By Dilip Cherian
Sudhansh Pant’s abrupt move from Rajasthan’s highest babu kursi to a central posting has triggered an immediate surge of speculation and conversation in Jaipur. On paper, it’s a standard reshuffle: a senior IAS officer, 1991 batch, taking charge as Secretary in the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment. But anyone who has watched Rajasthan’s bureaucracy for more than a week knows this wasn’t exactly a planned send-off with farewell laddoos. Pant still had over a year of service left, and by all accounts, his innings as Chief Secretary was far from over. That’s precisely why his exit is being read as a sign that all was not well between him and the political leadership. The whispers have been consistent: files bypassing his desk, transfer proposals stalled or overridden, and a sense of being micromanaged from outside the Secretariat. At some point, even the most seasoned officer begins to feel the writing on the wall.
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This is where Delhi steps in. The Centre’s decision to pull Pant back into the Union government is being seen as both a reward for reliability and a subtle message to states: when the Centre wants a particular officer, it will get that officer. For Rajasthan, the timing couldn’t be worse. A sudden vacancy at the top triggers jostling among senior officers, and each contender comes with his or her own camp, loyalties, and political baggage. Administrative continuity inevitably suffers; decisions slow down, files start to pile up, and everyone plays safe until the dust settles. In a state that already battles frequent bureaucratic churn, this only further fuels uncertainty.
Pant, meanwhile, lands in Delhi with a wider canvas and a reputation for being a safe pair of hands. But the real story is what his departure says about the state-Centre equation. When a Chief Secretary is plucked out mid-flight, it’s not just a transfer but also a reminder that India’s federal structure operates less like a symmetrical partnership and more like an uneven tug-of-war, where the rope keeps shifting towards Raisina Hill.
When Bengal turns a cadre into a cul-de-sac
West Bengal’s babudom has long had a reputation for being the graveyard shift of the All India Services. Officers quietly joke that once you enter the cadre, you may never quite emerge, at least not with your rightful entitlements intact. The latest case involving 2022-batch IPS officer Aashish Kumar isn’t adding any sparkle to that image.
Here’s a young officer who simply wanted what the rules already allow: an inter-cadre transfer to AGMUT after marrying his batchmate, Dr Akansha Milind Tamgadge. Straightforward, right? But not in Bengal. His reminders for a No Objection Certificate seem to have gone the way of many files in the Writers’ Building, stuck in the world’s slowest elevator. Eventually, Kumar had to knock on the CAT’s doors, which, again, predictably, had to play referee.
What makes this case more telling is the déjà vu. This isn’t the first time the tribunal has had to prod the West Bengal government into doing what should be done as a matter of routine. Marriage grounds for cadre transfer aren’t some exotic exceptions; they’re baked into the government’s policy for a reason—family cohesion leads to better administrative efficiency. But when states drag their feet, policy becomes hostage to bureaucratic stubbornness.
The CAT’s blunt directive to grant the NOC in two weeks or it will be “deemed issued” is essentially a judicial eye-roll. It also signals something larger: Delhi isn’t inclined to let state-level inertia mess with the uniformity of All India Service rules. For other officers trapped in a similar limbo, this ruling is a morale booster.
And for the state’s babus, this episode is yet another reminder that the state needs to fix the basics, starting with following the rules it signed up for.
Babus on alert
Delhi’s babu corridors are buzzing again, and this time it’s not about a reshuffle or a turf war, but something far more unnerving for senior babus: the Vice President’s office wants a full-blown report card, complete with presentations, performance metrics, comparative analysis, strategic roadmaps, the works. And predictably, the babus are in a mild panic.
When a request comes from the Vice President’s Secretariat, nobody asks “why” out loud, but everyone whispers it in the hallways. Secretaries aren’t even sure of the purpose of the directive. One senior official, doing the classic bureaucratic tightrope walk, calls it an “advisory note” meant to help the Vice President discharge his duties as Chairman of the Rajya Sabha. Fair enough. But even advisory notes can feel like exam notices when you’re asked to compare 11 years of achievements to historical performance and outline your master plan for the future.
The timing is interesting. In this third term of the Modi government, there is a sharper focus on outcomes and greater pressure for quantifiable progress. A Vice President wanting clarity on ministry performance isn’t odd on paper, but the insistence on a presentation plus a detailed note, submitted in advance, definitely suggests an appetite for scrutiny. Or at least an audit-style overview. And babus, who thrive on controlled ambiguity, don’t always enjoy such bright spotlights.
To their credit, many ministries have already rushed to comply, eager to avoid a second reminder. Others are still scrambling to put together their PowerPoints and craft “achievements” into something that looks like a narrative arc rather than a collection of files moved from one desk to another.
The larger question, though, is what this signals: a more assertive Vice President shaping his niche? A subtle nudge toward performance accountability? Or simply another layer of paperwork in a system already groaning under its own weight? For now, the babus are treating it like a pop quiz with a very important invigilator and hoping their answers score well.
