It Happened One Morning

To get in, you need a pass. But there was no one at the reception counter. There were two chairs and two name boards, both proclaiming Senior Reception Officer, Ministry of Home. As these gentlemen were officers they had no business to be in office at 9 a.m. So I went and asked the guard what I was supposed to do. He condescended to look up, but that was all. Only two categories of people frequent ministries and government offices. Rightful inmates wear chains with identity cards dangling around their necks. If you dont have a collar and a leash, you are definitely a supplicant. Supplicants must not be encouraged, the government has eno-ugh to do without wasting its time on such people. The guard asked me to wait. I told him that there was no one at the reception counter. But he ignored me and went back to his newspaper. Beyond the guard, there was a lift. Right in front of the lift there were two gentlemen seated on chairs, conversing and smoking bidis. A no

smoking sign was displayed prominently above their heads. But that obviously applied to cigarettes, not bidis. These gentlemen ought to know. This was, after all, the ministry of law. The guard didnt object when I went up to the gentlemen to ask them about the reception counter. He knew I would be completely ignored. When Sitaram Kesris fate was being discussed and decided, where was the time for the ordinary citizen?

I returned and stood next to the beggar woman. That was my rightful place, even though I kept mulling over the fact that any employee of mine who behaved in this fashion would have been sacked on the spot. After all, I paid my employees salaries. But wasnt I contributing towards the salaries of these guys as well? While I waited, there were signs of activity. About 10 people descended down the stairs and hung around. These were the peons, ready to perform one of the two tasks they perform in the course of the day. The gentlemen near the lift vacated their seats, having decided that Kesri was going to win. The beggar woman disappeared.

A steady stream of white Ambassador cars was flowing in and disgorging myriad officers. Each officer had a briefcase and a fancy lunch box. The sizes and colours varied. I didnt know enough about the government hierarchy to be able to distinguish a joint secretary from an additional secretary by the colour and size of his briefcase. Like homing pigeons, each peon headed for his officer and took the briefcase and lunch box from the driver. In the evening, the process is reversed and peons performs their second task of the day. The guard had discarded his newspaper. But he didnt stand up for everyone. There were some he stood up for. There were others he stood up for and saluted. For one particular gentleman, he dashed ahead and pressed the button of the lift. I presume all this was in accordance with seniority and hierarchy.

It was 9.30. Still no one at the reception counter. I had been joined by a TV cameraman, he was to shoot an interview with a minister. (There is more than one minister in that building.) I suggested that the average viewer would be more interested in the activities around us than in a minister. But the cameraman had no sense of humour. He was from Doordarshan. Yet another character joined us. He took one look at the deserted reception counter and headed for the stairs without a pass. The guard didnt object. This wasnt an economic ministry, nothing significant happened here. Perhaps we should have done the same. But we were stupid.

It was 9.40 and I was getting late for my appointment. Then I had a brilliant idea and cursed myself for not having thought of it earlier. Why didnt I simply ring the person I was supposed to meet and explain my predicament? There was a pay-phone right behind the guard. But I didnt have a one rupee coin. So I had to cross the road to a cigarette stall and unnecessarily buy a box of matches to get a coin. That didnt help. I hadnt bothered to check whether the pay-phone was working or not. It wasnt. I toyed with the idea of using the phones at the deserted reception counter, but decided against it. So I crossed the road again and found an attended phone booth. Now I finally got through and my friend said that he would send down his peon to escort me up. Still without a pass and 15 minutes late for my appointment, I sauntered past the guard in the company of the peon. Even though there was a peon with me, I didnt have a briefcase. I didnt have a lunch box. I didnt have an identity card around my neck.

The guard didnt stand up or salute me. He completely ignored my existence. I suspect he would have done the same had I simply walked past him at 9.15.