A case of mistaken identity

Dipy Aujla

The appointment of a new Deputy Commissioner hardly affects the day-to-day life of a common man and is only a part of the routine administrative shake-up. However, for the officials of the district administration, it is important to test the waters with the new DC. The day a new woman IAS officer took charge at Jalandhar, a roadshow had been planned in the city by the ruling party.

I dropped off the VIP on the western side of the city in Burlton Park and positioned the helicopter on the eastern side in PAP grounds to proceed to Chandigarh on completion of the roadshow.

I wanted to go home and look up my wife, but since the duration of the show was indeterminate and I didn’t want to get stuck in traffic, I decided to stay back, and instead, asked her to come to the helipad.

We settled in the chairs, enjoying the winter sunshine and monitoring the progress of the roadshow. Some police officers also joined us, and later the district officers started trickling in before the VIP’s arrival. Everyone wants to enjoy the pleasure of seeing off a VIP. As the whirly bird lifts off the terra firma into the azure skies, I always look down from the helicopter to see the stressed district officials laughing boisterously, shaking hands and congratulating one another. Relief is writ large on their faces on being saved from transfer or suspension by the visiting master.

I found it unusual that all officials joining us in the expanding circle of chairs were paying undue deference to my wife... ‘Sat Sri Akal madamji…welcome ji’, etc. Those in uniform would salute her, and the civilians would bend forward with folded hands as far as their constitution permitted.

We, meanwhile, continued with our small talk softly. Like all husbands, I have mastered the secret of marital bliss by sticking to only three monosyllabic replies… ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘you are right’. In fact, our small talk was nothing but a one-way transmission of her imaginary woes while I supposedly had been having a good time flying around Punjab. The official in charge of refreshments went up to her every few minutes with the uniformed waiter from the PAP mess in tow, carrying a tray of assorted nuts and to seek her choice of beverages. Though she declined every time, I invariably grabbed a handful of these to escape any difficult reply to my wife.

With the crowd swelling, an officer finally blundered, ‘Madamji, when you were SDM, Baghapurana, I was naib tehsildar, Dharamkot.’ My wife gave a perplexed look.

‘Oh sorry madam, I thought you were the new DC,’ he said sheepishly, beating a hasty retreat. The sirens indicating the VIP’s arrival started hooting before our laughter could die down.

Binny, please take heart, you will always remain the DC of our family.

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