Beyond the 'plum' posting: Why the caste lens still defines bureaucratic success

Following my recent blog on former IAS bureaucrat Atanu Chakraborty’s sudden exit as non-executive chairman of HDFC Bank, a few colleagues from the Gujarat cadre — mostly those I interacted with during my Gandhinagar stint (1997–2012) as the Times of India representative — reacted rather sharply.

Most of them sent their responses directly on WhatsApp, touching upon on the merits and demerits of Chakraborty’s controversial move. One former IAS officer, a Dalit, however, went further, raising a broader question: why do some officials like Chakraborty secure plum post-retirement assignments, while others are overlooked?

This Dalit ex-bureaucrat — whom I am constrained not to name — referred specifically to my blog's portion where I  argued that many IAS officers seek post-retirement roles despite receiving substantial pensions. 

This is what I  wrote: Chakraborty’s decision to join HDFC, despite having no finance background, reflected a broader pattern in India’s higher bureaucracy, where many senior IAS officers, failing to secure post-retirement positions within government, take up roles in the private sector.

I said: “Such transitions often allow former officials to retain elements of the influence and lifestyle associated with top government positions — ranging from access to elite networks and decision-making circles to material privileges such as spacious residences, staff support, chauffeur-driven vehicles, and participation in high-profile corporate and policy events.”

Responding to this, Chakraborty’s colleague wrote: “Being ex-officers, we miss out on the post-retirement benefits — such as a car, a large house, perks, and influential positions in policy-making that you mentioned.” And who are “we”? The next line made it clear: “Neither the government nor the private sector seems to move beyond the caste lens.”

The comment indicated it came from a former Dalit IAS officer. Indeed, it raises a difficult question — whether the system, more often than acknowledged, undervalues Dalit officers when it comes to post-retirement opportunities.

Over a series of WhatsApp observations, this former bureaucrat elaborated on how such dynamics play out. Let me quote him:

“In theory, merit and efficiency should be enough to take any officer to the highest levels of public service. In practice, however, the experience of a local (Gujarati) Dalit officer is often very different. When an officer’s caste identity is known to staff, political representatives, the media, and the public he or she serves, that identity can become an invisible barrier — one that affects image, credibility, authority, and even career progression.”

He continued: “Postings and recognition that may come easily to others — sometimes even to those with only average performance — often remain harder to secure for such officers. The contrast becomes sharper when one compares local Dalit officers with officers who come from outside the state.”

According to him, “Outsiders are usually viewed through a regional lens — as Tamilian, Punjabi, Bihari, Marathi, or by some other linguistic or state identity. Their caste identity often remains unspoken, unnoticed, or strategically invisible. That distance gives them a certain administrative advantage.”

He added: “It is no secret that many Dalit, tribal, and backward-class officers serving in a state prefer not to reveal their caste identity if they can avoid it. This silence is not always about personal choice; it is often a survival strategy. To remain professionally advantageous, many learn to let their regional, linguistic, or service identity overshadow their social background. Once caste becomes known, the ground beneath merit is no longer level.”

For officers from within Gujarat, however, this option rarely exists. “Whether they disclose their caste identity or not, it is usually already known — to colleagues, subordinates, politicians, elected representatives, and often even journalists. And once that identity is fixed in the public mind, many begin to see the officer not through the lens of administrative ability, but through the old and stubborn lens of caste.”

He underlined the consequences: “Respect becomes conditional, authority becomes fragile, and performance alone is no longer enough to command fair treatment. This prejudice goes beyond social discomfort. It can shape decisions on transfers, postings, confidential assessments, and departmental proceedings.”

The former official summed it up starkly: “The official language of the system may speak of equality, neutrality, and merit, but informal power structures often continue to operate through deeply embedded caste assumptions. The result is that local Dalit and backward officers frequently have to struggle harder than others merely to be judged by the same standards.”

Calling this “not just an individual grievance” but “an institutional failure,” he concluded: “A democracy committed to constitutional morality cannot allow public administration to remain hostage to social prejudice. An officer should be assessed by competence, integrity, and service record — not by caste identity, whether spoken or silently known.”

His final remark lingers: “So long as some officers feel compelled to hide their caste to protect their careers, the claim of a truly merit-based administration remains incomplete. The real test of fairness lies not in official rules, but in whether the system treats all officers equally once their social identity is known.”