Syed Ali Murtaza Rizvi’s decision to hang up his boots eight years ahead of time has clearly rattled the Telangana Secretariat, and with good reason. Rizvi is a senior babu with impeccable credentials, heading two sensitive departments — Revenue and GAD (Political), and his calling it quits is bound to raise eyebrows. The official explanation cites “personal goals,” but anyone who’s watched Indian babudom for a while knows that’s usually code for “I’ve had enough.” In Rizvi’s case, “enough” seems to have come after four transfers in just two years, an administrative relay race that would test the patience of even the most stoic babu. Officials often joke that stability is a myth, but when an IAS officer becomes a permanent fixture only on the transfer list, something’s seriously amiss.
According to observers, political interference may have accelerated the burnout. A powerful minister is being fingered for allegedly engineering the reshuffles, though, as always, “sources” prefer to remain conveniently vague. Ironically, the same political class that made Rizvi’s position untenable is now scrambling to stop his exit. Reportedly, the Excise Minister is urging the state Chief Secretary not to accept his VRS plea.
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It’s a classic case of wanting to have your babu and blame him, too. The entire episode lays bare the uneasy dance between babus and politics in Telangana, where merit and continuity often yield to ministerial whims.
If Rizvi’s departure goes through, it will be another reminder that India’s babudom is quietly bleeding talent. The question isn’t why he’s leaving — it’s how many others are thinking the same thing but haven’t yet found the nerve to say so.
The Lokpal’s BMW moment
When India created the Lokpal, it was meant to be the nemesis of corruption, a moral sword unsheathed. A decade later, it seems that the sword’s been traded in for BMWs. The nation’s top anti-graft body has splurged on luxury cars even as it’s managed to prosecute a total of seven cases in six years.
Once upon a time, the Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) struck fear into governments. Remember the 2G and Commonwealth Games exposés? Those were the days when audit reports rattled power corridors. Now, it’s all serene. The CAG still audits, but the sharp edges have been filed down to a polite murmur.
The silence extends beyond these institutions. Whistleblowers are discouraged, transparency laws are under strain, and vigilance bodies operate as though oversight were an optional extra. The Lokpal Act, once touted as a triumph of citizen activism, now looks like a case study in bureaucratic domestication. The watchdogs haven’t just lost their bark; they have been house-trained.
Institutions that once snapped at misuse of power now seem content to nap in their air-conditioned, chauffeur-driven luxury cars. The Modi sarkar loves to proclaim it’s corruption-free, but one wonders if that’s because no one’s actually looking anymore.
Anti-corruption in India today feels less like a crusade and more like a corporate offsite, complete with plush cars and moral PowerPoint slides. If the Lokpal and CAG are our institutional watchdogs, they might consider swapping their BMWs for more humble modes of transport. It might help them get closer to where corruption actually occurs.
Turf, tweets & transfers
Another day, another “routine” transfer — that catch-all phrase babus use when they hope nobody’s paying attention. Only this time, the sudden shunting of two senior Customs officials has sparked more chatter than calm in the babu corridors. Behind the bland notification lies a juicy saga of turf wars, bruised egos, and a desperate scramble to control the fallout. The incident in question caused significant embarrassment in the government.
It all began when a controversy involving exporters and importers went viral on X and other platforms, forcing the Ministry of Finance into action. The Ministry’s Chief Vigilance Officer, who is a joint secretary-level officer, was sent out on a fact-finding mission and apparently suggested suspension of the officers concerned. But the Board, ever protective of its turf, wasn’t having any of it. It argued that its own Directorate General of Vigilance should handle such matters. According to observers, this is just code for “thanks but keep out of our way.”
So, instead of suspensions and a formal inquiry, the two officers were neatly reassigned to Delhi as Officers on Special Duty. In babu-speak, it can be read as doing what was required, while ensuring nothing truly inconvenient emerges.
The Board may have averted immediate embarrassment, but insiders say the Ministry isn’t pleased. The episode exposes the uneasy balance between autonomy and accountability.
In the end, the transfers achieved what they were meant to: contain the noise without cleaning the system. Because in sarkari circles, it’s never really about solving the problem, just about making sure it stops trending.
By Dilip Cherian
