Opinion The quiet art of coexistence: What North Block taught us about life, work, and animals

But beyond the paperwork and the daily rhythm of bureaucracy, North Block has always had other long-term residents too: The mice inside, the monkeys above, the cats in between and the dogs waiting outside. Over the years, we all learned to coexist. It was an unspoken understanding, a kind of truce between species. Each had its own territory and habits and a quiet sense of entitlement that we somehow accepted.

I didn’t expect to feel anything about leaving an office space. But as we prepared to move to Kartavya Bhavan, I walked down the corridors of North Block one last time. The files are packed, the cupboards stand bare, and the echoes sound different now, as if the building already knows it is about to become a museum of its own past. It has seen budgets prepared, policies argued, and decisions that shaped the country quietly typed on paper. For many of us, it has been our office for years. But it was never ours alone.

North Block hums with a life that isn’t entirely human. You only have to pause for a moment to notice it. The faint rustle behind a panel, a tail flicking under a chair or a shadow darting across the corridor after dusk.

The mice were the most punctual residents. They never interrupted meetings or file movements. From about 9:30 in the morning until 8 in the evening, the building was entirely ours. But once the last person left and the caretakers turned off the lights, the mice took charge.

You could hear them as soon as the corridor fell silent: A scurry behind a wooden panel, a quick shuffle under the almirah. They came out confidently, as if their office hours had begun. It was an arrangement that worked perfectly. We handled the day shift, and they managed the night. There was never any confusion. The mice were perhaps the only inhabitants of North Block who respected office timings.

The cats, on the other hand, followed no schedule. They were full-time employees. Many of them were born and raised here, forming generations that our staff could identify. “This one is from the family near Room 31,” someone would say with authority, as if referring to an old colleague.
They were regularly fed by animal-loving staff. They roamed the corridors with calm confidence, stopping only to be petted or to inspect a lunchbox. No one ever questioned their presence. In fact, when an unfamiliar cat appeared, there was always a small inquiry into which section it belonged to.

The monkeys were the real adventurers. For years, various measures were introduced to keep them out: Wire meshes, spiked railings, even official circulars reminding us not to feed them. None of it worked. North Block is sprawling, monumental and impossible to seal completely. The monkeys always found a way in.

They entered through any open window, inspected office plants and sometimes made off with tiffins. On weekends, when the human presence was minimal, they completely took over. They could be seen sitting on parapets, supervising the lawns and holding animated conferences on the terrace. Their commitment to attendance, even on holidays, was remarkable.

Outside, near Gate One, Gate Two and Gate Nine, lived the dogs. They were the unofficial security force. Every gate had its regulars, and every guard had his favourites. Some dogs had even developed a sense of protocol. They would bark at the cars they disliked and escort familiar ones to the gate. During late evenings, their silhouettes against the floodlit sandstone looked like statues that had decided to stretch their legs.

In the midst of all this were the people who kept North Block running, each with their own routines, friendships and favourite corners of the building. Each floor had its own culture, its own tea group and its own spots for conversation and complaint. The building had moods, too. Mornings were brisk and full of purpose. Afternoons were quieter, dominated by the rustle of papers and the smell of lunch. By evening, the corridors softened, and you could sense the day preparing to hand over the shift to the mice.

Over the years, we watched the building change. Files grew thinner, computers multiplied and yet the essence of the place remained the same. Even as we moved to e-office systems, North Block refused to lose its old-world rhythm. The mice, of course, were unimpressed by digitisation.
As we get ready to leave North Block, we will carry our files, our memories and our tea routines with us. For those of us who worked here, some part of us will always belong to this red sandstone building that taught us the quiet art of coexistence. It will remain the kind of office where the files moved slowly, the tea arrived on time, and there was always someone, human or otherwise, watching from the corridor.

Soon, the nameplates will be removed and the rooms repurposed. But I wonder how the animals will take our departure. The cats will probably notice first. The mice will sense the emptiness after the first week. The monkeys will continue their visits, assuming we are simply working from home. And the dogs will wait at the gates, puzzled by the silence.

The writer, who is in the IRS, is Official Spokesperson, Central Board of Direct Taxes, New Delhi