Lost in transition

Maja Daruwala, Hindustan Times, 01 April 2005

As part of my community work, I went hunting for information about development schemes for the poor: for women, for education, old-age pensions and the like. All those things that the government gives on paper; but are seldom seen on ground. I arrived at the district development officer's office at the time that government offices begin to function, but when others are already four hours into their day. Earlier visits had always found 'sahib' out on work.

He was in this time, I felt my luck was in. Boldly, I asked how to apply for the rural development schemes. The officer's affability dropped to chill levels. Why did I want this, he asked. I explained I needed to tell the villagers about it. Outsiders needn't interfere, he said. This was government territory. I immediately agreed that his every word was gospel. His eyes narrowed. He asked my qualifications, family background, 'native place'. Aha! He said, "A social worker with five star ideas of rural uplift." Apply, in writing, he said, with details about why I needed this information.

"But why," I said, "The citizen's charter required you to put all this information up on a board, in all the field offices." The officer was unnerved, but recovered quickly. "Sorry madam, I will give. After you apply, in writing." With a familiar mix of frustration and anger; I prepared to leave. Just then, a little man shuffled in, dhoti and kurta crumpled, the picture of humble pie. He was about to sit but a glare from On High quelled any such show of citizen equality. Instead, he bowed before sarkar and asked, cap in hand, if he could have a copy of "some development schemes that our sarkar had so kindly given".

"Which one?" asked the officer. I was heartened. The Chair may have been harsh with me, but here he was, beign solicitous of the 'common man'.

"Any that you have sir," said the man, his eyes brightening at the hope of such an easy passage. His Honour nodded and said magnanimously, " It's all up on the web, dada. You get it from there. So many schemes, I can't keep them all. Web is best." The little man looked mystified, "Sir, I don't know any web." "Ask the computer shopwala to find them for you." The officer's tone was sharp, with the right mixture of authority and justified impatience. Had he not told this little person where to get them and done his duty? Now he was allowed to indicate that Authority was not about to waste public time repeating itself.

I lingered. "When I asked for the information you insisted I put everything in writing. Why did you not tell me that everything in writing. Why did you not tell me that everything was on the web?"

"Why should I entertain you? I know him. The government can't be giving information to all and sundry. You think that man is a good man? No, they are all wicked. He will sell the information. Why should I help them make money?" Mystified, I said foolishly, "But the schemes are for the people." "Yes," he said, "so let them find it!" And with that impeccable logic, the Government waved me out. This lowly cog in the great government wheel had handled a 'potentially dangerous' situation of providing public information in a way that could make Kautilya proud. He had denied no one information. He never said it was not available. He was master of his domain. And the development schemes were still in his drawer, unread and unavailed.