Bureaucracy ailment

For quite some time now, driven by the madness of old age, I’ve had the urge to write this piece. Some might see it as unsolicited advice, or question my right to say such things. That right, however, is nothing more than this: the writer is a resident of the cultural region known as South Asia; two, teaching has been his profession, so it has become second nature to him; and three, he is of age. In Bangladesh, an elderly person is called a murubbi, and murubbis are said to be accorded a special respect. Their words are meant to be heard by the younger ones—though how far that holds true in reality, I do not know. In many countries around the world, the elderly are viewed with a certain care, and even in democratic Western societies, they receive kindness and consideration. These, then, are the excuses from the writer’s side.

From the reader’s side, the question may arise: who exactly is this piece for? Who, sir, is your intended reader? In my view, anyone who reads it is a reader. Since this writing is about social conduct, my target is the Bengali-speaking social being. The main subject of this article is dominance in society and its unintended expressions. The writer wants to make the reader aware of this. I assume this reader is primarily an educated member of the middle class. Within them, perhaps without even realising it, there may occur some unwelcome expressions of dominance in their dealings and conversations with others. I will speak about that first. Then I will talk about the opposite—examples of cooperation the writer has seen elsewhere, but which are often missing from our society.

That is to say, the aim of this writing is to reduce dominance in public behaviour and language and increase cooperation and kindness. This requires no money; perhaps just a little time, and perhaps a small “expenditure” or sacrifice of one’s inflated or unwarranted self-importance. I hope that this will be read by any educated middle-class person—student, government or private employee, political party worker, etc. Especially those who, outside their family, have to work or speak in larger public spaces—markets, offices, streets, or beyond their own region—as indeed we all do. If they read this, the writer will be pleased. What they will do after reading is their own decision. They may very well dismiss it all as “utter rubbish”.

It’s not that these matters are irrelevant to behaviour within the family. I know there is a distribution of power and dominance within families too. Parents or guardians wield more authority than children. In many families, the husband claims more dominance over the wife. I will not go into the natural, biological or socio-institutional histories and reasons for this. I simply wish to say that if we could reduce that level of dominance and slightly increase the level of cooperation and kindness, it would be a good thing.

2.
This act of service involves bodily gestures as well as verbal language. Both have negative expressions which we often see, so I will discuss both together. Before speaking, some words on courtesy are necessary. Suppose at a bank or elsewhere, you are about to push open a swing door and enter, and through the glass you see another person approaching. What will you do? Will you push the door and enter in their face, or hold the door open and allow them to go first? I believe the latter is the right thing. This doesn’t need to be taught abroad; but in our country, it seems people need to be reminded. In Hindi, there is a courteous phrase ‘Aap pehle’, which doesn’t exist in Bengali. No matter—it’s the action that matters.

It may happen that the person for whom you held the door says nothing like “thank you”. Because they too, like you, are not prepared for courtesy in this society. Do not be disappointed by this; do not think yourself deprived of the reward of your good deed. The very sense that you acted courteously should be your reward. In linguistics, some linguists from former Czechoslovakia have emphasised the importance of such linguistic etiquette. They called these expressions phatic communion; I call them courtesy greetings in Bengali. These do not convey any major news, nor any deep emotion, nor any special beauty. Nothing great would be lost if they weren’t said—but they help maintain a vague thing called social cohesion.

By using them, we imagine that we belong to the same civilised society, and showing each other this little courtesy helps make our social existence, if not beautiful, at least bearable. What are these? On seeing someone in the morning, saying in your own language something like “Good morning! How are you this morning?” as cheerfully as possible. The other person would respond in the same formulaic manner with a smile, “Good morning! I’m fine, thank you! And how about you?” Then the first speaker replies, “Thank you, I’m fine too!” These dialogues are purely ritualistic. In response, unless absolutely necessary, no one says, “Don’t even ask! My wife burnt her hand in the cooking pan oil, and we’re in deep trouble!”

In Bangladesh, I’ve often found that people, whether known or unknown, will suddenly greet you with “Assalamu Alaikum” while passing on the street or climbing stairs. As we were often unprepared, the greeter would have gone far away before we could respond with “Wa Alaikum Assalam.”

A criticism here could be that I am enamoured with Western etiquette and trying to import some of it into our way of life. In Western social interaction, words like “Thank you”, “Danke”, “Merci beaucoup”, “Spasiba” are so frequently used that in our society they may seem like the excessive behaviour of eccentrics. In families too, “Thank you” is tossed around endlessly. Not only in the West—in Japan, hearing “Arigato gozaimasu” repeatedly will exhaust you. To this old man, even this excess seems good. There is no need to cling to the English “thank you” itself. In Bengali, the word “dhonnobad” has been in use for a long time, and it sounds quite good. I don’t know who coined it, but it was well coined. In Hindi, “Aapka badhai ho” also works well. If one is shy about saying “dhonnobad”, one could say things like “that helped”, or in the Bangladeshi style, “stay well”, and many other such expressions. Of course, with a smile. The phrase does not go well with a sullen face.

I ask you to consider whether the objection to Western manners is truly a strong one. We have adopted so many things from the West—language, clothing, food—I won’t make a list. I only say: even if we take this, it won’t defile the Mahabharat. There was likely a problem in our own society too. Our Hindu society was so divided by caste that a democratic or egalitarian code of conduct has yet to fully develop. Unequal social development also plays a role. These things still emerge in many areas, especially regarding Dalits, or people of other religions, or tribal communities. On top of that, education—especially English education—has created a new caste between the “educated” and so-called “uneducated”. The divide between rural and urban also hasn’t been fully bridged. As a result, in our mentality and conduct, various traditions of dominance and aristocratic attitudes have left an underlying structure, from which we have not yet fully freed ourselves. When we go out on roads or into markets, we often see this arrogance of “superiority” among the so-called educated middle class, especially when speaking with people of lower status.

I’ve written about this before. For instance, when our local vegetable vendor Liakat praised the tomatoes in his cart, a babu customer informed him that he had lived in Norway for 10 years, so Liakat shouldn’t presume to teach him what a good tomato is. To this humble person, that is a form of dominance. It’s a kind of disease of “Do you know who you’re talking to?”, which I’ve written about while speaking of intellectuals. Our language too has the layered gradations of apni, tumi, tui, which support this social division. This writing only appeals that we move beyond that. Some have become aware and have managed to do so; others have not. Feudalism created the world’s earliest bureaucracy, and within our caste system, the signs of that bureaucracy have remained strong. And we’ve neatly “fit” the various divides of economy, education, and religion into that caste-based bureaucracy.

3.
If someone comes to your office for a service, what should your body language be? Will you attentively pick your ears with a finger? Jiggle your leg or knee? Scratch your belly, yawn deeply and then ask, “What do you want?” How long it takes for you to look at the person carries psychological meaning. You are employed to provide a service, perhaps paid with the tax money of customers (and of course your own). Others are your clients. Are clients to be treated as “others”? How much importance you give to the client depends on when and how you look at them—also your body language and tone. Instead of an indifferent or irritated “What do you want?”, will you say “Tell me, what can I do for you?” Or, like foreigners, “Can I help you?”

In various offices, especially government ones (and I don’t think the situation has radically changed), service staff often get annoyed when a client arrives: “Everything was fine, now here comes a nuisance! Now I’ll have to leave my chair, find their file, chase down some forms. Such a bother!” Alongside this, we’re familiar with the verbal behaviour: “I’ll have to look for your file. Come back in two days.” I don’t know if such images have been erased from our social history.

Even today (28.07.2025), in the second editorial of the most popular Bengali newspaper, I read that retired Deputy Governor of the Reserve Bank of India, Swaminathan J., expressed regret that a major problem in Indian banking services is the “lack of empathy” among bank staff. This is not only about bank workers—this complaint has long existed about many government employees. As a result, all kinds of government offices (secretariats, courts, income tax, sales tax, post offices, banks, panchayats, land or property dealings, municipalities or corporations, tourism and various enquiries, college-university departments, etc.) are marked by this lack of empathy. Elderly, illiterate or rural people do not escape this either—this is widely experienced and perceived.

I especially remember banks because I’ve had experience with them in some rich countries. There, a bank has several windows for the same task. I see in banks here too many windows, just like those abroad. But only one or two deal with cash, where there’s a long queue, while other windows are either manned but idle, or unmanned. Abroad, if a line got too long, a clerk from a less crowded window would call out, “Please come to my window!” and always with a smile. I find this smiling service sorely lacking here. Smiling doesn’t cost much, nor does courtesy, as far as I know. “Service with a smile” seems like a forbidden phrase here—everyone appears extremely embarrassed or stern. If not “superior”.

Let me make a little room for storytelling. I’m not claiming that abroad everyone always works with a smile; but others around are usually ready to bring in a bit of humour. Once, overseas, a bus conductor was urging elderly passengers to hurry off at a terminal, saying, “Hurry up, hurry up!” Then one frail old woman turned around and said, “Can you say that with a smile?” The conductor was caught off guard, opened his mouth and bared his teeth: “Look, lady, I am smiling!”

I see many “superior” types especially during job interviews. Particularly in so-called service commissions, among professors and such, where heavyweights come already having decided who not to hire, and they leave the candidates in tears with irrelevant questions. A candidate specialising in medieval literature may be asked about Bhaskar Chakraborty’s poetry; one who’s done a PhD on modern poetry may be quizzed on Jnanadas’s padabali. Some show bias towards a university, others mock specific teachers. I won’t delve into the bitter behind-the-scenes dealings—stories of money, sarees, jewellery have become so epidemic in West Bengal (and elsewhere in India) that someone could write an epic on it.

4.
To end, let me say again: there are exceptions everywhere. Not everyone suffers from the same flaws or helplessness. Some do their best, against all odds, to befriend the client. That’s one thing. Two, I know that staff-cutting policies have been implemented across the board. Bank staff have been drastically reduced, probably across all government sectors. Government employees are burdened by an overwhelming workload. They have my full sympathy. Many of them are progressive thinkers, who care about people. So yes, there are exceptions—I myself have at times received unexpected help and felt grateful.

Still, we must consider why the bad name of bureaucracy still persists. And yes, this piece, however unauthorised it may be, also points to political bureaucracy. Not only to leaders, but also to ordinary party workers who may adopt the ailment of bureaucracy by watching others—along with other ailments. I know the state of the world is not good. But I send my wishes for smiling faces from those who serve. Rabindranath gave us the beautiful phrase pranapon hasimukh—“a smile with all one’s being”—in our Bengali language.

Pabitra Sarkar: Linguist, literary writer, theatre critic, educationist and researcher