Sane Advice ....

Mr. T S Patyal, the DFO with whom I was attached for my initial training, was an officer from the old school. He drove me hard, and himself harder still. He did his best to teach me all the field craft he could. He got me to carry out marking of trees, raise nurseries and inspect plantations, plan and supervise building construction et al. At the same time, he treated me with affection as a junior colleague. He took me along on tours, and often invited me to his beautiful official residence, Bushahr House, for cards and dinner. He taught me how to conduct myself as an officer, so that I could command the willing respect of my subordinates, as he did. The staff not just respected him – they adored him. He was just the Forest Officer I wished I could emulate and be like later in life! Mr. Patyal was not just a seasoned forester; he was also an administrator par excellence.

As a probationer, I was expected to write and submit fortnightly diaries which ultimately travelled all the way up to the Chief Conservator of Forests, the Head of the Forest Department in those days. I never imagined that the Big Man actually read the diaries of a small fry like me, but read them he did – and reacted too! That he took personal interest in my training was revealed to me one day when my DFO summoned me to his office. He pushed a piece of paper towards me. “Read it,” he said. “You will see many such letters in the future. Be prepared.”

The letter was addressed by name to Mr. Patyal, and he was told, in so many words, that the HOD was not satisfied with my diaries and did not think that he, Mr. Patyal, was fit to train a young officer. The letter further contained directions that I be transferred to Rajgarh Forest Division, to learn Resin Tapping and Forest Fire Management. In my opinion, the language used in the letter was most rude and offensive – and uncalled for. I felt that if the HOD had found any shortcoming in my diaries, I was the one who should have been castigated, not the DFO. I told Mr. Patyal as much. Then I asked him how he was going to respond to the letter. He gave a rueful smile, read the letter slowly, and then carefully placed it aside. “I’ll see what I should do,” he said. I had a cup of tea and left, deeply disturbed with what I had read.

A few days later, I had occasion to visit the DFO office for some work, and decided to call on the DFO before I left. Mr. Patyal was at his desk going through his files. We had tea and, as I was leaving, I asked him whether he had responded to the HOD’s letter. He opened his drawer, withdrew the letter in question, glanced at the contents and put it back in the drawer. “Isn’t the CCF going to be upset if you do not reply to his letter?” I asked. “Well,” he said, “If the matter was very urgent, I would have received a phone call or a written reminder, which I haven’t. It shows that the matter is not really all that urgent. I’ll reply in good time.” A couple of days later he called me to his office, and showed me his response to the HOD’s letter. It was beautifully drafted and politely worded. It did not have one word more than what was needed to explain all that he had done to train me, and agreeing that I needed to acquire more skills elsewhere. “Never reply to a letter when you are angry or upset,” he said to me. “You will end up giving vent to your anger, and that might cause misunderstandings. Allow yourself some time to calm down. Then you will be able to respond in a sensible and balanced manner.”

That lesson was to serve me well in my career. In fact, I found that even if one did not reply to a particular letter, there was seldom a follow up and the issue soon died a natural death ….