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By:

Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Deadly Neglect

The deaths of three tribal girls following a snakebite at a residential school in Gadchiroli have cast a distinctly unfavourable light on the standards of care in Maharashtra’s tribal hostels. A total six girls were bitten while sleeping on the floor, raising questions about basic accommodation, preventive measures and the oversight of institutions entrusted with the care of some of Maharashtra’s most disadvantaged children. A properly maintained hostel and basic preventive measures can...

Deadly Neglect

The deaths of three tribal girls following a snakebite at a residential school in Gadchiroli have cast a distinctly unfavourable light on the standards of care in Maharashtra’s tribal hostels. A total six girls were bitten while sleeping on the floor, raising questions about basic accommodation, preventive measures and the oversight of institutions entrusted with the care of some of Maharashtra’s most disadvantaged children. A properly maintained hostel and basic preventive measures can certainly reduce the likelihood that a snakebite becomes a mass casualty event. Residential schools for tribal children exist precisely because many of their students come from remote and disadvantaged communities. The state assumes responsibility for their education, accommodation, food and safety. The inevitable official response of a detailed inquiry into the tragedy is hardly reassuring. The district administration has said it will establish whether adequate protective measures were in place and whether the school management complied with safety rules. The Maharashtra administration has conducted enough inquiries till now to know that the discovery of a lapse is not the same thing as fixing the system that produced it. The questions are elementary. Were sufficient beds available? If not, why not? Was the hostel building properly sealed? Were doors, windows and drains inspected? Was pest and snake control undertaken? Were mosquito nets and other basic protective equipment provided? Was there adequate lighting and night supervision? How frequently had the hostel been inspected? And were funds allocated for these facilities actually spent on them? The last question deserves particular attention. Tribal residential schools have for years been vulnerable to the familiar maladies of public administration, most notably gross corruption. Inadequate oversight, poor maintenance, opaque procurement and the fact that money and food intended for children disappears somewhere between the budget and the beneficiary has become all too common. More crucially, Gadchiroli is not politically ownerless. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis is its guardian minister, making the quality of governance in the district an especially important test of the state government’s claims about tribal development. The answer cannot be another round of condolences followed by an inquiry whose findings gather dust. The government should use this tragedy to conduct a comprehensive and independent safety audit of every tribal residential hostel in Gadchiroli, with the findings and corrective measures made public. Beds, sanitation, building maintenance, pest control, emergency medical arrangements and night-time supervision should be treated as measurable standards, not discretionary amenities. Three girls have died in the most appalling manner. The least the state can do is ensure that their deaths expose a failure that is then corrected, rather than an outrage that is briefly mourned and administratively forgotten.

Rethinking Bureaucracy in an Impatient Era

Updated: Feb 10, 2025

In a world where the line between right and wrong seems to blur with every new blockbuster and tweet, the life of a bureaucrat has taken on a paradoxical dimension. I have spent decades observing my husband, a dedicated civil servant, navigate a labyrinth of rules, endless paperwork and a relentless scrutiny that can chill even the most determined soul. Yet, beneath the veneer of regulatory rigidity lies an undercurrent of insecurity, a need for validation and a quiet, unspoken hero worship of one’s own service. For those of us who live in the periphery of this system, the everyday drama of bureaucracy is both mystifying and, at times, deeply poignant.


Indian bureaucracy is forged in the crucible of the UPSC Civil Services examination, a fierce competition that transforms aspirants into civil servants. This slow and deliberate ascent is meant to instil discipline, adherence to procedure and a sense of duty. However, it also breeds a fragility; the slightest hint of criticism from a politician, a journalist or an anonymous voice on social media can shatter the delicate self-image carefully built over years of service. When faced with such challenges, many bureaucrats retreat behind the oft-repeated refrain of “hands being tied” - a defensive posture that both absolves and isolates them.


While bureaucratic battles rage in government offices, a broader cultural shift unfolds in cinema, reflecting societal change. Post-independence films introduced the ‘angry young man,’ embodying rebellion against corruption, later replaced by the romantic hero who subtly challenged patriarchy. These archetypes mirrored evolving aspirations.


Fast forward to 2025, and we find ourselves in the era of ‘Pushpa’ - a film that introduces a subaltern anti-hero who unapologetically defies the established order. His audacity, rather than virtue, captivates audiences, revealing a growing public discontent with slow, bureaucratic governance. Traditional institutions, once revered, appear compromised, while transgressors are celebrated for their boldness.


For bureaucrats like my husband, this shift is both unsettling and revealing. Governance rewards consistency, but modern society craves immediate, dramatic action. In today’s transactional political climate, even well-intended, methodical efforts risk irrelevance if they fail to deliver swift, visible results.


In India’s bureaucratic labyrinth, a transfer order was once a mark of disgrace. Today, it is worn with defiance, much like the anti-hero of ‘Pushpa’, who tears up his transfer order. This shift reflects a broader impatience with institutions clinging to the old mantra of rule-bound governance.


Public opinion, shaped by social media’s immediacy, demands swift action, leaving bureaucrats trained in slow, procedural merit, utterly adrift. Defending inertia with claims of systemic constraints no longer satisfies a public that equates boldness with effectiveness. The question now is whether public service can evolve to balance steadfast duty with the agility modern governance demands.


The answer lies in adaptation, not abandonment. Just as cinema redefines heroism, governance must embrace innovation without forsaking principles. Progress will not be judged by adherence to protocol alone, but by tangible impact where responsiveness, creativity and ethical disruption become the new markers of public service.


In my own life, as the wife of a bureaucrat, I have observed the tension between these two paradigms with a mix of admiration and concern. I have seen the quiet pride with which my husband speaks of his steady career, built on a foundation of unwavering duty and resilience. Yet I have also witnessed the moments of frustration, the sleepless nights spent pondering whether adherence to a rigid set of rules is enough in a world that rewards audacity and disruption. The challenge for today’s civil servants is not to abandon the principles that have long defined public service but to reinterpret them in a way that resonates with an evolving society.


(The author is a paediatrician and a public health specialist.)

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