By Dilip Cherian
Delhi loves a vacancy, especially when it comes with a corner office and access to the Prime Minister’s calendar.
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With BVR Subrahmanyam finishing his extended run at NITI Aayog, the capital’s favourite parlour game is back: guessing the next CEO. No prize money, just prestige, and perhaps a discreet nod from someone who “knew it all along.”
For now, Nidhi Chhibber is holding additional charge. In babuspeak, that means, “Please keep the engine idling while we decide who gets to drive.” It’s efficient, practical, and wonderfully non-committal.
But this isn’t merely about replacing a nameplate.
NITI Aayog may have replaced the Planning Commission in structure, but in political weight, it’s arguably more consequential. It’s where policy ambition meets political reality. The CEO doesn’t just shepherd reports; he or she sits at the intersection of reform, federal negotiation, and prime ministerial priorities. That requires administrative gravitas, but also ideological alignment and antennae sharp enough to detect shifting winds before the curtains flutter.
Subrahmanyam brought visibility and velocity to the role. The next incumbent will reveal the government’s current mood. Does it want a bold reformist? A steady institutional manager? Or a low-decibel loyalist who prefers execution over headlines?
In today’s governance ecosystem, “think tank” is almost a misnomer. NITI doesn’t just think; it nudges, coordinates, occasionally prods. The CEO’s chair is less about theorising India’s future and more about ensuring that flagship schemes don’t vanish into inter-ministerial black holes.
So yes, the whispers will continue until Holi colours wash them away or confirm them. The next NITI CEO won’t just run a policy institution. They’ll embody a phase of governance. And that’s why the suspense matters.
Procedure triumphs over accusation
Delhi’s favourite babu courtroom drama is back, and this time the script has been edited.
The Delhi High Court has set aside the Central Administrative Tribunal (CAT) order that had briefly shielded IRS officer Sameer Wankhede from disciplinary proceedings. Translation: the charge memo lives, and so does the inquiry.
For those who enjoy procedural nuance (and in Delhi, many do), here’s the crux. A charge memo is not a conviction. It’s the starting pistol.
The High Court’s view is orthodox and clear: let the departmental process run its course unless there’s something fundamentally illegal about it. Don’t abort the race before it begins.
The CAT had earlier taken a far more dramatic stance, questioning the motives behind the action and hinting at bias. That was no small observation. But the High Court has effectively said allegations of malice can’t be presumed at the threshold.
Why does this matter beyond one officer’s career?
Because this isn’t just about the aftershocks of the 2021 cruise case that once dominated headlines, it’s about how far tribunals and courts should step into service matters before an inquiry even tests the evidence. If every charge memo is judicially dissected at birth, departmental discipline becomes theatre. If none are, fairness risks becoming an afterthought.
The ruling restores balance, at least procedurally. Of course, in high-profile cases, the process is rarely quiet. Reputations are shaped long before findings are delivered. Wankhede’s case has already travelled through headlines, courtrooms and commentary columns. Now it returns to where it technically should have been all along, an internal inquiry.
In Delhi’s babu ecosystem, survival often depends less on the allegation and more on how long the litigation lasts. This round goes to procedure. The final act? Still unwritten.
Extension raj: How long is too long?
If bureaucratic tenure extensions were a sport, Awanish Kumar Awasthi would be vying for the podium. The seasoned 1987-batch Indian Administrative Service officer has just had his stint as Chief Advisor to Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath extended yet again, for the fourth time. He will stay in the corridors of power until February next year.
Awasthi retired from formal service in August 2022 after a decades-long career that put him at the helm of some of UP’s most powerful bureaucratic bastions, including the Home Department, Information, you name it. But instead of fading gracefully into the sunset, he was handed a new “temporary” role: advisor to the CM. That role has now been extended for the fourth time, almost as if retirement was an empty suggestion rather than a life milestone.
Other babus take sabbaticals; he’s taking extensions. This latest extension comes at a politically juicy moment: assembly elections are looming in 2027, and having your closest administrative confidant around can be a big plus in managing both policy and political narratives.
Of course, this raises eyebrows. What does it say when a government effectively keeps a retired babu on a looped retainer? Is it continuity and experience? Or a kind of job security that would make even Hollywood sequels blush? Either way, the scene in Lucknow now resembles less a clean break between career and counsel, and more an open-ended contract with perks.
