HS stands for Honourable Speaker in the Lok Sabha. That is how the HS is the boss of every staff member—from the lowest rung to the Secretary General—in the Lok Sabha Secretariat. We recently lost a truly honourable and noble Speaker in Shivraj Patil.
Having been appointed directly to the Lok Sabha Secretariat in 1989, when Rabi Ray was the Speaker of the Ninth Lok Sabha, I had the privilege of working as an Assistant Director for most of my tenure under Shivraj Patil during the Tenth Lok Sabha. He was our boss, to whom we reported through multiple layers of hierarchy. Only once did I get a one-to-one opportunity to meet him in his chambers in the circular Parliament building, while we officers toiled away in the newer PH Annexe. That was how protocol worked—and continues to work.
Politics apart, a Speaker, once elected by the House, undergoes a visible transformation—in attire, demeanour, and conduct—striving to display neutrality, if not absolute impartiality, something we often do not see in many Assemblies that openly lean towards the ruling dispensation, Parliament included. Shivraj Patil, as I observed him across various parliamentary events, was a leader who climbed the ladder step by step—from heading the Municipal Council of Latur to becoming the Speaker of the Lok Sabha, the fourth-highest constitutional post in India after the President, Vice-President, and the Prime Minister.
A stickler for deadlines and accuracy, working under him was a challenge. The pressure he exerted on these two counts percolated right down to the lowest rung of officers, who could never say no to their seniors—directly or indirectly. The work culture in Parliament three decades ago was such that you could not say no to your boss, just as your subordinate could not say no to you. I understand that this practice still exists, albeit with a softer tone, though the commitment displayed by officers in the 1990s remains unmatched.
I can cite two examples.
All officers were expected to be on call 24×7, without bothering about “small” matters like Diwali or Holi. When asked to deliver, we had to deliver. Once, the HS, who had reached Bombay (later renamed Mumbai in 1995), realised he had forgotten to carry the speech he was to deliver the next day. Late in the evening, after 9 pm, he instructed his Secretary to ensure that a copy of the speech reached him immediately. Naturally, the buck stopped with me.
I was woken up at home—remember, mobile phones were only just entering India then. I was literally picked up, collected our operator from his house en route, and rushed to Parliament House. The IAS Secretary to the HS called me after I reached the office, asking me to locate the speech in the Speaker’s chamber and fax it at once. My operator had never used a fax machine before. The Secretary patiently guided me step by step over a landline on how to send a fax. After considerable struggle, we finally succeeded and returned home only after confirmation from Bombay that the copy had been received. That was the command of the HS—and we felt thrilled, proud of not being typical babus of other government offices.
His eye for detail was legendary.
On one occasion, we hired a professional photographer for a prestigious publication meant for the Conference of Speakers of Commonwealth countries. The photographs of the Parliament building, framed with greenery and taken from multiple angles, were excellent. But when we submitted them for the HS’s approval, he spotted a stray person in one of the images. We were stunned. Recalling the photographer would have meant fresh expenditure and delays. The HS casually remarked that these days one could remove or add elements in a photograph without re-shooting it—what he was referring to was Photoshop, then a new entrant into the pre-press segment of the printing industry. With a small additional cost, the printer removed the human figure so seamlessly that no one could distinguish the edited version from the original.
HS Shivraj Patil was deeply committed to modernising Parliament. He was the first to approve Desktop Publishing (DTP) systems, procure Apple Macintosh computers, and introduce Hindi software. He initiated the modernisation of the Parliament Library with new technology and approved the procurement of the first Motorola mobile phone for the Joint Secretary (Security), along with several other path-breaking technological interventions.
The Speaker’s job is a high-pressure one, especially during sessions. Pressure from the Opposition is intense, but even greater pressure comes from the ruling party or coalition. Shivraj Patil handled this with remarkable diplomacy, walking a tightrope without rubbing anyone the wrong way. Once, out of curiosity, I asked senior officers whether he was temperamental or prone to anger. They said that when he was upset, he would simply rise from his chair, walk to the window, and gaze outside—a clear signal to leave him alone.
Times have changed. Democracy has changed. Shivraj Patil is no more.
He resigned as Home Minister following the Mumbai blasts. His humility, as Prime Minister Narendra Modi recalled, was evident when Patil visited him at his residence a few months ago; the two had several interactions. He truly had a mini Parliament within his family—his daughter-in-law is a BJP legislator, while other family members belong to the Congress.
As Home Minister during the Mumbai riots, sections of the media criticised him for changing his attire multiple times a day. His response was characteristically dignified: he said he would have preferred criticism of his actions and decisions rather than his appearance.
A synonym for dignity and diplomacy, and yet a politician to the core, Shivraj Patil will be remembered for a long time to come.
