Promises to keep

The administration at hill stations and resorts face a common problem - that of satisfying the never ending stream of VIPs. MARI MARCEL THEKAEKARA uses the annual flower show at Ooty as a base from which to examine the issue.

This is a fairy tale. The characters are entirely fictitious. But the drama takes place every year in Shimla, Ooty, Kodai, Musoorie, Srinagar and other resorts. It was told to me many years ago by a frustrated Collector. Recently, a Director of the Krishnamurthi Foundation said that the same things happens at Tirupati.

The hapless district Collector has to take care of the needs of a never ending stream of VIPs who visit the temple. After a long time, the Nilgiris now has a Collector, a committed, decent, young woman - who is praised by everyone. Will she be able to focus on the myriad tasks that urgently need attending to? Or will she have to take care of freeloading VIPs and their whims and fancies?

Tehelka has upset the nation. But corruption happens every day in temple towns and hill resorts and compels beleaguered bureaucrats to ask favours from business people. Obviously nothing comes free, so when the dispensers of free petrol, joyrides and food call in their favours, a rot, which cannot be stemmed, creeps in. How can we stop this? Which Chief Minister will have the guts, or the will, to reign in his cronies and begin a fight against corruption?

THE story begins here. The Chief Minister called for a council of his most trusted lieutenants. "The Nilgiris is the focus of attention. Every environmentalist harps on the ecological degradation there. People complain about lack of water. The district is ranked one of the most backward in the State. Even Ooty, our pride and joy, Queen of all hill stations, is condemned as being filthy, overcrowded and a trap for tourists." He paused and looked at his Ministers dramatically. "I am sending, as an emergency measure, one of our best IAS officers to clean up the district." The Chief Minister named his man. There was silence. When the Chief Minister called an officer brilliant, no one dared contradict him.

Now Ooty was a coveted post, the cynosure of all eyes. The Collector of the district lived like a lord. Everybody who was somebody in politics or in the government turned up in Ooty for a breath of fresh air at the height of Delhi's scorching summer. So the Collector enjoyed not merely the ear of the king during the season, but that of the entire court.

The new Collector was delighted. He was dynamic and courageous. And he had visions of carrying out the Chief Minister's orders. He wanted to solve communal tensions, give land to the landless, clean up the environment and restore Ooty to its former glory. He enjoyed a reputation of being upright and incorruptible. And he was determined to clean up the mess.

The scenery from the plains to Ooty is one of breathtaking grandeur. As the car climbed up the ghats, the air grew cooler. The hillsides were verdant green, the skies azure blue. Birds chirped and delicate mountain daisies dotted the hillsides. Occasionally, a waterfall cascaded lightly down a mountain. The Collector stopped the car and got out. He paused and breathed deeply of the mountain air. His spirits soared. He wished to linger, then smiled as the long-forgotten lines from Robert Frost came to his mind unbidden, "the woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep". The words had never ever seemed more appropriate. He climbed into the car and moved on to his new domain.

Within a few days of his arrival, things started to happen. He went through files at a manic pace. Moreover, he had the disconcerting habit of getting to the root of every problem and demanding action. He insisted on follow-up. And he had a computer-like brain which never forgot a detail. The people loved him. But the old ones shook their heads. "There've been a few like him before," they cautioned. "They're the good ones. But they never last. Whenever a man tries to check corruption, they transfer him."

Mindless of all this, the Collector continued. He sanctioned loans, met people, discovered the problems of the poor, told the people their rights, insisted that his officers did their jobs.

Then it was April. The mists swirled away and flowers began to bloom. Hotels and restaurants took on a new coat of paint. Everyone in the sleepy little hill station began to bustle, gearing up for that span of time which sustained them economically through the rest of the year - the Ooty season.

Malis, who had toiled through the year carefully tending their patches of garden, now put on the finishing touches and waited with bated breath. This was the crucial time. For the flowers were ordered to bloom on May 20. Not before, not later. The countdown had started and, on D-Day, a million flowers would blossom. For that very special occasion - The Flower Show.

On this day people from all over the country would rush to Ooty to exclaim in wonder at the dazzling display of millions of blossoms of every conceivable shade and colour. The Flower Show epitomised the splendour of the season. It was held at the peak of the season. Everything centred on it. On it, depended the entire season. The show had to be a success.

The Collector had looked forward to the season. He now discovered that there was another side to it - seamier, sordid and filled with corruption. For his staff, this was their trump card. Every clerk and petty official loved the pomp and ceremony. It gave them the opportunity to casually tell their neighbours, "I am busy arranging the Governor's dinner" or "The Speaker's wife is such a charming lady." But the season also left the administration with myriad problems that were not quite official.

Any department the Collector tackled, the answer was the same. "Sir, we cannot do anything till the season is over." He saw the reality of their problems. For them, this was a time of nightmares.

When a Minister came to Ooty along came his wife, friends and a retinue of relatives and wellwishers. Ensuring that all of them had a good holiday was the sole business of the department.

This was more complicated than it seemed. The Minister's visit was official. But the holiday part was not. So the two extra cars for the holiday had to be inveigled from somebody, however reluctant. The best person to catch was a timber contractor who would gladly oblige. He sent two cars, tanks filled with petrol. But it needed several tanks of petrol to take the family to all the sights around Ooty - the wildlife sanctuary 90 kms away, Tiger Hill, Botanical Gardens, Coonoor, Kotagiri and the lake. The department had to find an obliging petrol station to fill the tanks free.

The official rations were enough only for the official party, so the department had to contact a number of wholesalers to get supplies of rice, wheat, pulses and vegetables. No meal was complete without chicken or mutton, so these had to be found. There are many business people who would gladly foot the bills for a Minister's family. The reckoning would come later. The women gave lists of things they wanted. Woollen shawls (Ooty is cold compared to the plains), spices (pepper, cloves and cardamom), eucalyptus oil, tea (from the best estates) - none of them paid for. The hapless official who took the lists looked horrified but he had grown used to them. It was customary to oblige the Minister's family. The traditions of years could not be questioned, much less broken.

And so it continued. Every department had its Minister. And every retinue had to be obliged. And not just Ministers, mind you. Secretaries and Under Secretaries, lesser officials. But people from the capital had power and influence. On them depended promotions and transfers. There was no question - they had to be obliged.

The Collector was appalled, disgusted and frustrated. A senior friend in Government calmed him down. "No use tilting at windmills. You cannot change everything overnight. If you stop this now and penalise your officials, each one will complain to his Minister. The VIP families who are used to their holiday loot will also complain. Every Minister and Government official will take a complaint to the Chief Minister. They won't say you spoilt their holiday for them. There will be other complaints - contrived and cooked up. It has happened before. The Chief Minister cannot protect you even if he realises what is happening. Once the Flower Show is over, they will go back to the capital. It will be the end of the season. But, for heavens sake, wait for the Flower Show." The Collector forced himself to calm down. He saw sense in his old friend's words. He was determined to achieve his objectives. To help the poor, clean up the district. But it made sense to wait. So wait he would, till the season ended, till the Flower Show was over.

P. S. All of us proclaim our disgust at the sordid state of affairs in the country. Can students, citizens, youth groups, TV channels, newspapers and magazines take up the gauntlet - cover corruption stories, highlight and support decent officials to prevent them being transferred? There is a nexus between corrupt politicians, bureaucrats and businessmen. Can we create a nexus of decent politicians, bureaucrats, the media and civil society? Can we clean up this country?

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