Shakespeare in his famous ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy writes further-
For who would bear the whips and
scorns…bla…bla…bla,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s
Contumely,
The insolence of office,
I have reasons to believe that adding a couple of more words like ineffectuality and indifference with the already exiting insolence would have further facilitated a contemporary reader like me, in finding a deep resonance with the predicament of the Danish Prince.
Settled in a small hill town I am a senior citizen of the state the CM of which is often referred to as dhaakad (gritty?) by the mascots of the upsurging muscular nationalism. I think, with a lot of things done and undone to his credit, he fully justifies this moniker.
To a typical mountain dweller, who may be referred to as Nandaballabh- in consonance with the sobriquet John Bull for a British countryman- the routine administration under the tutelage of any gritty CM may appear insolent, however, for a helpless aging person receding to the background, it at times becomes indifferent and ineffectual too. The onus of this exasperation has much to do, I understand, with my being an old-timer than with the things as they are. Sharing herewith one of my recent experiences with the belief that it will help in reinforcing my point in a rather assertive manner.
My house is at a mountain col and a four hundred meters long concrete pathway, developed and ostensibly maintained by local civic body connects it to the main road. In pursuance of the established practice in small hill towns like that of mine, the governance at the given level, supposedly charged with a sense of service to the masses, is often dominated by petty contractors and the local leaders in the offing. As is natural to happen with the public assets crafted so meticulously by the civic bodies to add on to the ever-increasing list of developmental work, this pathway has for long been in shambles. Of late frequent movement of earthmovers and overloaded pick-, carrying construction material to a handful of sites belonging to the new settlers along the pathway, has devastated whatever was left in the name of the road. This region of course is prone to disasters, which quite ironically is dubbed as “natural’ invariably. The scars of the severe flash-floods in Oct 2020; consequent upon the impetuous bulldozing of the mountain overlooking the col haven’t yet healed. Speaking of the environmental fallouts of the recent misadventure here, however, is moronic. Such discussions should better be left for a befitting destination like a five- or seven-star hotel in the capital city; sitting wherein around a plush conference table mounted with Bisleri bottles, the Honourables often appear to have been listening to some University professors or Directors of Institutes armed with a laser presenting pointer aiming towards a smart white board.
Incidentally, the use of earthmovers in any private property necessitates permission from a competent authority like a sub divisional magistrate or an empowered committee from the local civic body. It is rather mandatory and such a permission is supposed to be given following an EIA. Such safety checks- slowing agents as they have been to the developmental work under the pretext of environmental and ecological considerations in the vulnerable hills- look good in rulebook only and are kept at abeyance as per the convenience like the Indus water treaty. And yes, in small towns like the one I live in, heavy machinery such as an earthmover is invariably owned by heavy weights -generally believed to have been having a dubious past and a dubitable present. These wannabe politikers are the most volatile species of our political wilderness- more noise than nuance, and twice as dangerous. A marginalized commoner like me can’t dare questioning their actions.
Around a couple of weeks back, quite late in the night, I was on my way back home from Delhi with my ailing wife. Arriving at the point where the 400 meters long driveway from my home touches the main road, I noticed to my surprise what an engineer would call massive pavement distress. Load induced damages were there all over the road and the iron grill-covering over an aqueduct running across had turned wonky. With the help of the driver, I somehow managed to carry my wife to the house in a makeshift stretcher. I was told that an earthmover was plying up and down throughout the day.
The next day I approached the office of the executive officer of the civic body. The application along with quite a few pictures of the devastated site that I submitted to him was marked unread to a petty subordinate. I then had the effrontery of seeing the rarely appearing Chairperson. Wearing a look of surprise tempered with a soothing smile she said, “oh! how have they been taking an earthmover on such a narrow road? It is not even allowed.” Catching hold of my bounced question I came out of her room.
Back home I gave a call to the sub divisional magistrate. Apprising him of all the details I forwarded him a few pictures also. He assured me of a quick action and by the next afternoon the grill was restored on the aqueduct. Quite unexpectedly he himself forwarded me the pictures of the repairs done, assuring that the rest of the damages would also be restored at the earliest possible, and restored it was.
Let pass a couple of weeks or so and the triumphant, unsurpassable earthmover was there again. The repaired grillwork was hanging in crazy angles once again and the entire scenario was back to the square one. I uploaded the whole thing in CMs portal twice. On both the occasions the executive officer assured me, albeit in a metallic voice that it will shortly be set right. His assurance was a reason good enough for the handlers of the CMs portal to flash the message that the grievances have been redressed. In the meanwhile, whatever was left of the road was completely gone and the executive officer of the civic body also washed his hands of the affair stating that stopping the unauthorized earthmover is the work of the police department. -the same police that always has a stake in the dynamics of progress in remote towns like ours. The sub divisional magistrate also preferred to remain silent when I forwarded him the details of the things as they were. I however, will remain greatly indebted for the concern he showed when the problem was brought to his notice initially. I do understand that it is difficult to remain upright amidst the systemic inertia and that too when the given work culture often punishes the integrity……. playing an Ashok Khemka or E Sreedharan is not an easy choice.
I have dropped my wife back to Delhi to the care of her son and daughter. An easy access to medical facilities hasn’t yet been bulldozed there. A deep introspection has now turned me to be my own listener. On one fine morning I suddenly felt an intuitive realization dawning on me- a ripened mango-man in a banana republic that I am, what is the need of dabbling in such issues that make me but feel frustrated and disillusioned. Isn’t it better to sit calmly in the spectator’s gallery than to be a part of the action in the field.
I now tend to forget the to be or not to be soliloquy of Shakespeare. Being in the shoes of Antony -the epicure is a better choice-
Let Rome in Tiber melt and the wide arch
Of the ranged empire fall.
With my wife away in Delhi, I think I should take out the Sunset Club by Khushwant Singh from my bookshelf and slouch in an easy chair underneath the Camellia tree.