The Importance of Etiquette and Social Graces in Shaping Leaders and Bureaucrats
I BELIEVE OUR military and bureaucratic academies ought to introduce “comprehensive etiquette training” into their curricula as well. Too often, we see them entirely unprepared for the world outside, which, unfortunately, judges them more by the knife used to tackle the fish than by the fineness of their minds.
Sadly, our leadership training academies seem reluctant to “waste time” refining a gentleman (or gentlewoman) out of the unpolished individuals sent to our officer academies.
While social graces may not be as vital as moral fortitude or strength of character, they certainly help an officer cultivate the necessary air of superiority. The British, for example, paid great attention to this aspect. The forerunners of our IAS and IPS cadres—the ICS and IP—underwent these rigorous lessons to embody the qualities of a gentleman in the formal sense.
This brings to mind a story narrated to me by the late A.P. Venkateswaran, former Foreign Secretary.
During the ICS days, officer trainees trained in England were required to live with an English landlady. These women played a key role in imparting the social graces necessary for an Officer and Gentleman. As part of this training, the landladies would host dinners, inviting a variety of guests so that the young men could practice the art of polite conversation and learn how to conduct themselves in high society.
On one such evening, a particular trainee—who later became a famous civil servant in British India—arrived late for dinner. Upon entering and noticing the seated guests, he expressed his regrets for being late and excused himself, saying, “I have to go to the toilet!” After the guests left, the landlady gently corrected him, explaining that such expressions were inappropriate in polite society. Instead, he should have said, “Pardon me, I have to wash up.”
The following week, another dinner was planned. Once again, the young man arrived late. This time, he joined the guests without excusing himself. The landlady, giving him a helpful cue, asked, “Would you like to wash up?” To which he replied, “Oh, that won’t be necessary; I’ve already washed up on the lamp post outside!”
Talking about “washing up” reminds me of the toilets at the India International Centre (IIC) lounge, which are placed conspicuously at the entrance to the sanctum sanctorum. Here, everyone seated inside can observe who goes in and comes out. With the current weather and the average age of IIC members creeping ever upward, the toilet is often the first stop before tea and gossip. After “washing up” in the rather inadequate “washrooms”—more like stalls—the members stroll in and begin the rounds of handshakes.
I find this sequence rather offensive. The very public visit to the washroom, followed by the grand entry and handshakes, makes me cringe. The thought of shaking hands with someone fresh from the washroom, their hands either clammy from a quick rinse under the tap or, worse, bone dry after recent use, is unsettling.
I’ve read that doorknobs in public toilets are among the most germ-ridden places on Earth, and that most viruses are transmitted through such surfaces. I try to avoid the situation by waving or joining my hands in a polite namaste. However, some overly friendly individuals insist on a handshake.
Most toilets, especially in public places, often have water splashed around, and navigating puddles is sometimes unavoidable. Chinese washrooms, for instance, may be well-appointed, but their usage habits often leave much to be desired. Meanwhile, an Air Force mess toilet I once visited made an admirable attempt to educate its officers with a sign that read: “Those with short stacks and afterburner malfunctions, please pull up!”
In most hotels and clubs, toilets are discreetly located. In some clubs, they’ve even become institutions. At the Bangalore Club, for example, a hall filled with long, sloping planters’ chairs is located near the toilets. Here, members nap after a morning at the bar and a hearty lunch. Similarly, the Secunderabad Club has “snoring facilities” at the entrance to its main bar and colonnade—a subtle way of signaling that a member may have had one drink too many.
At the IIC, however, the “gerontocracy” drifts off for post-lunch naps in the library. Although the IIC now has a dedicated snooze area in the main building, I prefer to take my “snoozies” during the drive home. If there’s a traffic jam—which there almost always is—it only adds to the experience! 
Also Read: EVERYDAY REALITIES!
Mohan Guruswamy
The writer has experience in government, the private sector, and academia. Widely travelled, he is also the author of six books.
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