Office-space stories

Maninder Singh  

Rooms or office spaces of officers tell eloquent stories about them, their personalities and the power and the glory, or lack thereof, invested in the positions that they hold. In the far-flung days of the Raj, the offices of District Magistrates and other notable functionaries, such as the members of the Viceroy’s Executive Council, were expansive, grand spaces, reflecting well the charisma and the authority of their charges.

A casual visitor, who entered the precincts of such capacious rooms, could well be excused for feeling lost. The imposing personage carrying the white man's burden would be seated at the far end of a longitudinal room. The quaking petitioner did not stride in but walked across awkwardly, his steps echoing in the silent, high-roofed room.

All this while, the divine personage, the son of a baker or a candlestick maker, from rolling Middlesex or mountainous Aberdeen, sat impassively, behind a huge executive desk, without acknowledgement by word or gaze. 

The office spaces now are less spacious, obviously more modern and, perhaps, more compatible with democratic aspirations. Consequently, they are not as irksome for visitors to walk across, under the unsteely gaze of a successor of the old steel frame, who is happily one of their own countrymen.

In government edifices, lining the Rajpath, or scattered across Lutyens' New Delhi, many officers often add a great deal of charm to the empty walls of their rooms by affixing paintings or photographs. The paintings are, more often than not, the work of the inspired genius of home-maker spouses or the dull, impossible to decipher scrawling of uninspired commercial artists. The photographs are generally a self-clicked record of the officer’s wanderings. 

A Member of Parliament described most of the officers' rooms nowadays as dull and tediously generic, with rare exceptions. Some of these rarities enliven proceedings by installing speakers of their own, with the lilt of soft music forever wafting across the charmed space. Although it may not charm the savage breasts of the chronically difficult petitioners, the vibrations of music would surely result, twisting the words of Shelley, in inspiring powerful memory and emotion, when oft-heard soft voices are no longer heard in the usual vicinity.

Some officers add a great personal touch by keeping elegant pouches of green teas, flower teas or the best coffee in town. Hot water, boiled in a kettle on the corner table, is then poured solicitously by the officer or his peon, depending on the status, affability or good cheer emanating from the guest.

The bane of government spaces is often the mounds of paper and other memorabilia that clutter the rooms and desks. There are remarkable officers whose table-tops are squeaky clean, with not a fluttering piece of paper, or file bound in red tape, to enliven the proceedings or to rest in weighty majesty.

There are often animated discussions among officers whether those with clean tables are more efficient or the ones whose rooms appear like the archives of a bygone Empire. Officers are very fond of keeping records of important documents (who knows when the Secretary or the Minister might summon regarding an important piece of information), newspaper cuttings and even old unread newspapers. In some bright dawn, they are expected to be read and add to the powerful sense of knowledge, empowerment and enlightenment.

Whatever be the flaws and virtues of officers, their office spaces are cocoons, indicative of the quality of work that is oft accomplished.