Andhra Pradesh seems to have decided that the safest way to navigate the future is to stop time itself, at least for its top babus. Chief Secretary K. Vijayanand, who was supposed to retire on 30 November, is now set for a comfortable extension. When the Chief Minister and the Prime Minister are getting along famously, even the DoPT tends to behave like a courteous guest, nodding along.
The state has asked for Vijayanand to stay till February 2026, which is practically an entire political era in Andhra terms. The official line is that continuity will help governance. The unofficial line is that Naidu knows exactly whom he trusts, and he’s not eager to shuffle the deck just because the calendar says so. However, the more telling subplot is the succession script. It has been announced that G. Sai Prasad, a 1991-batch officer with a reputation for being calm under pressure, is the heir apparent. He’s currently overseeing Water Resources and is largely seen as reliable, discreet, and not given to bureaucratic theatrics. In other words, Naidu-compatible.
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Of course, Sai Prasad’s own retirement in May 2026 looms, but that’s hardly a problem. If there’s one thing Indian governments have mastered, it’s stretching service tenures like rubber bands in the name of “administrative stability.” And by the look of it, Andhra is ready to stretch this one too.
What emerges is a governance model built on predictability: no surprises, no experiments, no brave new faces. Just seasoned administrators who know the system, know the leader, and know better than stirring the pot. Whether that steadiness translates into better outcomes or merely bureaucratic comfort is a debate for another day. But for now, Andhra has made one thing clear: the top job is staying in familiar hands.
Barmer’s parallel realities
It can only happen in India. Only in Indian public life can a district be both a “national model for digitisation” and a scene straight out of a family intervention meeting, within the same week.
First came the glowing headline: Barmer, under Collector Tina Dabi, has reportedly achieved 100 per cent digitisation of SIR mapping, Rajasthan’s own version of the “moon landing.” A milestone and a badge of honour. And then came the Disha meeting video.
Suddenly, the district didn’t look like the poster child of digital transformation; it looked like a place where the MP, the MLA and half the officials had shown up with a long list of complaints. Watching local MP Ummedaram Beniwal and MLA Ravindra Singh Bhati quiz Dabi was like watching a vivisection done in slow motion—civil, polite, but with that unmistakable “something’s not adding up” energy. She answered a few questions, let others hang in the air, and generally radiated the vibe of someone wishing the WiFi would go down, so the meeting could be declared inconclusive!
To be fair, Indian governance has always excelled at parallel realities. One arm announces historic success; another arm, often in the same room, wonders aloud if the basics are even working. Maybe Barmer has digitised everything. Or maybe the only thing our babus have perfected is the art of turning administrative achievement into political theatre.
Either way, the contrast is priceless. We can only marvel at babudom’s uncanny ability to simultaneously deliver headline-friendly victories and live-streamed awkwardness. Now that is a skill worth documenting.
Telangana’s worrying experiment
The question posed by the Telangana High Court recently—why are IPS officers holding IAS-level administrative posts—isn’t mere legal nitpicking. It cuts to the heart of what makes India’s civil service structure more than just a resume list: the carefully carved allocation of roles that reflect differences in training, mandate and institutional logic.
At issue is a recent government order under which senior IPS functionaries such as Stephen Ravindra, Shikha Goel and CV Anand have been posted as ex officio principal secretaries or Special Chief Secretary in departments typically reserved for IAS officers. The court, acting on a petition, has asked the state government to explain by 10 December.
To shrug this off as an inside-game reshuffle is to misunderstand the gravity. The IAS and IPS are not interchangeable; they’re separate services precisely to ensure checks and balances. Administrative oversight requires a perspective untainted by the chain of command of policing. When the same police officers overseeing investigations suddenly become the administrative bosses, the firewall of neutrality and review gets dangerously compromised.
The petitioner’s contention that such appointments may run foul of statutory mandates like the IAS (Fixation of Cadre Strength) Regulations, 2016, deserves not just court scrutiny but wider public debate. Especially in a state where past controversies have included allegations of unauthorised phone tapping, the optics of “police running the show” rather than “civil servants overseeing the police” cannot be ignored.
Governance isn’t only about efficiency; it’s about institutional safeguards. Rules and cadre distinctions may appear arcane, but they exist to prevent concentration of power, ensure independent review, and preserve democratic accountability. The Telangana High Court’s intervention is a welcome pause for reflection.
By Dilip Cherian
