Walk the talk

Maninder Singh

Rabindranath Tagore once wrote a piece about the bathing habits of townsfolk in an old tank in the imperial capital of Calcutta. The experiences narrated in the write-up were dug out from the memories of his impressionable childhood years.

Portraying vignettes from another time and age, the author scribbled about how some jumped into the water-body without much ado and some sat meditatively on the banks before embarking into a slow slide-down. Some oiled and scrubbed themselves, while the children treated the whole affair as a rumbustious game.

While thinking about writing this week’s column about the walking habits of officers and significant others, I was reminded about the great author’s writing and wondered whether the whole idea stemmed from his mellifluous sketch, painted in words with such consummate ease.

Lodhi Garden, on the edge of Lutyen’s Delhi, and Nehru Park, in the diplomatic enclave, witness the perambulations of officers, who live in the close-by white-painted government houses. Their comings and goings, at dawn and dusk, point towards the work-load in their offices. Secretaries and senior officers can generally be sighted only on government-notified holidays. Much office gossip is exchanged and seniors come in for strong criticism, usually for their insensitive behavior towards younger colleagues.

There are officers who walk fervently with their spouses and are unsmiling and un-talkative, glancing enviously at the merry groups disporting themselves in noisy converse. Then there are those, enveloped in passing fair company, who are garrulous and full of verve. The very senior are sometimes lone rangers, walking by somberly, with heavy tread and an air of importance, eliciting many acknowledgements of recognition.These passing greetings are returned with a bored nod, mingled with a smile at likable members of the tribe. Among those strolling in noisy groups, the passage of every officer or couple may elicit an un-sacred commentary, once they are out of earshot. 

The Sukhna Lake at Chandigarh is a popular meeting point for the combined bureaucracies of the UT cadre and the surrounding states of Punjab and Haryana. It is a heavenly promenade, with its stone embankment, broad stretch of water, the swelling canopies of the evergreens, and the cascading views of the Shivalik foothills rising towards the Middle Himalayas.

Here, as elsewhere, the pecking order is clearly established. A senior will not deign to look towards a junior, who he may have espied from a distance, and will wait to be greeted before extending the favour of a response. 

General JFR Jacob, in his days as Governor of Punjab, was an avid rambler at the lake and would stop by to amiably chat with passersby. An officer of the Punjab Police, who comes for a walk in the evenings, is accompanied by the largest posse of police that you ever saw. His coming and going is breathtakingly noticeable. 

In contrast, the DGP Chandigarh, in the midst of his territorial jurisdiction, walks by like anyone else, without a single PSO to enliven the proceedings. He is seen smiling, locked in deep conversation, with his doting wife. And so the officers walk on, in stolen moments that many consider the best part of their day, “full of sound and fury”, signifying much that is good and virtuous in their lives.