As of September 14, the Central Information Commission (CIC) may be headless. Chief Information Commissioner Heeralal Samariya retires, and unless the government acts at lightning speed (not its strong suit), the country’s transparency watchdog will be leaderless yet again.
This isn’t exactly uncharted territory. Back in 2023, when YK Sinha retired, the CIC post was left vacant until the Supreme Court had to step in and remind the Centre that the RTI law risks becoming a “dead letter” without a functioning Commission. Clearly, the warning didn’t sink in.
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It’s not just the chief’s chair that’s emptying. Out of ten sanctioned Information Commissioners, only two are left. Eight seats have been vacant for nearly a year, even though 161 applications were received last August. Translation? A massive backlog of appeals and complaints, citizens waiting endlessly for decisions, and the RTI process quietly choking on delay.
Is this simply bureaucratic laziness, or a more deliberate attempt to starve transparency of oxygen? Either way, the outcome is the same. The citizens’ right to know is being casually sidelined. If the CIC continues like this, India’s most empowering democratic tool will be reduced to a paperwork graveyard.
Transparency delayed is transparency denied. And when the watchdog is asleep, or worse, missing, it’s the public that ends up paying the price.
Bihar denial, Bengal drama
The Election Commission of India is having one of those “look, but don’t touch” moments. On one hand, it’s vehemently denying any wrongdoing in Bihar’s electoral rolls, brushing off opposition allegations like a minor irritation. On the other hand, a very similar mess is unfolding in West Bengal, where Chief Secretary Manoj Pant had to rush to Delhi after the state dragged its feet on disciplining four officials caught handing out their login credentials for the voter database.
The ECI’s language is stern: “grave lapses” and a clear deadline of August 21 to comply. And rightly so. This isn’t just sloppy paperwork; in an era where data is currency, careless handling of electoral rolls is a direct threat to the integrity of elections.
The optics, however, are tricky. The Commission may be showing teeth in West Bengal, but the contrast with its vigorous denials over Bihar raises eyebrows. Opposition parties are quick to spot it, critics are ready with their tweets, and the public’s trust, which is already wearing thin, takes another jolt.
At the end of the day, credibility is everything for the referee in a democracy. Suspensions and deadlines can plug holes, but they can’t patch over the perception that the Commission is fighting fires selectively. Treat voter data carelessly in one state, deny problems in another, and suddenly the watchdog looks like it’s running, rather than keeping the game fair.
Cracking UPSC is just half the battle
Every year, lakhs of hopefuls pin their dreams on the UPSC exam. Only a tiny fraction — around 1,000 — make it through, and an even smaller club of 200–250 land the IAS, IPS or IFoS. But here’s the part outsiders often miss: clearing the exam doesn’t make you a government officer. The real game begins with training and, more crucially, cadre allocation.
Sounds simple, but in practice, it’s a mix of merit, vacancies, reservation rules, and a healthy dose of luck. Even toppers don’t always get what they want. Some may recall Tina Dabi, the 2015 topper? Haryana was her first choice, but Rajasthan got her instead.
The system tries to balance insiders and outsiders using a 30-point roster, ensuring no cadre is overrun by locals while still giving states their share of homegrown officers. Add to that the five-zone grouping system, where candidates must rank their preferences. Skip this formality, and the UPSC decides for you, with no regard for dreams of a “home state” posting.
Why such complexity? To keep the services nationally integrated, spread talent across deficit states, and prevent bureaucratic fiefdoms. Noble goals, but for young officers, it often feels like fate being sealed by a spreadsheet.
In short, cracking UPSC is like winning a ticket to the big league. But where you play is decided in the quieter, less glamorous backrooms of cadre allocation. The steel frame of India, it seems, still bends first to the logic of rosters and quotas.
By Dilip Cherian
