Muhammed Qaiser Abdul Haque,(AIR-32 2006)

One of eleven children of a former powerloom worker, now grocer, in the communally sensitive textile town of Malegaon, Maharashtra, he went to school there, then did his Masters from Pune. He joined a civil services study circle for backward and minority students at Hamdard University in Delhi.

"I have seen the lack of resources on the ground, no proper hospital, or colleges.... I see my IAS job as that of a middleman, between the government and the people, and I feel responsible towards all the people, not just those of my community."

Yet, despite reservations, the poorest seem to be largely excluded from the civil service club (as are Muslims). The social data shows that only a minuscule number of the new babus are first-generation learners. The number has declined since the '80s. The number of those educated in government schools is steadily going down (which reflects loss of faith in state education). A commission headed by economist and educationist Y.K. Alagh on civil service recruitment, which submitted its report to the government in 2001, was concerned at these trends. Speaking to Outlook, Alagh reiterated that concern: "A munsif's son is good, but a landless labourer or an artisan's son even better. Half of the country's workforce are landless labourers."

The Alagh report blames government policies that have relaxed age limits and the number of chances available to candidates. It says they favour crammers who spend large sums on coaching (about a lakh of rupees a year, per candidate), and perfect exam-taking techniques, making it harder for bright, poor candidates in all categories to get in. Agrees Planning Commission member B.N. Yugandhar, "Coaching makes it very difficult for first-generation learners to get in."

Age is a touchy issue. At 30 years for the general category (33 for OBCs, 35 for SC/STs), the age limits are among the highest they have been. Correspondingly, the number of new recruits over 26 has been rising steadily, upsetting the bureaucracy, which says older candidates are harder to train, and get frustrated because they don't reach the top due to shorter tenures. In February, then cabinet secretary B.K. Chaturvedi wrote to the PMO, recommending 24 as the age limit for the general category, which is what it used to be in the '60s. Says Satyanand Mishra, secretary, personnel, "Age levels have been increased in deference to the demand that a lower age of recruitment works against people from rural areas. But empirically this is not true—reducing age limits will not handicap any class of people." But for the political class, this is a hot potato. And for the Sanjay Singhs and other denizens of places like Mukherjee Nagar and Hudson Lines, a death blow. "Higher age limits are good for people like me—we work, make money, keep trying, get in," says Sanjay Singh.

Notwithstanding the distaste of reform-minded committees for coaching—and for an exam that has become a byword for narrow, tactical swotting—many civil servant recruits interviewed by Outlook, from small towns and villages, and relatively modest backgrounds, have a different perspective. They see coaching as the leveller that flattens the playing field, helping them compete with the better educated and the socially confident.

For families, coaching is an investment—land is sold and money borrowed to pay for it. Interview coaching, especially, is a must—this year's topper, Muthyalaraju Revu, travelled to Delhi's coaching hub for interview coaching. Says Govind: "It teaches you to be balanced, to keep your ego in check, to come across as energetic and confident." Those understandably petrified of confronting the retired bureaucrats who dominate interview boards are told, "Behave as if you are going to meet your new family."

And so they make it, finally, to their "new family".

But are the new recruits improving the quality of a rather discredited family, often perceived as lacking in accountability, efficiency and integrity? It is hard to generalise—talking to a cross-section, you will encounter the blazingly sincere and the rather cynical, the confident and the diffident, the rock-solid and the showy. Says social activist and ex-IAS officer Aruna Roy, "Many take big dowries, contravening the act they implement. Some are susceptible to community and communal tendencies, which is not surprising, if you look at the distortion of history and values in current-day education, especially in the Hindi belt—many don't know history." She also worries that there are "no role models left to show young recruits they need not bow to political pressure".

On the other hand, asserts Roy, "They are far more rooted in the reality of India than my generation of civil servants. India is very complex now and they understand that complexity better than we did—some have a very genuine awareness of landless, Dalit and minority issues." Agrees Alagh, "Their being in the bureaucracy is an important part of the building of modern India. Despite the homogenisation that takes place when they become part of the elite, they are not the bureaucrats you see at embassy parties. You can tell a JNU district collector a mile off. They can sort out the problems of real India. "

Down on the ground, Anbukkumar, though he is already getting a good reputation in the district where he works, makes no such claims. "To be frank," he says, "I have no big vision or ideals as such. I had no idea of policy-making or decision-making or file notings. IAS simply meant a red-light car and a lot of power. I am slowly learning the ropes now. I may not become the number one IAS officer, but I want to be fair and just. No more dreams, no more ideals. Slowly and surely, I will evolve."