From Jiwan Rai’s SE Reality Check Column (on Austerity Measures)
Those words are not mine and are completely attributed to Mr. Jiwan Rai.
What Lasting Lessons Can Sikkim Learn from These Temporary Measures?
THE AUSTERITY–SERENITY DILEMMA
If governments always made the right decisions, society would be utopian. If they always failed, the result would be dystopia. The reality lies somewhere in between. Governments everywhere are imperfect, which is why public debate over their decisions is not a nuisance but a democratic necessity. Seen in that light, the debate over the Sikkim government’s austerity rules introduced in response to the PM’s call for restraint, is both natural and healthy. This is a sensitive national moment and some of the measures announced are sensible and long overdue. However, taken as a whole, the framework could have been better designed to suit Sikkim’s geographical, administrative and social realities. Public policy cannot succeed on moral intention alone. It also requires contextual intelligence.
Let me begin with the positive aspects. Reducing official motorcades, suspending ceremonial protocol courtesies and the Speaker and Deputy Speaker foregoing pilot escorts may not qualify as acts of Spartan heroism but they are welcome symbolic gestures nonetheless. Symbols matter in public life. A government that asks citizens to exercise restraint must first display a visible willingness to restrain itself.
Similarly, encouraging online meetings, limiting short-distance vehicular movement and promoting walking for nearby engagements are perfectly reasonable ideas. In fact, many governments across the world discovered after the pandemic that bureaucratic efficiency does not necessarily collapse merely because fewer vehicles are honking outside secretariat buildings. The most unintentionally amusing directive, however, is the instruction asking OSDs and Chairpersons to “avoid unnecessary travel,” which suggests that “unnecessary travel” was happening previously! Bureaucratic language sometimes reveals more than it intends.
Joking apart, these measures deserve appreciation. More importantly, if the government institutionalises some of them even beyond the current austerity phase, it could mark a meaningful administrative “reform” or “change” (sorry both the words are decidedly political in Sikkim). A leaner official culture, reduced ceremonial excess and restrained political entitlement would resonate strongly with the Gen Z political temperament. The new generations are becoming increasingly intolerant with unnecessary pomp funded by public money.
Such reforms would be particularly significant in Sikkim, where the administrative structure has long been excessively top-heavy. Over the years, the growth of positions, offices, advisers, chairpersons, protocol layers, vehicles and auxiliary establishments has often seemed to expand independently of measurable public output. In economic terms, the carrying cost of governance has steadily inflated while productivity remains disappointingly low. Max Weber, the great theorist of bureaucracy, warned that bureaucracies naturally tend to expand unless consciously restrained. Austerity, therefore, should not remain merely an emergency slogan. It should become an opportunity for introspection and overhaul of the system.
However, while leaving the final judgment to the government, it is equally necessary to examine some of the less well-conceived aspects of the policy. Certain measures may sound appealing on social media but become far less convincing when confronted with the mountainous realities of Sikkim.
The five-day work week and work-from-home culture, especially within the Indian bureaucratic work ethic, remain risky propositions. For an ordinary citizen, arriving at a government office only to be told that the concerned official is “working from home” can be deeply frustrating.
The statewide odd-even traffic rule, imposed without contextual exemptions or operational windows, is perhaps the most poorly conceived measure of the entire package. It betrays a fundamental failure to distinguish between the urban congestion of Gangtok and the transport compulsions of rural Sikkim. Mobility can sometimes be a matter of convenience in Gangtok but in villages it is almost always a necessity. In many remote villages and scattered settlements, vehicles are lifelines. Public transport is often sparse, irregular or entirely absent. For countless families, the vehicle of a relative, neighbour or friend is often the only dependable mode of movement available.
A large section of rural Sikkim still lives beyond proper road connectivity. Many villagers walk long distances across steep terrain merely to reach the nearest motorable point. Add to this, the extremely poor condition of many rural roads where vehicles have to be pushed manually over some muddy sections. Restricting even the few vehicles that manage to operate on those roads only worsens the hardship. For them, life already functions below what most urban people would consider austerity. In other words, what is called “austerity” in Gangtok may, for many villagers, still appear more comfortable than their normal existence. Their austerity is not occasional and policy-driven. It is permanently imposed by geography, weak infrastructure and years of administrative neglect.
Let me hasten to add that austerity models borrowed from larger Indian cities are often poorly suited even to Gangtok itself. Public transport in and around Gangtok has limited reach and irregular connectivity. Someone travelling daily from Gangtok to places like Rumtek, Ranka or Pakyong faces far greater transport uncertainty than commuters in most major cities of India.
Coming back to Sikkim’s rural versus urban realities for austerity measure, sadly, the present policy punishes both the villager driving for survival and the urban elite driving for convenience with the same measure. That is neither equitable nor thoughtful governance.
There is a much deeper irony here. The odd even rule in Sikkim is overrated for its minimal ineffectiveness. These notifications when circulated on social media create loud buzz. But neither the media nor the administration has time to measure the outcome. Reduced traffic alone cannot be the only measure of success. In a small Himalayan state like Sikkim, where economic activity and public movement are already limited compared to metropolitan India, the actual reduction in fuel consumption or congestion is likely to be minimal. One must weigh the benefits of the odd-even traffic rule against the social inconvenience it creates such as delayed emergencies, postponed urgent work, disrupted livelihoods and ordinary citizens forced to rearrange their daily lives. Are we really bearing such disproportionate costs merely for slightly smoother traffic and fuel consumption?
That said, beyond the present situation, Sikkim genuinely needs to embrace austerity as a regular civic ethic. The government’s decision to reduce ceremonial extravagance in official culture is welcome and should become permanent. Public expenditure on celebrations, decorations, political events, excessive official travel and VIP culture deserves far greater scrutiny than it receives today. Inviting high-maintenance entertainment celebrities at public expense should also stop. Likewise, public officials and civil servants allotted multiple vehicles should retain only one and government vehicles should not be used for personal purposes such as dropping children off at school, shopping, or attending social events. If the state can seriously curb this culture of institutional excess, our entire approach to development could change permanently.
Finally, Sikkim must rethink its civilizational direction from two important perspectives. First, we need a more visionary approach to development. Our crisis is not merely one of infrastructure but of imagination. We lack the long-term vision needed to guide both the hardware and software of modern society. The traffic crisis, for instance, is not simply a transport problem. It is a symptom of premature urbanism. Gangtok is expanding into a city far faster than it is developing the infrastructure, discipline and civic culture required to sustain one. Narrow roads, chaotic parking, reckless construction and weak public transport cannot be solved through symbolic restrictions alone.
What Sikkim requires is long-term seriousness: better public transportation, decentralised economic growth, walkable urban planning, stricter building regulations, reduction of bureaucratic excess and revival of rural economies so that migration into Gangtok slows down naturally. Above all, we need exemplary civic culture. Encroaching upon public spaces and damaging public property must invite firm and impartial penalties in the spirit of Balen Shah’s civic discipline.
Secondly, austerity must also involve intellectual and moral restraint. Sikkim’s growing obsession with material display like bigger vehicles, louder celebrations, endless spectacle, reflects a society increasingly mistaking consumption for progress. Beneath the glitter lies mounting civic disorder, ecological strain and cultural shallowness. We know this, even if we often choose to ignore it.
Most importantly, Sikkim must rediscover the wisdom of proportion and originality. A small Himalayan society cannot imitate the excesses of giant metropolitan cultures without damaging its ecological and social balance. Modernity is not achieved merely by multiplying vehicles, regulations and spectacle. It comes through responsibility, restraint, rational priorities and rediscovering the art of living in harmony with the Himalayas. Only then can some measure of tranquillity return to our increasingly restless existence.