My dad wanted me to be a 'great man'. Every Sunday when visiting me in my boarding school, he would utter those words, the meaning of which were not very clear to me, neither to him I suppose. And yet those were among his favourite lexicons in the short conversation we had after having a couple of rosgoollahs and a cucumber or a mango at Narendrapur's Aam Bagan (Mango Grove).
It was in 1993, when I decided to take up a newspaper job while doing my Masters in Economics, that I realised that my father's definition of 'great man' was still very vague and obscure but roughly veered around something like an Indian Administrative Service Officer. He insisted that I prepared for an IAS job, which probably many middle class Bengali parents do even without doing a SWOT analysis of their children and I was no different. My self assessment was that I neither had the intellectual prowess nor the steely determination to compete for such jobs. In hindsight, probably I was not totally out of the mark.
I later realised that my dad's liking for IAS jobs, not necessarily state-level administrative jobs called WBCS in Bengal, was not so much for the challenges that lay ahead in terms of running an administration but more for the social weight - reflected by the perks and facilities, and the privileges the officers enjoyed.
Going through a story done for the NDTV by my good friend Rahul Joglekar, on the alleged unsocial behaviour meted out by the staff of the Indian High Commission in London, I was reminded of one of my father's many unfulfilled wishes involving me.
India House, as the High Commission building is named, is one of the prized locations of 21st Century London. It is next door to Bush House, which housed the BBC World Service until mid 2012 and where I worked for over 12 years.
The reason behind the vivid description and proximity to India House, is not to demonstrate self-importance but to acknowledge what is reflected in the online petition initiated by Arun Asokan, an IT professional, and so far signed by around thousand people. One can't miss the swerving queues for Passports and OCIs etc. irrespective of whether the place is shivering in cold or lashed by heavy rain. Only a few years back the High Commission outsourced the job of issuing short-term visas.
As some one who had the privilege of being inside the majestic building several times, I can vouch that there is not much difference between what is on offer inside the premises as compared to the situation outside and around the statue of India's first Prime Minister, which was inaugurated during Jawaharlal Nehru's birth centenary as part of the global celebration initiated by the Indian government, then led by his grandson Rajiv Gandhi.
Despite such an assessment, those of us who are living in London and the United Kingdom for 15 years like me or more alike many others would endorse the fact that a lot has changed from the situation that was in place and the way ordinary Indians were treated.
Lalit Mansingh was India's High Commissioner when I first arrived in the UK in 1999. We read in school textbooks that embassies and high commissions were custodians of Indian citizens when they were abroad. I took those words quite seriously only to be disappointed after father of one of my acquaintances suddenly passed away while visiting his son in Hounslow. Since the old man was not registered with UK's National Health Service (NHS) his body was taken to Charring Cross Hospital for post mortem. This was only fueling the agony of his distraught family who were already in a state of shock. When I approached the High Commission, expecting some help for the devastated family, I was told straight on the face that there was nothing on offer, but reminded that I should surrender the Indian passport of the deceased.
When I applied for my OCI and that of my family in 2007, the work ethics in India House was apparently much better than before and yet the concerned staff kept mum after misplacing our applications for weeks. It was only when I sought the intervention of then High Commissioner Shiv Shankar Mukherjee, after our OCIs were long due, that they accepted their failing, with a caveat of course that it was not 'entirely' their fault.
In fact, Mr Mukherjee partially liberated the High Commission and made it communicable by the commoners in the outside world. He ensured that Independence Day was celebrated at the Indian Gymkhana in Osterley, and not in either the India House or the posh residence of the High Commissioner in Kensington, and was open to all. Earlier, the High Commission and its custodians were in virtual captivity of some people who were either influential or mustered financial muscle or allegedly connived in business relations with some people linked to the High Commission. It was only after Mr Mukherjee's intervention that outside calls were attended and emails responded to.
And yet, nothing much has changed over the past years as the inertia of 'Babudoom' is difficult to be altered or reconfigured. It is all the more challenging to make things work or change in places like London, mainly because the postings here are considered plum and a fallout of either the efficiency of the officials or their ability to keep the masters (both administrative and political) in good stead. Those who got postings in London considered themselves to be way ahead of others.
The significance of Britain, the importance of London on India and the lives of Indians or for that matter the affinity of a generation of Indians towards Britain and London is not only historical, it also bears the hallmark of Nehruvian legacy.
Having lived and studied in England, Nehru was always very proud of his English links. He thought it provided him with an added advantage and authority of assessing history and society and hence become first among equals, at least within India, in the noble task of being a moderniser. A large section of the Indian elites, both in India and abroad - certainly in London, and those who are posted in London (who also consider themselves as part of the elite class) as representatives of the Government of India are definitely carrying the age old Nehruvian legacy, which shows them as being superiors compared to others.
Probably, this sense of superiority is the reason why many Indian Babus frown at those who in academic parlance are referred to as the 'others'.
Tirthankar Bandyopadhyay is a journalist and media consultant.
He can be contacted at tirthankarb@hotmail.com
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