Perks and Perils of Being an Upright IAS and IPS Officer

Every decade or so, an upright IAS or IPS officer emerges and makes headlines across the country simply for "doing his job". By holding a mirror to lawbreakers, he becomes the poster boy of honesty, and the public at large embraces him. A few days ago, Mumbaikars woke up to the news that some of the city's celebrated establishments, including K Rustom & Co Ice Cream Parlour, Noor Mohammadi Hotel, Shalimar Hotel, Parsi Dairy Farm, and prestigious clubs such as the Cricket Club of India, The Willingdon Sports Club, MIG Cricket Club, RK Juhu Gymkhana and The Juhu Gymkhana, had their food licences suspended following surprise inspections by Maharashtra Food and Drug Administration Commissioner Tukaram Mundhe.

Like James Bond, Mundhe's reputation precedes him. He took charge as Commissioner of the Maharashtra FDA on May 25, 2026. Within days, he issued a stern warning: "No leniency whatsoever will be shown by the administration to any person or establishment that plays with the health of the public." And he has certainly walked the talk.

The Indian Express wrote: "Since taking charge on May 25, the FDA has carried out 1,131 inspections across Maharashtra, averaging more than 20 a day. It has seized food stock worth Rs 49.57 crore, including 1.6 lakh litres of allegedly adulterated milk, invoked the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act (MCOCA) against organised gutkha networks, and suspended the licences of 56 restaurants."

No mean feat. Such a large-scale inspection and crackdown has never happened in Mumbai, not even during the Emergency.

Now I hear that some of the affected establishments are baying for his blood, and there is speculation that Mundhe may be transferred for the 26th time. For him, frequent transfers have become a way of life. He has already been transferred 25 times in the last 21 years.

When he was the Municipal Commissioner of Navi Mumbai, his anti-encroachment and anti-corruption drives brought him into direct conflict with powerful local politicians. The confrontation culminated in a historic no-confidence motion against him in the municipal corporation, eventually resulting in his transfer.

But the larger question is this: Did Mundhe's predecessors turn a blind eye? If prestigious clubs, well-known hotels and popular dairy outlets had been flouting basic hygiene norms for years, who paid the price? Obviously, public health was sacrificed at the altar of corruption.

Why do Indians break laws with impunity, ignore rules, and then rave about countries like Singapore? There is a contradiction here. We all aspire to have cities like Singapore, food safety standards like Europe, and corruption-free governance like the Scandinavian countries. Yet whenever an honest officer—whether in the FDA, the Income Tax Department or the police—enforces the law without fear or favour, influential businessmen or even the underworld, often in cahoots with politicians, ensure that the officer is transferred or suspended. That has long been the playbook.

Honesty, it seems, has become a liability. The price of integrity is frequent transfers, stalled promotions, delayed increments, and the personal hardship of uprooting one's family and finding new schools or colleges for children. Personally, I doff my hat to such upright officers who would rather endure personal hardship than sell their soul.

The rewards of being an honest officer are intangible but invaluable: making society a better place to live, leading by example, and enjoying the satisfaction of having done one's duty. On the other hand, the perks of a dishonest officer are often far more visible—no transfers, disproportionate assets, and smooth promotions.

To my mind, a frequent transfer is a badge of honour. It shows that the officer is a straight arrow who is discharging his duty in both letter and spirit, even if it comes at the cost of his own career. This is where pressure groups and civil society can play an important role by ensuring that such stoic officers are protected from arbitrary transfers, suspensions, or stalled promotions.

This is not merely the story of Tukaram Mundhe. It is the story of governance in India.

Take the case of Ashok Khemka. He took on the high and mighty and paid the price by being transferred 66 times during a 34-year career in the Haryana government. He retired on April 30, 2025. The 61-year-old shot to national prominence when he ordered investigations into Robert Vadra's Skylight Hospitality and the controversial land deal involving real estate giant DLF in Gurugram. He exposed what he believed was a grossly undervalued transaction, turning it into a political hot potato.

He also cracked down on fake seed-licensing rackets and the black marketing of agricultural urea and seeds, activities allegedly controlled by local supply mafias in connivance with sections of the administration.

What was Khemka's crime? He was merely doing his job. He neither looked the other way nor succumbed to political pressure or threats to his life. Little wonder that Khemka became a national symbol of administrative integrity. Many expected the BJP government to reward him with a larger role, but that never happened.

Likewise, who can forget Mumbai's "Demolition Man", G R Khairnar, the former Deputy Municipal Commissioner of the BMC? He took on Sharad Pawar, then Chief Minister of Maharashtra, as well as powerful politicians and the land mafia by clearing public land of encroachments. He was fearless, and several attempts were reportedly made on his life.

Kiran Bedi, India's first woman IPS officer, was another example. She spared neither the rich nor powerful politicians or bureaucrats and, as a consequence, was frequently transferred. Yet she left a lasting mark in every assignment, most notably through her pioneering prison reforms at Tihar Jail.

Then there are officers like Magsaysay Award winner Sanjiv Chaturvedi of the Indian Forest Service, who exposed corruption and endured repeated transfers and prolonged litigation; Durga Shakti Nagpal, who was suspended after acting against illegal sand mining but was reinstated following nationwide outrage; and Pradeep Kasni, the retired Haryana cadre IAS officer who surpassed even Khemka in the number of transfers during his career.

Unfortunately, the list of such honest officers remains rather short.

Transfer orders have now become a weapon in the hands of ministers and bureaucrats. Legally, they offer a convenient escape because a transfer requires neither a departmental inquiry nor formal charges nor an explanation. It is presented as just another posting, but it carries a clear underlying message to honest officers: "Don't become over enthusiastic" and "Know your limits."

But how do countries like Singapore enforce the law uniformly across the board? Money is undoubtedly one part of the answer. The Singapore government ensures that its ministers and senior civil servants are paid salaries comparable to CEOs of multinational corporations. That removes much of the temptation. Equally important, Singapore has an ever-vigilant anti-corruption bureau backed by an efficient judicial system where cases do not drag on for years. Swift punishment acts as a powerful deterrent.

In Scandinavian countries such as Sweden, Denmark and Finland, governance is highly digitised and the discretionary powers of individual officers are minimal.

Developed countries succeed where India often struggles because their citizens are generally more law-abiding, punishment is swift and certain, political interference is limited, transfers are not arbitrary, institutions are stronger than individuals, and corruption carries real consequences.

India would do well to adopt some of the best practices followed by countries like Singapore:

· Fix a minimum tenure for IAS and IPS officers. This alone would solve many problems.

· Create an independent board to approve transfers instead of leaving the decision solely to politicians.

· Digitise inspections and licensing to reduce discretion.

· Make transfer orders public and state the reasons behind them.

· Reward officers who improve governance and compliance.

Finally, what message is the government of the day sending to every young IAS and IPS officer entering public service? If honesty leads to isolation, harassment and endless transfers, while compromise brings stability and career advancement, then the system is quietly encouraging officers to look the other way instead of enforcing the law. That must stop, and it must stop post-haste.