The gardener who taught me humility

FRESH out of training in 1973, I arrived at my first posting as Sub-Divisional Magistrate of Sonepat in Haryana, brimming with the confidence that comes with youth. The official bungalow that came with the position was a relic from the British times — sprawling, imposing and designed to remind everyone of the importance of its occupant.

Working on the extensive lawns was an old gardener, a mali, whose pace had slowed considerably with age. One day, watching him move laboriously across the garden, I felt compelled to assert my new authority. I scolded him for being slow.

His response floored me instantly and gave me a lesson I would carry for life. With folded hands and utmost respect, he said simply: “Huzoor, aap mere atthaeesven SDM hain.” (Sir, you are my 28th SDM).

Those six words demolished whatever illusions of importance I had. Here I was, barely settled into my chair, lecturing a man who had been tending these lawns for decades. He had seen 27 officers before me come with similar authority, similar self-importance. And he would see many more after I left. I was temporary. He was the constant.

The lesson was loud and clear: people like me come and go. Very soon, there would be a 29th SDM, then a 30th, and the old mali would still be there, patiently tending his garden, outlasting all of us.

I took it as a profound lesson in humility. That encounter shaped my approach throughout my career. It led me to adopt a practical reform in every office I headed. The incumbency board — that wooden plaque listing all previous occupants of a position — is traditionally hung behind the officer’s chair. I insisted on placing it in front of my desk instead, where I could see it every day.

There were two good reasons for this unconventional placement. First, it served as a daily reminder of how many people had sat in this very chair before me. It kept my ego in check, reminding me that I was just one name on a long list. Second, and rather practically, when the board was behind me, visitors would spend our meetings craning their necks to read it, mentally calculating who had the longest tenure, who had the shortest, completely distracted.

That mali probably never got to know the profound impact his gentle response had on a young, overzealous officer. He simply stated a fact, without malice or sarcasm. But in doing so, he taught me more about administration and humility than any training manual ever could.

The lesson: No matter how high the position, we are all temporary. The institution endures. The gardeners remain. And back in Sonepat, I hope there’s still a gardener, quietly reminding the 50th SDM his place in the grand continuum.

I end with a memorable verse of Habib Jalib:

Tujh se pehle jo ek shakhs yahan takht-nasheen tha,

Us ko bhi apne Khuda hone ka itna hi yaqeen tha.

(The man who adorned the throne before you, also believed that he was God.)