Syed Nissar H Gilani
In October 1978, the crisp autumn air of the valley accompanied me as I reported for my third assignment as a Naib Tehsildar in Kupwara. I was still a young man, seasoned slightly by previous postings, but still carrying the carefree air of the decade. In my earlier assignments, I had been fortunate to have dependable orderlies like Nazir Ahmed Bhawani from Dooru Shahabad—a gentle soul who looked after me with a brotherly care.
In those days, the life of a junior officer was far from glamorous. My rented accommodation in Kupwara was a humble, shabby structure of two small rooms built of mud. My meals were prepared over a primitive fire cooking place that filled the rooms with the scent of woodsmoke, and my “washroom” was nothing more than a corner screened off with thick, non-transparent plastic sheets.
It was against this backdrop of rustic hardship that I met Sadiq Kak.
The Mirror of Integrity
For an orderly, I selected Sadiq Kak—a man whose face was a roadmap of lived experience and whose presence radiated a regal integrity. Despite our meager surroundings, Sadiq Kak was a vision of discipline. In his impeccably starched khaki uniform and a turban tied with surgical precision, he was the embodiment of the local respect I hoped to earn.
For a fortnight, he was a silent study in shadows and service. I, meanwhile, was a creature of the decade’s fleeting whims: sporting wide bell-bottom trousers and a shaggy mane of hair. I felt modern; he saw an officer out of sync with his station.
He waited until the moment was ripe—a quiet afternoon when the files were closed—to deliver a message that was both a gentle reprimand and a professional baptism. He did not mince words. My look, he explained with the gravity of a village elder, was a liability.
“The public looks for a shore in their storms,” he warned. He explained that a casually dressed official would be dismissed as a ‘Yawu officer’—a Kashmiri term for an ineffective vagabond. “Holding an important post in public life demands decent dress and decent behavior,” he stated, his wisdom cutting through my youthful vanity. “Never look like a vagabond, for if the shepherd looks lost, the flock will never follow.”
The Transformation
My deep respect for him ensured instant obedience. The following morning, the transformation was complete. My long locks were shorn into a disciplined ‘navy cut,’ and my flared trousers were tailored to be “tuneless and much narrower.”
The look on Sadiq Kak’s face when I entered the mud-walled office was my true reward. The stern lines of his face softened into a smile of pure benediction. “Now you look decent,” he declared. “You, I hope, will stick to this dress code in the future, too.” It was a lesson in the psychology of leadership: authority is a garment one must wear with respect for the people it serves.
A Legacy That Endures
Sadiq Kak served me faithfully for a year. He was a man of such repute that his name acted as a passport of trust throughout the district. Decades later, I returned to Kupwara to attend the marriage of his grandson, a lecturer. My heart swelled with joy to see that the seeds of Sadiq Kak’s discipline had blossomed. His progeny are now highly educated professionals—doctors, engineers, and educators—carrying forward his legacy. They are the polished, improved versions of their legendary patriarch.
The New Face of Kupwara
My most recent visit revealed a town utterly transformed. The Kupwara of 1978, where we struggled for basic amenities in mud houses, has vanished. In its place is a vibrant hub of purpose. The youth today are modern and purposeful, and the gender bias of the past has withered away.
To an old officer, seeing young people from these same rugged hills excel in national and global exams is a profound sight. The photograph I keep from the DFO’s quarters in 1979 is more than a memento; it is a reminder that while our mud rooms are gone, the dignity Sadiq Kak taught me remains the foundation of a life well-served
The writer is former Assistant Commissioner of Revenue Department, can be reached at (nisargilani57748@gmail.com
