The District Collector’s plastic shoes

Nehru was not an admirer of Napoleon, but he shared with him at least one trait: both were simple in their habits and tight-fisted when incurring an expense for themselves. Napoleon had instructed his staff not to discard any coat that could be repaired. The same was true of Nehru, who mostly wore simple Khadi clothes. 

When I entered the IPS and underwent training at Mussoorie and the National Police Academy, Hyderabad, I found that while speakers pontificated on the virtue of honesty, no one talked about simplicity. However, simplicity was inevitable considering the mess bill and other expenses left little of the salary. It was particularly hard for those probationers who had a family to support back home. 

Later in service, I found many colleagues from whom one could imbibe simplicity. This story is about one such senior colleague. 

In August 1994, I was SP of Valsad district in Gujarat, where Mr Meena, an IAS officer senior to me by two years, was the collector. He was simple but proper, and he was so honest that he would not even accept a basket of mangoes as a gift. 

Such officers often tend to be aloof and humourless, but Meena was quite the opposite. In meetings and conversations, he lost no opportunity to crack a joke about himself or others. Every Sunday, he organised a pot-luck party at a beach, forest, or garden, in which all district-level officers had to be present with their families. 

The rainy season was approaching when Meena suffered a minor mishap—his only pair of black leather shoes got torn beyond repair. So he bought an almost identical new pair. When I complimented him for his choice, he said sheepishly, “Please look carefully. It’s not leather; they are made of plastic material; good for the rainy season.” 

But rain gave way to winter, and even though winter was gone, Meena continued to make do with his plastic shoes. Sometimes I thought of gifting him a pair of simple leather shoes, but I knew he would not accept them. 

In April, we were in the midst of state assembly elections when Prime Minister Narsimha Rao came to the district for a public meeting. As per protocol, Meena and I lined up to receive the dignitary at the helipad. Meena was appropriately dressed in a black ‘band gala’ suit, but his shoes were the same leather-look-alike plastic shoes. 

After the elections, we were both transferred to different places. A few months later, Meena came to visit us with his family. As they took their seats in our drawing room, I saw that Meena was wearing a pair of brand new leather shoes. I exclaimed jokingly, “Haven’t you become extravagant, sir?” Mr Meena smiled sheepishly and said, “Mrs Meena was after me to discard the plastic shoes. When I came to the new district, she insisted that I buy a new pair.”