Round about: A writer’s apologies to officialdom

As a rule I have stayed as far as I can from officialdom. Sometimes it is not avoidable as in getting a passport made, or getting the addressed changed in an Aadhaar card, opening a bank account and such other things. But I have kept away from the needless honour of being an advisory member of state-sponsored Akademis of art or literature for reasons that are purely personal like an allergy to meetings and wasting precious time and, of course, general lethargy.

I have never understood why painters and writers of proven merit decide to become part of the officialdom and devote all energy to organising things instead of creating art. One has seen the best of them drifting this way, delivering speeches on the brilliance of the administrator or minister who may be at the helm of affairs, spending time in an office allotted to them or being in a position to dispense favours to old friends they have left behind to mess about with art and literature.

The other reason is that as a poet or even a scribe, it is best to remain on the other side if the fire is to be kept alive in your art. Our revolutionary poet of Punjabi, Avtar Paash, challenged Buddha and said ‘Beech ka rasta nahi hota’ (There is no middle path). To give the Devil his due, however, some of the awards I’ve received for writing art critiques or for ‘service to literature’ have included cash, which has come in handy for buying a new mobile phone, a winter coat or a pair of good glasses.

To those who do not know me well and who make an offer to be a subsidiary to such activity, I say in all innocence, “I am sorry I will be no good because I have a problem and cannot attend meetings!” My colleagues or seniors will vouch for the fact that I do have this chronic problem and one reason is that meetings are often held in the mornings and I belong to the owl species at their best reading or writing at night. In my city reporting days, I remember a kind and grave news editor counselling me, “You must come to the morning meeting because the other reporters find fault only with the one not present”.

However, there are times when the most determined do a turnaround and so did I when the present head of the Chandigarh Sahitya Akademi asked me to join the governing council in an honorary position, assuring me that meetings would be in the afternoons some two or three times a year. Since he is a friend and I have a warm relationship with the other two office-bearers too, I decided to say yes. The other reason was that it is never too late to learn the art of participating in meetings and it behoves a person with greying hair to attend meetings. So I gave my consent and was there for the meeting on time. The mood was congenial and the kachori served with tea delicious. As it got over all honourable governing council members were given a file with a note that the administrator was pleased to announce the councils of the three Akademis along with long lists of names. We were told by the Akademi president with a friendly laugh that there was a form at the end which all had to fill and paste a photograph for police verification. “It is just a formality,” he added sheepishly.

So all was well till I got a phone call from the Akademi office telling me that I had not sent back the form. Lo! It had slipped my mind. So I sat down thinking it would be a single sheet, something like the form house owners give to tenants. But this turned out to be totally different. It was four long pages, and started with a loud ‘warning’ against furnishing of false information. Then it went on to not only enquire about my origin but also that of my dear-departed dad who passed away some 56 years ago. Then they wanted to know if I was originally ‘Pakistani or Bangladeshi’. I can’t figure out why Nepal and Sri Lanka were left out. Then my religion and caste was asked despite the great Bhakti poet Kabir cautioning: ‘Jaat na poochho sadhu ki/ Poochh leejio gyan’! (Ask not the sage her/his caste; Asses his knowledge).

Then I was asked to furnish the addresses of all the homes that I had lived in after attaining the age of 21. Now even the four pages would be adequate to record my nomadic life. For example in my 11 years in Delhi I changed nine flats and back in Chandigarh I changed nine in 13 years. I was fuming by the time I reached one line which said any false information would impair ‘my fitness for employment under government’. Now when did I seek employment ‘under government?’

The last straw, however, was when I was asked to declare if I had been arrested for any fraud or crime. Sorry my friends in the Sahitya Akademi, I found it very insulting to be asked if I was a criminal. My sympathies to all writers, artists , and musicians who are regularly put through this rigmarole.

Khuda Hafiz!