BHADKAW SAAB: Everything Is Public. Through Me.
Introducing a gentleman who inherited connections, accumulated importance and dedicated himself to the noble profession of public service.
I come from a respectable family.
Namaskaram.
I am Bhadkaw Saab.
Before we discuss my contribution to society, you should know something about my family.
My grandfather owned land. My father understood the importance of relationships. Our relatives entered business, education, professional associations and various other respectable occupations. Naturally, our family became well known.
I did not inherit influence. I inherited the goodwill that generations of my family worked so hard to establish.
There is a difference.
Some people inherit property. Others inherit businesses. Fortunately, I inherited something considerably more valuable.
I inherited introductions.
At family functions, I met people whom others spend years trying to reach. At weddings, I discovered that a guest list can be an extraordinary institutional resource. Our family photographs contain several people whose appointments other citizens must request.
I cannot help it if opportunity has always recognised our address.
I am thirty. People sometimes ask how I established such an extensive network at my age. I tell them I started early. My father began taking me along before I understood what the meetings were about.
In Hyderabad, somebody would ask whose son I was. I would answer. A chair would appear.
Of course, I believe in merit.
My family has been meritorious for generations.
My community is my strength.
I am proud of my community. I attend its celebrations, support its associations and encourage its young people. I believe communities should stand together.
Particularly during elections.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I do not consider my community a vote bank. That is an unfortunate expression used by people who do not understand community leadership.
I merely know how many households we have, which associations influence them, who can organise a gathering and which important guests might be interested in addressing us. Information is essential to effective representation.
If someone wants to understand my community, naturally, they should speak to me.
Did the community formally appoint me?
What a strange question.
Representation is about relationships. And nobody understands our relationships better than I do.
My religion teaches service.
I participate enthusiastically in religious celebrations, charitable activities and community functions. These occasions strengthen our traditions. They also allow me to meet families, organisers, donors, businesspeople and public representatives without troubling anyone for a separate appointment.
I believe in social harmony. I am particularly enthusiastic about maintaining cordial relationships with influential members of every community. One never knows when cooperation may become necessary.
My faith teaches humility.
My public schedule, unfortunately, requires considerable recognition.
I manage both responsibilities with great dedication.
My locality is my responsibility.
Everyone here knows our family.
I know the associations, the businesses, the influential households and the officials who should be contacted when something requires attention. That knowledge has taken generations to accumulate.
Naturally, I consider myself responsible for what happens in my locality.
When residents organise an activity, I appreciate being informed. When an institution proposes a programme, I appreciate being consulted. When somebody approaches an official independently, I wonder why they felt it necessary to exclude me.
This is not possessiveness.
It is coordination.
I believe citizens should participate in public affairs. But participation without coordination creates confusion. And coordination, my friends, is my responsibility.
My locality belongs to everyone. I simply maintain the relationships through which everyone should approach it.
My officials are my contacts.
I have tremendous respect for public institutions.
A citizen may spend hours trying to understand which department is responsible for a problem. I can sometimes resolve that uncertainty with one telephone call.
When a resident approaches me, I listen. I make inquiries. If necessary, I telephone somebody I know. Sometimes the problem gets resolved.
The resident thanks me. Their family remembers me. Another resident approaches me the following week.
My reputation grows.
Someone recently suggested that I should explain the procedure so residents could approach the relevant department themselves.
An interesting suggestion.
But public institutions are complicated. Not everybody possesses my experience or understands how to speak to officials. Besides, I have spent years building these relationships. Why should all that effort become unnecessary simply because someone has learned the correct procedure?
Of course, I support institutional transparency. I merely believe personal relationships make transparency more effective.
The office belongs to the public. The officer is my contact.
Again, there is a difference.
I have always encouraged talent.
Our family belongs to what is called a forward caste. I mention this only because people have lately become very interested in backgrounds.
I prefer to judge individuals by their work.
Recently, a young organiser from a historically disadvantaged caste presented a proposal at a meeting I attended. We were about the same age. He had studied in a government school, worked while completing his degree and prepared the proposal with two other volunteers, using a borrowed laptop.
He had obtained the appointment through the institution’s published procedure.
I had not introduced him.
The officials asked questions. He answered them. When he did not have a figure, he opened his notes and checked. They asked him to coordinate the next meeting.
I congratulated him. In front of everyone.
Later, I asked who was guiding him.
He named his colleagues.
Yes, I said, but who was behind them?
He seemed not to understand the question.
I appreciate hard work. My concern was whether technical knowledge alone qualified someone to deal with senior people. There are ways of conducting oneself. There is institutional culture. These things cannot all be learned from a document.
Someone pointed out that the officials had seemed quite satisfied.
Officials change. Our family has maintained these relationships for decades.
At the next meeting, he corrected a figure I had quoted. Politely, I am told. He had brought the records.
I did not dispute the records. I spoke about his attitude.
It is possible to be technically correct and still have much to learn.
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Afterwards, I called an acquaintance at the institution. I suggested that future proposals from our locality should be discussed with experienced community representatives before proceeding.
He asked whether there was a problem with the proposal.
I said the problem was the process.
I had already assured several people that I would be coordinating this work. What was I supposed to tell them now?
I have helped people from his background before. I would happily have helped him.
He could at least have asked.
My family name is my credential.
I am a great believer in creating opportunities for young people.
Last month, someone approached me with an idea. They had researched an issue, developed a proposal and wanted an introduction to an institution.
I offered one.
The meeting went well. They began communicating with the institution and eventually developed their own working relationship. Naturally, I was pleased.
However, I noticed that my involvement was becoming less visible.
Young people sometimes misunderstand mentorship. An introduction represents years of relationships and credibility. When somebody introduces you, their goodwill travels with you.
And goodwill deserves acknowledgment.
I am not suggesting that young people should remain dependent forever. They should become independent when they are ready.
I simply believe I am exceptionally qualified to determine when that moment arrives.
I always encourage initiative. But initiative should never be confused with forgetting who made the initiative possible.
I do not believe in taking credit.
Public service requires teamwork.
Consider a public-health programme. Someone identifies a problem. A community organisation develops the proposal. Healthcare professionals undertake the planning. Volunteers mobilise participants. Public institutions contribute according to their responsibilities.
Everybody has an important role.
My contribution is bringing people together. Sometimes that means making introductions. Sometimes it means attending a meeting.
And sometimes it means standing at the centre of a photograph.
Please understand that photographs are important historical documents. Without them, how will future generations know who brought everyone together?
I have absolutely no objection to recognising volunteers, researchers and programme organisers. Their contributions are invaluable.
I simply believe recognition should follow a proper hierarchy.
The young people who developed the programme will have plenty of opportunities in the future. They should learn patience.
As for me, I must continue fulfilling my responsibilities.
There is another event tomorrow.
Public service is not a business.
Some people imagine that everything must involve money.
How unfortunate.
Money is merely one form of value.
An introduction may lead to an invitation.
An invitation may lead to a photograph.
A photograph may improve one’s reputation.
Reputation may create opportunities to participate in committees, associations and future initiatives.
This is relationship-building. I cannot help it if every successful programme expands my network, or if institutions recognise the importance of maintaining good relations with me.
And I certainly cannot help it if people occasionally confuse my visibility with leadership.
That is their appreciation.
Who am I to refuse it?
My greatest achievement is that every opportunity I receive prepares me for another opportunity to serve.
— Bhadkaw Saab
A humble servant of the public. Terms and conditions apply.
The economics of Bhadkaw Saab
Bhadkaw Saab inherits land and money, but also the ease of entering rooms where his family is already known. Long before he needed to ask for an introduction, he was learning whom to call and how to speak to people in authority. He calls the result merit without examining the conditions that helped produce it.
Neither his caste background nor his inherited relationships, on their own, establish wrongdoing. His entitlement appears in what he chooses to do when someone else succeeds without his help.
The young organiser follows an institution’s published procedure, answers its questions and earns responsibility for the next meeting. Bhadkaw Saab congratulates him. Then, rather than accept a working relationship that does not require his involvement, he uses his own contacts to propose a process that would make him necessary.
He may still accomplish useful things. People may have good reasons to thank him. What distinguishes this fictional character is his difficulty accepting that assistance does not entitle him to another person’s relationships, recognition or future opportunities.
His preferred sequence is:
BHADKAW SAAB
ACCESS → VISIBILITY → STATUS → MORE ACCESS
Each intervention adds to his standing and strengthens his claim to be involved in the next.
A different use of those same relationships would look like this:
RESPONSIBLE PUBLIC ACTOR
ACCESS → UNDERSTANDING → ACTION → ACCOUNTABILITY → PUBLIC VALUE
An introduction helps work begin. The people doing it gain knowledge, build relationships, document decisions and answer for the results. The next resident has a clearer route to the institution.
Recognition has a place in either sequence. The question is what the work leaves behind.
When someone helps open a public door, does the next person learn how to enter — or become another person who must seek permission?
The five declarations
Strip away Bhadkaw Saab’s explanations and his position becomes plain:
My community is my vote bank.
My locality is my territory.
My officials are my contacts.
My family name is my credential.
Public access passes through me.
The possessive pronoun does the work. He turns community belonging into a claim to represent everyone, familiarity with officials into a private route, and his family’s standing into evidence of his own contribution.
He speaks about collective empowerment while treating collective dependence as an asset.
His most persuasive defence is that he may actually have helped people. He can deliver a speech about youth leadership and spend the evening asking why another young person was invited to speak. His wardrobe, designation and platform may change; his expectation of deference travels with him.
A project about public access
Bhadkaw Saab is an original fictional character created for The Public Access Project, a proposed editorial and civic-literacy initiative examining social capital, institutional relationships, public participation and accountability.
In this founding story, he is a thirty-year-old Hyderabadi man from a forward-caste family. That background shapes his starting position; it does not determine his behaviour. His particular choices — not the identity he inherits — are the subject of the satire.
Relationships can help people find their way through difficult institutions. Associations can support people who have been excluded. An introduction can be an act of generosity. Public work often needs such help.
Bhadkaw Saab makes that help difficult to outgrow.
The question his stories return to is:
What happens when access intended to help people becomes a means of maintaining someone else’s importance?
He would prefer to discuss his family’s contributions.
After all, he has dedicated his entire life to opening doors.
And he would be terribly disappointed if people discovered they could open them without him.
