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VOL. XXIV NO. 5, June 16-30, 2014
ESSAY
A member of the I.A.S.
by Prema Nandakumar

I have often been fascinated by the Street Frame. May be it is because it is S.K. Chettur’s book, The Street Frame and I, most of which was filled with narration of funny incidents that had happened in his official life. Having joined the Indian Civil Service in 1939, he had to work with a good number of British bureaucrats who enjoyed hunting tigers, panthers and bears. He reports of the superiority complex of these officers. However, Chettur himself was not free of the weakness as when he ordered the pulling down of a pandal put up in Kalpathi (Kerala) at Rama Dhyana Matom during 1939 for the Tyagaraja aradhana. When the solemn function was going on presided over by senior vidwans, Chettur attended the function with his wife. Half way through, he started smoking. A young man politely objected to this, but Chettur went on with his smoking and, after returning home, ordered the demolition of the pandal which had been put up after getting due permission from the municipal authorities. I guess, as Lord Action said, power tends to corrupt even the most civilised being. The Kalpathi citizens couldn’t do a thing about it except lament vociferously. This is power.

All the same, in my younger days, the IAS remained a fascinating term. Parents looked for an IAS boy, if they had plenty of money to give as dowry for their daughter. Parents puffed up with pride if their son had cleared the IAS. They began the great adventure of choosing a bride who would be as beautiful as Venus and as rich as Croesus. A day came when my brother, who had done his post-graduation, hesitantly asked my father whether he could go ahead with IAS coaching classes. “What for?” “To become a Collector, Appa, and I could do such good work for the people.” “Really?” came the voice from the depths of the easy-chair. “You will end up opening the car doors for this and that politician. With your flair for teaching, it is better you take to an academic life.”

And that is what happened. Meanwhile, I had not dared to mention my thoughts to my father, but I had some romantic notions of the Steel Frame too. Not as married to one, but as an IAS officer myself. After all, just a few years earlier the first woman had joined the IAS and I had read avidly how Anna Rajan George from Kerala had become a SDO in Tamil Nadu. But I kept silent; surely there would be another birth, and I will become an IAS officer.

We are told that intense aspiration does bring down the answering grace sooner than later. But what form it will take, we have no idea.

Recently I met a dear friend in one of our well-endowed cities. She was the devoted mother of six children and had seen them through the rising tiers of the Indian educational system. I was leisurely choosing some scarves in a wayside shop when Sujji’s unmistakable screech made me look up. “Hey, Burru! Long time no see, but you have not changed at all. Same old drumstick figure!” Before I knew where I was on the crowded pavement of Nehru Street, I had been enveloped in the embrace of the inimitable Sarojini. I took in her magnificent sequin-rich saree and the variety of bangles and rings and necklaces that adorned her and the very stylish shoes which had pink pom-poms bobbing away as she dragged me up the stairs of a nearby restaurant.

I shuddered. But before I could voice my fears, Sujji assured me that she was staying in that Hotel Agni for a brief stay to offer pranams to her family guru. Before I knew what was happening, I was set up in a chair and found an Aerial’s Feast. Sujji filled my plate with a kilo of gajjar halwa, some kichidi and a couple of jalebis, not to mention guava juice. I protested. Suppose my husband should see his Burru, alias Brihadkuchambal, sitting in this expensive hotel, he might think his ancient wife had gone mad. I slithered in my seat which was a replica of the Peacock Throne (the entire room was in peacock motif) and muttered that I just would not be able to share the bill as I did in olden days where we both would go to a wayside eatery and order ourselves a couple of dahi vadas. That was an unparalleled luxury for us.

“Who is asking you to share? It is my treat!” Sujji laughed. “I am no more the Sujji you know, managing to run a house wih needle-and-thread in hand to repair all those hand-me-downs. All children are grown up and I have joined the IAS...”

“IAS?”

“Yes. Pappu and Sweetie are both in Minneapolis. Yes, it gets to be very wintry there but, then, that is where the pay is high, they say. What do I know? Rajan and Ranjan are in Muscat, of course. Remember my son Sahasranamam? Sahasu in Saudi. Can you believe it? But he is the highest earning member. The last one? Yes, Shivvi, she is the only one in India and is in Chennai. Her husband is a globe-trotting IT person. I am so happy that they are all fine, need me and so I am now in the IAS.”

“Oh! But you are past retirement age....”

“Aw, where is retirement in this Indian Ayah Service?* I do the rounds to Muscat, Minneapolis and Saudi to look after the grandchildren. The children keep my purse filled up. It is good Shivvi is in India. I am able to squeeze in a fortnight now and then to come and have masala dosai at Hotel Agni and mango pickle special in Restaurant Satyavageeswara. How about some ice cream topped with Sharad grapes now?”

With her green-and-blue Conjeevaram silk unfurled at the zari pallu, Sujji looked a colourful goddess on her peacock mount. I began to chew the exclusive Sharad grapes … so firm, so blue, so true!” (Courtesy: Sri Aurobindo’s Action)

*Editor’s Note: There’s a different version of this, the IAAS. And that’s the Indian Ayah and Aduppadi (Kitchen) Service!

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State's sad, sad tech colleges
Madras Landmarks - 50 years ago
Guindy National Park under threat
Decentralise waste management
Carnatic music and the Americans
Remembering Kalki
A member of the I.A.S.
Car loan for the asking
From Upper India to Madras

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