Dilip Cherian | The Jaishankar Playbook vs The Steel Frame

Every few years, India calls in its envoys for a reality check. At the 11th Heads of Mission Conference recently, the pitch was bigger: Reimagine diplomacy for 2047. Ambitious, yes, but also familiar.

The meeting, led by Prime Minister Narendra Modi and external affairs minister S. Jaishankar, framed the moment as one of flux, with China’s assertiveness, West Asia’s volatility, shifting power blocs and a tech-driven global race. The brief to India’s diplomats was to be faster, sharper and outcome-focused.

None of that is new. India’s foreign policy has been moving this way for years. Economic diplomacy now sits at the centre; missions are expected to bring in investment, secure technology partnerships and actively market India’s growth story. The language of strategic partnerships, global engagement, and the “3Ts” has become standard. What has changed is the pressure to deliver.

This is where Mr Jaishankar’s imprint stands out. A career diplomat turned minister, he has nudged Indian foreign policy away from declaratory idealism toward hard-edged pragmatism. Multi-alignment is no longer hedging; it’s strategy. Engage everyone, commit selectively and keep India’s interests front and centre. It’s a doctrine that fits a fractured world but also demands agility from a system not always built for speed.

That tension is the real story.

The conference signals a push to break silos. In theory, it’s exactly what a competitive global environment requires. In practice, bureaucracies move cautiously, while geopolitics does not. And the external environment isn’t forgiving. Managing ties with the US and China, navigating energy shocks and positioning India in an increasingly transactional order require quick calls and clear priorities.

That shift won’t be measured in communiqués. It will show up in deals closed, partnerships built and crises managed in real time. Until then, the intent is clear. The execution test has just begun.

When suspension becomes a signal

What’s playing out in Kerala’s babudom isn’t just a disciplinary matter but a test of how much voice a civil servant is allowed.

N. Prasanth, already under suspension for over a year, now faces fresh action for criticising the government and backing fellow officer B. Ashok. The charge is familiar: breach of conduct rules, lack of restraint, speaking out of turn.

But the real issue, sources say, sits beneath the paperwork.

Mr Prasanth, once dubbed “Collector Bro,” represents a more visible, public-facing administration, one that engages, comments, and occasionally pushes back. The system he operates in, however, still runs on an older code: stay neutral, stay silent, stay inside the file. That mismatch is now colliding head-on.

Of course, babus aren’t elected actors; public commentary, especially critical, can blur lines of accountability. But when enforcement begins to look prolonged and repetitive, it stops feeling like discipline and starts looking like message control. Here, the length of Prasanth’s suspension is the giveaway. Suspension is meant to enable inquiry, not become a holding pattern. Stretch it long enough, and it sends a signal not just to the officer concerned, but to the entire service: speak carefully, or not at all.

Kerala isn’t unique here. Across India, the space for bureaucratic expression is narrowing, even as governance itself becomes more public, more scrutinised, and more political. That contradiction can’t be managed through rulebooks alone.

Because silence, while administratively convenient, comes at a cost. And systems that prefer quiet over candour usually end up getting neither.

Too many chiefs in Chandigarh

If you ever needed proof that Indian babudom can be both overstaffed and understaffed at the same time, look no further than Chandigarh. It’s almost poetic, except the consequences are anything but.

Senior posts are bursting at the seams. In fact, Chandigarh currently has more secretaries than sanctioned. It has 12, while the approved strength is significantly lower. Every IAS officer posted there is operating at the secretary level. While it all sounds like a power-packed line-up, sources say, there’s nobody left actually to run the show.

The middle and lower rungs are hollowed out. Director-level roles are handled on makeshift arrangements, often by officers juggling multiple responsibilities across departments. Down the ladder, the shortages get worse: clerks, field staff, municipal workers — precisely the people who translate policy into action — are in short supply.

So while governance looks formidable on paper, it limps on the ground.

This is not just a staffing issue; it’s a structural distortion. When everyone is a “senior”, no one is accountable for execution. Decision-making gets layered, but delivery thins out. Files move, but work stalls. Its bureaucracy turned upside down — top-heavy, bottom-light, and predictably inefficient.

India has long grappled with shortages in the IAS overall, even as deployment remains skewed. Chandigarh is simply a sharper, almost exaggerated version of a national pattern, with misallocation dressed up as manpower management.

And then comes the inevitable workaround: contractual hiring, ad hoc arrangements, and overburdened officers trying to plug systemic gaps. Which, of course, creates a parallel problem of insecurity, inefficiency, and legal disputes. Chandigarh today resembles a well-appointed boardroom with no one on the factory floor.

Until that balance is fixed, don’t expect miracles from the UT’s babus.