it should be rectified by the Department of Women and Child. I sent the file through my staff, and in due course I was told that my personal file had gone missing.

The salary in the present department could not be prepared in the absence of my personal file. Somewhat, the Accounts Officer showed his lenient side by “allowing” me the provisional salary. Mr. Tyagi was helplessness personified.

A month elapsed, and after the financial year, Mr. Tyagi got a bigger chamber and I was given mine. The charge also expanded and the Commissioner on her own gave me the front office (CRC and CFC). I was specifically told by the CST that the two front offices needed a lot of improvement and I started working with my heart and soul. In less than a week I understood the process of registration and issuing of forms. I could identify the bottlenecks and came out with my own Performa of monitoring the progress on a daily basis.

The CST was very happy and told me to report to her daily at 3.00 pm. In one of her meetings, she openly announced that there would be no

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Joint or Additional Commissioner for CRC and CFC and I was supposed to report to her directly.

Some of the VATOs posted in CRC and CFC were very powerful people and they “politely” warned me to go slow and to keep the Additional Commissioner, Mr. Gyanesh Bharti in the “loop”. I failed to understand what that meant and continued working at my own pace. The registration time reduced from one week to four days, and issuing of forms became smoother. The lawyers and the traders were happy.

I had a plan of riding to Ladakh again to finish my book, hence I had applied for one month leave. When I returned from my ride (I knew that the forthcoming book on Ladakh would be one of its kind and was very happy with my overall experience of the Greater Himalayas. I had brought with me the calmness of Ladakh in my life and soul), one morning, Mr. Bharti called me for tea in his chamber, and after a light hearted talk, he asked me to come for a meeting in one hour. I went; all the VATOs of CRC and CFC were also present. Without any preface, Mr. Bharti started accusing me for spreading corruption and collecting money in his name. He was boiling with rage. Till now, some of my seniors had problems with the way I conducted myself but in a decade of my career I was never accused of being corrupt. Humiliation in front of my subordinates I should have been used to by now but while sipping tea just an hour back, Mr. Bharti had not even hinted me about this.

Before I could connect the dots, the Commissioner called. In the presence of some senior officers of the department, she said the same thing in a very polite manner. The Department of VAT is another open toilet and even the lawyers know every thing about every body. I was not expecting this to come from the CST. Did my link officer do some mischief during my absence? It was not easy for a straight forward person, like me, to untangle the web of conspiracy, finishing my book on Ladakh was more important. I wrote a letter to the CST requesting for one year EOL (leave without pay).

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She was shocked, called me on the intercom and advised that, if at all I wanted to go on leave, I better take it for a week or so; she requested me to think again; she wanted to talk it out, but I was not in a position to. In the first normal posting of my life, a new dimension was added to my routine humiliation.

While , I was packing my personal things from the office, one sympathetic junior officer passed on the real reason for my insult. He informed me that due to my integrity and the ability to deliver , I was being considered for some “important” wing by Ms. Archana Arora , a clear hearted and honest officer herself. I was amused, what that had to do with my insult.

Then, what I came to know might give a lesson or two to the Russian Mafia.

The enforcement branch at that time had two wings. First one for raid on traders and another for transport raid at the border. The first wing had ten teams. Each team comprised of five officers and officials. Everyday each team was given one dealer address to raid. The dealer to be raided was decided by the Dy. Commissioner Enforcement with the approval of the CST.

Each team was collecting at least 10 lakhs as bribe while creating the demand for the department along with a case that will go on for years against the dealer. If, any team “failed” then it was given the border enforcement task, which was not only very demanding being night duty, but there was also the fear of being run over by the truck.

So every day, the ten enforcement teams were collecting at least one crore as bribe! The strategy was to hire a taxi , with a private person, to whom the dealer was supposed to deliver the money after 1.00 am in the night. The taxi was supposed to go to a particular place and change the bills. Then all ten teams were supposed to “deposit” in one new assigned address every day.

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The next morning the money was to be distributed to the entire team and was supposed to go till the top. Since the Commissioner was an honest lady, the lion’s share was going to the Dy. Commissioner (enforcement).

This “daily exercise” was exclusive of the monthly payment by various trade unions for protection and conducting “raids” on trade rivals, which was all the more huge an amount.

The then Dy. Commissioner of Enforcement had been in that position for more than four years. So, one can calculate and understand his stake. It was he, who had conspired against me being my link officer in my absence.

Unlike the Enforcement branch, the Audit branch, had a more sober sort of operation. There were fifteen teams , and each team was supposed to give one lakh to the controlling Deputy or Joint Commissioner.

So apparently, the “income” of the Audit Branch was much lower in comparison to the Enforcement Wing. But in fact, at times a big company’s audit notice itself was equal to ten enforcement raids. And if, there was a “Serial Audit” order, it was like jackpot of a Casino. The “transaction “ of the Audit Branch was covert, hence the regular “players” were shifting themselves from Audit to Enforcement. In fact, at my time , a senior officer, who was holding the charge of the Audit Branch , was serving his fourth tenure in the department of VAT.

To me this revelation was all the more reason for not staying in the department of VAT. I worked on my book on Ladakh. The book and the subsequent exhibition was very well received, by the viewers. The book became a best seller amongst bikers and Europeans. Nothing could have been more gratifying.

I still used to visit the office regarding the pay fixation as per the sixth

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pay commission, and every time I was told that my personal file was still missing. My efforts of trying to trace that file did not yield any result.

After seven months, I got a letter from the Administration that my EOL has been sanctioned. I rushed to the office, and was shocked to know that they had been disbursing my salary in the old scale for all those months, and now they had sanctioned the EOL with retrospective effect. Do the officers in the government read the rule book at all? Can EOL be sanctioned with retrospective effect?

Now the Accounts Officer dared to sneer at me in the presence of Mr. Tyagi informing that instead of bothering about the previous recovery of 52,000 rupees and the arrear of the sixth pay commission , I should be bothering about the fresh recovery arising out of the payment made to me in the last seven months. I could see very clearly who had been sharing lunch with Mr. Tyagi.

I had longed to visit holy Kailasa since quite time. After the book on Ladakh, I wished to do a book on holy Kailasa Manasarovar. I was counting on the sixth pay commission arrear.

The attitude of the Accounts Officer and Mr. Tyagi invoked my “knowledge” of establishment rules which I had learnt during my tenure in Lakshadweep.

I went to the Commissioner, and faced her for the first time since I entered on leave. She was very considerate; looked like she had been eating her lunch alone. On hearing the whole story, she said that she would help me in whatever I want. So, I joined back and she converted my entire leave period as earned leave as per the rule.

With my joining, some changes were noticed. Mr. S. P. Singh joined as Additional Commissioner. He knew my story of the illegal recovery from the very beginning, so when I appraised him the present situation, he assured me that he will do the need full.

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Magically, my personal file was found by the staff of Mr. Tyagi and finally my pay was fixed as per the sixth pay commission and the arrear was paid to me.

I tried to go to Kailasa as liaison officer first, which was duly recommended by the CST. But after not being selected by the interview board in MEA, I decided to go on my own expense.

Before I could embark on this journey, Ms. Archana Arora was transferred out to the Department of Education and then to Andaman. Mr. Jalaj Shrivastava took over as the CST. Mr. Shrivastava was as jovial and warm as expected from a senior officer. He had also visited Kailasa years back, and on hearing that I was going on my own expenses, he helped me getting the required permission, which was conveyed to me by a subordinate officer. Mr. Shrivastava wished me all the best for the journey and told me that on my return, he would give me some important assignment.

So thanking Ms. Archana Arora from the bottom of my heart and taking the assurance of Mr. Shrivastava, I went on the ultimate pilgrimage of my life- a journey to holy Kailasa Manasarovar.

The journey to holy Kailasa started unfolding few unexpected dimensions in my thought process. I was in front of Him, a place where one is sent back to the time, when civilization was not even born, neither was the Almighty codified. A calm mind and a peaceful soul at Manasarovar, makes divinity rise through ones soul, within. I knew, I would have to return back to drink deeper.

I came back, and was also fortunate to get some divine pictures. Back in the office, probably the desire of Mr. Shrivastava of giving me an important assignment had alarmed the powerful officers. The lunch sharing session, it seemed had grown longer, and I was asked by the Accounts Officer Shri Harendar Singh again as in how many installments I would like to pay the recovery of 52,000 rupees,

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which was still pending. I was taken aback and wrote a letter dated 23rd of November 2009 to Shri S. P. Singh Addl. Commissioner (HR) citing my continuous plight despite his order of turning down the illegal recovery. But in vain.

On the family front, I was informed about the illness of my mother. She had suffered paralysis and was hospitalized. Sasmita and I rushed and took care of her in the hospital first; after being discharged, I requested her to come with us along with the youngest sister, Neha. She agreed and I convinced her to stay with us and even talked about the admission of Neha in the same school where Nishka is studying. But soon after recovery, Ammaji was her normal self and gossiped with all my neighbors in the same manner. She wanted me to take care of everybody as usual. After the FIR in my colony, we could not have done that. She went back to her house but later called for help regarding some court case.

When I reached her house, she informed me that Nasim had divorced his wife and abandoned his seven year old son. So his wife Nazia had filed a case in the cell for Crime against Women. She gave me the copy of the petition. A civil servant can make out the truth from the made up petition easily, if he desires to. The truth of Nazia sent a chill in my spine. What Nasim and my family (including my married elder sisters) had been doing to her, was beyond human tolerance. She was even thrown out naked in a winter night by the entire family and the neighbors in that Joshi colony had covered her and even called the police.

I could see that perhaps my mother wanted to do the same to Sasmita as well. For the first time in my life, I felt extreme repulsion. She threatened me that the result of not helping Nasim in this case would have serious consequences in my life. She also added that she was going to get Nasim re-married to a distant relative of hers soon. I was not interested in listening any further and left her house.

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Kailasa is said to have a will of its own. Soon after I finished processing the pictures, I got a call from India Habitat Centre to showcase my pictures, and there my exhibition, “Kailasa – a journey within” was held. That was my fifth solo exhibition. There was much positive coverage about my photography in media by then. Again there was two full page coverage of this exhibition in Mail Today on September 4, 2009- “An Indian Civil Servant keeps his date with Mount Kailasa via Nepal and comes back armed with memorable snapshots”. It felt good and many people coming and blessing me during the exhibition was my reward. My seniors and colleagues also visited the exhibition.

Back in the office, a small change in my assignment did happen. I was given Zone IX. Zone IX was one of the important zones and due to few previous officers, the target was enhanced to an impractical limit. Till then, it was with one smart officer, who wanted to get rid of it.

Just before four months of the closure of the financial year, I was given that zone. Staff was still missing in my personal branch, and the salary recovery was still an issue. But I decided to give it a shot. The least performing zone started showing result in the very first month after I took over. The CST was apparently very happy with my work.

I also shared my desire of finishing my long awaited book on Dilli. Kailasa needed at least one more visit. The Commissioner asked whether he could be of any help. I told him that my book on Dilli is very special as I had been working on it for the last 15 years so a sponsorship won’t hurt. For a junior officer to get sponsorship from the Government, is ruled out. Nothing seems to have changed since my Lakshadweep days.

I again shared with him my dream of visiting the Re-union Island in pursuit of my interest in photography. He encouraged me and I applied for leave well in advance.

Thus without anybody’s help, I completed my book on Dilli. Extreme shortage of staff , the undue pressure of some of the lawyers ( who

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were “ friends” of the powerful officers in the department) , the nagging Accounts Officer, all got me so irritated that I mentioned a bit of my prolonged plight in the photographer’s note in “ Forgotten Dilli- portrait of an immortal city”. I wrote that with a hope that at least my plight would come to an end and those with extreme hatred for me in their heart would forget me and let me live a normal life with my wife and kids.

The book was received from the press and I approached on my own the honorable Chief Minister to do the unveiling. She was kind enough to agree. Even without any help from the office in the unveiling function, the invitation card was printed and I gave some advance copies to some of my colleagues and seniors.

Mr. Sudhir Kumar the young Additional Commissioner, who had joined recently, was initially very happy to see the book.

The next day Mr. Sudhir Kumar handed over a three page review of the book. I knew that he had done MBA on government expenditure after becoming an I.A.S so the first half of the review was his “knowledge” of management, but the second half, hatred towards my wife inheriting my last name and the threat …, reminded me again the words of the billionaire I.A.S officer.

“.. Instead of joint photo of the authors, individual photo of the authors may give the impression of greater research, more balancing act etc. Similarly instead of Sasmita S. Akhtar , Sasmita Sarangi A. or Sasmita A. Sarangi on the front page may again give impression of issue mentioned in the previous point. …. Just delete if possible salary recovery or professional humiliation etc from the contents of the book under any heading what so ever. These things are never to be written and is not good for the health of the book to reach wider audience. Praises are appreciated but negative word not at all. These forces will eat away any good will and tell to any superior that see he wrote these things for me whereas I did so much ( may be lies) for him. He can do the same to you

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liner has the potential to do much recurring harm to you in your future career even apart from civil service….”

When I had approached the honorable CM to seek permission for unveiling of the book, I had presented her a huge archival print on canvas. The picture was an Infra-red shot of the Humayun’s tomb. That picture adorned the backdrop of conference Hall No. 2 of Delhi Secretariat. I was well aware of the stature of my photography and just before a week of the most important function of our lives, little did Mr. Sudhir Kumar know that this book was my answer to the celebrity photographer and the billionaire I.A.S officer. I had fulfilled my promise to Sasmita, of becoming the best lens man the world has ever seen.

Let some one try to add one picture to that series and that will tell more about where I stand today in the world of photography.

I had to do a lot of work for the unveiling of the book. With the honorable CM doing the honors, the function had become sort of official and I had to follow the protocol. Without anybody’s help, doing all the arrangement was a little demanding on us, especially when paying the bill of the cocktail dinner was also a burden. The “review” of Mr. Sudhir Kumar could have derailed us before the function but Almighty has a way of healing. On the same day the review of legendry writer, Khuswant Singh was published. On 6th March 2010, in Telegraph Calcutta, Mr. Khuswant Singh wrote:

” Qutub Minar must count among the most sketched, painted and photographed monuments of the world. What the Eiffel Tower is to Parisians, the Big Ben to Londoners, the Brandenburg Gate to Berliners and the Statue of Liberty to New Yorkers, the Qutub Minar is to Dilliwallahs. It is older and more spectacular than all the other monuments. I have seen hundreds of photographs of Qutub Minar but none to match the cover of Forgotten Dilli, Portrait of an Immortal City by Sasmita S. Akhtar and Shamim Akhtar.

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…..Sasmita has written the text; Shamim has taken the photographs. They have limited their work to the end of the Mughal dynasty in 1857. They have pictures of baolis (step wells), dargahs (Sufi shrines), forts, mosques, and mausoleums. What arrests the readers’ attention is the interplay of light and shade on trees and clouds to highlight every monument.It is a sheer joy to turn over the pages of the book again and again. It reminded me of an old film song, “Geet gaaya paththaron ne” — “The stones burst with songs”.

These kind words of the legend did say loud and clear that, we have arrived! On 14th March 2010, the book was unveiled, with loads of praise from the honorable Chief Minister Ms Sheila Dixit and her Principal Secretary Mr. P.K. Tripathi. They were all praises for the book.

I was grateful to Mr. P. K. Tripathi who made it on such a short notice. He reached the venue before time, and also had a talk with my father in law. Mr. Tripathi had some plan of rightly utilizing me, which he shared with my in-laws. I will always be obliged to him for all his kind words and making my in-laws proud.

Every body enjoyed the party till late in the night in IHC and the moments were enlisted as the happiest ones in my life. Strangely, there was no coverage in any media, despite the fact that at least two dozen media persons had covered the function.

Now, I had to go to Re-Union Island, and after achieving the target in Zone IX, when I was about to go, the permission was not “granted”. Since I had applied 50 days in advance I knew as per rule, if I have not been declined, the permission is deemed to be granted. Mr. Jalaj Shrivastava called me in the evening and asked whether I was going. I answered in the affirmative.

When I returned from Re-Union, I was transferred from Zone IX to Zone I, and now even the last staff was taken away. The recovery was still pending. I lost any hope in the authorities. So I requested the CST in

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writing to reduce my burden by taking away all the charges and I could be utilized for the Public Relation of the department.

Nothing happened. I had to go to Kailasa again with my wife for thanksgiving, and that permission was also stuck, I begged the senior officers to be humane. But, the senior officers were more interested in getting a particular work done by me.

There was an adjacent plot, which was allotted to the department, for making the lawyers chamber. That was stuck in DDA for many years for the conversion of land use. I had worked really hard on that in the last one and half year. By taking personal interest, in the capacity of Dy. Commissioner (Facility Management) I got everything cleared. Now, the Administration was only interested in giving the work order to DSIDC for an early construction. No one seemed to be bothered about my plight. One day the CST called me for the meeting to discuss the building plan. I could not stop myself from writing a hand written letter to the CST, with copy to the Secretary Services dated 25/05/2010 stating that

“.... I also requested in government of Delhi for a transfer out of this department, still of no avail. I am on the verge of mental collapse and I might die like many other “insignificant” colleagues of mine.....”

and I also endorsed a copy to Secretary Home, Government of India.

In a week’s time, I was called by the worthy Chief Secretary. He was kind enough to give me a patient hearing. I told him about the prevailing situation (extreme corruption) in the Department of VAT and requested for a transfer. When I was asked about my choice, all I could say was any position, where I could be utilized and yet have my peace of mind. He assured me to look into the matter.

Sasmita, Mrs. and Mr. Bhatia (Mr. Bhatia happens to be a senior advocate practicing in VAT), and few of our friends went to Kailasa Yatra in 2010.

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When we crossed the Nepal China Border, Mr. Sudhir Kumar called me and wanted to know where I was. I must have done something really bad to him in my past life to be a victim of his sadistic attitude in this life.

I was on Yatra hence did not want to talk to him much, as such roaming calls in China is exhorbitant.

We completed our Yatra and with the blessings of Shiva, all the nine yatries completed the Parikarma of Kailasa also, without using the oxygen cylinder even once. Everybody was extremely happy and content. Mrs. and Mr. Bhatia, Arun and Subodh came back by helicopter. The rest of us took the land route.

After returning to Delhi, I was transferred to the Directorate of Employment. I was posted as Joint Director, Employment. The post existed only on paper. I reported to the Director, Mr. A. K. Singh. He sympathized with me for such a posting. I told him that probably that was the best the worthy Chief Secretary could think for me. Then I went to meet the Additional Director, Mr. V.C. Pandey. When I was SDM Darya Ganj, I had carried out a very sensitive demolition for his department in LNJP. The first meeting was such that he seemed to have generated enough work for himself in this defunct department.

For the next one hour, he was lost amidst files. I was offered tea but we did not exchange a word. I left knowing that there was no point expecting anything. For the next five months, I was without an office, without a vehicle and even without salary.

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IX. I tried to blow the whistle, and had to face the music

This period of my life also unmasked the real face of the mother. Shakeel was not keeping well and he had been requesting me to help him. So, I called him to our house and, I was surprised to see that he was in depression. Sasmita took him to a psychiatrist in VIMHANS and he was advised to be on medication for at least three years. Doctor advised him to be under observation for next one month.

He had lost his job, and had nowhere to go. I asked him to stay with me. Trust, is one habit which refuses to leave me. Shakeel told me that his file containing all his documents was with Ammaji. So, I went to Ammaji’s house to collect his documents on 10th of July 2010 at about 9.00 pm.

Ammaji had the stage ready and I walked right into the trap. All the younger siblings living there mastered a brawl. I was attacked by Akil and two of my sisters. Ammaji slipped down the stairs in a lapse of this organized attack. They followed the next logical, calculated step of calling the police. With an aching heart and a broken rib (result of a punch from Akil, my youngest brother 20 years younger to me) I drove back home. Next morning, the newspapers were flooded with news labeling me as the “Mom - beater”.

It was a Sunday, and multiple prime television channels telecast live interviews of all my siblings, only narrating how bad Sasmita and I were. Reporters flooded my house from midnight itself. I chose not to make a mockery of my family and zipped my lips, literally.

It’s strange how immaterial facts of my life garner so much unwanted attention. There was not a single news item on the inauguration of the Dilli book despite it being unveiled by the chief minister but a family dispute of mine with balderdash details was telecast for at least five hours in leading national channels. The Indian media must have been really starving for news that day!

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How I missed my Doordarshan days, when they played the “Chitrahaar” (string of songs) when there was nothing relevant to show.

Thus Ammaji avenged me for not helping in the case of Nazia against Nasim. But, the Puppeteer of this “show” made just one tiny mistake- the media, both electronic and print, addressed me as a “Tax Officer”. Though I was transferred out of the Department of VAT a few weeks before and was now Joint Director Employment. The fact that my family did not have a single picture of mine (not even in their cell phones) to produce in the media, which kept showing my picture in the Dilli book, was proof enough of my estranged ties with them. I don’t need to elaborate who planned the media splash because a misnomer lower middle class family (like mine) surely can’t, not for so many hours in multiple prime channels at least.

Next day, Shakeel left saying he needed to be with the victim- the tormented mother- as a pillar of strength. The purpose of his visit was successfully over! Instead of breaking down, (much to the dismay of those who so very meticulously planned the “splash”) I took the immense pain in my heart as God sent opportunity to write the book on Kailasa. That book is a little that worldly affair, so sitting at home without a job only helped.

Next four months, I was engrossed in conversation with the Almighty and finally the book on Kailasa was completed. Somewhat the book could make it to the press with these last lines …

“…The ignorant me has no idea about how to “please” God. But I would like to do my bit towards the mother planet to show that I also want to minimize the damage being caused to her due to my existence. I pray to the mother to give me strength and wisdom to live up to her expectation. I may not be able to stop the trees from being cut, but I can always plant a few more. I may not be able to heal an ailing animal, but I can try to feel his pain. I may not have enough blankets to distribute to the homeless

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sleeping on the pavement in Delhi’s winter, but I can always share a night with them to feel their suffering.”

I receive my new posting order delivered at my residence. I was posted as Director (Delhi Urban Shelter Improvement Board). I called some of my friends to find out about the posting and could know in no time that it’s the erstwhile Slum Department. During my term as SDM Darya Ganj, I used to co-ordinate with them for night shelters.

It seemed that Kailasa had heard me, and I got a chance officially to share the plight of the homeless. I gladly accepted this assignment and the same day I reported to Mr. Amar Nath, Special Officer DUSIB.

The present Department of DUSIB can be said to be an example of Weberian Bureaucracy par excellence. The system, that only works for itself. Amongst the literal slum like atmosphere, the only solace was Mr. Amar Nath. He appeared a much sorted person, and his commitment towards work was obvious.

We shared some initial talks, and both of us admitted that no one wanted me in the Government of Delhi. He did not know my background and I only told him that I have been suffering immensely since the beginning- the recent one being sitting at home for five months without a job or a salary. So, all I requested was, breathing space for me to heal. I did offer my full commitment saying that I connect with the beneficiaries of that department.

So, the next morning, without waiting for my LPC or service book, he ordered for my charge: Director Administration, Director (planning and monitoring), Director (Information Technology) and the Nodal Officer of UID and RAY.

Too many things to handle but staff or basic office set up was not a problem. I was in charge of everything including the care taking, so could not complain.

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I did not take a moment to be fully engrossed in setting up the proposed 84 temporary night shelters for the homeless in winter. The progress was noticed by everybody.

After five days, joined another officer Dr. R. C. Meena. We exchanged pleasantries and he also appeared to be cool. Next day, we had a meeting for monitoring the condition of the night shelters in the chamber of the Special Officer, and Dr. Amod (the representative of the NGO which was partner in operation of these night shelters) asked for my email Id. In a simple conversation, I requested him not to send me emails for the time being, since I was yet to get a computer for my chamber. I rather requested him to call me on my cell phone, because I did not want to loose time if there was an urgent communication to be made. The meeting ended cordially. I went back to my chamber. Dr. Meena went to his and called me on my intercom.

He was livid. He was extremely unhappy, because I made a complaint to the SO for not having a computer? I went to his chamber, and told him very calmly that I was Director IT and would get my computer soon. That was not my priority as the setting up of night shelters in a time bound manner was crucial. He kept reminding me that he was senior and I don’t respect my seniors.

Dr. Meena had always been on good postings and in his last posting, he had rubbed some senior officer the wrong way and that’s why he was posted here. So, I could understand his frustration, but I told him very politely that he was not aware of what I have been going through. I requested him to hold his anger for someone else, because I had ran out of patience. He got my message and cooled down.

The work in the department kept on increasing. The board meeting had to be held, the affidavit regarding the night shelter to be filed in the High Court, proposal to be made to the ministry for funds in Rajeev Awas Yojna, planning for the UID enrollment, that was scheduled to start on 25th of January, only about two months later.

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The work load was maddening. The first board meeting was conducted by Mr. Amar Nath very nicely. Now Mr. Amar Nath was CEO of the board. Some members pointed out about the not so good presentation of the agenda. I assured the boss, that the next meeting would be much better.

For UID enrollment, I was the Nodal Officer, and the CEO declared me to be fully competent for the purpose of UID. I gave my heart and soul to the project.

The CEO headed the “High Level Committee” which was supposed to customize the model RFQ of UID for Delhi and also to call for tender for empanelling the enrollment agency, I was not a member. The High Level Committee took almost two months for this task.

Dr. Meena was always away on leave on every important occasion. At the time of the first meeting of the board, he had gone for a family vacation. The second board meeting was also called in no time and Dr. Meena was on leave for New Year celebration.

The second board meeting was, what I had assured to the CEO. I brought the computer of my daughter from home, and did all the work myself, including designing and printing of the agenda for better presentation.

After that I was asked to change the stationary and we needed a new logo for the board. I designed around six variants and submitted it to the honorable Chief Minister. The logo was selected.

The team was being formed for the UID enrollment; the lower staff in the Administration tricked me by putting a personal staff of the CEO and also of the DC (Dr. Meena) in the team. I could see that the Administration branch was up to its tricks again. CEO was away and Dr. Meena called me and shouted badly at me in front of my subordinates saying that he would put me in place.

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Next day, I went to the CEO and told that it would be difficult for me to take the behavior of Dr. Meena. The CEO smiled and said that, there are things about me as well.

Looking into the eyes of Mr. Amar Nath, I could see that there is more to him than the obvious. Now, suddenly his strict attitude towards stopping salary of various engineers on the ground of deputation etc and placing the Superintendent Engineer under suspension was clear to me. He was a powerful I.A.S officer like any other who had to “handle” people in true autocratic way.

Since the date of UID enrollment was near, I decided to discuss it with him after the process starts successfully.

The High Level Committee came out with a tender process in two months, which could be an example in Public Administration of how to spoil the project. The enrollment was supposed to start on 25th of Jan, and even on 22nd of Jan, the work order was not even given to the enrollment agency.

Still, every body in the team can tell better, we did start the process on 25th of Jan, with a grand success. And the process went off smoothly, despite Mr. Amar Nath not even sanctioning vehicles for the coordinators.

Now, it was time for the unveiling of my book on Kailasa. Without any help from the department or staff, on 30th January the book “Kailasa – a journey within” got unveiled in a public function at Shanti Stupa, New Delhi with around 1000 invitees.

Many senior persons blessed me for such a book and a film on Kailasa Manasarovar. Mr. Amar Nath was also kind enough to grace the occasion. I took one day casual leave, as I had to go for cleaning the Shanti Stupa premises after the function.

On 1st of February 2011, I went back to office; first went to meet the CEO.

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Dr. Meena was also sitting there. For the next one hour, we discussed several plans for the board in very cheerful mood. The CEO also told me that he would like me to compile a book for the rehabilitation process of the slum dwellers in Delhi. So things seem to be getting better now. Thanking Almighty, I went to my chamber.

Just in two days, hundreds of files were lying all across my room and the chamber did look like the record room. The cherry on the cake was, the “displeasure” letter of CEO on my desk saying that a couple of staff retired the day before without getting their retirement benefits, since the file was pending with me. CEO had expressed extreme displeasure and had taken a very serious view on that.

I got the picture. I was supposed to be “handled” and not utilized by the so called system. I first called all the retired staff and asked them to locate their files. They all failed saying that it was not possible to locate their files in that mess. With an aching heart, I started disposing off all the files. Now in the middle of the process, Dr. Meena called me on intercom and said that it never happened in the history of Slum Department that the staff did not get their retirement benefits on the day of retirement. I politely said that I was clearing all the files and would come and discuss that with him in person, adding whether he was aware of the fact that I, despite being the Director Administration had not got salary since the last two months. That of course was irrelevant to him.

I cleared all the files by evening and went to his chamber, he had left, so had the CEO. I headed home, my three and half year old son was very sick and had to be operated upon the next day.

My own salary was stuck as the Last Pay Certificate had not been sent from the Department of VAT. I wondered , why the Dy. Commissioner, Mr. Meena who had lot more power than me , could not recall the file of the retiring officials and clear it or the CEO who had all the powers himself could not do that?

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Next day, I sent a leave application to the office for one month to take care of my ailing son. After a week, I got my salary of December and January. By the month end, the apathy of the “system” made me re-think about when my prolonged plight would end, despite working so hard for all these years?

So, I requested for one month EOL till 31st March. This introspection needed some more time so, extended my EOL till 31st May. I still had not got my salary for the month of February; neither had I got the sanction of my EOL application. I contemplated to understand the reason of my prolonged plight, where have I gone wrong?

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X. “Nobody says you are untouchable in India” was submitted to Government of Delhi for permission

After working so hard in DUSIB, and achieving so many impossible targets like improving the night shelter and also successfully launching UID within less than three months, it was like , do whatever you may, but your surname will haunt you forever in this system.

During my “leave” period, my introspection made me write this book till here, titled “ Nobody says you are untouchable in India” and I submitted the printed book to Mr. Amarnath CEO of DUSIB and to Mr. P. K. Tripathi the then Chief Secretary of GNCT of Delhi for permission to publish this book under CCS Conduct Rules.

For almost three months, the Government of Delhi tried to find out if I could be “ booked” under any rule for writing such a tell all book about bureaucracy in India ! When they could not find anything suitable to them in the prevailing law of the land, the Special Secretary Services Mr. Kailash Chandra send me a letter for two more copies of the book and I was requested not to publish the book in the meantime.

I was called by the Secretary Services for giving me a hearing and then was posted as Additional District Magistrate (District North). Though I was already in JAG grade and was too senior for this position, I accepted that assignment since the office was very close to my residence.

Mr. Z.U Siddiqui ( a DANICS officer promoted into IAS) was the District Magistrate and my boss. He was always busy in meeting with the land mafias, and hence never bothered to disturb me. I hardly had any work but was satisfied with my peace of mind.

Now, apparently, no senior officer was showing any discrimination against me, but the system always finds a black sheep. This time, the black sheep was Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar, a cadre colleague few years senior to me but in the same pay grade.

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Due to his ability to deliver nothing, he was posted as ADM (Head Quarter). The designation was a bit too insulting for him, so he preferred to call himself Additional Secretary Revenue ( ASR) and also claimed special pay for that.

There is a system of Duty Magistrate to be appointed on public holidays including Sunday. Usually Tehsildar or some junior SDM is given this task. Within two months of my posting as ADM (North), Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar assigned me the task of Duty Magistrate. Though surprised, I performed the duty. This was repeated thrice in sequence, and then I lost my patience. I went to the Divisional Commissioner and complained. His assessment was, “Mr. Gangar is a frustrated soul, and it will not happen again.”

It was almost six months that I was without pay due to my leave and then I was told that my personal file was “lost” and there was no last pay certificate from my previous department DUSIB.

I was running from pillar to post insearch of my personal file and the last pay certificate. As if this was not enough, Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar used to call a meeting of Disaster Management of all the ADMs every week. That meeting was extremely insulting as one ADM is not suppossed to call a meeting of all other ADMs.

On top of that, Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar used to recite his “achievements” of disaster management during Tsunami in Andaman. He being the senior most ADM all others used to just listen to the endless monologue. The fact was, I had served during Tsunami, hence I was aware that Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar was posted as Director Tourism and he never stepped out of Port Blair.

There was no damage in Port Blair at all. But his habit of boasting about his invented achievements was known to all.

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I have been living in 33/12, Rajpura Road since 2006 and Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar had shifted to the ground floor a year or two later. He and his wife, being a childless couple, always had complaints about my autistic son ( who was not even two years old then) for throwing his toys from our balcony.

Not having salary, the ever increasing complaints of Mr. Gangar as a neighbor, and the humiliation in office due to the apathy of my boss Mr. Z.U .Siddiqui was too much for me to handle. And I broke.

19th November 2011

I had a major attack of bi-polar maniac. Mr. Gangar came forward as a “concerned neighbor” and agreed to accompany us. My wife briefed him about my condition explaining that I should be immediately rushed to VIMHANS. Though I was in extreme trauma, a part of my brain was still awake. Instead of VIMHANS, Mr. Gangar with the police escort took me to IBHAS ( a mental hospital in Shahadara , Delhi).

To the people who are not aware about the bi-polar maniac disorder, this is not insanity. It is a disorder that can happen to anybody under extreme stress. My service and my neighbors had given me enough of trauma to have caused this.

My sixth sense prevailed and I told my wife that if I get admitted here, the system will ensure that I am always drugged so that I can be declared insane and hence not fit for service. Even during that extreme pain, I could clearly see the mischievous smile on the face of Mr. Gangar. Sadist is a very small word to describe humans like him.

The system just wanted me to be declared insane so that this book of mine loses its credibility.

Sasmita took a stand, refused to sign on the medical papers and insisted on going to VIMHANS.

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Mr. Ganger strangely disappeared in IBHAS for around an hour under the plea that he was trying to communicate to the Director there to provide a preferential treatment to me.

Even after two heavy drug injections, I fought to stay awake till I reached VIMHANS. By the grace of God, I recovered fully within a week.

Destiny works in strange ways! Mr. Z.U. Siddiqui was transferred out and in his place a very young IAS office, Mr. Ashish More was posted. Slowly, the government of Delhi was doing away with the practice of keeping the seniority in mind while posting IAS and DANICS officers. But the young officer was very kind and humane. He respected my seniority and that put me in work mode once again.

We got along well and the District was well managed. This was the most peaceful time of my career. The Divisional Commissioner had also changed and now Mr. Dharampal, a very fine IAS officer was posted. I had worked with him earlier and he was sympathetic considering my seniority. He also promised to recommend me to be posted as District Magistrate.

Mr. Gangar continued to be ADM (Head quarter) , but now he was almost dysfunctional. Since he was senior to me and posted as ADM, I also could not be posted as District Magistrate, but no complaints. My present boss never made me feel junior to him as I was in a higher pay grade than him. We worked as a team.

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Again CEO of Delhi Waqf Board from19th April 2013

During this tenure of mine , I was requested to take the additional charge of Delhi Waqf Board by the then Chairperson Mr. Matin Chaudhry. I was told that my batch mate Ehsan Abid despite being extremely honest and a religious Muslim, was not able to do much. I agreed and then I was given the additional charge of Chief Executive Officer , Delhi Waqf Board.

To my dismay, the financial health of the board was very bad. Since quite some time even the honorarium of Imams were due. With the help of all the board members and the Chairperson, I started working really hard by holding board meetings twice a week. By settling the pending cases, we were able to regain our financial health. I pointed out that a meager 500 rupees as honorarium to the Imams was too less. Hence by passing the resolution, we increased the honorarium to 1500 rupees. The then Chief Minister of Delhi Ms Sheila Dixit very benevolently gave a grant of 50 lakh rupees.

It’s a well known fact that, it’s difficult to make ten Imams sit together without a confrontation. But as a thanks giving ceremony to the Chief Minister, I, on my own, organized a function in India Islamic Cultural Centre and more than 500 Imams attended that function. Everybody including the Chief Minister praised the improved condition of the Delhi Waqf Board.

Then, I got a meeting notice from the Central Waqf Council. Delhi Waqf Board’s permanent staff are known for their greed and sabotaging the interest of the board. Hence I was advised by my personal assistant not to go. But I decided to go to the meeting at Shahjahan Road. The Secretary, Central Waqf Council, Mr. Ali Ahmad turned out to be a thorough gentleman. He was very happy to see me. I chanced to overhear him talking to somebody over the phone in Odia.

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I told him that my wife is from Odisha and soon we discovered that he was deeply connected with my in-laws family. We instantly became friends. He then discussed with me in private and showed me the proposal of “freeing” the disputed 123 Waqf Properties of Delhi (which was initiated by me in my last tenure as CEO ,Delhi Waqf Board).

Those who are not aware of this 123 Waqf Properties in Delhi, a little background is in order. When British were building their capital in Delhi, they acquired all the Muslim religious properties like graveyards, tombs etc. in one stroke of pen in 1911 AD. An objection was filed by the Muslim community of Delhi and the compensation was never taken. Out of several thousand properties, 123 properties were “identified” by the Government of Independent India which could be denotified. Finally in 1984, the then Prime minister of India Mrs. India Gandhi denotified these 123 Waqf Properties but the Vishva Hindu Parishad went to court and sought a stay order without any locus standi of their own.

Since then, the fate of these 123 Delhi Waqf Properties was hanging in the court of law. During my last tenure, I had submitted a fresh proposal for denotification of these properties by the Cabinet.

Now, after almost seven years, my proposal had reached the Government of India and was under consideration. I was made a member of the core committee.

This being a very sensitive issue, I cannot share the process, neither I shared this with anybody in the Waqf Board.

The LG of Delhi was changed and Mr. Najeeb Jung took over as H.E LG of Delhi.

I was called by his good office soon after he resumed the charge. I dutifully went and was very well received there. I was also told that I am the first officer to be called by H.E LG.

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H.E. LG Mr. Najeeb Jung seemed to be an affable person and there was a Zen kind of smile on his face.

He welcomed me in his office and offered me tea. I really felt elevated. He told me that he had called me in the capacity of CEO Delhi Waqf Board. He wanted to know the affairs of Delhi Waqf Board and I candidly confided the prevailing corruption, other administrative problems and also the potential.

He seemed to be impressed by my straight forward attitude. Then I reminded him that I had called upon him when he was Vice Chancellor of Jamia Milia Islamic University and had presented him my book on Dilli. He instantly recalled and was very pleased.

Then I shared with him that 123 Delhi Waqf Properties are about to be denotified in the favor of Delhi Waqf Board. He was surprised and wanted to know how that was happening. I apologetically told him that I was not in a position to share the process, but it was expected within two months.

He called his private secretary Mr. Vishvendra Singh.

The reader might like to recall the “importance” of Mr. Vishvendra my junior in service, on the unfortunate 31st December night 2006 in my colony. But I don’t hold grudge of past things. H.E. LG was not even aware of his name at that point of time.

He asked Mr. Vishvendra, whether he knew me to which he replied, “Yes sir. Mr. Shamim Akhtar is my senior”

I also responded by saying that Vishvendra is like my younger brother.

H.E. LG was happy and told,

“Since you know each other, Mr. Vishvendra please note down that

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Mr. Shamim does not need an appointment from me. Let him come whenever he feels like meeting me”

The meeting ended with a lot of warmth.

Outside the chamber of H.E. LG, the officers were curious to know whether LG was considering to take me as his private secretary. I just smiled at them.

So, the usual work life continued and the professional atmosphere both in my ADM office as well as CEO Delhi Waqf Board was calm.

Once again H.E. LG called me, and this time his warmth was even more. He asked about the development in the Waqf Board and offered his full support. Then I requested him to consider giving CLU( Conversion of Land Use) to three of the big properties out of 123 Waqf Properties, once denotified.

He asked the detail of those three properties and I told him in detail; one was the 13.5 acre just in front of the LG House, an abandoned Qabristan. I told him that I have got a “fatwa” from the clergy stating that a Qabristan where no dead body is buried since 50 years can be used by the Waqf Board for any other purpose. H.E.LG was very happy to hear that and said, “I will send you to Saudi Arabia officially. Get this “fatwa” endorsed by a Mufti from there as well”.

I was extremely glad with this support.

I also added that though the worth of 123 Waqf Properties is in to the tune of several thousands crore rupees, just by giving CLU to three properties H.E.LG will make the Waqf Board self reliant for all times to come. He asked me to prepare a blue print and also a presentation on the Delhi Waqf Board.

Another time, there was an official meeting under his chairmanship in

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his conference hall regarding a dispute over the demolition of a mosque by Delhi Development Authority. He was very methodical and after hearing both parties, on merit, he directed the DDA to undo the damage by repairing the wall of the mosque in question. Waqf Board members were extremely grateful to H.E.LG for this justice.

Things were going extremely smooth , until one day when I was holding the Board meeting in Delhi Waqf Board, I got a call from the office of H.E.LG, saying in a very stern voice that LG is extremely angry with me and I must come fast. I was taken aback, as I was not even aware of any of any act of mine which could have angered him. At that time, the Chairperson Mr. Matin Chaudhry was also in the Board meeting and listening to this, he said that he will also accompany me.

Both of us went to the LG House, and to my surprise, now my name was there in the appointment list. My body was frisked for the first time and Mr. Matin Chaudhry was not allowed to enter. I rushed to the chamber of H.E.LG and found him trembling with rage. His exact words should not be reproduced for the respect of the constitutional chair he occupies, but I once again tried to assess if the intensity of this humiliation was more than the previous ones, again in the presence of a junior Mr. Vishvendra Singh, who now smiled mischievously.

In two minutes, H.E.LG asked me to leave. The same day, I was “removed” from the Delhi Waqf Board. The entire Board was very upset and Mr. Matin Chaudhry took a stand by making a statement that, “LG does not have the power either to appoint or remove the CEO of Waqf Board without the consent of the Board”. I tried to calm him down saying, I wish I was also informed the reason of the resentment of H.E.LG, but since he has removed me, I would honor his decision. No other CEO was posted in my place.

Next day it was reported that the outgoing Congress Government of India, after deliberating on the issue in detail, had denotified the 123 Waqf Properties.

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There was no CEO and in protest Mr. Matin Chaudhry had also resigned.

After a lapse of three months the Vishwa Hindu Parishad again went for the writ and the court stayed the denotification of the Cabinet.

In a way getting relieved from Delhi Waqf Board lessened my work load. Now came the General Assembly Election of Delhi 2013.

The Election Commission of India had introduced a new concept -SVEEP ( Systematic Voters Education and Electoral Participation). This was not a regular election exercise, and most of the “election experts” had no idea about it.

One evening, Mr. More requested me to take the lead for the whole district for SVEEP as a creative person. For the first time in my career, someone requested for my creative input. I took the challenge and started the campaign with a music concert of Shibani Kashyap. Everybody was apprehensive. This time even SVEEP observers were appointed.

The budget was almost nil but the campaign was a great success. I had a lot of new ideas. I even pulled off a bike rally with Saif Ali Khan and Sonakshi Sinha. Now not only my observers, but even Election Commission praised my ideas in a video conference.

The election was held peacefully, and the increase in voting percentage of our district was maximum, thus proving the success of our SVEEP.

As an officer, I have always believed in one thing, however difficult it may be, first finish the job and then point out the problems. So was it in the case of this election. Our previous Divisional Commissioner, was posted as Chief Electoral Officer, and despite being an excellent officer, he was surrounded with the worst of DANICS officers.

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The result was, both Tehsildar rank officials and ADMs were made Returning Officers, with the added burden of being the chief of SVEEP for the whole district, and also to work as de-facto an assistant of District Magistrate cum District Election Officer.

Obviously, the work load was too difficult to handle.

Despite several requests to Mr. Vijay Dev the then Chief Electoral Officer, ADMs were not relieved from the job of Returning Officers. For me this was too much of work and I went again and again to Services Department requesting for a transfer.

Services Department was as cold as it has been to me for all these years.

The aftermath of election was taking a toll on me and on the advice of my treating doctor, I had to enter on one month medical leave. Mr. More was very concerned and came forward for my help telling that he is willing to go to Services with me for a lighter assignment.

Knowing Services attitude towards me, I declined and entered on leave from January 2014.

I was suffering from depression and my treating doctor advised me that if I go deep in depression, it will be very difficult for me to recover. Being a naturist, nature heals me and I was planning to back pack.

Out of several good things that happened during the Delhi Assembly election, the best part was that the Observers had become my friends. My Observer, Mr. Madhusudan Sinha, an Indian Forest Service officer from Assam, and his superior Mr. Hara Prasad were impressed with my creative ideas and my books.

They had invited me to do a book on North East. To utilize my medical leave and also to heal, I headed towards North East.

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I was on heavy medication, but riding and photography in North East was helping me heal. Every month I was being assessed by my treating doctor and the leave continued for three months.

The doctor declared me fit in the end of March 2014.

In my place , someone else was posted as ADM and hence I reported to Services on 1st of April 2014. As such Services takes its own time and I was awaiting posting. Now my son had become seven years old and was aware of the concept of birthday.

We had never celebrated his birthday, considering his inability to understand the importance of it. It had taken years of training to explain him the concept hence, was quite an achievement for us.

The people of the colony have been very sympathetic to him and other than Mr. Gangar, nobody had grievous complaints against him.

As such, my son only used to go to the houses with children and hardly ever entered the house of Mr. Gangar. His gate is anyways eternally locked from inside! To avoid further complaints from him and his wife I had even offered to construct an extended awning but he had refused. Their only demand was that I shift my residence.

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XI. My son’s first birthday celebration, and the real face of the civilized people unmasked

We decided to celebrate our son’s birthday in the park of the colony in a grand way also as a thanks giving to the residents for bearing with an autistic child. Sasmita wrote a very poignant invitation card for him:

“I consider your house as mine.I ransack your cupboards and raid your refrigerator;

I consume your goodies n run away with whatever fancies me!I gatecrash your parties n add a chaotic touch to it.

I might buzz your bell without any reason n disturb you generally;I jump, I shout n do not understand most of what u say or do.

Yet, I am as human as you are n desire what you all do- love n affection.

Thanks for tolerating me.”

Though we had arranged for caterers , many of my friends relish my cooking. Hence I was at the mutton shop at about 4 pm when Mr. Gangar sent me a SMS, “ though a very well written card , but it does not ensure the safety of our lives. He keeps throwing things.” I was deeply hurt, and replied that, “ then you should better change your house”. His answer through another SMS was, “ I will take it up officially”.

We had invited almost the entire colony, and many of them had tears in their eyes while talking about the message of the invitation card and almost all of them showered their love and affection on our son. We were touched by the affection of the neighbors. The Gangars had obviously stayed out of the celebration.

When the party got over, I shared the message of Mr. Gangar with Sasmita. To my horror, Sasmita told me about the inappropriate behaviour of Mr. Gangar towards our son.

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I always knew that Mr. Gangar is a sadist of the highest order, but this pervert behavior made me really very angry. I couldn’t stop myself from having a word with him instantly. I went down to his gate and asked what possible official action can be taken against a seven year old autistic child. I definitely shouted at him for abusing my child physically. He did not even have the guts to come out of his gate.

I was also mad at Sasmita for not informing me earlier about the abusive behavior of Mr. Gangar. Sasmita did not want to add to our woes.

Mr. Gangar had the audacity to file a complaint against me in Services and also to PWD for evicting me from the colony also attaching the invitation card as “proof” of my child’s behavior. On the night of 14th April, the entire colony was aware about Mr. Gangar’s act and condemned him.

I wish, this could have ended here. Though I availed medical leave for three months, this torture was about to send me back into deep depression, then Services Department did one more favor to me. After awaiting posting for fifteen days, the Services Department posted me as Additional Director ( Social Welfare).

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Again “dumped” as Additional Director (Social Welfare)

Technically , this post was in my pay grade , hence I joined. This posting was nothing less than another professional dumping as I had served in the same department as Dy. Director despite being in higher pay grade for almost four years.

After joining in protest, I represented to the Services Department. Mr. Gangar’s incident had resulted in increasing the dosage of my anti depression medication, and hence I was not able to wake up early in the morning. So reaching office on time was medically not possible for me. I had informed the Director Social Welfare about this before joining and she had said that as long as I take care of my responsibilities, that’s not an issue.

Since I knew that department like the back of my palm , hence discharging my duties was not that difficult.

But then Mr. Gangar was adamant that I must be evicted from the colony and hence, first I got a show cause notice from PWD, Government of Delhi , for eviction from my government accommodation.

On 6th of May 2014 vide letter No. F.10 (154)/PWD-I/2014/4392-94 , The Dy. Secretary gave me a Show Cause Notice for vacating my house and in his letter it was mentioned:

“ .... upon examination of these complaints it is seem that there is misconduct on your part and you have violated the terms of allotment by such behavior and conduct “

The notice was extremely biased and was in violation of natural justice as PWD had considered Mr. Gangar’s complaint as the voice of God.

I met Mr. Arun Baroka, the Principle Secretary PWD and told him about the abusive behavior of Mr. Gangar towards my ailing son and also

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showed him the SMS that Mr. Gangar had sent me on the birthday of my son. Mr. Arun Baroka, in a very apathetical manner asked me to reply to the Show Cause Notice. I asked certain information under Right to Information Act from PWD in order to be able to reply to the Show Cause Notice.

Then came the confidential letter from the Services Department on the same complaint of Mr. Gangar vide letter F.No.30/27/99/S.I/1437 dated 12th of May 2014 asking my comments. At least Services department was kind enough to give me an opportunity to be heard unlike the PWD Department.

Sasmita had filed a complaint of physical abuse of our son against Mr. Gangar to the SHO, Civil Lines Police Station, but of no avail.

My reply was “examined” in the Services Department and the worthy Chief Secretary decided to file the complaint by issuing me a mild warning to behave myself. The child molester Mr. Gangar was let go scot free.

PWD did not provide me the complete information as sought by me under Right to Information Act. But since the matter was decided by the worthy Chief Secretary, I decided not to drag the issue.

But Mr. Gangar was “adamant” that I should be evicted from my government accommodation, so I got another Show Cause Notice from PWD 2014 vide letter No. F.10 (154)/PWD-I/2014/10258-10260 dated 4th of September 2014.

It was as if Mr. Gangar with the help of Mr. Arun Baroka was adamant that I should be evicted from my government residence, whatever the fact or merit of the case maybe. I replied accordingly on 12th of September 2014;

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:..... It is further submitted that Shri Kuldeep Singh Gangar on whose complaint you are seeking to take action in regards to cancellation of my allotment of my official residence had also filed a similar complaint before the Services Department. The matter was placed before the worthy Chief Secretary and the issue has already been settled by the office of the worthy Chief Secretary. Since the issue has already been settled by the office of the worthy Chief Secretary you with due respect cannot take any further action on the basis of the complaint of Shri Kuldeep Singh Gangar. The notice cannot be vexed twice for the same cause of action......”

Top of this, my boss Director Social Welfare now had an issue with my late arrivals and she started issuing me memo every week. It was as if a civil servant looses touch with humanity totally. She was then transferred and in her position a very junior lady IAS officer was posted.

That young lady officer seemed to have undergone training in London during the British Raj. In every meeting she never forgot to remind everybody that she is a senior IAS officer. The professional atmosphere had gone from bad to worse.

I represented in strong words to the Services Department in protest. By the grace of god, that young lady officer got transferred out and in her position came Mr. P.R. Meena.

I never had a chance of working with him in my career, but had worked with him during Tsunami in Nicobar Islands.

His humane side was well known to me. He is an extremely hard working person. During Tsunami, we used to work till late in the night and on his advice, I documented the entire operation by typing on computer after the work. We bonded there like family and I always felt a connection with him.

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So, when he took over as Director Social Welfare, I went back to office with a smile. He had never served in this department and did not hesitate to seek my opinion.

After listening to my views regarding the improvement of the department, he assured me his full co-operation and support.

This is a department , which can safely be said to be the most corrupt and inhuman. So I started the reform by bifurcating the District Officer from the Women and Child Department, which was resulting in dual control. My decision was met with a lot of resistance from both the department and all the adhoc DANICS officers posted in the department.

But with the support of the Director, I created ten district offices exclusively for the Department of Social welfare. In just two months , the situation started improving. Then I shared with Mr. P.R. Meena that the biggest scam of the department was the Financial Assistant Scheme which provides old age pension to more than 4.5 lakh beneficiaries in Delhi.

Once again, Mr. Dharampal had joined as Principal Secretary and he was very keen on improvising the situation.

I chose two data entry operators for each district and started “AADHAR”( UID), seeding in the database of the beneficiary. This was also met with great resistance from both the administrative officers and also from the software engineers.

More than two lakh fake beneficiaries had been “taking” pension from this department and seeding of AADHAR in the database could have exposed them all .

On the basis of my representation, I was called by the Principal Secretary, Mrs. Gamblin, for personal hearing.

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When I went to her chamber at the designated time, Mr. Rajani Kant Verma was also present there. Mrs. Gamblin patiently heard my version.

When I reminded her that she had “handpicked” me as her Dy Secretary Services after my Tihar Jail assignment and then she had posted me as Dy. Director Social Welfare in 2005, she was quite apologetic and Mr. R.K. Verma also recommended me for a meaningful position where my creative aspect could also be utilized.

I was assured of a change of assignment, but the newly elected Aam Admi Party Chief Minister, Shri Arvind Kejriwal and H.E. LG of Delhi transferred many officers. Mrs. Gamblin was also transferred and in her place came Shri Anindo Majumdar. My change of assignment was halted.

Back in the department , in an open meeting I took head on, the Joint Director Technical for deliberately slowing down the process of AADHAR seeding in the database of beneficiaries of the Financial Assistance Scheme, which was also stressed upon by the Director and Principal Secretary alike.

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XII. Finally the “System” disowned me

Next day, i.e. 23rd of April 2015, I was transferred to Member Waqf Tribunal ( a non existing post). Mr. P.R. Meena did not want to relieve me, but I requested on the ground that my work was hampering the interests of vultures in the department and there will never be support from the system to do what I really want to do here. So, I got relieved on 23rd of April 2015 and went to the Services.

Seeing me , Mr. Anindo Majumdar was very upset saying that the order was a mistake. At the most I could have been given the additional charge. He advised me to represent to the worthy Chief Secretary, which I did.

The clash of interest of Chief Minister and H.E.LG was really taking ugly turn, and Mr. Anindo Majumdar also got transferred out.

Again without any posting or even salary, I wondered for the first time if I made a mistake by qualifying the Civil Services Exam?

All these years, I had been hoping that like most of my batch mates in service, I also may get a chance to serve in a position of my choice. Unlike them, neither I have been a power hungry officer nor have even been interested in the “untold” perks.

But, now, I had lost all hope and was planning either to resign from the service or start all over again in any other country.

But it will not be fair to say that I did not have affection and support of many seniors and juniors alike in the service. By this time, when I was completing my fifth coffee table book on North East, Shri Ajay Gupta, a senior in Service, who was living on the ground floor in the same colony called me.

Mr. Ajay Gupta has been very kind to me since the beginning and he

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was also very supportive to my son. His house and kids were my son’s favorite too.

He had been contemplating to shift and wanted to know if I was interested in taking his ground floor quarter. Nobody was yet aware of his plan and he told me categorically that he would vacate the quarter if it was allotted to me.

I immediately rushed to PWD and was happy to see Mr. Ghonkrokta as Special Secretary PWD. I informed him that Mr. Ajay Gupta was vacating his ground floor house and though I am entitled for a type V quarter since 2010, that being a type IV quarter should be easily allotted to me. I also added that this would work out for betterment of Mr. Gangar as well.

Mr. Ghonkrokta talked to Mr. Ajay Gupta over phone in front of me and when Mr. Ajay Gupta confirmed, I was asked to apply citing the need of my autistic son. I applied and the flat no. 2 of 33 Rajpura Road was allotted to me.

In our not so happy lives, this was a good thing that we badly needed. My son’s therapists had been advising us to keep dogs, but we couldn’t because of our second floor quarter.

I have been a very private person, and in the colony also my interaction was limited to a few people. A lot of our neighbors had changed in our block and I hardly knew anybody. But in flat number 9 , on the first floor , there was a Lady Judge whose father Mr. Dagar was very fond of me.

We occasionally exchanged greetings.

Initially, he addressed me as “sir”, but once I politely pointed out that, “I am like your son and please don’t call me sir”. After that our chats became more informal.

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I did not have any interaction with any other member of his family. Mr. Dagar was a heart patient and sometimes, he used to furtively join me for a smoke. I tried to abstain saying, “Chacha, don’t smoke. It’s not good for your health.”

When we got the allotment of the ground floor house, we decided to renovate it at our own cost. My attitude has been to treat the government accommodation as my own as far as its maintenance is concerned. I had renovated my previous quarter at my own cost too.

Since my father was in the State Civil Service, most of our life was spent in government accommodation. In my service also it is obvious that one lives in a government accommodation till one is 60. So, the house where we live for almost our entire life, why it should not be taken care of as our own?

Moreover the quality of PWD work is well known to everybody in India. So Sasmita got the house done as per our requirement- garden, dog house, big windows etc. PWD too helped with the flooring, electrical fittings and paint. The work continued for more than a month, and we wanted to shift after the work was complete.

Now, the people in the colony were raising eyebrows, for each and every work that was being carried out. Almost every day, the Junior Engineer used to say that a lot of people were complaining why their houses were not renovated in this manner ?

The Junior Engineer tried to convince the elite residents that most of the renovation work was being carried out at our own expenses, to which the officers (including the ones facing corruption charges) started “whispering” about the source of our money.

Little do they know that it takes very little money to renovate your house if nobody is diverting 80 percent as commission as in the government works. Moreover, aesthetics is not always about money.

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Now, the complaint to PWD was about the noise during renovation, the garbage, the improper parking of the workers bikes, planting of plants and supposed encroachment of parking space. In short, people had a problem with everything including the lights we used and the number of vehicles we had. Once I asked the Junior Engineer in confidence, who has been complaining and why?

To my utter dismay, most of the time it was Mr. Dagar who made “formal” complaints by introducing himself as the president of the Resident Welfare Association.

I was pained , since he used to visit our flat every day and always appreciated our choice of things especially our planting of fruit bearing tree saplings. What made him complain at our back is something I did not ask him considering his age.

Strange are the ways of the world. People mock at the lack of finances especially when I am kept awaiting posting and without salary for months and disapprove even if happiness, financial or otherwise, drifts past my house . With all our problems we have managed to remain afloat perhaps by indulging in whatever activity came our way, but empathy is a foreign term to senior government officials.

Anyways, the house got completed and we quickly disposed off the garbage at our own cost. There’s never been any safety in this campus. The Resident Welfare Association is dysfunctional and Lord knows how many servants live with their multiple relatives in the servant quarters. Strange unknown faces are not rare. Merely for the safety and security of our house, we also installed CC TV.

We moved in just a week before Eid.

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Second time on Eid, faced the wrath of the civilized people in the same colony

For many years, since my father passed away, celebrating Eid was only restricted to offering “Namaz”. Now for the sake of the children we decided to celebrate Eid in a proper way also as a house warming party for our close friends.

18th of July 2015, our house was decorated with lights and it was really a happy Eid. Some residents of the colony too wished us and also appreciated the aesthetically done house.

Finally at about 10.30 pm , all our guests left, and we called it a day.

After half an hour , there was utter chaos outside my house and when me and my wife came out, we saw a mob ( many of the faces were not from the colony) being led by Mr. Dagar and his daughter the Lady Judge. They were alleging that “their” vehicle Maruti Swift DL 8 CL 6566 was pushed by me. Ajay, the son of Mr. Dagar threatened me “hey Mian, bahar aa, tujhe toh kaat dalunga” (You Muslim come out, I’ll cut you).

I asked, “How can somebody push the car which is in gear with hand breaks on? It was just intentionally wrongly parked.” The Lady Judge was very furious and she called the police.

We came inside our house and kept the main gate and our door open. The PCR van came first. The Lady Judge was shouting with the mob, “Hey Paagal Aadmi , bahar aa ja, hum tujhe kaat dallenge” (You mad man

come out, we’ll cut you)

The PCR police personnel were sensible people and they said that the car was wrongly parked and there was no sign of it being pushed. But they also said that since the Lady Judge had called the local police, they could not do anything about it.

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Then came some constables from Civil Lines Police Station, and they barged into our house. The constables were very rude and they said that it was my fault. I insisted on talking to the DCP Mr. Madhur Verma whose mobile was switched off. The constables said I could take an appointment and meet him in his office. Then at about 12.30 am, the SHO (Station House Officer) of Civil Lines Police Station came.

He asked me to show the CC TV footage. I said, “Can’t you see the mob which is still here and shouting? I am alone in my house with my wife , 15 year old daughter and eight year old son.”

The SHO then asked me to give the complaint in writing. I said, “I am in no state to do so as I am awake since wee hours preparing for the festival. I will file the complaint tomorrow.”

Finally the “drama” ended at about 1.30 am and we were left alone.

Next day, some sensible people from the colony came forward for a compromise and I also offered to settle the issue keeping in mind my warm relation with Mr. Dagar. But the Lady Judge informed that the complaint against me had already been filed and they don’t want to compromise.

Understanding the “wrath” of the judiciary in the previous incident , I had no choice but to file a formal complaint to the Civil Lines SHO at about 2.00 pm. The Duty Officer refused to receive my complaint. I called several times the Area Dy. Commissioner of Police, Mr. Madhur Verma, but he did not pick up the phone.

I sent him SMS regarding non receiving of my complaint, but he did not respond. Then I talked to the Duty Officer over phone to ask why my complaint was not being received? Here is the crux of how Duty Officers function:

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Me: “What is the problem sir? Why are you not receiving my complaint?”Duty officer: “I don’t have the instruction from SHO and he is out.”Me: “As Duty Officer, you have the power of SHO, so in his absence, you can very well receive my complaint.”Duty Officer: “We only work on the order of the SHO.”Me: “I am recording this conversation , so please tell me if the SHO asks you to shoot me, will you do that?”Duty Officer: “Yes.” (and hangs up)

This recorded conversation was sent to the DCP Mr. Madhur Verma immediately via “Whats App”. Still no response.

Many of my well wishers went to the Civil Lines Police Station and due to pressure from the public , finally my complaint was received on 19th July 2015 at 5.00 pm. That complaint of communal violence against me and my family, is a matter of record. As expected, police did not take any action. I was still awaiting posting and the incident on the day of Eid had completely shaken us. There was nothing else to do, but wait for justice to prevail both in the office and in our residential colony.

So, to be able to keep myself away from depression, I was finishing my book on North East on one hand and taking care of our garden and pets. As per the advice of the therapists, now we had two dogs, a dozen of pigeons and a couple of rabbits. They all kept my son engaged.

Co-incidentally, our colony being near the ridge monkey menace is a very old phenomenon. But the menace was felt less on the second floor. Now, at our present ground floor, monkeys were destroying the plants and messing up with the pigeons and rabbits. Along with the monkeys some wild cats too started attacking our pets. Those who keep pets can understand how painful it is to see them dying.

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After losing many pigeons and rabbits to the wild cats, I procured one air gun and one air pistol ( which does not require any license anywhere in India). As such, almost all the residents have some sort of a gun to scare the monkeys away. To us, more than the monkeys, it were the wild cats who had to be kept at bay because they fed on our pets. I gave the air gun to the guard at the gate for scaring the wild cats so that they don’t enter our colony and the air pistol, we kept at home.

There was a lull. I paid a ritual visit to the Principal Secretary ( Services), Shri Rajendra Kumar who was also the Principal Secretary to the Chief Minister. He was kind enough to meet me on a very short notice. When I told him that, I was still awaiting posting and that too without salary since 24th of April 2015, he assured me to do the needful.

He also advised me to apply for the post of Managing Director , Delhi Tourism and Transport Development Corporation( MD, DTTDC). The post was advertised in the news paper by the Delhi Government. I duly applied on 17th of August 2015, citing my expertise in the field and my vision.

The inaction of Delhi Police on my complaint made me file an RTI application to know the status. The reply was nothing but a mockery of the law of the land. I was told that there is a seven page report and I need to pay 14 rupees to get that report. I paid and was stunned after reading the report.

Instead of filing my FIR against the Lady Judge, Delhi Police had filed the complaint of Mr. Ajay Dagar, the married and self reliant brother of the Lady Judge (Hence, he is not a legal resident of this colony). Moreover , the car in question-Maruti Swift DL8CL 6566-that was allegedly pushed out of the parking lot by me, is not even registered in the name of any resident of this colony, whether legal or illegal.

What was surprising the most was the fact that police had applied section 107/150 of CRPC, against me.

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It was one sided. Usually in such cases both parties are called under section 107/151.

Then came two Delhi Police personnel to my residence for serving me a summon to appear in the court of worthy Assistant Commissioner of Police for this 107/150 against me on the complaint of Shri. Ajay Dagar dated 18th of July 2015.

I could smell the conspiracy against me and filed an RTI appeal to the DCP Mr. Madhur Verma.

At this time, despite meeting in person and writing several letters to the Services Department for posting (Yes. I was not selected for MD DTTDC), and salary for the last four months and not getting any justice from Delhi Police made me realize that , somewhere all the people who were considered the “system” were determined to crush me.

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XIII. The last resort and the “final” result

Soon after sending the RTI appeal on the 3rd of September 2015, I realized that the “system” is only buying time to “frame” me, so that the will of Mr. Gangar to evict me from my residence is fulfilled. Following my sixth sense , I sent my representation to the Premiers of our nation as my last resort:

Dated 3rd of September 2015 CONFIDENTIALTo1. Shri Pranab Mukharjee , Honorable President of IndiaOfficer on Special Duty to the President President’s Secretariat Rashtrapati Bhavan New Delhi - 110 004

2. Shri. M. Hamid Ansari, Honorable vice-President of IndiaVice-President’s House, 6, Maulana Azad Road, New Delhi - 110 011

3. Hon’ble Justice Mr. H.L. Dattu, Chief Justice of IndiaThrough The Registrar, Supreme Court of India, Tilak Marg, New Delhi-110 201

4. Honorable Justice Ms. G Rohini, Chief Justice Through Registrar General, Delhi High Court, Sher Shah Road, New Delhi - 110503

5. Shri Arvind KejriwalHonorable Chief Minister of DelhiDelhi SecretariatI P EstateNew Delhi-110113

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Sub:- Intimation about Delhi Police brutality against me and my family since January 2006 ( the genesis lie in a news item published in Hindustan Times on 13th of February 2000).

Honorable Sir/ Madam

(Since, this letter was confidential, hence reproducing the content here would not be appropriate)

Shamim Akhtar (DANICS) 1996 Batch,

Flat No. 02, DA, Officer Flats, 33 Rajpur Road, Civil Lines,

Delhi-110054 Mobile No. 9871908459

Email Id: samakhtar@ymail.comwww.shamimakhtar.in

Enclosed :

1. Hindustan Times News 16/02/200 , which invoked the wrath of Delhi Police against me2. My complaint to SHO Civil Lines dated 19/07/20153. My RTI application to PIO dated 29/-7/20154. The “ Reply “ Received from PIO 5. Seven page Police Report which was obtained by depositing Rs 14/-6. My first Appeal against the reply of PIO.

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I was hoping that this representation of mine to the supreme authorities of India will definitely be heard, and my plight would stop.

On 8th September, I came back from a friend’s place at about 10.30 pm and saw a wild cat roaming in the park adjacent to my house. I went to the guard room and asked, how the cat had again entered the colony. The guard said that previous night, he had injured a cat and thought that it will not come again.

I took the air gun from him and walked towards the park to look for the cat. Hardly had I reached the park, a PCR van was already behind me! Before I knew what was happening, Mr. Dagar came running down the stairs dramatically yelling, “Mardalega, mardalega, hum sabko. Pakdo isse!” (He’ll kill us all, someone stop him), Wow! What well coordinated timing!

Life is indeed a stage!

The police said that they have been called by the Lady Judge (by now her name was known to me- Ms. Susheel Bala Dagar). I went inside, and soon our colony was flooded with at least six to seven police vehicles.

The mother of Ms. Susheel Bala Dagar was now marching in front of our house shouting “aa kaat mujhe” (Come cut me) in the presence of dozens of policemen. A lot of residents preferred to stay out of it and the ones who spoke out definitely require routine counseling. One lady came literally jumping to complain about our dogs and vehicles! Another complained about the lights! Basically I realized none of them had a valid point to make. My dogs, my vehicles, my lights, my son were mere excuses. The real issue was, “us”. It was definitely not a very good feeling.

A sensible neighbor tried to reason out with the police personnel.

When Sasmita intervened to know the reason, the police officers insisted that it’s me they want to talk to.

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I came to the gate and specifically asked for the DCP Mr. Madhur Verma either to come or talk to me over phone.

We were bewildered, we failed to comprehend why a posse of policemen was called and what was the allegation now, I refused to talk to the junior police officials.

Finally they left in the middle of the night. All these was recorded on our CC TV.

Little idea we had, what would follow the next morning.

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Illegal abduction of me and my wife by Delhi Police on 9th of September 2015

The night’s occurrence had taken away whatever little peace of mind we were left with and we woke up late. Sasmita and I were still discussing , why was police called in the first place, leave aside how many of them? The support of few good neighbors was comforting.

We had fallen short of adjectives to describe our anguish, the only question that tormented our disturbed minds was, why? We had not even brushed till 11.30 am and at 11.33 am our door bell rang. Sasmita opened the gate and was taken aback at the number of police personnel, lady police and para-military that came streaming in. One already had a video camera in position. I was called.

Still in my shorts, I went to the gate and asked them to come inside. The Addl. Station House Officer ( Civil Lines Police Station) refused.

Addl. SHO : “Hum aapka DVR recording dekhna chahte hain”(We want to

see your DVR recording).Me : “Why?’Addl SHO : “I have the order to see your CC TV camera recordings”Me : “Why so many police vehicles and dozens of police personnel had come to my residence last night?”Addl SHO : “Mujhe nahin pata, bus aap apna DVR hamein de do”(I have

no idea. Just give me your DVR).

I told him about the atrocities of Civil Lines police officers against me and my family since 2006; that DCP MR. Madhur Verma was not even taking my calls; that I had represented to the supreme authorities of India against the police brutality.

“So, I will show the recording of my DVR only to the supreme authorities and not to the police officials of junior rank.

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The Addl. SHO couldn’t pretend for long. He transformed to his original self, “fir tu chal thane” (Then you come to the Police Station).

Me : “Why would I go to the police station? Ask your DCP to talk to me.”

Addl SHO : “DCP sahib is a very senior officer. woh tujhse baat kyon karenge, chal thane” (DCP Sir is too senior to talk to you, you come to the

police station).

I sensed trouble. Still not aware of the reason, I asked, “Are you arresting me?” He replied with arrogance, “Yes”.

I asked whether he had any arrest warrant issued against me, since I am senior officer of Government of India, proper permission is also required to arrest me. Arrogance still intact, he said that they don’t need any warrant and would take me to the police station forcibly.

I threw a glance around- there were at least 20 policemen, para military in two vehicles. I still failed to understand why I was being treated as a terrorist. Was it some kind of a plan to implicate me?

I came into the house and tried my luck at calling people. The first call went to the Principal Secretary to Chief Minister Mr. Rajendra Kumar. His phone was switched off. Then I frantically called many senior officers and apprised them about the situation.

Can’t say it was a solace but at least one of them displayed anger at the police saying how could Delhi Police treat a senior officer this way? But then he expressed his inability to do anything and I was advised to contact the Chief Secretary.

While I was busy making calls for some intervention , the policemen, lady constable and para military marched into my house and their video camera man captured it all.

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It was of no use but still I yelled at them questioning their behavior, asking if there is any law in this land which permits a bunch of men in uniform to barge into anyone’s house, invading their privacy with a video camera!

On the other hand, when my wife tried to record their obnoxious behavior in her mobile (we have no camera installed inside our house, obviously) the Addl. SHO immediately asked the lady constable to confiscate the phone!

Seeing the lawlessness of the land, I made a desperate attempt and locked myself up in my bedroom. I called almost every senior officer including the Chief Secretary, but of no avail. I sent an SMS to the Chief Secretary as well, but no response.

Outside the policemen threatened Sasmita, “Madam, we’ll break open the door and drag him to the police station it’ll not look good.”

Neither I am any writer, nor a novelist. So, I don’t really know how to describe those moments and how helpless I felt. My thought process had frozen. All these men who dared to be here, ransacking my entire house, my daughter’s bedroom in search of the DVR, had they not been in uniform , under the right to self protection, I could have put up a fight to defend my right to privacy and the honor of my wife and children.

But, how any educated person could deal with such a situation even if filled with self respect and guts, was still unknown to me. Ironically, as a last resort I dialed 100 and requested to talk to the Commissioner of Police.

The person on the other side said that Dial 100 is a call centre and they are not authorized to connect calls to any police officer, but they can send a PCR van.

With every second, the intensity of shouts of the policemen and Sasmita

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was increasing outside my bed room. The police had already positioned a vehicle with para military at the back of the house assuming I might escape from some secret back door.

No, I am not a coward and I would not mind dying fighting these monsters in my house but my oath on the Constitution as a civil servant and these monsters wearing uniforms had put me in invisible chains.

After a lapse of 15 minutes, the PCR van came and another set of policemen entered the house. Sasmita called me out. I had changed into a pair of jeans and t-shirt . When I asked the PCR personnel how these police officers were inside my house without any warrant or authority and how the police camera man was taking video shots of my house and bedroom, the PCR personnel only smiled knowingly.

The Addl SHO laughed, “Ho gayi tasalli? Aur kis ko phone karega? Chup Chap thane chal nahin to ghaseet ke le jaoonga”(Satisfied? Who else will

you call? Now, come quietly or we’ll drag you along).

The Addl.SHO enquired about the guns we had. Sasmita showed the air gun and air pistol clarifying that there are no “guns”. The officer foolishly answered, “We’ll have to test them to decide.”

I still pleaded, “At least tell me the reason and why are you taking my wife?”

Addl. SHO said that I will be meeting senior police officers in the Police Station to sort out things. I had no choice.

Sasmita took out her car and once we sat in her car, the lady constable and another male constable entered the car and took the back seat.

The entire colony was watching, so was probably God. But neither God nor any neighbor came out to intervene.

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I have no clue about the expression of God at that point of time, but the neighbors were definitely delighted.

We were escorted to the Civil Lines Police Station at about 12.30 pm. After reaching, we were made to sit in the chamber of the SHO, with two supportive neighbors.

The Addl SHO sat on his chair shamelessly displaying pride on his catch. To understand the sense of pride on his face , a wild comparison is in order:

When a wild tiger is to be caught, the forest department uses a pack of dogs to chase the tiger till a point where it can be “escorted” by the pack into the cage. Once the tiger is locked up in cage, the expression on the face of the dog is the only example that can explain the expression of the Addl. SHO.

After one hour came the SHO, and he appeared to be calm, but the dilemma in his eyes was obvious. I asked, “Why we have been “abducted” from our house like this? What is the “crime” that we have committed?” He had no answer, but said that senior officers were “considering” my case.

I asked, if we were free to go to; he shook his head in dissent. Then I asked whether I was under arrest and he nodded to say no. The two neighbors, both lawyers, confirmed that, “that means this is a categorical case of not just abduction but also illegal detention.”

The SHO left the chamber asking me to wait in the room of Addl. SHO, “till further orders”.

Many of my friends including some lawyers had arrived at the Police Station by then, and I was still calling everyone possible in my cadre as well, simultaneously sending SMS and facebook updates, since my phone was still in my possession.

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The atmosphere in the Police Station was very secretive and no one was willing to share anything with either us or any of our lawyer friends.

Many of my juniors were posted as ADM and many DM were from my cadre. I called almost all of them and some of them said that they were on their way to the Police Station but not even a single cadre colleague of mine came.

The clocked ticked; Sasmita and I were even without our morning tea. We asked the policemen if we could go home, which is only a kilometer away, brush our teeth and freshen up and return on their call. They didn’t agree. The kids were alone and Sasmita was worried about them as she hadn’t even cooked their lunch. What was the point in retaining Sasmita was even more mysterious.

We were informed by a friend that a couple of policemen had returned to my house in search of the DVR. I wish that these duffers were trained to understand that after the incident on 18th July 2015 (Eid), a smart person will set his DVR on cloud; my loyal maid then locked the house from inside and refused to let anybody in during our absence.

We were again informed that a delegation of women from our colony had gone to meet the Chief Minister and also the H.E. LG of Delhi.

Suddenly the mist disappeared and I was not surprised at these “puppets” as I could see the “puppeteer” clearly now. I told Sasmita, “Be brave, I will be sent to jail.” Sasmita refused to believe me stating that they have no reason. I assured her that come what may, justice will prevail, even if it has to take the stairs.

At about 5 pm, one Sub- Inspector came and asked my Department, where I worked at present. I told him smiling, “You need to know my controlling officer, so that you can get the required permission to formally arrest me. Since I am awaiting posting, my controlling officer is Principal Secretary Services, Mr. Rajendra Kumar, who also happens to

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be Principal Secretary to the Chief Minister.”

All my friends and well wishers were bewildered, why police was not sharing anything and why we were still in illegal detention, but now I had Zen on my face and deep within I was smiling, knowing the future that lay ahead for these puppets and their puppeteer.

At 7 pm, one Sub- Inspector informed me that I need to be taken to the hospital for medical examination, to which I said, “You don’t have to play this game anymore. You please formally arrest me since you have the permission now, then only I will move from here”.

He pretended to be on our side. In fact, almost every policeman in the Civil Lines Police Station seemed to be highly inspired by the American “good cop - bad cop” theory. Alas, their acting was pathetic, equally matching their integrity and professional skill.

Finally the Sub- Inspector filled the formal arrest form and I handed over my phone as seizure (after removing the SIM) at around 7.15 pm. Now I was to go to the hospital, Aruna Asaf Ali, for medical checkup.

Sasmita was smartly taken away by a “well wisher” lawyer on the pretext of meeting the Chief Justice of Delhi High Court. I was examined in Aruna Asaf Ali Hospital ( Medical Legal Card). They asked me if I had any injury. Badly wanted to laugh. Wish they could see the knife marks made by back stabbers on my back.

After the medical examination I was made to sit in a police van for almost an hour. Few of my friends had reached the hospital and were asking the policemen, “what next?” None of the police official seem to have any clue. Some meticulous calculation at the top was taking time.

Then at about 9.30 pm , along with two Sub-Inspectors I was taken to the Ring Road, and still the Sub-Inspectors had no idea where we were headed to.

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I said, “If you want to encounter me by putting a bullet in my head, I know quite a few places nearby Delhi, where Special Cell of Delhi Police display their act of bravery.” Both the Sub- Inspectors laughed.

After dodging in and out of several roads, totally ensuring that none of my well wishers followed us , the vehicle stopped near Dhaula Kuan.

The vehicle of SHO was waiting there.

I was shifted to his vehicle. He sat in the front and two Sub-Inspectors at the back with me. While crossing the Gurgaon toll, I asked, “Which Duty Magistrate lives so far?”

One of the Sub-Inspector’s was trying to act smart. He said “jaab aapko itna sab kuch samajh mein aata hai, to itne anti-police kyon ho?”(You

seem to be aware of everything, then why are you so anti-police?)

I replied, “I am not anti-police, I am just anti-lawlessness, but that surely is a crime in our nation.”

The SHO had a tough time locating the house of the Duty Magistrate in Street No. 9 of Ashok Vihar Phase III, Gurgaon.

Finally he found it. It was a well built palace spread on almost 500 yards with three stories. I was made to get down from the vehicle, perhaps for the Magistrate to literally look down upon me . Standing on the second floor he asked the SHO in a very stern voice, “just send the paper up”.

The smart Sub-Inspector joked that I should try and smoke as much as I could. I smiled saying, “I have served in Prison and it is already past 11 pm. Tihar will not take me tonight, so don’t worry about my smoking habit.” He was taken aback.

At this point , I would like to share the intelligence level of Delhi Police. Though the DCP Mr. Madhur Verma, never talked to me over phone,

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neither he replied my SMS nor he responded to the recording of the conversation with the Duty Officer on 19th of July 2015,and top of all, despite me and my wife being abducted, he was supposedly nowhere in the picture.

Surely a smart way to safeguard himself from any fallout, so that if ever this police action is found to be illegal, the responsibility could be fixed on any junior, as always.

Hats off to his intelligence!

But since I was made to shift into the vehicle of the SHO to be taken to the Duty Magistrate in Gurgaon, every five minutes the official cell phone of the SHO used to ring flashing “ N1... calling”. After the Duty Magistrate “dutifully” signed the paper at his second floor, even without seeing me or giving me any chance of being heard, while coming back “N1” was again on the other side. This time the SHO had to stop the vehicle and go to a distance to talk in a manner that I don’t hear the conversation.

I would like to tell DCP Mr. Madhur Verma, N1 stands for the DCP North and it was he who was “supervising” this entire drama since 11.30 am. But, I know that if not a puppet, he was just a string in the hand of the puppeteer.

Now the SHO was discussing with the young Sub-Inspector what next. The Sub-Inspector said “ aaj to ise raazdari mein hi rakhna padega” (We

have to keep him in the Police Lock Up today). They had forgotten that I had served as SDM for almost four and half years and was well conversant with the police lingo.

About 12.45 am, we returned to the Civil Lines Police Station. The “kind” Investigating Officer told me that I have to spend just one night in custody and I will get bail from the regular Metropolitan Magistrate the next day. I asked, “Now at least tell me the charges”. The SHO

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intervened saying that he will reveal it to my lawyer if I had one in the court tomorrow.

I was put in the Lock Up with an armed guard with INSAS rifle. The young guard searched my body, removed my belt, my foot wear and locked the cell.

The Police Lock Up is worse than the night shelters of Delhi. It seemed the toilet had not been cleaned for over a month and the only blanket lying on the extremely dirty floor probably never ran under water since its production. It was now 1.15 am, and I was still without any food.

After five minutes, Sasmita along with a friend came with food. The guard refused to open the Lock Up. I told Sasmita, it was okay. I tried to humor her by saying that my backpacker life of sleeping anywhere without food comes handy under such circumstances.

After a lot of “persuasion” the kind Investigating Officer got the Lock Up opened and I was “allowed” to eat on the bench. Just to comfort Sasmita, I took a bite. I asked her to go home and take care of the children and I assured her that “this too shall pass”.

Now at about 1.45 am , while locking me up, the young armed guard told me that as long as he was there , I will be safe and I should try to sleep , though it might be difficult for me.

I lied back, closed my eyes and slept without any apprehension of any kind.

The night in the Lock Up was far from being comfortable also because I had “visitors” every half an hour, apparently the Delhi Police personnel on patrol. They faked ignorance and throwing the light on my face, asked the guard “yeh kaun hai?”(Who is he?)

Delhi Police anyways has limited vocabulary. Whatever the British

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taught, they still use the same language, especially when they “frame” somebody.

I remember during my SDM days, when the Delhi Police used to produce an accused under section 109 and 110 of CRPC in my court, the language was always the same.

For 109, the standard language was ...” apna naam badal badal ke bata raha tha , aur hamein dekh kar bhag kar jhariyon mein chup gaya. Head constable saab, ki madad se bahoot mushkil se kaboo kiya...”(He keeps changing his name, runs and hides in the bushes whenever he sees us.

Managed to grab him with great difficulty with the help of the Head Constable)

I used to joke, asking them to show me the bushes in Delhi. But their “Kalandra” language continues to be the same even today.

So, hearing “yeh kaun hai” (Who is he?) intermittently only made me smile realizing that it’s not just me who is having a sleepless night today. N1 seems to be giving me company only to ensure that I am still safely captive, alive and kicking.

Morning came earlier than expected.

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The Court of Law of “Independent” India

I am not an early person, but seeing the policemen getting ready at 7.00 am for duty, I sympathized with them.

Around 7.30 am, a group of well dressed men in Safari suit ( all were wearing the same color) their 9 mm Browning pistol tucked in their pants passed through my Lock Up giving me a casual glance. They don’t have to wear the batch SPG ( Special Protection Group) which is deployed for the security of the supreme authorities of India. What they were doing in this small, police station. Oh, the Chief Minister of Delhi Shri, Arvind Kejriwal lives nearby. They must be deployed for his security. Then after ten minutes, a group of armed forces personnel passed by holding the automatic weapons that I had seen with the army in North East, and co-incidentally I recognized few faces those who were a part of the team who abducted me and Sasmita yesterday.

A kind good cop, came and offered me tea. I asked, whether anybody from my family had come. He lied,” abhi to koi nahin aaya”(No one has

come yet).

Now, I was like an animal in the cage and many fiercely looking people came in batches and took pictures of mine with their cell phone, in the presence of police personnel. Their looks, and their accent told that they were from Haryana. So, the Lady Judge had organized a freak show for her entire native village of Sonipat.

At 9. 30 am , a lady Police Officer came to me and spoke politely in refined English. I am describing her as a lady Police Officer, since she was wearing police uniform with two stars on her shoulder. Her refined English conversation:

She : “ Good morning. How was your night”Me : “ It was good”

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She : “Did you face any harassment?”ME : “Absolutely not. The young guard was very vigilant and all the visitors asking, “yeh kaun hai” (Who is he?)were also very kind.She : “Yes, they must be the patrolling party who visit all the Lock Up and report to ensure safety”.Me : “Hmmn.”She : “So, how are you feeling now? Any anxiety ?”Me : “Not at all. I am fine thank you”.She : “We will open your Lock Up soon. Have a nice day”.

My day was made. She was wearing the perfect makeup, with dark color lipstick. Her fine English and her accent was bit too sophisticated for a Sub- Inspector.

At this point , I would like to recall a conversation with a high class call girl, who was a co-passenger in a journey.

Me: “What you do is quite risky business for a girl like you from a reputed family. What if some day you are caught by the cops?”

Girl: “Anywhere in the world, a policeman can be recognized by a close look, and in our nation, they can be recognized from a mile”

Me : “How can you be so sure”Girl : “Even if a policeman changes his entire attire , he or she will be recognized by their boots”

Me : “And what if a really intelligent undercover policeman is not wearing his boots, then?”

The girl laughed ( I had introduced myself as a fashion photographer only) and said, “You don’t know these Indian police personnel. They don’t like to spend a penny from their wallet. Even if the person is not wearing his official shoe, the socks will give him away. Always the official brown!”

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That was quite educating to a civil servant like me- getting to know the outlaws level of intelligence.

Coming back to the polite lady police officer, when she walked away from my Lock Up, her foot wear gave her away. She was not from police. She was not aware that besides being a Master in Sociology from JNU, in my graduation I had a paper on criminology. She must have been a criminal psychologist from some intelligence wing, trying to assess my state of mind.

It was almost 10 am, and I was still in the Lock Up. But seeing so much security drill for my detention made me think , what makes me such a big threat and to whom? Why so many policemen and para military was required? Why so many agencies were part of this abuse of power operation?

Since, we don’t have many friends, thanks to our inter-religious marriage and utopian life style, not even a single cadre colleague came forward. So what was the threat in the very first place for a singled out person like me?

For the formal arrest, which police did ultimately at 7.15pm yesterday, I understand the process. My present controlling officer Mr. Rajendra Kumar would have been very happy to recommend and forward that to H.E. LG of Delhi. Though technically, to arrest me the approval of Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of India was required.

The “Authority”, who could have directed the police and the para military to abduct me and my wife from my house without even a warrant and ransack my house with a video camera on, could not be a “poor soul” from the “Government” of UT of New Delhi .

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I had my second paper as Public Administration in Civil Service exam, hence I was fully aware of the Centre-State relationshiop.

But what was the threat, for which the Police was taking so much precaution. Then ,I realized that because of sincere work in Delhi Waqf Board, also for the cause of “123 Delhi Waqf Properties”, all the Imams of Delhi hold me in high esteem , and my illegal abduction and illegal detention could have sparked the fury of the Muslim community of Delhi.

But what H.E. LG of Delhi had to fear? Of course he was appointed by the President of India.

When the BJP government came to power at centre, all the Governors of the other states appointed during the Congress regime were removed including Smt. Sheila Dixit who was appointed as the Governor of Kerala, but H.E. Najeeb Jung continued.

It could also be due to the good advice of his wise personal secretary Mr. Vishvendar.

But by suddenly removing me from the post of Chief Executive Officer , Delhi Waqf Board, H.E. LG of Delhi Mr. Najeeb Jung had sabotaged the 123 Waqf Properties in Delhi.

In the hierarchy of governance, we all are sometimes the puppet and at times the puppeteer. Despite my low IQ, I could visualize the puppeteer of this show of my utter humiliation.

At 10.15, my Lock Up was opened and I was allowed to walk around. Within minutes Sasmita came along with few friends and told me that they were made to wait outside since 8.00 am.

Of course! The freak show organized by the Lady Judge of clicking pictures of me behind the bar was not to be disturbed.

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Sasmita had brought my clothes and some breakfast. Though, I was not feeling hungry at all, I brushed and tried to swallow a bit of bread. She had the saddest face that I have seen in our 23 years of togetherness. She informed me that since yesterday, both electronic and print media was running the story that I had gone to the residence of Ms. Susheel Bala Dagar, on the first floor of the next block, with a gun and smashed all her window panes and threatened her to withdraw her complaint dated 18th September 2015.

I was speechless.

Out of the three organs of governance in India, me being a part of the executive, do not hold my own wing in much respect. Being on oath, I reserve my comments about the legislative wing. But Judiciary, is supposed to be independent and having sovereign function. Terrible that its lower level officers were filing absolute false FIR. This was the second time in the same colony that I was subjected to two absolutely false FIR by two lower judicial officers.

Since, now the Honorable Supreme Court of India has allowed even the defense to seek the lie detection test, I hope that when these two alleged FIR against me by two lower judicial officers go in trial, I may be allowed to ask these defenders of the Constitution to go for lie detection test.

About Media in India, everybody has seen their role in the Mumbai 26/11 event. So for TRP running a one side story without even talking to either me or Sasmita, is not something new. This was the third time, Media tried to tarnish my life.

First, when the Media enthusiastically reported about a sleazy evening organized in Tihar Prison by me for a notorious politician. After two years of probe, Justice Sarin of Delhi High Court ordered media to apologize for the fake report, but who cares?

Second time, when the Media “ branded” me to be a mom beater, without

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even bothering to know that Sasmita and I had sacrificed our lives after the death of my father for rearing my siblings. Why Media addressed me as a “Tax Officer”, when I was transfered few weeks back, can only be explained by the reporters.

And this was the third time when Media branded me to be an aggressor that too against a lady officer even without verifying the basic facts.

I never even went to the block where Ms. Susheel Bala Dagar is staying, forget about climbing stairs to her first floor residence. And on 18th of September 2015, it was Mr. Ajay Dagar (her brother, who is an illegal resident of her flat as per the PWD allotment rules) had filed the complaint about me pushing a Maruti Swift Car DL8 CL 6566 , which does not even belong to him; why then would I threaten Ms. Susheel Bala Dagar to withdraw a complaint which she never made.

Interestingly, the not so educated media personnel mentioned me to be an officer posted in the Transport Department. I have never been posted in the Transport Department in my career. It was Mr. Kuldeep Singh Gangar, who was posted in the Department of Transport at that time. By mentioning me as a Transport Officer, the media-men unintentionally disclosed where the “press conference” was held?

And thus was exposed the behind the scene ring master, Mr. Gangar.

But who cares, the freedom of speech results in harassment of individual and the media enjoys the privilege of tarnishing the lives of people who do not matter- like me.

Soon, my lawyer friends came and the police asked them to come to a particular court in Tees Hazari.

When I reached the Tees Hazari Court in Police custody, I was told that the regular Metropolitan Magistrate was on leave, so I would be produced before her link officer.

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I was taken to the court of Mr. Sachin Sangwan , who was the link officer. I was apprehensive that my lawyer may not know this development of change of the Metropolitan Magistrate. But to my surprise, many of my loyal staff from Tihar Prison were present in the court. My driver cum bodyguard, Kuldeep Atri was there with tears of rage.

I called him and asked, “These days where the alphabet “S”(first alphabet of my name) is being lodged?” He was taken aback and said, “Sir, there is no ground on which you can be sent to Judicial Custody. I smiled and repeated the question to which he said that it’s Jail No. 1. I was relieved, and asked him to pass the message that I am being sent there today. He was surprised, since neither the Magistrate was yet on his chair nor the hearing for the bail had started.

But yes, I knew.

Mr. Sachin Sangwan came to his chair and started with my file. Even before the battery of my lawyer friends could say anything, Mr. Sachin Sangwan said,

“Mujhe to yeh complaint bilkul sacha dikh raha hai”)(I see absolute truth in the complaint).

My lawyer presented the bail petition to him which, casually was passed to the clerk.

My lawyer said that all the allegations against me was bail able to which Mr. Sachin Sangwan replied that there is one more section that has been mentioned and that is 153 A of Indian Penal Code. Sitting behind with the police constable I smiled within.

My lawyers were shocked. They asked a copy of the FIR , which was provided to them after quite some time.

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After a break of almost half an hour, one of my lawyers argued,

“Me lord ! 153 A of IPC is a section which applies to communal violence and in such a scenario, the basic construct is to have two different ethnic groups having a clash. In the case of my client Mr. Shamim Akhtar, he does not even have a second Muslim member in his own family , his wife being a Hindu. So the 153 A is not made out at all”.

The honorable Magistrate smiled and passed the file to his clerk. My Lawyer asked whether I was being granted bail or not, so that he could approach the Session Judge.

Mr. Sachin Sangwan asked, “Who presented the bail petition to me?”

My lawyer was aghast and said that it was given to him at the start of the hearing, to which Mr. Sachin Sangwan denied.

My lawyer insisted and then the clerk, as if by dint of some fortune, found the “misplaced” petition but Mr. Sangwan said that he will hear the bail petition after lunch.

After lunch, Honorable Magistrate Mr. Sachin Sangwan rejected my bail petition within seconds and while rejecting it he also mentioned in his order:

“ ....the accused ( i.e. me) does not appear to have clean past...”

Even though the alleged FIR of Shri Gurudeep Singh Saini against me is pending in the High Court of Delhi, Mr. Sachin Sangwan passed his verdict against me.

He awarded me 14 days Judicial Custody.

Immediately, my lawyer made a submission citing the Supreme Court order that if the bail is rejected, interim bail should be considered.

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Mr. Sachin Sangwan said that he will hear the interim bail petition after 3 pm and I was escorted by Police to the Tees Hazari Lock Up.

Judiciary in India is like the Holy Cow , and no comments can me made against the judgment of any judicial officer, neither about his delay tactics.

So, I sat silently inside the Lock Up waiting.....

At about 6pm, my lawyer informed me that Mr. Sachin Sangwan rejected my interim bail also at 5 pm announcing blatantly in his open court that, “If you mess up with judiciary, this is what you get”.

My lawyer said that they rushed to the Session Court and told the honorable Session Judge about the remark of the Metropolitan Magistrate, but the court timing was over.

My lawyer told me with a grim face, that, I will have to spend the night in Tihar Jail.

So, much for the independent judiciary and their sovereign function; the puppeteer had put this show to send me to jail in order to satisfy his ego and settle scores by crushing me.

Yes he won!

At 7.00 pm , I boarded the bus.

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XIV. Not just another Friday, the10th September 2015, “awakening” in Prison

I woke up at my routine time. It was 9.00 am. Last night was really a long night. Though in deep sleep, I could feel the love, hatred, desire, despise, the warm hugs of my kids and the sweat of my brow. The morning seemed refreshing. It took some time to be back to my senses. I realized that I was sleeping in the cell of Tihar Prison.

Though the cell is opened at 7.30 am, I was not disturbed by anybody. Both the convicts, who were lodged with me, were not around, but a person came and greeted me,

“ Good morning Sir. You slept really well last night.”

I was still trying to assess my situation and vaguely asked him who he was.

“Sir, I am a Sub-Inspector of Delhi Police, and am serving life conviction along with ACP Rathi sir.”

I just nodded and then he asked what kind of tea I would like to have? To my surprise, the cell of ACP S. S. Rathi, which was allotted to me, was full of all kinds of tea. I thanked him and asked for a regular milk tea.

Mr. S.S. Rathi along with 9 other policemen were sentenced to life. Mr. S.S Rathi was on parole, but I saw all his other team members getting ready. When I asked them where they were going, one of them replied, “We are going for duty”.

Amused, I asked, what duty has been assigned to them by the Superintendent.

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I was told that two of them are working in Record Branch for weeding out old record. Two of them are “deployed” in the main store. One Inspector is assigned to “assist” the Dy. Superintendent and the rest are deployed for internal management.

So, all these “officers” were virtually running the prison. Yes why not, after all the Director General of the Tihar Prison is also an IPS officer and it’s his duty to “treat” these murderers well.

Soon, many of the convicts those who were serving their terms since my days as Superintendent, came to meet me and were extremely sad about my imprisonment.

One of them said, “Sir, aapko to pata hai , ki jail mein such saamne aa jata hai. Hum sab jante hain ki aap bilkul beqasoor hain. Aaj to aapki jamant ho jayegi , lekin sir bahar ja ke hamare insaaf ke liye bhi kuch karna”(Sir, one can’t hide truth in the jail. We all know you are innocent. You

will get bail today but please do something for us once you are out).

I was not even in a position to say or promise anything. Then a loyal prison staff of mine brought my breakfast from the canteen and while I was having my breakfast, he broke another sad news to me: that the people of my colony were conducting a signature campaign against us for eviction.

So, Mr. Gangar is still unmoved and adamant in evicting me in one way or the other. But at this point bothering for my newly furnished government accommodation was least of my concern.

I have not been a religious person in my life, despite being an absolute believer and highly spiritual. But of late, I had started going to mosque every Friday for prayers.I had realized that to pray for my ancestors, it is important for me to offer “Namaz”, in which they firmly believed.

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I might get bail today, it is Friday and I missed my prayer; I did not want to pray in the cell.

At about 2.00 pm, one prison constable came running to me and whispered that my bail has been granted by the Session Judge. He asked me to come to the “deodhi”. “I thanked the Lord. But it will take time to get the release warrant so, I would prefer to spend time in my ward and would like to get to know the prisoners.”

He added, “ Sir, we have deputed a special messenger in the court, and the moment the release warrant is signed , it will reach us in one hour. So, you can come at any time to the “deodhi”.

I got to know a lot of inside stories from the prisoners; many of which I was never aware even as a Superintendent.

At about 6.00 pm I was called to the “deodhi” by the Superintendent. I hardly had anything to pack, so I walked in the pajamas that I was wearing.

When I reached the “deodhi” , I asked the Dy. Superintendent whether my release warrant had come. He had a gloomy look and told that there’s still time. “Let’s wait”.

I was sitting in the chamber of the Dy. Superintendent and the convicted Delhi Police Inspector was sitting on the chair, that made me uncomfortable and I shifted to the Assistant Superintendent’s (UT), room.

At 7.00 pm I was told that though my bail was accepted and granted at 3.00 pm, the release warrant could not be signed by the Judge. Next day being Saturday and then Sunday, I would only be able to go home on Monday.

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This was not expected in this contemporary digital era. I have to spend three more nights in prison just because of the archaic procedure written by the British. I was highly disappointed and walked back to my ward.

Suddenly, I feel a sense of extreme despise towards our judicial system. When I reached my Ward No. 7 , I was surrounded by many prisoners and they told me that this is how the judicial system functions. What could have been the reason for not signing the Release Warrant despite granting me bail?

A young guy came and greeted me.

I asked : “ Are you in the same ward? I did not see you here till now”

He: “Sir, I have come to meet you. Almost all the prisoners hold you in high esteem and the Prison staff are all crying for you. It made me curious as to what kind of Superintendent you must have been.”

I laughed and said, “One meets the nicest people in the least expected place. So what have you done to be here?”

He : “ Sir, I am Vishal Yadav, and I have been convicted for 30 years imprisonment.”

I knew about the Nitish Katara murder case. But I was surprised at the 30 years term. I said that court must have awarded him “life imprisonment” and we all know the power of the Sentence Revision Board to give remission.

Mr. Yadav quoted me the judgment of the Supreme Court bench in his case, “ ...Only criminals are crying for justice. What kind of fairness victims can expect?” Vikas and Vishal were sentenced for life, with a stipulation that they undergo at least 30 years imprisonment without benefit of remission.

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I had no words to say and Mr. Yadav left me thinking , was this also because of the fact that the victim was the son of an IAS officer. Since Supreme Court of India is Almighty, so I believe that justice was delivered to the victim’s family.

But I could not stop thinking about ACP S.S. Rathi and his nine other Delhi Police team members convicted of killing two innocent civilians, businessmen Pradeep Goyal and Jagjeet Singh in a fake encounter at Connaught Place in 1997.

And I remember reading the judgment:

“Additional Sessions Judge Vinod Kumar, however, did not find the case to be in the “rarest of rare” category.”Despite all the aggravating circumstances of the present case, the offence does not fall in the category of an exceptionally depraved and heinous character and does not constitute, on account of its design and the manner of execution, a source of grave danger to the society at large,” Kumar said in his order.

Though the conviction of Mr. Rathi and his team was upheld by the honorable Supreme Court of India, as I witnessed myself the entire team is “respected” as serving Delhi Police officers and they will walk out of the prison in just one more year, after completing 14 years of sentence.

Tonight, as I enter my cell, I would like to know, “Why was I illegally detained by the Delhi Police along with my wife and whether these three nights further detention of mine is legal or illegal?

The answer is not simple, but I would definitely like to introspect and try to understand, what has gone wrong and since when and why.

Tonight is a sleepless night for me for sure!

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Introspection

Why it happened to me?

Is it because I am a Muslim? Or from vernacular medium? Or from a very humble family? Or is it because of my low caste OBC status? Or is it because I dared to marry a high caste Brahmin girl?

An answer to these simple questions, would result in tautological conclusion. As a student of Sociology, I would like to drink deep to understand the root cause of discrimination.

Egalitarian society is still a myth. “Utopia” never existed and neither did the “City of Sun” probably. Born in the middle class, with a desire to live an honest life with full utilization of my potential in life, the feature of Constitution that has always been very close to my heart is the fundamental Right to equality.

What does the fundamental Right to equality mean? Does it promise Utopia or represent the real world, where one can have a dignified life without being discriminated against on the basis of religion, caste, region, language or financial health.

Civil Services in Independent India is supposed to be the machinery that works towards achieving a more just nation for all citizens. We all understand the interplay of the three organs of the Government. The Legislature is supposed to frame the laws of the land. Judiciary is supposed to safeguard the Constitution and the fundamental rights of the citizens. The Executive is supposed to implement all the policies and also the welfare measures flowing out of the Directive Principles of the State Policy. The head of the Executive is the honorable President of India and the honorable Prime Minister of India, but the real engine is the Central Civil Services.

So, does Civil Services work for the implementation of the measures

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that finally would ensure the Right to equality for all? My first hand experience after reporting to Lakshadweep Administration conveyed me otherwise.

The recruitment process of Central Civil Services is such that almost 5,00,000 very serious scholars appear for the Preliminary test. Around 10,000 qualify the first stage. 2000 make it to the interview board and finally depending on vacancy 500 to 1000 make it to the list of 27 various services. These officers are supposed to work towards ensuring the Right to equality for all.

No, not all the animals are equal in the animal farm. I thought I belonged to a human club, till Mr. Rajiv Talwar started “reminding” me of my Group B status in the service. So, if the selected 500 odd officers are themselves not equal, to expect them either to believe in the Right to equality or work towards it would be believing in Utopia.

In order to understand the extent of my plight , I would like to know my real identity.

Who am I ?

Without much effort, I am an Indian for sure; my ancestors lived here for thousands of years and died here ; and yes I am proud to be an Indian.

Then comes the question, “What is India and why should I be proud of this land?” Sometimes, a little bit of romanticism is needed in life in order to enjoy the enigma called nature. Hence one should not dissect facts and reveal to a child, “moon is nothing, but a dead piece of rock” or Santa Claus is only a fantasy!

I believe that 150 million years back , when the Indian Plate disengaged from Gondwana and traveled northward to meet Laurasia, it was a divine phenomena.

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The great collision of the Indian Plate with the China Plate gave birth to Holy Kailasa and the great Himalayas. The oldest mountain range, Aravalli, and the newest mountain range Himalayas, lie here. India is surely a chosen land. Let’s try to understand the name India first.

This sub-continent was the first ever civilization- Sindhu Ghati Sabhyata. The land was called Aryavrat, then Bharat. Mongol invaders gave the name “Hindu” to river Sindhu.

During the Muslim Rule, this was called Hindustan. The British, to whom Hindustan was nothing but a colony, called the river Sindhu as Indus, and since then, our mother land is called India. When there are so many “movements” to rename our cities, why nobody is bothered to restore the name of our motherland as Bharat or more appropriately Hindustan? Anyways, you call rose by any name, I am proud to be a Bhartiya, Hindustani or Indian.

It is not just this geological phenomenon, that is the reason of my pride of being an Indian, but also the fact that , this is where God “revealed” himself to mankind- after almost 30,000 years of human civilization as hunters and gatherers. At holy Kailasa, Indians “discovered” the fifth element that controls all the other four known elements and hence the first religion of mankind Sanatan was born.

There was no other “religion” at that point of time in the world. Let’s try to understand the societal composition of the people in Indus Valley Civilization, who were the chosen ones to have received the first holy book, Rig Veda.

Most of them were shepherds, with livestock as their assets. After settling down in the Indus Valley, some of them started cultivation and became agrarian, while few retained their livestock and also indulged in cultivation.

In today’s terminology of caste system, those who retained just their

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livestock are Gujjars , while those who became agrarian are Jats, and those few who retained their livestock as well as did cultivation are Ahirs.

Till almost, 2000 years of initial Vedic period, there was no caste system in Sanatan Dharma. From where came the Brahmins is a question that is better left to the scholars of Indology.

But the Purush Suktam which gives legitimacy to the four varnas, i.e. Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, and Shudras is certainly a later interpolation in Rig Veda, in the later Vedic period.

Even today, Gujjars, Jats and Ahirs are not categorized in any of the four varnas, I wonder why?

Those who refused to obey the Varna Vyavastha were categorized as Panchamas (highly untouchable) and were considered outside the fold of Sanatan Dharma.

Since when, the people of Indus Valley were called Hindu ?

The civilization was established at the bank of river Sindhu which flows from the southern face of Holy Kailasa. The Mongol invaders who invaded the Indus Valley Civilization (Sindhu Ghati Sabhayata), could not pronounce Sindhu, they referred to Sindhu as Hindu.

Since then, everybody living in the Sindhu Ghati Sabhyata was called Hindu. Hence, I don’t need a genetic test to prove that my ancestors were Hindus both in terms of the name and religion. Of course, I can’t understand to which varna my ancestors belonged.

Much before, any of the trinity religion (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) was born, in the later Vedic period, Prince Siddhartha of Lumbini (Nepal) in his quest of truth, found his own answer and became Buddha.

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Buddhism is not any separate religion per se , but out of the ten elements of Sanatan Dharma, by finding one (Truth), it was more like a purified Sanatan Dharma minus the caste system.

After the interpolation of Pursuh Suktam, Sanatan Dharma became a closed religion as one could only be born into this religion. It hence failed to become the world religion, and remained confined to India.

But during the Asokan era, Buddhism spread to the world through peace messages and India was known to the world as a spiritual leader. But this path was a direct threat to the supremacy of the Brahmanical order.

Hence the first bloodbath in the name of religion happened here in India, led by Brahmins and Buddhism was “driven” away.

This is well documented by the Buddhist monks who migrated to Tibet, Sri Lanka and all other Asian countries including Japan.

People are now debating, whether India is a tolerant country or not. The answer lies in the past - Buddhist monks were killed and monasteries were burnt thus exemplifying the intolerance level of Brahmins.

Out of the three “founded” religions, Islam is the youngest, but the first to arrive in India through warriors, robbers and invaders in the initial years. However, after 1150 AD, they established their kingdom and ruled India till 1857.

Many “Hindus” (read Brahmins) describe that period as a dark age citing forceful conversion of Hindus into Islam. As a matter of fact, in 700 years of Muslim Rule in India (lovingly called Hindustan then), the percentage of Muslim population did not cross 20. The theory of forceful conversion is thus nullified.

Islam is an egalitarian religion, at least in theory and equality of all

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before Allah is the basic tenant. Hence, converting to Islam could have been a logical choice of the Panchamas and Shudras, the untouchables of Hindustan, who were denied even the basic human rights within the Hindu fold.

Though some higher caste Hindus including Brahmins converted to Islam for their own administrative convenience, but coercion by some fanatics like Aurangzeb is not ruled out.

In those 700 years Hindustan did not have the concept of majority or minority. The Brahmanical order became dormant, but the poisonous effect of the Brahmanical order became obvious in the prevailing caste system amongst Indian Muslims.

Islam does not distinguish its follower on the basis of birth, skin color or region. But in India, those who converted to Islam, carried their caste into their new religion.

Now, my second identity as a Muslim forces me to think about the so called higher caste Indian Muslims.

Firstly, Sayyed is a term reserved for the descendants of Prophet Mohammad (peace be upon him). Indian Muslims who refer to themselves as Sayyed need to know that none of the descendants of Prophet Mohammad came to India.

Then comes Sheikh; interestingly, Sheikhs are there in Arabian countries and they too did not rule India ever.

The most interesting Muslim caste is Pathan- those who write “Khan” as their surname. Pathan does not exist in Islam as there is no “P” alphabet in Arabic.

In fact, Pathans were the Mongol robbers who gave the name Sindhu to Hindu, and they accepted Islam much later.

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From where the so called higher caste Indian Muslims came is another story for another day.

Sayyeds are said to be equivalent to the Hindu Brahmins, Sheikhs draw their parallel with Bhumihar Brahmins, and Khans equate themselves with the Rajputs.

What is their actual position in the hierarchy in the Indian caste system will be explored later, but at this point of time, if so called higher caste Indian Muslims believe in the caste system, then how can they be true practitioners of the egalitarian religion, Islam?

The poisonous effect of the Brahmanical order is not just confined to Islam in India. The two sects of Sanatan Dharma i.e. Buddhism and Sikhism are also not spared. There is a parallel caste system among Indian Buddhists and Sikhs too.

With British, came Christianity in India. There are a lot of common tenants between Christianity and Islam- one of them being equality of all before the Almighty. Strangely, despite all the missionary efforts, the converted Indian Christians continue to retain their caste.

By 1700 AD, the East India Company from Britain was making its presence felt in the Indian -subcontinent and the Mughal Empire was on decline. The East India Company was supposed to trade in spice, cotton, silk and indigo. What and how they paid the Indian traders in their initial years, is not very clear.

When the Company rule was established in 1756 in India, how and why they got the support of hundreds of both Hindu and Muslim nobles is unimportant here; but it is a fact that the Company used to lure one Indian noble to fight against another to establish itself.

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1857 was the first war of independence wherein both Hindus and Muslims, under the leadership of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal Emperor, fought against the British.

Till that time the “two nation theory” was not even conceived; rather the unity of the Hindus and Muslims in India frightened the British so much that after 1858 they adopted the policy of “divide and rule”. The British wrath against Muslims was seeded and exemplified through the cold blooded killing of the sons of Bahadur Shah Zafar and then blinding him and sending him to Burma on exile.

Now, the British, took the inspiration from the Indian Brahmanical order and introduced the Imperial Civil Service (ICS).

A “service” not introduced in any other British colony. Then the British enacted several laws like Indian penal code, CRPC etc for crushing any further movement for freedom.

Just as a safety valve on 28th of December 1885 Allan Octavian Hume founded the Indian National Congress, with an idea of getting support from English speaking Indians and also to avoid any violent outrage against the “Raj” by revolutionaries.

Then Bengal was partitioned along communal lines in 1905.

Extending support to this act, the Nawab of Dhaka ( British had given 5 lakh loan to him and promised to waive it off, if he supported the partition), laid the concept of the “two nation theory”.

The demand for separate nations was definitely not the idea of any Hindustani.

When the British moved their capital to Delhi in 1911, the Indian freedom struggle already had two wings- one, comprising the elite lawyers (Indian National Congress) who believed in petitions and another group

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of patriots who took the aggressive path.

But still, the element of communalism based on religion was missing from the freedom struggle so far.

In the freedom struggle of India, the contribution of both the leaders from the Congress and the revolutionaries cannot be under estimated. People from all communities fought and sacrificed their lives to free India.

Till 1930s there was not even mention of the “two nation theory”.

If we read the Indian version of India’s freedom struggle , one can easily find that communalism based on the “two nation theory” found currency only around 1942.

At this point of time, a very important historical fact, needs special mention- the Atlantic Charter, 14th August 1941.

The Atlantic Charter was a joint declaration released by the U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt and the British Prime Minister Winston Churchill.

I wonder why there’s no mention of this in our history books while the history of USA mentions it in great detail.

When the Nazis were winning and Britain was in danger, the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill sought help from USA. It was evident that without the help of USA, winning the war by the Allies was almost impossible. U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, put down many conditions including the end of trade monopoly by Britain and also the end of Colonial Raj.

India was discussed at length. Churchill was adamant to defend the British Empire, but at the end of the conference, he had to agree to

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the terms of USA. So, technically, India got its freedom by virtue of the Atlantic Charter on 14th August 1941. What was the “relevance” of the freedom struggle led by Mahatma Gandhi after that?

Without having any prejudice or disrespect towards any of our national leaders, I am simply trying to understand the motive of the Quit India Movement and then its withdrawal. Was Mahatma Gandhi not aware about the Atlantic Charter?

That is most unlikely.

It will be in order to also understand the move of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose to form the Indian National Army (Azad Hind Fauz) with the help of the Japanese. Why Netaji was not acceptable to Mahatma Gandhi despite being elected twice as the Chairperson of AICC, is a question, I’ll leave to the Gandhians to answer.

The so called freedom movement led by Congress after the Atlantic Charter was irrelevant. The Azad Hind Fauz led by Netaji did not want freedom as an obligation under the Atlantic Charter and wanted to free India as one nation with power being transferred to the citizens of Free India.

Moirang, in Manipur, was declared the headquarter of Azad Hind Fauz, after they defeated the British Forces.

Colonel Shaukat Mallik of Indian National Army hoisted the tricolor Indian flag for the first time on Indian Soil on 14th April 1944. This proves beyond doubt that Netaji and his followers did not believe in the two nation theory.

On the other hand, the Congress leaders were more interested in transfer of power, since independence was certain after the war.

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There are two examples of this:

The first was the Constituent Assembly of India.

On 8 August 1940, a statement was made by Viceroy Lord Linlithgow about the expansion of the Governor General’s Executive Council and the establishment of a War Advisory Council. This offer, known as the August Offer, included giving full weight to minority opinions and allowing Indians to draft their own constitution.

The elections for the 296 seats assigned to the British Indian provinces were completed by August 1946. Congress won 208 seats, and the Muslim League 73. After this election, the Muslim League refused to cooperate with the Congress, and the political situation deteriorated. Hindu-Muslim riots began, and the Muslim League demanded a separate constituent assembly for Muslims in India.

How Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru became the choice of Mahatma Gandhi and what letter was written by Motilal Nehru to Gandhi can be explained better by the historians.

But the fact is Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru’s ambition to become the first prime minister of Independent India clashed with the ambition of Jinnah and hence the most unfortunate development happened. India got divided and that resulted in loss of millions of lives of Hindustanis, probably many more than the martyrs during the entire freedom struggle.

From 1942 to 1947, the question was, who should “inherit” the power?

Indian Muslim League led by Jinnah wanted power to the Muslims as it was taken from the last Mughal emperor in 1857, but Muslim League was not the voice of all the Indian Muslims.

Muslim League was visibly recognized and it acted as “the representative

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of Muslims”, but a majority of Muslims were with the INC. Stalwarts like Maulana Abdul Kalam Azad, Khan Abdul Gafar Khan, the Ulemas of Deoband and Barelvi School all supported the Nationalism propagated by INC.

Again most of the Hindu leaders were members of the INC; RSS had always emphasized on the concept of Akhand Bharat hence, partition was not acceptable to them either but they surely wanted the power to be transferred to the Hindus.

Somewhere, the “secular” Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru wanted “freedom” from the last nine hundred years of “foreign rule”.

The Muslim rule of 700 years was far more painful to the Brahmins and hence very deceitfully the power of divided India again went into the hands of Brahmins, who probably wanted to revive the “Golden era” of ancient India before Asoka.

So much for the freedom struggle.

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After 14th August 1947, the Indian Muslims have been blamed for the partition and the hatred towards them increased with the passage of time.

The Sikhs and Hindus , who migrated from Pakistan to India as refugees narrated horrifying stories about the brutality of Muslims and that added towards the hatred against Muslims.

Very conveniently it is forgotten that Muslims also got killed brutally during the transition. Moreover, the people of India forgot that more Muslims stayed back in India than those who went to Pakistan.

Even today the number of Muslims in India is more than the population of Pakistan and Bangladesh put together.

Finally the Constitution of Divided India was adopted and India became a republic on 26th of January 1950. There are certain facts about the Constitution of India, that every Indian should know.

Firstly, the constituent assembly as per the “August Offer” was not a sovereign body, neither were the members free citizens.

When it was “approved” by the Parliament, none of the Member of Parliament (MP) were elected.

So, the Constitution of India is not the “will of the Indian people” just like the partition of India was never the choice of the people.

The content of the Constitution of India is extremely colonial. It not only retained all the laws and rules written by the British for the drain of wealth and suppression of Indians, but also provided the so called Civil Services, a constitutional status.

At that time, there was no demand from minority for any special provision, but the downtrodden communities were given reservation.

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Reservation is nothing but a mirage.

Even today less than one percent population serve in Government; reservation did not necessarily lead to the upliftment of the lower castes, rather it has driven 99 percent Indian population into caste wars. Yes! The reserve category of mine seems to be a “valid” reason for the hatred towards me.

Forgetting my financial or social condition, apparently the reservation flowing out of the Directive Principles of the State Policy is a negation of the Right to equality.

But the conveniently forgotten fact of history is that at the time of Independence, the downtrodden communities wanted equal representation through separate electorate and not reservation.

Why reservation, and what has been the outcome for the people who avail it and in the larger context of the nation being divided on caste lines is a thing to be introspected later at a more mature stage.

But, the hatred being less towards other reserved category officers and more towards me, made me think, if there is any fundamental Right to freedom of religion in India?

There are Buddhist Dalits, Dalit Sikhs, Dalit Christians, and though there is discrimination against them as well, the discrimination against a Muslim either in reserve or general category is extreme.

The castes that fall under “scheduled castes” under Buddhism, Sikhism or even Christianity, in Muslim they come under OBC.

There are no Dalit Muslims in India.

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Read on , to know that in the garb of communalism it’s casteism in India that rules.

Buddhist, Sikh, Jain , Jews, Parsi, Christian or Muslim might like to think that they are practicing their religion. But in fact, anyone outside the Hindu fold is just a “caste” that is below the Shudras.

Not many, but there still remain many such hardy souls who can never come out of their cage; it’s difficult for them to accept someone purported to be born out of the feet of Brahma even if he returns after drinking from the holy Manasarovar (a lake created by the mind of Brahma). like me and my wife.

To such hardy souls, Right to equality is a foreign element.

With the Civil Service in Independent India emerged two very disturbing groups- the

“Reserve and General Category”

and the

“Neo Panchamas”.

Reservation in government jobs revived the age old caste system, which was losing its legitimacy in the Mughal period and also during the Rule of Law of British.

Reservation definitely helped many but in the long run it has contributed in nothing but dividingthe people of India on caste lines.

Moreover, those who avail reservation always remain, and are treated as second class members of the power elite club.

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Neo Panchamas

Panchamas were originally those who were supposed to be outside the four fold division of the caste system and were considered untouchables. Practice of untouchability in India can be said to be the worst kind of discrimination that humans have seen on the globe. Even Apartheid can be resolved by law, but not untouchability.

Nowhere in the history of mankind there has been an example of people being forced to wear a bell in their neck (as a warning of their arrival) and a pot hanging so that they only spit in that (so as not to defile the path) and a broom fixed at the back like a tail for cleaning the path that they walked. Not even the system of slavery had been so inhuman.

Fortunately, due to the efforts of several enlightened souls in India and through various Hindu reforms, the fifth category of Panchamas were deleted from the caste system

Now in Independent India, this has come back in a new form. Read the definition of Hindu as spelt out in the Hindu Marriage Act 1955, even Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists are officially Hindus.

The hierarchy of the Neo Panchamas can be said to be as follows:

Jain,Sikh,

Buddhist,

Jew,Christian,

andMuslim.

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Most of us are socialized to live and die in false consciousness; the so called higher caste Muslims think that they are parallel to their Sanatan counterpart;

whereas actually due to the division of India, Indian Muslims are at the rock bottom in the caste hierarchy.

Some day, I will try to drink deeper to understand what ails our nation, but at the moment, my aching heart asks a very simple question-

Had the Nation not been divided, the Constitution written by British agents was not imposed upon us, and the Civil Services would not have continued in Independent India, could anyone have been able to make me feel so untouchable?

I don’t think so!

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“When someone throwsa lemon at you,

make lemonade out of it.”