Vikram Johri: The four types

The most common choice a public servant faces is between being honest but inefficient and being corrupt but ensuring that the organisation does well

Not until R K Raghavan, a former director of the Central Bureau of Investigation, raised doubts about the current chief, Ranjit Sinha, meeting the accused in the 2G telecom licence scam at his home had we heard anything substantial on Mr Sinha's actions. Maybe in the climate of suspicion that has prevailed in the country over the last few years, with one scam after another tumbling out of the government's closet, we have collectively raised the bar for what qualifies as corruption - an investigator meeting an accused in private capacity is simply not enough to torment our collective conscience. The corrupt must do something truly eye-popping for them to be labelled offenders in the public eye.

During the time my father ran a pottery factory in Gwalior back in the 1980s and 1990s, he had to report to the chairman of the Madhya Pradesh State Industrial Development Corporation (MPSIDC). These were Indian Administrative Service officers who oversaw the running of all state-owned companies, including Gwalior Potteries. Since my father was Potteries' general manager, he routinely had offers from coal contractors to make some money on the side. Having grown up under a disciplinarian police inspector for a father, my father was too upright an officer to accept any favours. One well-meaning contractor once told him: "Sir, behti Ganga mein haath nahi dhoenge to ek din pachhtaenge."("If you don't wash your hands in the flowing Ganga, you will one day regret it.")

Once, when I was still a boy, a new chairman took over MPSIDC. Since my father's reputation for uprightness was well-known, the new chairman made life difficult for him. My father was given the additional charge of two plants in Gwalior - a leather factory and a shoe factory - and was made to tour the state for no less than 20 days every month.

When my mother asked him why he did not complain, I remember my father saying: "There are four categories of public servants. The first are those who are both honest and efficient. They are the best, but of course, also very rare. The opposite, being both dishonest and inefficient, is the worst. The most common choice one faces is between the remaining two types. The first are those who are honest but inefficient. They continue in their jobs because no one can touch them, but they bring little repute to their organisations. Then there are those who make money under the table but also ensure that the organisation does well. The new chairman belongs to this category. MPSIDC will prosper under him and I need all the funds I can get for the factory. So I am playing along."

As I have become more immersed in questions of polity, I have found myself agreeing with my father's broader point. Manmohan Singh tragically fits the stereotype of the principled public official whose inability to live up to his position left India in the lurch and let opportunities for growth come asunder under the garb of money-wasting schemes. On the other hand, look at Jayalalithaa. Her name has often figured in disproportionate assets cases, but no one in Tamil Nadu will disagree with the salutary effect her Amma schemes have had on the poor.

Be that as it may, Katiyabaaz, the recently released documentary on Kanpur's power crisis, studiously breaks down my father's formulation of corruption. Maybe his idea works at the macro-level of prime ministers and district collectors, but if you are trying to get your factory or department to work, it can be impossible to be both efficient and corrupt, since you are part of the same system you are trying to change. In the film, the well-meaning Kanpur Electricity Supply Company chairman, Ritu Maheshwari, tries reforming a system whose rottenness is so tragically robust that she can either join in or be thrown out - which she ultimately is.

As for my father's stint at Gwalior Potteries, his enthusiasm for the chairman was misplaced. My father continued to devote long hours to an organisation that did not ultimately reward his efforts. MPSIDC chairmen came and went, but little on the ground changed. Ultimately the pottery factory, along with the leather and shoe factories, was shut down. MPSIDC was supposedly "revamped", and the government of the day thought it fit to close factories that were out of touch with the modern world. Pottery, apparently, is not modern enough. What was globally reputed for its workers' craftsmanship and enjoyed orders from agencies affiliated to the United Nations is today a hulking ruin.