JANMASHTAMI

          

It was one of those hot afternoons-the hot wind blowing outside with the sun beating down. I was forced to stay back at home.

          During summer months in Rajasthan, the temperature goes very high on almost all days. Besides the burning heat, there are frequent dust storms. I must have been around 5/6 years old and my mother was persuading me nay threatening me to go to sleep. This was the regular ritual during the summer afternoons, basically to prevent me from slipping out of the house to play with Narayani, who would be peeping out of her window to spot me and come out to join me. Narayani must be my age. She was the daughter of the caretaker of the Club across my house.  Also if I slept, my mother would catch a wink, after a hectic routine through the morning.

          It was in one of those forced confinements in the afternoons that I first noticed a Krishna painting hung high on the wall opposite my bed. Ma introduced me to Lord Krishna. She told me lots of tales of his adventures- his mischief making, his stealing butter, his outings with other boys to jungles with cows, his teasing of Gopis, his love for Radha and many many of his baal leelas.. I could sense a lot of appreciation for His antiques in her eyes and a body language of reverence. And I always wondered while Krishna was appreciated and admired for his acts, why was I taken to task for my kind of little pranks.. But then I was told that He was superhuman, omnipotent and omnipresent. He possessed supernatural powers. He could dance on the head of very dangerous Kalia the multi-headed snake in turbulent Yamuna, he could lift Govardhan Parvat on his small finger, he could slay deamons like Putna single handed, he could counter mama Kans’s evil moves and he could play flute with such ethereal notes that even animals would come and listen to his bansuri. And listening to all these stories I grew up in awe and admiration of Lord Krishna. It was much later when I became aware of Bhagwadgita and the wisdom of its verses to which my father introduced me.

          My mother, I remember, had  once told me that she had acquired that picture purposefully even before my birth and that while she was expecting me, she would spend long time gazing at the portrait  largely to ward off evil thoughts and images which would otherwise have an adverse effect on the child to be born. But even after 5/6years of my birth I found that portrait still upon the wall across my bed. I often wondered why that portrait was still on there when the stated intent and purpose was accomplished. For several years after that it remained there and soon it became part of the household. It did not bother me during my growing years and I stopped questioning its existence. I do not remember when it became a part of my being. Krishna becoming a member of the family! Gradually I had noticed that its colours had started fading, with the paper cracking at several places, the frame loosening and the hardboard backing going warp. This portrait must have been there for at least five decades now.

          And then one day it disappeared from its appointed place. As I returned home on vacation I noticed it was gone! I knew it had to go one day. It had perhaps lived its full life and left us leaving a void! It was difficult for a long time not to feel its presence at that appointed space. Intuitively one would look up to seek Krishna’s blessings when going out.

          In course of time, my mother passed away and then my father. While Lord Krishna continues to be omnipresent somewhere in the space of my imagination, it is difficult to assume that my parents are there with Him when only till the other day they were with me in flesh and blood.

         

Today I recall how we used to decorate a jhaanki in the house made with a card-board prison and a cradle that could swing and many other imaginative add-ons and then waiting, barely keeping our eyes open till midnight, which was the time for Krishna to be born. My mother would observe a fast through the day and would spend a lot of time in the kitchen preparing several dishes consisting of only fresh fruits and dry fruits especially transformed into amazing sweets. And then in the evening we would impatiently wait to be served food consisting of poori-kachori made of kuttu or singhara atta and vegetables prepared with rock-salt (sendha namak) followed by halwa or very tasty kheer. Going to bed at night we would wait for next Janmashatami to come soon.

          Today again it is Janmashatami. It is overcast with thick dark clouds. Looks like it will rain tonight. Will it be torrential rains, the way it was on that night? Devki’s eighth sibling will be born again. Vasudev will again carry him in basket from Mathura Jail to Vrindavan, wading through river turbulent Yamuna in spate. From now on child Krishna will captivate our imagination with his leelaas again. He has arrived to save a people from deamons and evil spirits. They will decorate temples and homes displaying various events celebrating His birth and His life. Special food will be prepared in homes. Prasad will be distributed in temples. People will congregate there to have darshan of Lord Krishna.

Amidst all this I will miss my mother. And I will miss that portrait of Lord Krishna that adored the wall across my bed with my mother staring hard at it for hours to ward off evil thoughts and images till I was born…

xxx

TOMRE PAASSH LOSSHI HAAI ?

I have no idea of  the IPS Recruitment Rules with regards to physical standards in the early years post independence. I am not sure if any minimum height was prescribed for recruitment to the Service during the initial days of the Indian Police Service as it got transformed from the colonial  Indian Police.  A couple of very senior officers of the fifties vintage that I had the privilege of serving under,  perhaps would have found it difficult to clear the currently required physical standards  even if they had made it through the written exams.

The Wizard of Id is a daily newspaper comic-strip created by American cartoonists Brant Parker and Johnny Hart. The king is  pint-sized. Jokes are often centered on his height (about three feet). He wears a crown and cape that makes him look like a playing card. Occasionally, his name is given as "Id" and he is "Sire" to his subjects,

The  DIG of my Range always reminded me of the Wizard of Id, and more so  due to those extra pounds that seemed to further weigh him down. He would insist on speaking to me in Hindi. It was a time when I had acquired some kind of proficiency in Bengali and was comfortable speaking the language. Nevertheless his self proclaimed innovative and creative oratory skills would come to the fore when he combined Hindi-ised Bengali with Bengali-ised Hindi. A couple of times I tried to prompt him to speak the language he was comfortable with but every time he would remind me how widely travelled he was and consequently how  proficient he was in languages of several regions across the country that he had been to. 

In course of one such interaction with him I tried to bring him back to our lingua franca but to no good. To prove his fluency in Hindi he recounted one of his visits to Allahabad. In course of his wanderings in the holy city, he stopped at a sweet shop also selling beverages

including lassi, a drink made from churned curd. The sun was beating down and he was thirsty. He had to order a glass of lassi. And he had to order lassi in Hindi  "lest the salesman find out that I was not from Hindi heart-land and for that he would charge me exorbitantly." So what did you do sir, I inquired, overtly displaying a childlike curiosity. After all I must keep my superiors happy. It is an investment for who knows I may be working again under him some time. Encouraged with my rapt attention, he continued "I asked him: loudly tomre paassh loshee haai?' And he glanced in my direction as if seeking approval from a Hindi speaking person to the correctness of his diction and pronunciation. He firmly believed that it was perfect  "local" Hindi that the sweet-shop salesman couldn't make out that he was not a native! At the end of this episode I ensured that he did not miss out on my admiration for his smart move as I  nodded in full approval of his Hindi and acted suitably impressed.

Sycophancy is an artless art as they say.

I was appearing for my High School examination. Everyone knows this is one of the most important milestones in the life of a young person- the first Board examination. In English paper, there is always a paragraph in Hindi to be translated into English. I recall it was a short story about a 'badhai' as a carpenter is called in Hindi. The passage was fairly easy but I got stuck with the word "badhai". I clean forgot its English equivalent and totally blanked out. In the strictly invigilated room and also ashamed at asking someone such a common word,  or stealing a glance, I sat motionless for a few minutes trying to figure out the English equivalent. It never came back to me. Time was running out fast. And then I thought of another alternative word. How about 'wood-craftsman'? I am still not sure if it was an accurate English equivalent to "badhai" in Hindi.

Many years back a student of mine recounted  an episode in a lighter vein: how to catch a crocodile alive. You must have the following equipment with you, he said: a match box, a

forceps, a binocular and a boring novel.  ( I am refraining myself from  specifically recommending a few novels including some award winning ones). Now that you have everything you need to catch a crocodile, go to the river. Keep all the equipment mentioned above, by your side. Start reading the boring novel loudly. The crocodile will rush towards you. While waiting  for the right opportunity to catch you.he would  listen to the insipid paragraph after paragraph from the novel and soon bored by the narrative, fall off to sleep. Now this is your chance. Hold the binocular upside down with wider lenses close to your eyes. You will find that the crocodile has become very small in size. Hold the forceps and catch the crocodile with it and keep it in the match box! Funny? No. Innovative? Yes.

Innovation according to several interpretations  is the application of better solutions that meet new requirements, un-articulated needs, or existing needs.  The term "innovation" can be defined as something original and more effective and, as a consequence, new, that "breaks into" the market or society  It is both a process and an outcome. In fact to think of it, all the jokes circulating on social sites including Whatsapp are hugely innovative. So does it lead us to believe that all humour is innovative?

I had barely settled down in my chair in the office in Jalpaiguri, when my PA connected me to OC Falakata police station. A leopard had strayed in to a particular village and was terrorising the villagers. It was fast turning in to a law and order issue. He urgently wanted

additional forces to deal with the restive, scared and agitated mob as also the immediate intervention of the forest department. I , accordingly ordered dispatch of some additional force to him and spoke to the concerned forest officer (DFO) to contain or neutralize the animal. A young DFO on his first charge was more than eager to do the needful. It was one of his first major field engagements. He told me he was personally going to the spot to take charge of the situation. Relieved, I got on with my routine work thereafter and almost forgot about the incident until a little after two hours of the first report that I had received, another call was received by my Additional SP. The menace was still at large and the foresters had not been able to trap the leopard. In their final assault to contain the terror, they wanted the local police to procure a 100 feet bamboo.

 A hundred feet bamboo? Yes. They would tie cotton at the tip of the bamboo, soaked in a heavy dose of sedatives and will take it close to the nose of the leopard who would inhale it and eventually fall off to sleep!.

 I spent close to 7 years in North Bengal and had on many occasions travelling particularly at night through the forest roads seen big animals crossing the roads or sitting by the roadside too stunned to move with headlights of the car full on. It never occurred to me that they could be dealt with this way. In hindsight, one could try a couple of bottles of Bhutan rum available aplenty in North Bengal,  mixed it with their food to allow them to pass out. Just to remind you that this is an innovative idea!

So dear readers. The moral of the story is that you should be innovative in all tricky situations in life. You would then laugh all the way to achieving your mission. To begin with while travelling through the holy cities of Uttar Pradesh and feeling parched, go to a beverages shop and ask on top of your voice; Tomre paash losshee hai? I am sure the vendor dare not fleece you by quoting exorbitant cost for the brew as he would immediately know you are a original local!

Innovation indeed is both a process and an outcome.

NARAYANI BAI

In my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud

Slowly surmounting some invidious hill,

Rose out of darkness:

-William Wordsworth

A dear friend's daughter is getting married in a few days' time.. Ever since the city and the venue were finalised, he has been unceasingly coaxing and cajoling me to attend the marriage. It is in a town in Rajasthan..

Rajasthan as we all know is  famous for its majestic forts, intricately carved temples and decorated havelis. These are part of the architectural heritage not only of Rajasthan but of India.  And then we have the Thar Desert, the world's 17th largest desert, and the world's 9th largest subtropical desert extending into Gujarat, Punjab, and Haryana and also across into Pakistan

The idea of travelling to Rajasthan always triggers a flood of memories. I have spent my early childhood there.  Indeed nothing brings  more joy  to us than the  memories of our childhood. Of course one cannot remember everything of one's childhood but certain events and memories are stored in the sub-conscious mind and flash quite frequently  through mind's eye.

Free association is a technique used in psychoanalysis (and also in psychodynamic theory) which was originally devised by Sigmund Freud out of the hypnotic method of his mentor and colleague, Josef Breuer. It is the mental process by which one word or image may spontaneously suggest another without any necessary logical connection.

In a flash I am transported to a small remote town in the Shekhawati region of Rajasthan, now famous world over for its educational institutions including the institute of technology and science. I remember the hot dry climate, the vast stretches of sand, the sand dunes,  the thinly populated residential area in the middle and the sand storms blowing across very frequently turning the sky to a dismal gray. I remember the frequent invasion of locusts, painting the sky yellow and my mom warning me  to stay indoors till this vast swarm withdrew.

I remember the bungalow in which we lived, its high ceilings with fans hanging to very long iron pipes. I remember a huge painting of Chanakya and Chandragupt  mounted on one of the walls in the drawing room. (A replica of this painting can be seen in Birla Mandir, New Delhi even today). I remember some of the defaced walls of my house that I sketched and scribbled on, to discover a painter in me. I remember the huge Kikar  tree (Vachellia nilotica ,widely known by the taxonomic synonym Acacia nilotica) in our front yard. I remember the Shivganga, a manmade canal flowing through a vast manicured garden with an idol of Shiva in the midstream, a fountain perennially gushing from its thick swathe of hair in a parabola. In hind sight this vast water-body makes the meaning of oasis more clear to me now than ever. I remember the shrubs laden with juicy, rounded, brightly colored, sweet or sour wild berry along the vast stretches, in the neighborhood and across the sand mounds, everywhere.

And I remember Narayanibai.

In those languid summer afternoons when everyone was indoors, when the sun would show the fiercest, when my mother would go to sleep or rest, when the neighbourhood was all quiet, she would tip toe to my house and softly call me out to come out to play and to join her for picking the berry.

Narayanibai was the daughter of the chowkidar of the Club situated across the road. I recall his name was Tulsi. Of him I only remember his tall frame and huge shrub like moustache nearly covering his whole face. It was difficult to figure out if he was smiling or scowling. Narayanibai was thinly built , rather tall for all  her 5/6 years or so but I can't exactly recall how old she was. She was not so fair. She would sport two neatly woven braids in her richly oiled hair and wide kajal in her eyes. I was either a bit younger  or her age. But by her demeanour she appeared to have taken me in her wings as a junior and almost extend a mother-like care and nurturing. Once when I fell sick preventing me from our outdoor activity, she would regularly come quietly and enquire about me from my mother and go away disappointed.

Day after day we would wander on the warm sands unmindful of the sun fiercely beating us down. Some time we would go to the children's corner of the Club and play on the slide, the swing or see-saw or a small merry go-round. At another time we would  just walk on the somewhat moist sand on the bank of Shivganga. She taught me to make castle of sands on the banks of Shivganga where the sand was a bit moist, by piling sand on one of the foot, tapping it firmly in place to set and slowly withdrawing the foot to leave a hollow underneath. Soon we would collect some wild shrub or twigs to create a garden and roads for our castle. How many castles would we have built together!

'Come along. We go picking berry'. Many a time I would refuse to go with her. And then how she would cajole me when I spurned her offer!. She would lure me by the best offer she could conceive of:  'I will eat the raw ones and I will give you the ripe ones'. (kachhe kachhe ham khayenge, pakke pakke tum khana!). Where did this devotion come from?

No. She couldn’t have heard of the story of Shabari and her 'pre-tasted' berries.

In my  sunset years, as the fading light leaves  the softness of a diffused twilight when the sun is below the horizon, I still wander aimlessly  on the shores of life. I still dream and I still search for sweet berries of peace, of contentment and of fulfillment. I still make castles in the sand, only to be swept away every time by the fierce waves of mundane living….

And I still remember Narayanibai.

WAITING TO HAPPEN

International Federation of Red Cross & Red Crescent Societies defines a disaster as a sudden, calamitous event that seriously disrupts the functioning of a community or society and causes human, material and economic or environmental losses that exceed the community’s or society’s ability to cope using its own resources. Though often caused by nature, disasters can have human origins.

Reworking differently on the definition by IFRC it can be said that a disaster is a sudden calamitous event that can have career threatening consequences for a lead functionary, blunting his own discretion thereby rendering him incapable of using his own resources. It invariably has command and control origins.

The Principal of the College where I began my career as a lecturer had called a meeting. The college had just completed the construction of  a hostel for its students. It was a long standing demand and a genuine need for  the students who would come to this well reputed college from far and wide. The principal was very charged up. He began by impressing upon

all the members of the faculty present, the short and long term benefits of this acquisition and how he wanted to mark its inauguration by hosting a gala event. There will be the usual speeches by distinguished invitees, a cultural extravaganza by the students and the concluding speech by the chief guest. He looked in my direction and told me to conduct the proceedings of the programme.  I was taken aback as I was one of the newest inductees  to the college staff and in a manner of speaking had never been tested for any of my capabilities in anchoring any event in the college.  How could he shortlist me then? The stern imploring in his voice was inescapable. So I started preparing my script for the event in the right earnest.

The D day arrived.

 As I arrived at the venue I found it was already filled up with a very large number of people who either had passed out of the college or parents of those who were studying currently. And there were members of the society who came to witness the event. The entry was free except that selected people had been invited specially. The program went off very well and I

thought I did a fairly good job in anchoring the show. But then the disaster nearly happened.

While coming to the venue I had seen a separate enclosure where arrangement for tea and snacks had been made. I was not aware that there were invitations for special invitees to tea. As the function concluded and I was making my final and kind of dramatic remarks on the occasion full of my 'great performance' I thought I will extend the invitation to tea for all those five to six thousand people! Right then a girl performer, perhaps exhausted and dehydrated fainted. A few of the faculty and fellow students rushed to her. The principal came rushing and while overseeing her revival told me to conclude quickly. I accordingly announced the closure of the event.

Later when I told the principal that I was about to make a general announcement for  tea, extending invitation to everyone present, he looked aghast. They had made no such arrangements for such a huge gathering. What chaos would have followed if I had announced it! 

A very very high security VVIP of a friendly neighboring country was the guest of honour at one of the convocations of Vishwabharati at Shantiniketan. Besides the recipients of their degrees, this event attracts a very large number of ex-ashramites and many members of general public to this much awaited annual event.

The police and administrative arrangements during the visit of such VVIPs is the utmost priority for the State government. Maximum attention is paid to all aspects of security, logistics and other related arrangements. There are usually no deviations from the fixed drill which for such occasions has been tried, tested and laid on ground over years.  Senior most officers available are in attendance both for protocol as well as to oversee the arrangements.

As per schedule the VVIP would arrive around 11 or so from Kolkata by a chopper and will be taken to Uttarayan, the complex where Rabindranath Tagore lived and where arrangement for her brief stopover and meeting with the University officials and other dignitaries would be made. She would have light refreshments and would leave for Amra Kunj for the official function.

Everything was going as per schedule and as planned. At the appointed hour she emerged from the building to board her car for Amra Kunj. It was oppressively hot as the mid-day sun was beating us down.

And then this happened.

As the VVIP was about to board her car, to everyone’s  shock and horror and against all the rules of VVIP security,  I heard a voice suggesting to her that she walk the distance from Uttarayan to Amra Kunj and she will enjoy the walk! It was the senior most bureaucrat representing the Government who protocol-wise had the privilege of audience with the VVIP earlier.

And it would be quite some distance from Uttarayan to Amra Kunj.

Everyone present there was petrified at the prospect of the VVIP walking on the road in utter disregard to the principles of VVIP security. Such move had no clearance from anywhere. And district police had not catered for such eventuality in their police arrangements. Even before anyone could intervene or remonstrate, the VVIP started to walk leaving her car and convoy behind. Except for hurriedly providing a cover by a posse of uniformed policemen drawn from route lining, there was nothing much that could be done. While the VVIP was perspiring profusely on that hot and humid morning, the entire district administration had already broken in to a cold sweat.

At the end of what appeared to be an eternity, it turned out to be an uneventful walk but in total disregard to all the tenets of VVIP security. Later when we remonstrated with this senior officer, his only explanation was that he had no idea of distance between the two locations!

Daniel Kahneman is an Israeli-American psychologist, notable for his work on the psychology of judgment and decision-making, as well as behavioral economics, for which he was awarded the 2002 Nobel in Economic Sciences  In 2011, his book Thinking, Fast and Slow, which summarizes much of his research, was published and became a best seller.

Kahneman has demonstrated that ignorance increases confidence levels !

WHO ARE YOU?

3 Idiots, a 2009 comedy-drama film directed by Rajkumar Hirani  was loosely adapted from the novel Five Point Someone by Chetan Bhagat.  Quoted below is a scene from its screen-play

Rancho tells Mr. Dubey the librarian, that the Dean had ‘remembered’ him. In his urgency to meet the Dean he leaves before taking the printout of the speech that he had prepared for Chatur to deliver in the Annual Function.

[Cut to  Mr Dubey sheepishly entering the Dean’s office]

Mr Dubey: Yes Sir?

[Dean Viru Sahatrabuddhe gives him a condescending look]

Viru: Who are you?

Mr. Dubey: Librarian… I’m permanent staff, Sir.

[He gives a fake smile]

Viru: [With an incredulous expression in his tone]: Congratulations!

The librarian has a look of shock, frustration, anger, combined with dismay at not being recognised by the head of the institution in which he must be serving for a fairly long time.

Prosopagnosia  also called face-blindness, is a cognitive disorder of face perception where the ability to recognize familiar faces, including one's own face (self-recognition), is impaired, while other aspects of visual processing (e.g., object discrimination) and intellectual functioning (e.g., decision making) remain intact.

Again, Anomic aphasia (also known as dysnomia, nominal aphasia and amnesic aphasia) is another cognitive disorder which most of us have experienced: forgetting someone's name. You'll probe your brain trying to remember, struggling to come up with even the first letter. Then you get frustrated and think "Why is it so hard for me to remember names?"

But here we are not talking of any medical cognitive disorder but of an administrative and more than that a selective cognitive disorder of people in position and authority.

A top cop used to visit us at Hyderabad to interact with young probationers almost with every batch and regularly. Each time during his stay he would visit me at my residence and would spend some informal time with us. My wife would rustle up a dinner which he would find delicious and apparently would enjoy a great deal. While leaving back for his State, he would invariably leave a small note for us expressing his appreciation for the food and our hospitality in general.

During one such visit to the Academy, he was informed that he had been appointed as the DGP of his State. In the meantime I had also received my orders for repatriation to my State.

As luck would have it, I saw him at the Airport and would be on the same flight. I went up to him, bubbling with the same informality with which we had met earlier and complimented him. He almost looked as if he was struggling to place me and with a wry thank you, accompanied with a get lost gesture of his right hand, dismissed me from his presence. Both I and my wife were stunned and for next few minutes we couldn’t speak to each other.

People feel bad when someone ignores them because people gain their self esteem from the approval of others. As we grow up we start to determine our worth based on the acceptance we get from others. In all fairness, we all have been ignored as well as being on the other side of the coin. Either way, it is an uncomfortable situation.

During my early days as a district officer, one day we were informed that the then Governor of the State accompanied by his wife shall visit the District headquarters. For a backward rural district it indeed was a very big event. And we were feeling greatly honoured and proud.   The Governor had also been a former Cabinet Secretary. Soon his tour program along with a routine advisory from the Raj Bhawan followed, detailing on his and his wife’s food preferences, blood groups, allergies, if any, his convenient timings to meet members 

of public, a list of selected persons he would like to meet as well as those who had sought appointment with him in advance. The district administration went in to an overdrive so to say, working out the required details. It was revealed that his preferred color was light shades of green. Accordingly it was decided that a fresh coat of paint will be applied to his suite in the Circuit House and the color will be changed to light green. New matching curtains will be brought and maybe we will find crockery with a tinge of green. The menu was worked out in great details and that Jeeves of the district administration, called Nazir Babu, was entrusted with organizing things under the personal supervision of the ADM. So, the flurry of activities commenced in the right earnest. 

We had a former Central Minister of State (MOS), a tribal leader from the District, who had fallen foul of the ruling party and had complained of being hounded by its members. He had seen me earlier in this regard and together with the District Magistrate we thought we had sorted out his issues.  But realizing its publicity value, he also sought and was granted audience by the Governor.

At the appointed hour the former MOS arrived waving at some waiting journalists and camera persons and anyone who cared to recognize him, with both his hands studded with ten rings on his eight fingers. I distinctly recall that there were two rings each on two of the fingers. I was left wondering that when he had so many rings on both of his hands evidently to ward off trouble and evil influences by providential intervention, what additional help could the Governor extend to him. But then his mission had been accomplished as he had registered his meeting with the Governor through the waiting journalists and camera persons. While being ushered in to the lounge of the Circuit House he informed whosoever was within his hearing range that this Governor was the Cabinet Secretary when he was a central minister in Delhi and they knew each other personally.

His agenda was known to us. Accordingly both I and the District Magistrate had already briefed the Governor. The former MOS opened his conversation by reminding the Governor of their several interactions in Delhi. The Governor without betraying any signs of familiarity said that he was unable to place him. Several minutes were spent in the former MOS trying to remind the Governor of many interactions, discussions on issues, conferences, meetings, location of his office chamber but nothing seemed to work. With a very distant look the Governor asked the ex-MOS his purpose to see him. Cut short, crestfallen and thwarted in his attempt at familiarity, the former MOS made a quick presentation and sought reddressal. The Governor appeared to have heard him intently and saying that he will look in to the matter dismissed him from his presence.

After he left, the bureaucrat in the Governor came alive He looked at the DM and SP who were wondering at his suddenly going distant and impersonal unlike his vibrant self. He said that having known politicians over long years in administration, he was certain that this out of job politician would have announced to the whole world of his familiarity with the Governor. And perhaps he would attempt to draw mileage on this count. This could be a negative publicity for anyone in authority considering he had come to lodge a protest and certainly not to reunite an old pal.  In discharge of your official duties you cannot afford familiarity. Not only that you should be impartial but should also be seen to be one.

‘Of course as the Cabinet Secretary, it was a part of my job to know each member of the cabinet!’