'Man, how the Government of India run!'

BOOK EXTRACT

In this tale, one in a new collection of old Khushwant Singh stories, the author shows just how much life and drama and, indeed, hard work go on inside a government office. Sarkari stenographer Sunder Singh has just helped his side win a lunchtime volleyball match against the dreaded Home Ministry.

Ghosh Babu and Sambamurthy were already in their places. They greeted him with enthusiasm and showered praises on his great performance. They told him how the telephone hadn't stopped ringing since they came back, all asking for Sunder Singh and wanting to congratulate him.

Sunder Singh was too modest a man to ring up himself so his friends informed the office of his return. Within a few minutes their room was full of other clerks and stenographers, all patting him on the back and shaking him by the hand. By the time they left, it was 4 p.m. Sunder Singh felt a little uneasy.

"Did the Sahib or anyone send for me or look in here?"

"No, no it is all right, He is at another meeting. The chaprasi found another stenographer to take down the minutes."

Sunder Singh felt much better.

"We must offer you tea for what you have done," said Ghosh and Sambamurthy...

It was conventional to discuss postings, transfers, promotions and office intrigue with the evening tea. But Sunder Singh's mind was too full of his afternoon's sporting achievement to bother about trifling matters like the adverse report given to him by his last boss or the dog-in-the-manger attitude of the present one who, despite his acid remarks, had written "cannot be spared" when Sunder Singh applied for a transfer to a job with better prospects.

Success dissolves envy and breeds charity towards everyone, This afternoon's performance has been a crowning success which made Sunder Singh look kindly on his superiors. And then there were his colleagues' philosophical views on the tortuous path of success.

"Mr Singh," said Sambamurthy, sipping his coffee, "As I have said before, the secret of success in government service is very simple. You only have to get on with the man just above you and forget everyone else. It has nothing to do with work or ability or anything like that.

Say "Yes, Sir, Yes, Sir" to everything he says; call at his house on festivals with garlands or sweets for his family; play with his children, if he has any, or flirt madly with his wife if he hasn't; do little jobs for his household like getting the electrician or carpenter when required "" and you will get A+ for everything. Then nobody can touch you. Promotion after promotion. You may even become an Under Secretary." An Under Secretary was the height of a stenographer's ambition.

"That, Mr Madrasi, I can never do," said Sunder Singh proudly "" forgetting that he had done all these with the knowledge and advice of his two colleagues. "Never," he repeated, smacking his chest with the open of his palm. "You can ask me to do as much work as you like "" day and night "" but bootlicking, never! What you say, Ghosh Babu?"

Ghosh Babu agreed that the three of them could never debase themselves as others did to get on. If merit and hard work were the only criteria, they were willing to compete with anyone in the world,. On this note of agreement, they shook hands and departed.

It was 5 p.m. "" time for the office to close.

Sunder Singh was amongst the thousands of cyclists who wound their way along the broad roads running from the secretariat buildings to the distant townships where only clerks with their large families and measly wages could afford to live.

They all looked tired after a hard day's work and Sunder Singh felt more tired than the others. He usually stopped en route to buy fruit or vegetables from hawkers who lined his route homewards "" some on pavements "" some with their wares strapped on the carriers of their bicycles. This evening he just pushed on listlessly till he got home.

The welcome at home had a regular pattern. His five-year-old son came rushing out to greet him and get a short ride on his father's bicycle. This evening Sunder Singh brushed him off a little irritated, and without a word of greeting to his wife, he stretched himself on the charpoy in the centre of their little courtyard.

His three-year-old daughter clambered up and wanted to jump on his belly as she did every evening, but Sunder Singh put her down and asked her to go away. The children slunk away a little frightened and went to their mother in the kitchen.

"Are you tired?" asked his wife at last. "Did you have too much work to do today?"

"There is too much to do every day. Woman, how you think the Government of India run if we did no work?"

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Collected Stories

Author: Khushwant Singh
Publisher: Ravi Dayal/ Penguin Viking
Pages: 462
Price: Rs 495