The gleaming new Kartavya Bhavan-3, showcased as the crown jewel of the Central Vista project, is already sparking discontent among the very babus meant to occupy it. The Central Secretariat Service (CSS) Forum, representing over 13,000 officials, has written to the Prime Minister’s Office and the Ministry of Housing and Urban Affairs alleging that office space allocations in the new complex fall short of the government’s own 2017 guidelines. Those rules clearly entitle Deputy Secretaries and Directors to 240 sq ft, Under Secretaries to 120, Section Officers to 60 and Assistant Section Officers to 40. Instead, officers have been packed into large open halls with token partitions, with even sensitive departments like the Home Ministry allotted undivided workspaces where private conversations and confidential files are exposed to prying ears.
The government argues that open-plan offices reflect modernity, sustainability and efficiency. There is less hierarchy, more collaboration, and lower costs. But governance isn’t a start-up. Babus argue that they aren’t trading stock tips or brainstorming over beanbags; they handle vigilance matters, court cases and classified files that demand discretion. Global studies repeatedly show that open offices may look sleek but often reduce productivity, hamper concentration, and create noise fatigue. Add the risk of leaks, and you get not just disgruntled officers but compromised governance.
This isn’t about nostalgia for “cabin culture.” It’s about function over form. If the government itself laid down entitlements, why ignore them in its showcase project? A building meant to symbolise duty and efficiency is already being undercut by flawed design. The fix may not be complicated: hybrid layouts, soundproofing, private zones for sensitive work, and genuine adherence to norms. Without that, Central Vista may be seen less for its grandeur and more for its tin-eared treatment of the very people running the state.
A tale of yes, no, maybe
The Centre appears to be playing a game of hopscotch with the service tenures of top babus. One week it’s “absolutely not,” the next it’s “go right ahead.” Jharkhand’s plea to keep its acting DGP Anurag Gupta beyond April 30 was shot down. Similarly, Uttar Pradesh’s request to hold on to DGP Prashant Kumar was denied. Bihar wanted its Chief Secretary, Amrit Lal Meena, for longer? Also a no, followed swiftly by the DoPT nixing UP’s pitch for an extension to Chief Secretary Manoj Kumar Singh.
And then, as if on cue, came the about-turn. Madhya Pradesh was allowed to keep Anurag Jain as Chief Secretary for another year. Telangana was allowed to extend K Ramkrishna Rao’s tenure by seven months. Maharashtra’s Rajesh Kumar got three extra months, neatly carrying him through to November.
What changed? The refusals weren’t confined to opposition states, nor were the approvals limited to BJP-ruled ones, which rules out easy explanations. If this is “policy,” it’s a remarkably opaque one, say observers. If it’s case-by-case discretion, then the Centre isn’t exactly advertising the criteria. In a system that prides itself on procedure and hierarchy, this looks more like mood swings than method.
For the babus, the fallout is real. Senior officers such as chief secretaries and DGPs anchor the state machinery. When extensions are handled like a roulette wheel, it rattles succession planning, leaves state governments flat-footed, and fuels whispers that Delhi is playing favourites, even when it may not be. At the very least, it sends a message that rules are flexible depending on the weather.
When UPSC scandal meets road-rage drama
Puja Khedkar’s saga is turning into something of a tragicomedy: from alleged UPSC fraud to kidnapping allegations. Just when the story might’ve started fading, a new twist slaps it into the headlines once more. Recently, a road-rage incident in Navi Mumbai involving a cement-mixer truck led to the helper disappearing. He was later rescued from a bungalow in Pune registered to “Puja Automobiles,” a name connected to Khedkar. To make things messier, her mother allegedly obstructed the police at the residence, refusing them entry. Police have filed an FIR for kidnapping; investigations are ongoing even as the identity of the abductors remains unconfirmed.
Now, Khedkar isn’t new to controversy. She was dismissed from the IAS after her provisional selection was annulled by the UPSC on charges of misrepresenting her identity, wrongly claiming OBC and disability quota benefits, and abusing the number of exam attempts allowed.
But even assuming for a moment there’s no direct evidence yet that Khedkar orchestrated the abduction, the whole episode reveals how slippery the slide from public service aspirant to public controversy can be. The stakes are enormous once you take on a role that demands trust. When allegations of fraud enter the picture, every move amplifies public distrust. The police had to break through resistance just to carry out a rescue; such confrontations are fuel for the narrative that some in elite circles believe rules are optional.
Khedkar’s case has already raised questions about how severely UPSC verifies identity, disability claims, etc. Add to that police action (or resistance), property ownership, and political or social connections, and you have a spectacle that feels like far more than just a scandal—it’s a test of fairness and enforcement.
By Dilip Cherian