Turnaround of the GSRTC (29)

29. Turnaround of the GSRTC 

Safe Travel — Our ST (27)

Raise your hand and board the bus.

When an officer gets a posting in the Corporation, officials are pleased — there’s a bit of freedom from the strict rules of government service. Bills at hotels can be put on account, and one gets a taste of “palace on wheels” travel. But even here it was a laborer’s world. I had to work. 

The tenures of the four MDs before me were: 7 months, 2 months, 7 months and 3 months respectively. In 1985 the MD at the time was driven out within a month and a half after an incident in which someone climbed onto his table and smashed the glass. 

In the 18-month stretch from 1998–2001 the GSRTC bought new buses on credit and things ran well for a while, but debt repayment, interest and rising costs together with falling daily loss of around ₹1 crore weakened the Corporation’s finances. Ageing fleet and negative network were bigger issues to be handled.

The Corporation of the Gods

When I took charge and sat in the office, creditors queued up. It felt as though they were demanding my father’s debts. Newspapers carried daily reports of ST bus breakdowns — a recurring saga. A staff of 58,000 and roughly 10,000 buses. The buses had grown old and employees’ focus was on wages, arrears and DA increases. Any attempt to raise revenue was immediately eaten away by higher diesel prices and DA hikes. 

The Corporation’s average annual loss had crossed ₹400 crore and accumulated losses reached around ₹2,800 crore. 

On top of that, the ST Corporation was known for the unions’ braggadocio. If you tried to curb employees, they would start agitations, each agitator costing ₹100–₹200 per person and breathing down your neck. Conductors and drivers often worked short trips of 15–20 km, so during an eight-hour shift they had only three to four hours of actual work. 

With government pay scales and union settlements being generous, the burden of losses fell squarely on the MD while others shrugged: “What can we do?” The state of the Corporation was discouraging, but how do you measure it without getting into the water?

I Drove ST

Having seen mill-worker unions and their games in my father’s time, I had no reason to fear unions.

The problems in ST were complex, but it was also a huge opportunity to do something substantial. I had a special affection for ST — its age matched mine; our birthdays were near each other. 

I also knew the Chief Minister had spent his youth standing at the tea counter of the ST canteen and learned political lessons from local leaders — so getting ST running properly became a mission. 

Between 1979 and 1985 I had sat in that seat and read for more than 150 hours and secured major jobs; now it was time to repay that debt and save the Corporation. When government commands you, you answer: we are ST’s caretakers.

Fortifying the Ramparts

Faced with those challenges, I decided first to fortify my personal discipline. We had always survived with thrift. 

I brought a bottle of drinking water from home and freed the peon from the duty of fetching water. I stopped taking tea, so that a cup of tea booked on ST account wouldn’t bother me. I brought lunch from home so there would be no expense on snacks. 

I cancelled subscription of magazines and extra newspapers except keeping two Gujarati newspapers. There was a section to place important news on ST before me. Why waste money on things we don’t read? 

Our family was health conscious and we protected our health with home remedies, therefore, no medication and burden of claim of medical reimbursement on the GSRTC. 

Except for an official flight to Delhi, I avoided TA-DA claims. My children traveled by bus, so I didn’t want to curry favours for their convenience. 

With these personal austerities, I gave myself the freedom to run ST with firm rules.

A Training in Japan

Earlier I had been selected for a three-week JICA-sponsored training on Gender Development in Fisheries Communities while I was Fisheries Commissioner. By the time I was to go, I was MD of the GSRTC. Our Transport Secretary said, “Parmar, you’re no longer in Fisheries, so I won’t let you go.” I argued that the Government of India had selected me, and JICA would bear the full cost; ST was not a permanent posting — I could return as Fisheries Commissioner or Secretary and apply what I learned. But she refused on file.

She, however, was not the final authority. Shri Ashok Saikia from the PMO had supported my nomination — how could I be stopped? I went to the Chief Minister’s office and met Dr. P. K. Mishra, who approved my travel. 

So I made my first trip to Japan and attended the training. I took Laxmi with me, but she found the cost of living there hard to bear and later left for America on her own — an adventurous journey across the Pacific to the American coast.

Facing the Fearsome Unions

The Project Development Matrix (PDM) method I had learned during my training in Japan turned out to be immensely useful in turning around the GSRTC. I began by listing out all the problems and creating a “Problem Tree.” To analyze each “why-because” cause, I organized a brainstorming session with senior officers. But before long, a storm broke out.

Our income was like eight annas while expenses were a full rupee. Due to a shortage of spare parts, about a thousand buses were off the road, and with a poor market reputation, no one was willing to give us credit. Daily expenses were ₹3 crore and income only ₹2 crore — a shortfall of ₹1 crore every day. To pay interest and principal on old debts left behind by predecessors, we needed even more money.

The Finance Department insisted that grants like student concessions be compulsorily adjusted against our dues, so the state’s credit rating wouldn’t suffer. How can you swim with your hands and feet tied? Like a father struggling to marry off his daughter, we had no option but to implement internal reforms and austerity measures.

We began cutting all unnecessary expenses. Those who loitered or shirked work were put on active duty, and short routes were extended to increase working hours. Financial austerity resolutions were implemented strictly. The unions quickly realized the new MD was tough.

To intimidate me, one afternoon during the central bus station’s break time, a massive crowd of drivers and conductors gathered — hundreds of them — and stormed the lobby and corridor and some inside my cabin. The entire area echoed with shouting and abusive slogans, including caste slurs.

I was alone inside my chamber, surrounded and helpless. Only physical assault remained. My PA called the nearby police station; the PI rushed in, saw the mob, and asked for permission to fire if necessary to protect me. I refused. I sat silently, watching the clock on the wall, taking occasional sips of water from the bottle on my desk.

The shouting and chaos went on for nearly an hour. Then one of the union leaders came to his senses, gathered the crowd, and they dispersed. The next day, the three union leaders came to me with bouquets and hoarse voices to apologize. I smiled, advised them to gargle with warm salt water to recover quickly, and sped up the reforms to revive the ST Corporation.

The PDM Matrix 

I took the PDM process forward. I formed a group of heads of various wings, divisional controllers, and depot managers for brainstorming. Together we rebuilt the Problem Tree. Then, one by one, we took each problem and applied the “why-because” analysis to identify its root causes. Once causes were listed, the remedies became clear.

We categorized the solutions — those we could implement ourselves and those requiring others’ cooperation or financial support. We prepared an implementation plan and division of responsibilities, compiled it into a booklet, and distributed it to all officers responsible for execution.

Freedom for One Rupee

Our real strength was the drivers, conductors, and mechanical staff. To bring them on board, we had to create positivity toward reforms and build a sense of ownership — to make them feel that ST’s problems were their problems.

So I began writing direct letters from the MD’s desk to drivers and conductors. One letter titled “Ek Rupiyama Mukti” (Freedom in One Rupee) — referring to the goal of narrowing the gap between EPKM (Earnings per Kilometer) and CPKM (Cost per Kilometer) — made a deep impact. Gradually, everyone woke up and joined the collective mission to pull the Corporation out of its losses. The organizational culture began to change.

Motivational Speech

How can an army win without strong generals?

We organized a major Motivational Speech program at Tagore Hall. In addition to HQ staff, officers from regional divisions and depots were invited. The stage was kept empty — only “One mic, one MD, one voice.”

I spoke for nearly ninety minutes. The hall was packed, and you could hear a pin drop as everyone listened in silence. When I finished, thunderous applause erupted and everyone rose to their feet. Our army — the soldiers and commanders of the ST revival campaign — was now ready for battle.

Steps to Reduce Expenses and Increase Revenue

As my letters gained popularity and the staff wholeheartedly joined the mission to save ST, I began closely reviewing daily reports and examining every single expenditure item in detail. The corporation had accumulated losses of ₹2,800 crores, increasing by about ₹400 crores each year.

We met with the Gujarat government to resolve this. With the support of Transport Minister Amitbhai Shah and Finance Minister Vajubhai Shah, the Finance Department finally agreed to settle long-pending dues. 

Unlike government offices—where employees receive regular salaries and benefits without strict productivity standards, and where files can wait until tomorrow—we had to keep the wheels of transport running 24x7. We were operating as part of the government’s social responsibility, but the government itself decided bus fares, collected taxes on tickets, and imposed sales tax on diesel, while restricting us financially. Eventually, the government released funds, and our accumulated deficit began to close.

Our reforms, austerity measures, elimination of wasteful expenses, and initiatives to reduce CPKM (cost per kilometre) and increase EPKM (earning per kilometre) all succeeded.

We assigned disciplinary staff—once considered idle—to major bus stations to chase away unauthorized private vehicles.

We cut short unprofitable routes, rationalized crew deployment, and extended route lengths up to 500 kilometres. Unproductive and empty trips were cancelled, resulting in a significant rise in productive kilometres.

Previously, purchase and store departments worked separately—one would buy without consulting the other, leading to duplication or unused inventory. To fix this, I merged both under one Head of Department (HoD), ensuring timely supply of required parts and better inventory management. The results were excellent.

Since the government could not fund new bus purchases, we remade old engines to keep ST’s wheels turning.

A cleanliness drive was launched. The long-neglected, foul-smelling bus stations were cleaned and restored to order. Passenger amenities were improved.

We restarted loudspeaker announcement systems, ensured staff presence at enquiry counters, locked cabin doors, and opened windows for answering.

Buses that once bore dried vomit stains were now regularly washed and maintained.

We invited creditors for debt resettlement, got excess interest waived, and negotiated lower interest rates.

ST buses began carrying public messages, turning the campaign into a mass movement. The slogan “Raise your hand, get on the bus” (“હાથ ઊંચો કરો બસમાં બેસો”) boosted passenger numbers and revenue, as buses began halting conveniently wherever passengers were.

We promoted highway bus stations to avoid delays caused by express buses entering congested city terminals.

I set up the Auction Committee under the Chairmanship of a senior General Manager to dispose of decades-old scrap, free up space, and raise additional funds for ST.

One after another, a series of reform initiatives took shape—collectively transforming the corporation.

Mobile Management

I had the habit of waking up early every morning. That’s when I began what I called “mobile management.” By 4:30 a.m., my messages would start landing on the phones of divisional controllers and depot managers. Their day began with the MD’s message and ended at night after reporting back with results.

We stabilized expenditure figures and boosted revenue. As a result, within the very first year, the annual estimated loss dropped from ₹420 crore to ₹119 crore. The corporation’s cumulative losses, which had reached ₹2,800 crore, came down to ₹1,100 crore — and later further reduced to ₹301 crore.

We worked even harder. Although diesel price hikes and DA payments added some financial strain, we managed to bring the ST Corporation to a zero cash loss position. The next goal was to eliminate depreciation losses and move towards becoming a profitable enterprise.

Awards and Recognition in Delhi

From operating buses to innovating their maintenance, despite an ageing fleet, we achieved the highest diesel kilometre efficiency (KMPL) in the entire country. The national Transport Minister presented us with an award for this achievement.

I was appointed as Chairman of the Purchase Committee and later elected Vice Chairman of the Association of State Road Transport Undertakings (ASRTU) — an organization representing ST corporations from 16 Indian states.

I also became Chairman of the Central Institute of Road Transport (CIRT), Pune.

We even went on a study tour to Europe, visiting the Volvo factory and observing transport management systems across different countries — gaining valuable insights for India’s own network.

CSR Support from IOC

At that time, IOC (Indian Oil Corporation) was our diesel supplier, but with Reliance entering the market, we gained negotiation leverage.

During monsoons, the Gandhinagar Pathikashram Bus Station used to be full of potholes. Buses would sink into slush, and passengers — even those parking scooters — had to jump across puddles to get out.

We negotiated diesel cost relief with IOC, and in return for renewing their contract, IOC undertook a CSR project worth ₹2.5 crore, constructing a RCC road at the Gandhinagar Bus Station as smooth and strong as an airport runway. Even after twenty years, not a single stone of that road has come loose.

Clearing Encroachments

At the ST Central Bus Terminus (Geetamandir, Ahmedabad), a non-Gujarati priest had encroached upon an open space within the premises. Officials were hesitant to act, fearing the issue might be given a religious colour or get stuck in legal proceedings.

We strategically chose Friday evening to carry out the eviction — successfully removing both the encroachment and the priest without incident.

Later, the cleared land was developed into a new terminal, the road was widened, and express services were strengthened.

This marked a new chapter in ST’s transformation — turning a struggling public utility into a disciplined, efficient, and forward-looking organization.

Beginning the Shift of the Central Office

At the Geetamandir Central Bus Terminus, gatherings of staff, drivers, and conductors would form within moments — giving unions frequent opportunities to stir up trouble. As a precautionary measure, I relocated my chamber and those of senior officers to the Naroda Central Workshop, thereby initiating the process of moving the headquarters there.

Free Riders and Reckless Drivers

Buses were not always well-handled. To control fare evasion, we launched a campaign and increased the number of flying squads. We stopped free travel by off-duty staff and their relatives, though we hesitated to collect fares from police personnel — fearing repercussions in MACT (Motor Accident Claims Tribunal) cases.

We faced a major moral dilemma: if we took action against a driver involved in an accident, the corporation risked a large MACT compensation claim. But if we tried to reduce MACT liability, the guilty driver went unpunished.

Most of our staff were sincere, but a few were dangerously reckless. Once, when I stopped a rash driver on the road, he got down and came charging at me with the route board in hand — about to strike. Luckily, something made him pause; otherwise, I might have lost my life that day.

On another occasion, one evening during the monsoon, my Sikh driver sped over a dead sheep on the Gandhinagar–Ahmedabad road. I narrowly escaped death — and ironically, later I had to testify in court to defend that same driver out of humanitarian concern.

Meeting with the Chief Minister

By then, the Chief Minister’s attention had turned toward us. At that time, he used to hold departmental review meetings to understand problems and resolve them. To make governance more people-centric and forward-looking, he had started “Chintan Shibirs” (brainstorming retreats) for senior officers to deliberate on critical issues and chart the state’s future direction.

In the first Chintan Shibir, the MDs of boards and corporations were not invited, but by the second one, we were included — giving us new energy and a sense of purpose as karmayogis (dedicated workers).

He invited me to present our case of the GSRTC. The Minister, the Chief Secretary and other important functionaries remained present. Over two days, I gave a seven-hour presentation — five hours on the first day and two on the second. What other Chief Minister would listen to an MD with such focused attention for seven hours? Only Modi Saheb could.

Thanks to his support, the Finance Department began viewing us more favorably and approved a budget provision for 1,000 new buses each year through loan assistance. In the 42-year history of GSRTC, this was a major breakthrough.

Eco-Friendly Initiatives

Being deeply committed to environmental improvement, the Chief Minister suggested that we procure 15 CNG buses for the Ahmedabad–Gandhinagar route. Though the cost difference wasn’t financially beneficial, we accepted it for the sake of cleaner air.

Another initiative involved producing biodiesel from jojoba seeds and experimenting with 5% blending. On paper, the tax-free biodiesel seemed cheaper — and if we had received similar tax relief on regular diesel, GSRTC could have become a profit-making corporation.

Nevertheless, environmental protection was important in itself, even though the biodiesel project didn’t last long.

Just One Step Away from Profit

We continued our reform efforts. After achieving zero cash loss, our next goal was to eliminate depreciation loss, because unless we did that, the corporation could never become profitable. Without profits, no bank would lend us money to buy new buses or build new assets. The government would provide fund to buy new buses from the next year, but our fleet was mostly filled with old, worn-out vehicles — many of which had already run 750,000 kilometers, and most over 500,000 kilometers. How long could we keep them running by just rebuilding old engines?

Breakdowns began to increase, and the Finance Secretary locked the treasury. With no loans or state support available, it seemed only a matter of time before ST buses would stop running one by one — and staff would face layoffs.

Once again, I began scrutinizing each expense item closely. My eyes stopped at one particular item: according to the settlement with the union, PF (Provident Fund) deductions were at 10%, and the corporation had to contribute an equal amount. However, by law, loss-making organisations were only required to contribute 8.33%. Reducing the PF contribution from 10% to 8.33% could save the corporation ₹54 crore annually.

Before implementing it, I created an Employee Welfare Fund, contributing one month’s salary myself and appealing to all staff to donate one day’s salary each. Then, as a loss-making entity, we legally reduced both the employees’ PF deduction and the corporation’s share to 8.33%.

The unions took the matter to court. Fortunately, we had already filed a caveat, so the court did not grant a stay order.

Soon after, the unions called for a statewide one day strike, halting transportation across Gujarat. Negotiations were held in the presence of the Chief Secretary, but in my absence. The Transport Minister, through the Transport Secretary, sent me a message of apology — and my transfer orders followed.

The Municipal Commissioner of Surat, Mr. Aloria, was appointed as my successor, while I was transferred to serve as Commissioner of Cottage Industries, returning once again to a Gujarati assignment.

The 27 months I spent leading Gujarat State Road Transport Corporation (GSRTC) remain among the most significant in my administrative career. During that time, I successfully brought a debt-ridden, loss-making organization with 58,000 employees and an aging bus fleet to the threshold of profitability. I left it with the permanent gift of an annual budget provision for 1,000 new buses from the government.

I didn’t leave out of exhaustion, but with the deep satisfaction of having been a true karmayogi — one who works without attachment to results.

What did I gain in return?

A new opportunity — to play a long and meaningful innings in social service through the Cottage Industries Department. 

“कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन”

You have the right to work, but never to the fruits thereof.

4 October 2025

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My tenure in Fisheries - Arrival of New CM (28)

 

28. My Tenure in Fisheries and the Arrival of a New Chief Minister

After returning from the Kutch earthquake relief work, I devoted myself fully to my new assignment as Commissioner of Fisheries. Seeing a vegetarian Commissioner, officers could not offer fish delicacies in meetings — but we focused on the real mission: developing the fisheries sector as a source of livelihood for thousands of fishing families, contributing to GDP growth, and earning valuable foreign exchange.

The Sea that Connects Gujarat to the World

Gujarat’s coastline — about 2,541 kilometers long — is the longest in India. The Arabian Sea, the Ratnakar Sagar of poet Narmad, connects Gujarat to maritime nations across the world, shaping its international character since ancient times.

The two great pilgrimage sites — Somnath and Dwarka — stand as sacred symbols of Hindu faith along this coast. The arrow at Somnath’s seashore points straight to the waters extending all the way to the South Pole — a reminder of Gujarat’s global reach.

Gandhiji and Shyamji Krishna Varma both once crossed this same Arabian Sea — voyages that changed not only their own destinies but also that of the nation.

Centuries earlier, Gujarat’s independent Sultan Bahadur Shah perished in the waters of Diu after Portuguese treachery. 

Ramjilal Dariyalal of Kutch went to Zanzibar as a slave trader but ended up becoming a liberator of slaves.

The famous passenger ship Haji Kasam’s Bijli sank near Mangrol, with the opposite shore visible — a story still told along the coast.

Ports like Kandla, Mundra, Veraval, Porbandar, and Mangrol, and beaches such as Mandvi, Shivrajpur, Ahmedpur Mandvi, Diu, Dandi, Tithal, and Umargam, make Gujarat’s shoreline both economically vital and naturally beautiful. 

The jetties at Jakhau, Porbandar, Mangrol, Veraval, Jafrabad, Valsad, and Umargam are bustling with fishermen and their catch.

Jakhau EEZ

The coasts of Saurashtra are world-famous for pomfrets and lobsters, while species like dhole, bumla, and ribbonfish are caught in abundance. 

In Jafrabad, fish drying on the land enriches the soil with minerals, making its millet (bajra) taste exceptionally delicious — so much so that even vegetarians relish it.

That year, Jakhau Port received the Government of India’s environmental clearance to be developed as an Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) — a major milestone.

Freshwater Fish

Among freshwater species, Rohu, Catla, and Mrigal dominate. Nature itself has designed their coexistence perfectly — each species living at a different depth level, ensuring ecological balance.

In the Narmada River, where seawater meets freshwater, the famous Hilsa is found, and Bharuch’s Tiger Prawns are a delicacy for seafood lovers. However, as per the Narmada Award agreement, fish harvesting from the Sardar Sarovar dam was still restricted.

That year, due to Jain community pressure, Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel imposed a one-year ban on inland fishing — a decision that inadvertently benefited leaseholders who got easy profits.

Inland fishery contributes about 15–20% of total production compared to marine fisheries. Yet, daily truckloads of fish from Andhra Pradesh arrived in Ahmedabad markets.

Interestingly, although Gujarat ranked first in fish production in India, it stood behind Kerala in terms of the total value of fisheries. 

The paradox remained: despite having an enormous coastline and abundant fish, the majority of Gujarat’s people are vegetarian, living with protein deficiency in a land full of protein-rich food!

Poor Fisherfolk

During my tenure in Junagadh, when I would pass near Prabhas Patan, the smell from trucks loaded with dried fish was unbearable. Now, as Fisheries Commissioner, I had to work closely with fish and fishermen — a test of my vegetarian resolve.

Gandhiji’s words echoed in my mind: “For fishermen, fish is their crop.”

Despite the richness of the coast, the economic condition of common fishermen was poor. A few who owned boats prospered, but like in agriculture, the major profits went to traders.

We focused on implementing fish farming and fisherfolk welfare schemes effectively, and curbing irregularities in their execution.

During monsoons, some fishermen risked venturing into the turbulent sea and perished in storms. We enforced the seasonal fishing ban more strictly and extended it by 15 days. Since breeding and spawning occur mainly during monsoon, this measure ultimately helped increase overall fish production.

Diesel Subsidy

At that time, motorized trawler boats were provided diesel at subsidized, tax-exempt rates by the government. Diesel was supplied directly from the Indian Oil Corporation (IOC) to fishermen through GFFC (Gujarat Fisheries Central Cooperative) and other cooperative society fuel pumps at concessional prices. For this purpose, our district offices issued diesel cards, similar to ration cards.

Since there was a subsidy involved, complaints of misuse and theft were common. Some trawler owners also owned trucks — and they began diverting subsidized diesel meant for trawlers into their trucks. There were even cases of “ghost trawlers” — no real boats, only fake diesel cards being used to siphon off diesel.

I studied the issue thoroughly, discussed it with the GFFC president, and reviewed the entire operation. I visited Mangrol, Porbandar, and Veraval, met fishermen’s representatives, and devised a strategy to curb diesel theft.

Instead of supplying subsidized diesel directly on cards, we introduced a reimbursement scheme. Under this, boat owners had to first buy diesel at full price, then submit monthly bills and claims to the district office for reimbursement.

We linked each claim with the boat’s registration number, verifying every trawler individually. This brought strict control over diesel usage based on the trawler’s trip capacity and saved the government crores of rupees.

At first, those involved in malpractice raised a hue and cry — but we stood firm. The mission to eliminate irregularities succeeded, and with a single stroke of the pen, widespread misuse was stopped.

COFOPES Project

Around the same time, under a Government of India initiative, a French fisheries cooperative named COFOPES collaborated on an Inland Fisheries Development Project — one unit each in Gujarat and Maharashtra.

In Gujarat, a fish pond at Umarwada near Ankleshwar was selected for developing a hatchery project. The goal was to produce healthy fish seeds in the hatchery and later release them into ponds for cultivation.

However, under the guise of “technology transfer,” the project turned into a tourism opportunity for French experts. When their technology met Gujarati practicality, a mismatch occurred — and the project failed.

It reminded me of history — in the 18th century, Indian intellect matched that of the British, but mismatched with the French, which is why the British ruled India while the French had to leave.

The Wealth of Pomfret

Our Ratnakar Sea (Arabian Sea) is full of marine wealth, especially fish. Where India and Pakistan’s maritime borders meet, lies a rich treasure of pomfrets. One lucky catch in that zone could earn lakhs of rupees, so despite the risk of arrest, our fishermen often crossed into that boundary.

To control and alert them, we set up wireless communication systems and connected them with GPRS. Still, the temptation of pomfret and the pull of the sea were strong — they would often risk it.

When caught, they would spend six months to a year in Pakistani jails, and we had to arrange cash assistance for their families during that time. Since Pakistani fishermen were similarly captured by our forces, delegations from both countries periodically met to exchange and release imprisoned fishermen.

Over the years, however, the sea has been overexploited. Pomfrets once sold by the kilo are now sold by the gram, and lobsters and prawns have become scarce or even disappeared.

With the rising costs of marine fishing, fishermen have gradually shifted to prawn (shrimp) farming in coastal wastelands. Thanks to this, Gujarat now ranks first in the country in shrimp aquaculture.

However, during those earlier years, Gujarat was ranked first in total fish production — today, it stands second.

Protection of the Birds of Nal Sarovar

At that time, fishermen were being provided nylon fishing nets with 90% government subsidy. However, it came to light that fishermen around Nal Sarovar were using those nets to trap birds instead of fish. As soon as this was discovered, the subsidy for that region was immediately discontinued.

Later, in 2012, the Nal Sarovar Wetland received international recognition as a Ramsar Site for its ecological importance. To balance the withdrawal of subsidies, the government launched fishermen housing schemes in nearby villages such as Khathechi, Ranagadh, and Shahpur, ensuring that local fishing families still received developmental benefits.

Political Transition

In 2001, when the entire state administration was deeply engaged in earthquake relief and rehabilitation work, people naturally carried resentment against the government for the hardships caused by such a massive natural calamity.

During that time, by-elections were announced for the Sabarmati and Sabarkantha Assembly constituencies. The ruling party lost both seats, which strengthened the faction within the party opposing Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel.

A group of 21 MLAs signed a memorandum against him and sent it to the party high command in Delhi. Meetings were held there, and some of those who initiated the representation began to see themselves as potential successors to the Chief Minister’s chair. As their ambitions clashed, the party leadership decided to act firmly.

Amidst the internal tug-of-war — “If not me, then not him” — the leadership once again turned its attention to a Kutch MLA, just as it had in 1995. But this time, the name was not Sureshbhai, but rather Dhirubhai Shah, the Speaker of the Assembly.

Then came a surprise. The party high command selected Narendra Modi as the new leader and presented his name. It was a historic moment that would go on to reshape the future of Modi himself, Gujarat, and the entire nation.

He arrived at the Circuit House, Room No. 8, dressed simply in a half-sleeved kurta, traditional lengha, and slippers, carrying a long shoulder bag, and on 7 October 2001, he was sworn in as the 14th Chief Minister of Gujarat.

Later, Rajkot West MLA and Finance Minister Vajubhai Vala vacated his seat for Modi, enabling him to contest the February 2002 by-election. Around the same time, two other by-elections were held — in Vadodara and Surat.

When results were declared on 24 February 2002, the BJP won only the Rajkot seat, while losing the other two — marking the beginning of a new political chapter for both Modi and Gujarat.

The New Chief Minister

The new Chief Minister may have been new to the chair, but he was no stranger to the BJP organization — he had been active within the party since 1986. Even during Keshubhai Patel’s first government (1995), there were discussions among bureaucrats about his growing influence and potential role in governance.

I had first seen him on television in 1998, analyzing the Madhya Pradesh Assembly election results. Coincidentally, I was in Madhya Pradesh at that time, serving as an election observer. In that election, the BJP lost to the Congress by a margin of barely 1% votes, as in 1993, yet the strength of the party’s organization and the effectiveness of its campaign were remarkable.

That organizational model later helped the BJP win consecutive Assembly elections in Madhya Pradesh — 2003, 2008, 2013, and 2023, as well as multiple Lok Sabha elections.

His organizational discipline, strategic clarity, and event management skills were widely praised, even by senior leader Lal Krishna Advani. He had an extraordinary ability to listen carefully and absorb ideas from others — a rare quality in politics.

Tragic Events

During his Rajkot by-election campaign, general elections were underway in Uttar Pradesh. The Election Commission had deputed me as Observer for the Baghpat Assembly constituency, so I was stationed there.

In the local newspapers, there was only a brief mention of kar sevaks returning from Gujarat after the Ayodhya movement. On 24 February, results of the UP elections were declared — Mayawati’s party came to power. The next day, 25 February, kar sevaks boarded the Sabarmati Express from Lucknow, chanting “Jai Shri Ram” on their return journey to Gujarat.

On the night of 26 February 2002, the train was running late. In the early hours of 27 February, as it halted briefly at Dahod, a minor altercation reportedly occurred between a tea vendor and a few passengers. The train resumed its journey and reached Godhra station around 7:45 AM. Another scuffle broke out there, tempers flared, and as the train began to move out, someone pulled the emergency chain near the signal cabin. The last coach, was still partially on the platform when stone pelting began, followed by an outbreak of fire in the compartment.

A total of 59 passengers — 27 women, 10 children, and 22 men — were burnt alive, and 48 others were injured.

The entire state of Gujarat was shaken. The day passed like a dark inferno, and by 28 February, communal riots erupted across the state in a wave of vengeance.

The VHP called for a statewide bandh, which gained widespread support. Violence spread rapidly, and curfews were imposed in 27 cities and towns.

Although the army was called in, the first three days saw extensive loss of life and property. Relief camps were set up for the displaced. Gujarat began returning to normalcy only by May 2002. The riots claimed 1,044 lives, with 223 missing and around 2,500 injured. Damage to homes, shops, and buildings ran into crores of rupees.

Personal Account During the Riots

I returned from my election duties in Uttar Pradesh to Gujarat. My wife, Laxmi, had gone to Danilimda, Ahmedabad, to attend some minor repairs at my father’s house. On 28 February, realizing the gravity of the situation, I rushed to Ahmedabad to bring her back.

The Danilimda area, located between Jamalpur and Shah Alam, was extremely sensitive. We personally witnessed the mobs, their violence, and the police response, before quietly leaving for Gandhinagar.

At that time, Ujjwal was studying at Vallabh Vidyanagar, and Dhawal was in Nadiad, staying at the Akshar Purushottam Hostel. We instructed both to remain there and allowed them to return home only three months later, in June 2002.

Political Developments After the Riots

The 10th Gujarat Legislative Assembly elections had earlier been held in February 1998, with Keshubhai Patel’s government sworn in on 4 March 1998. Its term was due to end around February–March 2003. However, after the riots, the government resigned, and preparations began for early elections, expected in June–July 2002.

At that time, Chief Election Commissioner J. M. Lyngdoh came under intense political pressure over the timing of the elections. He insisted on holding them only in December 2002, arguing that the situation needed full normalization. This delay gave the ruling party an extra six months for political mobilization.

Then, on 24 September 2002, tragedy struck again — the terrorist attack on the Akshardham Temple complex in Gandhinagar killed 31 innocent people. Though saints and volunteers had quickly shut the main temple and exhibition halls, one panicked woman standing near a door screamed and partly opened it, allowing the terrorists outside to fire indiscriminately, killing 31 and injuring many others.

The police and commandos arrived swiftly, and both terrorists were neutralized in the encounter.

By then, the electoral outcome was virtually written on the wall. In the December 2002 Assembly elections, under Narendra Modi’s leadership, the BJP won 127 out of 182 seats, securing a decisive mandate.

The victory chariot of Modi — and of Gujarat — had begun to roll forward, and nothing could stop it thereafter.

Transfer as MD in ST Corporation

My performance as Commissioner of Fisheries was recognized by the Government of India. Under JICA, the Ministry of Agriculture selected me for three weeks of training. During the final selection between two candidates, Ashok Saikia from the Prime Minister’s Office supported my name, and it was approved.

However, before I could leave for Japan, a major development that year led to my transfer. I was appointed as the Vice Chairman and Managing Director of the Gujarat State Road Transport Corporation (GSRTC), giving me a landmark opportunity to serve in a new capacity.

I took charge of Gujarat ST on 7 October 2002, the day marking one year of Chief Minister Modi’s leadership.

3 October 2025

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Tribute to My Parents (27)

27. Tribute to My Parents

My father was not formally educated, but through life experience, he had learned a great deal. 

In 1954, after becoming a member of the Majoor Mahajan Union, he learned to read and write at the age of 34 under my mother’s guidance. 

My mother had studied up to the fifth standard but was very intelligent. In our home, my father was the “President” and my mother the “Prime Minister” — she ruled inside the house, and he ruled outside. In shaping our character, both my father’s broad-minded outlook and my mother’s nurturing guidance played a major role.

Despite growing up in a society filled with vices, they raised us with care, keeping us away from bad habits and instilling in us discipline, culture, love of learning, honesty, integrity, truthfulness, devotion, compassion, industriousness, a sense of justice, self-respect, and patriotism.

My mother was a devotee of Lord Krishna. Though she was educated, poverty had made her frugal and introverted. Thus, her nature did not always align with my father’s outgoing and generous personality. My mother had no friends, whereas my father had countless friends and acquaintances.

Compassionate and Kind-Hearted

My father’s reputation as a “member” (of the workers’ union) was successful not only because of his leadership but also due to his ability to unite people and his willingness to make personal sacrifices. 

Whether it was the city mill or a smaller workshop, if someone ordered tea, the bill was always paid by the member himself. He drank and offered countless cups of tea at Hola’s tea stall at Ramanpura Naka.

He was an excellent conversationalist. Once he started speaking, everyone around him would listen quietly. 

In meetings, he used to say, “Sit where you don’t have to get up.” Wherever he sat, people gathered around him like bees around honey. 

He was unmatched at maintaining relationships, even when it required personal compromise. When he sat with others and tea or snacks arrived, it was always his wallet that opened — he never let anyone else pay. He never ate or drank anything that someone else had paid for.

At the mill, when he sat for lunch, he would share half of his food with his co-workers — Karsanbhai, Bhagwandas, and Bababhai.

“Sharing and caring” was his way of life. He also collected grain for feeding birds and never missed feeding pigeons every day, even if he had to add extra from his own pocket.

During the monsoon, when the neighborhood ground filled with mud, he would personally take a shovel and start cleaning. Embarrassed, the young men would rush to take the shovel from him and finish the work. He loved playing traditional games like khoḍī with the local youths and enjoyed keeping that bond alive.

With his extroverted nature, he had a charismatic presence. He wore khadi clothes — a long coat, dhoti, and cap — and polished Bata shoes. With his upright posture and confident walk, he left the impression of a respected community leader.

Love for Family

He had deep affection for his family, brothers, sisters, and village. He was particularly fond of the kulkunvasi (his extended clan). He maintained affectionate ties with all his sisters and nieces. If there was a family function (mameru) in the village of Bhataariya, “Khemo Member” was never absent. To him, the honor of his family and village was of utmost importance. Despite poverty, he borrowed money to host proper mamerus for his sisters — as many as thirty-six times!

He adored his daughters deeply. Out of his devotion, he made a vow to Lord Ramapir of Ranuja and brought home Ramilaben as his chosen daughter. Apart from his own sisters, he treated the daughters of his brothers — Khushalbha, Somabha, Narsinhbha, Becharbha, Amarabha, and Chhaganbha — with equal love.

Once, during his brother Khushalbha’s daughter Hiraben’s wedding, he even removed his ring to help arrange her clothes and wedding thread. On another occasion, when she came home for a meal and there was no ghee, my mother served her sweet porridge made with oil instead. After she left, my father found out, scolded my mother, brought the girl back, and served her porridge made properly with ghee before letting her go again!

Whenever he was sitting somewhere and an acquaintance happened to pass by, he would call out loudly to stop them, invite them in, and insist they share a cup of tea before leaving — all paid by him, of course.

In 1972, when my aunt Sundarba passed away, my father performed the Sharaddha rituals with great devotion — served pure ghee sheera (sweet semolina pudding) for twelve days to the community as a traditional tribute. But as soon as the thirteenth-day ceremony (termu) concluded, he remembered his own father, Valabhbha, who had passed away 42 years earlier, and immediately announced a Kalashiyo (a memorial feast) in his name. Relatives, friends, and family from all around gathered and relished the sheera to their heart’s content.

In that Kalashiyo, sixteen tins of ghee were used. In a huge cauldron, the golden, aromatic sheera was cooked, and more ghee was poured generously over the top. After the ritual ended, the leftover sheera lasted us for a whole month — we kept roasting and eating it daily. Its taste still lingers in my memory even today. 

To him, maintaining family traditions and the honor of the family and village was more important than avoiding debt — he would rather borrow money than let customs lapse.

Generosity 

My father was extraordinarily generous; had my mother not been frugal, our home might never have managed! 

As soon as he received his salary on the 7th, by the 22nd it was all spent — often helping those in need. If someone came to borrow money, he never refused. Even when he knew the borrower might never repay — like when a drunkard’s wife came seeking help for her children — he still gave with an open hand. 

If anyone stretched a hand toward him, he could never say no. His hand would immediately reach for his wallet, and whatever was inside, he would give. No one ever left him empty-handed.

Once he handed his salary to my mother, it was as if sealed — she kept it safe. Yet, if anyone came later asking for a loan, he would find a way, even by borrowing from someone else, to help them — but would never send anyone away empty-handed.

When mangans (traditional alms-seekers), vahivanchas (bardic genealogists), or bawas (wandering ascetics) came, he would go around the entire neighborhood collecting money on their behalf and send them off content. 

He loved hearing the mangan sing“

“Khema member, you’ve kept the faith, On every Ekadasi, you give a rupee.” His ears longed for those words. He would reach for his pocket, and the rupee would appear!

When the vahivancha came and recited the lineage: 

“Solanki search for skip ways, Vaghela build the fence, When Parmars’ turn comes, the Makwana says — Mother, give me a blanket to wear!” My father would beam with pride, for he too was a Parmar.

If a bawaji came to the street, he would make him sit, then go door to door collecting offerings on his behalf, and send the ascetic off joyfully.

For many years, he used to smoke tobacco in a small hookah called gujariyu. Silver hookah he had specially made, filled it only on special occasions — when guests visited or for weddings and ceremonies. Later in life, he switched from hookah to chewing tobacco, as filling the hookah became troublesome.

In his final days, I once took away his tobacco and lime box, thinking to reduce stress on his heart — and that act became a lifelong regret. I had unknowingly hurt him.

He had always been in excellent health, never fell ill. My mother, however, often suffered ailments, so most of our attention went to her.

First Cardiac Problem 

But in 1984, after the textile mills shut down, he faced emotional distress and a sense of helplessness. I was then in Mussoorie, attending Phase-II training, while he had gone to the village to do farming.

In July 1987, while pulling out large thor (cactus plants) to build a fence, he suffered a heart attack. He was admitted to the Bapunagar Employees’ State Insurance Hospital and kept in the ICU for fifteen days. Yet, my family didn’t inform me — fearing I might worry during training. When I returned from Mussoorie in August, I learned of it.

After that, with regular checkups and medicine, his health remained stable for some time — but age began to overtake his strength.

Happy in the company of friends 

During my postings as an IAS officer, I was often stationed in various districts. My father’s friends and relatives all lived in Ahmedabad, so he never quite enjoyed the quiet domestic life with us in those small district headquarters. He would stay for a day or two and then return to Ahmedabad.

To ensure he was well cared for, we arranged for him to live separately in his own house at Mayur Park, which he himself had built. My cousin Jivanbhai’s elder son Suresh and his wife Kusum stayed there to look after him. But, in truth, instead of the young couple serving him, he ended up looking after them!

We had given him a telephone connection so that if there was any emergency at night, we could be informed immediately and reach him without delay.

My father was a self-reliant man — after retirement, he lived like Gandhiji, washing his own clothes and doing his own shopping in the market.

In 2001, when the Kutch earthquake struck on 26 January, I was posted in Bhuj as the Chief Coordinator, first with Shri G. Subba Rao and later with Shri L. Man Singh, for earthquake relief operations. 

In the first week of April 2001, my brother-in-law Vinod was diagnosed with a brain tumor, so I came to Ahmedabad for his treatment. Despite undergoing surgery, Vinod did not survive. That same week, my father began facing health issues.

Father’s Prostate and Cataract Operations

He had been suffering from prostate-related urinary retention for quite some time, but out of hesitation or perhaps fear, he had kept it to himself. He finally disclosed it in November 2000, by which time he could no longer pass urine. Convinced that his end was near, he became restless and worried for the first time.

Since his PSA count was high, on the advice of Dr. Dilipbhai Shah, instead of undergoing a risky prostate surgery, he was treated through an orchidectomy, which provided relief. Because of his heart condition, doctors were unwilling to keep him under anesthesia for long.

About four months later, at the age of 81, he underwent cataract surgery on his right eye at Nagarik Hospital on Friday, 6 April 2001. Unfortunately, while in the hospital, his boghas (colored spectacles) were stolen.

Chest Pain

It had been only three days since my father had returned home after his cataract surgery when the son of our neighbor, Pashabhai, created some commotion, which startled him. Then, Suresh’s wife, Kusum, forgot to take the pickle, and he got upset over that as well.

In Mayur Park Society, the municipal water supply had low pressure, so one had to place the water pot inside a pit to fill it. On Tuesday, 10 April 2001, around 10 or 11 a.m., while lifting a pot of water out of the pit, he felt a sharp pain on the left side of his chest. He sat down for a while, thought stomach pain, waited but the pain didn’t subside, so he asked to call me.

We immediately took him to the cardiologist Dr. Tejas Patel at around 5 p.m. He was able to walk into the doctor’s chamber without help. After examining him, Dr. Patel said it was angina pain, caused by reduced pumping of the heart, and suggested keeping him under observation in the hospital for two to three days.

Since he knew my father personally, Dr. Patel reassured him, saying, “Kaka, don’t worry — you’ll be fine for at least another seven years.” He told me there was no need for surgery and recommended taking him to Vadilal Sarabhai Hospital, where his assistant, Dr. Sanjay, would take care of him.

My father, however, strongly resisted the idea of hospital admission. Still, I admitted him to V.S. Hospital against his wishes, following Dr. Patel’s advice at 7.15 p.m. As soon as he was admitted, I felt an ominous heaviness — as if my father was slowly slipping away from my hands. When I saw him being wheeled away on a stretcher, it felt as though someone was dragging my heart itself to the gates of death.

The Final Stage at V.S. Hospital

He was placed on bed number 5 in the corner of the ICU. He refused to wear the hospital clothes and pulled out the IV line attached to his arm. The ICU was centrally air-conditioned, and he felt unbearably cold. Even after covering him with a blanket, he kept complaining. Since the AC could not be turned off, we pasted newspapers over the vents to block the draft of cold air.

V.S. Hospital was run by the Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation. Seeing my father’s deteriorating condition, I called the then Municipal Commissioner to request special care, but since I was only a junior IAS officer — and a Gujarati one at that — he ignored the plea.

My father was insistent on returning home. On Wednesday, I decided to take him back, but Dr. Bhadresh Shah advised against it, saying he was not stable enough and that moving him could be fatal. I agreed to wait another day, but my father didn’t like that decision.

That evening, dinner arrived from Jivanbhai’s house. As was his habit, my father first offered me a portion, saying, “Take this, you eat.” I failed to recognize that gesture as his final act of affection. I declined, so he ate five or seven bites himself — his last meal. I had taken away his tobacco box that day, so after drinking some water, he lay down to rest on the bed.

Negligence Invites Death

I had been standing for two days straight, exhausted and hungry. Around 10 p.m., I developed back pain and decided to return to Gandhinagar for the night, leaving Suresh in charge, with instructions to call me immediately in case of an emergency — I assured him I would be awake through the night. Suresh then handed the night duty to his brothers, Rajendra (Mango) and Prakash, and went home.

Meanwhile, my father woke up during the night and began insisting on going home immediately. In their struggle to restrain him, whatever little strength he had left was spent. The two young men didn’t know what to do, so they called Kanubhai and Rukshmani. They summoned the duty doctor, who, without proper consideration, injected him with a sedative. My father fell asleep.

When he awoke at 7:30 a.m., he again insisted on being taken home. This time, he wasn’t given his morning medicine or tea. Another duty doctor was called — and again, without caution, another sedative was administered.

I was completely unaware of what was happening. When I arrived at 10 a.m. with cluster beans curry (guvar nu shaak) and orange juice — his last wish — I found my father unconscious. When I asked the doctors, they said, “He’s been given a sedative; he’ll regain consciousness around 1:30 p.m.”

All the precautions we had maintained during his prostate surgery — to prevent him from slipping into a coma — were carelessly disregarded by the V.S. Hospital staff in my absence. Now, there was nothing left but to wait, trusting fate.

The Final Moments

It was past 1:30 p.m., then 2:00 p.m., but my father had still not regained consciousness.

Dr. Salim was sitting nearby, reading a book. When I asked him, he said,

“His condition is like that of a horse utterly exhausted after a long run.”

“The senior doctors were all in the operation theatre. I had no choice but to sit there helplessly, watching.

It must have been around 2:30 p.m. when he suddenly moved slightly. I said, 
“Bapa, wake up. It’s morning, let’s have some tea.”

He opened his eyes faintly and asked, “Who are you?”

I said softly, “Punam.”

Hearing that, he slipped back into unconsciousness. Then, as if he were taking a ritual bath and preparing to change into fresh clothes, he made gentle movements with his hands — and smiled faintly. That smile sent a chill through me.

I was reminded of Tuesday night, in 1972, on Maha Vad Beej, when my grandmother Sundarba had smiled in exactly the same way — and passed away in the very next moment. Until that instant, I had no premonition of my father’s death. But that brief smile — that same serene, mysterious smile — spread a tremor through my entire body. I was terrified.

The clock showed 3:00 p.m.

Kanubhai, Lakshmi, and Suresh were present. Just then, Jivanbhai, my eldest brother, arrived. In his presence, we put eye drops into my father’s cataract-operated eye.

Jivanbhai gently wiped Bapa’s eyes and called out to him, “Bapa!”

He asked faintly, “Who?”

Jivanbhai replied, “It’s me — Jivanbhai.”

Upon hearing that, he seemed to withdraw inward, as if descending deep within himself. On one side, Kanubhai went out of the ICU and Lakshmi went to a bathroom — around 3.30 pm, his chest rose once, his left eye rolled clockwise, and he departed.

We woke Dr. Salim from his reading. He rushed in and injected something into his chest. The alarm brought other doctors running. They tried artificial respiration using a balloon pump, gave electric shocks to the heart — but he did not return.

This time, it seemed he was truly angry enough to leave forever.

That day, Dhaval had his Standard 12 Mathematics-II exam. My friend Nixon was bringing him home when they got the news over the phone and drove straight to Mayur Park.

It was a Thursday, the sky overcast with clouds — as if nature herself offered a gentle shower in tribute to my father.

The next day, on Good Friday afternoon, his cremation was performed.

His face was peaceful, his hands soft and supple, as though even death had come to him with tenderness.

Mother’s Departure

After my father passed away, my mother was left utterly empty and disoriented.

She declared, “Exactly one month from now — on 12 May 2001 — I too shall depart.”

A few days later, her health began to decline.

At first, she was admitted to Kakadiya Hospital in Bapunagar, but when she required ventilator support and no machine was available at the Civil Hospital, she was moved to Shrey Hospital.

Pulmonologist Dr. Parthiv Mehta placed her on a BiPAP machine, but as soon as 12 May arrived — the machine stopped working.

Against her will, she was put on a ventilator. When her condition showed slight improvement, a junior pulmonologist, Dr. Mukesh Patel, hastily decided to de-ventilate her — and she slipped into a coma. Later, in an effort to bring her out of it, a woman doctor struck her chest so forcefully that her ribs fractured.

I was devastated. The cold, commercial nature of private hospitals — squeezing the emotions of the patient’s relatives — was unbearable. Instead of reducing the lung infection, it continued to worsen.

This time, Dr. Gautam Bhagat wasn’t around to help.

Mother developed pneumonia. Expensive injections were prescribed, yet the infection spread instead of subsiding — something I couldn’t understand.

Later, we discovered the fraud: the nurses would push the family members out while pretend to inject the costly medicines, but secretly draw them back in pocket, only to resell the same injection through the pharmacy the next day.

My wife Lakshmi, ever watchful, caught them red-handed.

Even when a patient lay dying, their blood levels dangerously low, the hospital would still take blood samples twice a day “for lab tests,” inflating the bills.

Private hospitals seemed more interested in increasing the billing amount than in saving the patient — and when the patient was unlikely to survive, they left no limit to their exploitation.

In the end, we had to yield to my mother’s wish to join her life partner.

On the eleventh day, the ventilator was removed, and we brought her home.

Within a few hours, on the night of 23 May 2001, at 8:00 p.m., she peacefully left this world.

She had suffered immensely all her life — from her marriage in 1940 to her death in 2001, pain was her constant companion.

The pain of poverty, the pain of losing children, the hardship of labor, her father’s temper, and fifty years of battling chronic bronchitis in a frail body.

A Woman of Strong Will

My mother had extraordinary mental strength.

In 1994, while sitting on a chair reading the newspaper, she turned around at my father’s call to see our son Mehul — and the chair overturned.

She fell and fractured her femur bone. Orthopedic surgeon Dr. Navin Thakkar inserted metal rods and helped her walk again.

Even at that age, she exercised on a standing cycle and regained her strength — her second life.

But in 1996, another storm came.

She became gravely ill with a severe lung infection.

At the time, I was Deputy Secretary in the Health Department, so we admitted her to Civil Hospital.

Antibiotics were started, but one morning at 4 a.m., her condition worsened. My nephew Suresh called me urgently.

I immediately contacted Dr. Gautam Bhagat and Dr. Tejas Patel.

Dr. Tejas Patel left for Civil Hospital straight away, and I brought Dr. Bhagat from his residence at Paldi.

When we arrived, we were told she had stopped breathing just moments earlier.

Both doctors comforted me, saying, “Death must come once in every life.”

But I couldn’t accept it.

I said, “This just happened. There must still be a cause — and may be a chance.”

Dr. Bhagat replied, “Her lungs are filled with infection — that’s what caused the death.”

I insisted, “Then drain the infection, put her on a ventilator — help her breathe, do something!”

Dr. Bhagat softened. He touched her body — it was still warm.

He drew blood from her thigh artery — it was still red.

Dr. Prafulla rushed in with a ventilator.

They placed her on life support, used a suction pump to clear her lungs, and administered medication through IV.

For a while, only the machine breathed — there was no response from her body.

Still, the Civil Hospital team fought on.

For twelve days, we battled between life and death.

On the thirteenth day, she came back.

Her body responded, and within two days, the ventilator was removed.

We brought her home — and she lived five more years.

When I later asked, “Ba, do you remember being on the ventilator for twelve days?”

She said, “I remember nothing — except the divine vision of Lord Krishna holding the Sudarshan Chakra.”

She told me, “If ever such illness comes again, do not put me on a ventilator — let me go.”

I agreed then, but I knew — my heart would never allow me to keep that promise.

In 2001, that truth returned.

The sudden death of my father on 12 April 2001 broke her completely.

Her body grew weaker and thinner — and finally, on 23 May 2001, she departed to join him.

An End — or a Pause

Thus ended a great life story.

A couple who had fought and won through 51 years of struggle — vanished together within a single month.

Even 24 years later, their absence still hurts.

On the foundation of their toil, virtue, and honor, we — their children — live in comfort and prosperity today.

To honor my father’s greatness, we changed our family surname from Parmar to Khem while he was still alive.

Today, the next generations in our family — the officers and professionals — are all known in their workplaces as “Khem Saheb.”

Hearing anyone address them that way still fills us with peace, pride, and gratitude.

20 September 2025

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Kutch Earthquake: Disaster Mgt. (26)

26. Kutch Earthquake: Disaster Mgt. (2001)

Bhachau — The Epicenter of the Earthquake

When we entered Bhachau on 27 January 2001, devastation surrounded us on all sides. Countless buildings had been reduced to rubble. The earth still trembled from time to time, shaking hearts along with it. I stood before a completely collapsed building. From deep under the debris came faint cries — someone was trapped below, calling for help. The remains of a two-story building lay on top of them. I wanted to remove the debris and rescue the person immediately, but the heavy RCC beams wouldn’t move.

I saw a constable nearby, called him loudly, and asked him to help rescue those trapped. He replied helplessly, “Sir, this debris cannot be lifted by human hands. There are not one but hundreds of such collapsed buildings with people trapped underneath — but how can we remove the debris? There are no JCBs or any other machines, no drivers, no laborers, not even electricity. Everything has stopped.”

Seeing humanity’s helplessness before the fury of nature brought tears to my eyes. I walked through the lanes filled with wrecked houses while the tremors still continued. How could one save people while the earth itself was shaking? Since I had been ordered to reach Bhuj, I decided to move on to the District Office there. With a heavy heart, I left Bhachau.

Bhuj — Rescue and Relief Efforts

Before entering Bhuj, I stopped at the Collector’s office. The same office where I had worked 6–7 years earlier now looked like a ruin. Collector Kamal Dayani stood there — speechless, visibly shaken. When I inquired, he said, “G. Subba Rao Saheb has arrived from Gandhinagar and is sitting in the RDC’s room.”

There I met RDC R.S. Ninama — his body language charged with energy. I then met G. Subba Rao Saheb and informed him that I had been deputed to assist him in the earthquake rescue and relief operations. A government team from Gandhinagar had already arrived by air. Since Bhuj was a base for the Army, Air Force, and BSF, they, along with police and other uniformed forces, had already begun rescue work. The injured were being treated at Army Base Hospital and Tent Hospital at Jubilee Ground, and the critically injured were being airlifted to Ahmedabad or other large hospitals.

Together, G. Subba Rao Saheb and I began assigning specific responsibilities to officers from different departments and set up a system for daily coordination meetings. But how to reach everyone? There was no electricity. Telephone poles had fallen, so all communication was dead. Trucks and government vehicles stood idle; drivers were missing. And without power, there was no diesel or petrol supply.

From a drawer, I found some loose papers and two carbon sheets. I remembered how, back in August 1979, the head clerk at Gujarat College had taught me how to draft circulars by hand. So I opened my pen and began drafting orders manually, distributing written instructions to whichever officers I could reach.

Health Commissioner R.M. Patel smiled and asked, “Punambhai, are you giving us instructions now?” I replied softly, “Sir, at this moment, no officer is small or big. We are all one team fighting to rescue our people from this calamity.” As a former Collector of Kutch, the pain of my people weighed heavily on my heart.

Medical Crisis and Relief Efforts

The Bhuj Civil Hospital had collapsed in the quake, killing over 400 patients and staff. Setting up medical teams and treating the injured became an enormous challenge. For the first four days, the Army Base Hospital provided crucial support. Another medical team arrived from Pune. Meanwhile, a temporary tent hospital was established at Jubilee Ground in collaboration with the IMA. At Lalan College, Red Cross teams began operations, setting up treatment centers wherever possible.

Gradually, doctors and paramedical staff arrived from other districts. International aid also began pouring in — from foreign countries, NGOs, and even figures like Bill Clinton. 

Israel team set up a tent hospital at Patel Hospital, where the first delivery (childbirth) after the earthquake took place — a moment that symbolized hope. 

Once the rescue and treatment stabilized, everyone turned to epidemic control. Health Commissioner R.M. Patel and Health Minister Ashok Bhatt coordinated the efforts brilliantly.

Scenes of Despair and Humanity

What I had seen in Bhachau, I now saw in Bhuj — people buried alive under debris, but no tools or laborers to help them. I roamed through the city and saw stray dogs, starved and weak, feeding on human remains — the sight horrified me. The transient nature of human life shook me to the core. Yet amid the stench of death, seeing volunteers removing bodies and performing respectful last rites reminded me of the fragrance of humanity.

News came that JCBs from Reliance were on their way. They were expected to arrive in 12–15 hours to begin clearing the debris. We waited for those machines like a ray of hope. Then came another blow — the Surajbari bridge had collapsed, delaying the machines’ arrival by two days as they would come from another route.

Prime Minister’s Visit (January 29, 2001)

Gradually, the coordination among rescue and relief teams improved. Sureshbhai Mehta became active. When news arrived that the Prime Minister was visiting, we discussed how to present a realistic estimate of the damage. 

Kutch’s population was about 1.5 million at that time. Estimating around three lakh houses, with about 50% destroyed, we arrived at roughly 7.5 lakh damaged houses. Based on reports from Bhachau, Bhuj, and Anjar, we estimated around 20,000 human deaths, three times that in livestock losses, about 100,000 injured, and extensive destruction to public buildings, hospitals, schools, roads, substations, and telephone infrastructure.

We compiled all this into a memorandum. When we showed it to Sureshbhai Mehta, he felt the figures were too low — but with no time or means for a proper survey, it was the best we could do. Despite his displeasure, we presented these figures to the Prime Minister. He personally visited the victims, assessed the devastation, and upon returning to Delhi, immediately dispatched rescue and relief teams, equipment, water coolers, and other essential supplies. He also ordered the reconstruction and modernization of Bhuj General Hospital.

Restoring Power, Water, and Communication

Our next focus was on restoring electricity and telephone services. Once power was restored, tube wells could pump drinking water, mills could grind grain for food, petrol pumps could operate, and vehicles could move — all of which would accelerate rescue operations. 

Engineers from the GEB, Water Supply, and Telecom departments worked relentlessly, coordinating their units to restart substations and pumping stations.

Radhakant Tripathi, from the Water Supply Department, jumped straight into the field — he was rarely seen in our office, but his results spoke loudly. 

The GEB engineers, showing remarkable ingenuity, connected horizontal and vertical lines to restore partial power supply even before substations were rebuilt — a major victory for the system.

Under the Vast Sky

The first week after the earthquake was the hardest. The tremors continued. The entire city slept outdoors in the cold January nights. We would leave the office only around 11 or 12 at night and return again by 6 or 7 in the morning. But where could we sleep?

There were limited rooms at the Leuva Patel Samajwadi Guest House. Senior officers and ministers occupied those. I spread a couple of blankets in the open compound and spent three nights sleeping under the sky. 

G. Subba Rao and I often left the office together late at night. When he learned about my sleeping arrangement, he offered me space to share his room from the fourth night onward.

With no electricity, we bathed using buckets of cold water — when available. I bathed once in four days. Later, volunteers arranged for buckets of heated water, which felt like luxury. Even Minister Ashok Bhatt would lift buckets and help distribute them — everyone shared each other’s hardships.

I had no food of my own, so for the first two days, I survived on biscuits and water that RDC managed to procure. Gradually, community kitchens were set up, and bottled water and relief supplies began to arrive, easing our struggles.

The Chief Minister had arrived by then, but that day we noticed a difference in coordination between the Chief Minister and the Finance Minister. After the Prime Minister’s visit, for reasons unknown, Sureshbhai Mahera recalled G. Subba Rao Saheb and replaced him with L. Mansingh as Chief Coordinator. I felt unhappy because Subba Rao Saheb had been working tirelessly, but a government order is a government order. He returned to Gandhinagar — though destiny still had a significant role for him to play in helping me later in change of my house in Gandhinagar.

Shri L. Mansingh Saheb

In place of G. Subba Rao Saheb, my former boss, Shri L. Mansingh, took charge as the Chief Coordinator. My batchmates — Sanjay Gupta at Anjar and Atanu Chakraborty at Bhachau — also joined the operations. The Collector of Kutch was replaced, and though I was working with full energy, with Sureshbhai Mehta (Minister) himself present there, who would really notice my efforts? Soon, another of my batchmates, Anil Mukim, was appointed as Collector. Thus, our 1985 IAS batch found itself deeply engaged in the Kutch earthquake relief work.

A few days later, an order came transferring me from Bhuj to take charge of the Rapar unit to handle relief and rehabilitation there. However, L. Mansingh Saheb spoke with Gandhinagar and decided to retain me in Bhuj. Arvind Sharma was then assigned to Rapar instead.

L. Mansingh Saheb was highly resourceful — he managed to arrange two laptops from somewhere. I was given one of them, and I immediately began recording data and preparing reports on the ongoing rescue and relief operations. Work could continue only as long as the battery lasted, but we hoped that electricity would soon be restored. Thanks to the relentless efforts of the GEB team, power did return on the seventh day, and with it, life in Bhuj began to revive.

Soon after, Chief Secretary Mukundan Saheb arrived with a team of senior officers. We presented a detailed briefing to him. He was surprised at how such meticulous, ground-level data had been compiled under such difficult conditions. Our priorities at that stage were clear — restoration of electricity, water supply, telecommunication, transport, community kitchens, and distribution of relief materials.

Shifting the Family to a New Home in Gandhinagar

Back in Gandhinagar, Laxmi, Ujjwal, and Dhawal were spending their days in the earthquake-damaged government quarters. Laxmi took the scooter and began scouting around Sector 19 and Sector 20, asking here and there, until she finally found a vacant government house.

I instructed her to go to the Fisheries Commissioner’s office to get an application drafted for the house change. After signing it, I asked her to submit one copy to Shri Jamdar, Secretary of Roads and Buildings Department, and another to G. Subba Rao in the Finance Department. She did exactly that.

When I was promoted to the Senior Scale in 1989 and posted as Deputy Secretary, Roads and Buildings Department, Jamdar Saheb had been the Joint Secretary there — so he knew me well. And G. Subba Rao and I had just recently worked together in Bhuj. During the Chief Minister’s visit to Kutch, I had already mentioned to him about my family’s housing difficulties.

As fate would have it, help came our way. A house was allotted to us in Sector 20, and on 13 February 2001, Laxmi, Ujjwal, and Dhawal took possession and moved in. That house became our beautiful and final government residence — where we would live for the next 15 years, and where both our sons’ weddings would later take place.

Distribution of Relief Material in Kutch

Meanwhile, in Kutch, road access from Mehsana side had reopened, and convoys of relief trucks began to arrive continuously. Officers were reporting for duty in large numbers, but before they could contribute effectively, their own accommodation and food arrangements had to be made.

At the Bhuj Airport, piles of relief material had begun to accumulate. If the airport was not cleared quickly, incoming flights carrying more supplies would be forced to halt. It became essential to organize proper storage, sorting, and distribution systems for the relief goods. Once the Surajbari Bridge reopened, another route became available, increasing the inflow even further.

We deployed officers and staff, arranged vehicles, and enlisted the support of NGOs to manage the distribution. However, things did not go as smoothly as planned. In Bhuj alone, five lakh (500,000) blankets were distributed, yet the queues never seemed to end. Later we discovered that some families were sending every member to stand in line separately, collecting multiple blankets, storing them at home, and returning to queue again. Maintaining records and ensuring that recipients didn’t come back repeatedly was nearly impossible under those circumstances.

Even some of the NGOs assisting us turned out to be troublesome. They would hang their own banners over government-supplied materials, trying to create the impression that their organization was solely responsible for the relief distribution. One so-called “Bapu’s son” even seized government stock and brandished a sword when challenged. We had to send armed police to bring him under control.

This experience taught us to be extremely cautious of organizations that use disaster relief for self-promotion or fundraising. The government faces public criticism while such groups gain fame and donations. Eventually, we managed to bring order and discipline to the entire relief distribution process.

BAPS Swaminarayan Organization and Other NGOs

During the Kutch earthquake relief operations, the BAPS Swaminarayan Sanstha performed exemplary service that deserves special recognition. The organization deployed Brahmavihari Swami to lead their on-ground efforts. From Ahmedabad, Pramukh Swami Maharaj personally reviewed the situation every morning and late at night, giving detailed guidance on how to manage the relief centers and community kitchens.

The BAPS team showed remarkable foresight—even small but vital items like candles, matchboxes, torches, and batteries were included in the thoughtfully prepared relief kits. Once the kits were ready, hundreds of dedicated volunteers efficiently distributed them among affected families.

They also established a large community kitchen—similar to their traditional Annakut arrangements—serving thousands of people daily. However, to maintain dignity and comfort for families hesitant to eat publicly, they even arranged a tiffin delivery service so that no one would remain hungry. On a stretch of open land along the Mundra Road, they built a huge tin-shed shelter, providing much-needed warmth and refuge against the winter cold.

We too offered support wherever possible. The Food Corporation of India (FCI) godowns had stocks of wheat and rice, which we allocated to the BAPS kitchen to help sustain their massive food operations. When a large water cooler arrived as a donation from the Prime Minister, we also handed it over to the organization for public service. Through these interactions, a deep friendship with Brahmavihari Swami developed—one that endured for life.

Just like BAPS, many small, lesser-known NGOs from across Gujarat and India set up kitchens, distributed relief materials, and embodied the spirit of “Ek Bharat, Shreshtha Bharat” (One India, Great India). The Sikh community’s langar was also widely appreciated. During those days, there was no distinction of caste, creed, or religion—no Hindu, no Muslim—only Indians united in compassion.

Transfer of Administrative Powers and Settlement of Debris Clearance

This time, the government granted Shri L. Mansingh special financial powers, allowing him to sanction expenditure up to ₹5 crore per item. This greatly simplified the process of engaging agencies for relief and restoration work. Once the financial taps opened, contractors naturally appeared in droves—since tenders were waived, everything became “estimated”—the scope, the cost, even the urgency.

The ₹5 crore-per-item sanction limit meant that file volumes multiplied rapidly, and there was a risk of disorder or misuse. Mansingh Saheb would often say, “PK, should we just approve it?” But how were we to determine fair rates or proper justification for each task?

We therefore designed a systematic strategy. We tied all work estimates to standard Schedule of Rates (SOR) values. Executive Engineers were made responsible for certifying the quantity of debris cleared and the number of trips made. This allowed us to approve crores-worth of proposals with lakhs-worth of accuracy, ensuring both speed and integrity.

In other departments, officers used the new powers judiciously—drawing from related departmental budgets when funds were insufficient. 

For the temporary shelter colonies, we had experienced officers, so there were no hurdles in sanctioning expenses. Mr. Jagdishan arrived in Bhuj and, through coordination with the Municipality, identified open grounds, laid out plots, and supervised the construction of tin-roofed colonies for displaced families.

External Assistance

Delegations of ministers and officers began arriving from different Indian states. Soon, foreign teams also landed. My batchmate Praveen Pardeshi joined the UNDP team, assisting with coordination. A Japanese delegation arrived with a large consignment of tents and medical teams, which we deployed to Gandhidham. Other international teams brought RCC cutters and heavy equipment to help in rescue operations—but by that time, the chance of finding survivors beneath the debris had become minimal.

Each visiting delegation was given a list of affected towns and villages, and within their available budgets, they were asked to adopt and rebuild specific rehabilitation units. This approach worked very well—it allowed us to channel external aid effectively while reducing the workload on our core administrative team.

A delegation from Haryana, led by their Chief Minister and including my batchmate Ram Niwas, adopted an entire village and rebuilt it from scratch.

Coordination and Cash-Dole Distribution

At times, a few political leaders would visit the affected areas and try to engage in empty talk with us. We would gently point to their spotless, freshly ironed clothes and tell them that if they truly wished to earn merit through service to humanity, they should step into the field — work among the dust, sweat, and rubble — and soil those clean clothes for a worthy cause.

Soon came the phase of damage surveys and cash-dole distribution. The administration formed teams of officers and staff to collect survey data and assess losses for financial relief. The entire district machinery became deeply engaged in this massive operation.

Shri Ashok Saikia

One incident from that period remains memorable. After the Prime Minister’s visit, Shri Ashok Saikia, the Prime Minister’s Secretary, came to Kutch for a detailed review. He was a friend of L. Mansingh Saheb, and his stay was planned for about a fortnight.

At that time, accommodation in Bhuj was extremely limited. Apart from the Leuva Patel Samajwadi building, where our entire team was stationed, there was no other suitable facility. Mansingh Saheb and I were sharing a room there, while other officers occupied the remaining rooms — also in shared arrangements.

To make space for Saikia Saheb, I vacated my room and slept in the lobby outside. As the saying goes, “A good deed never goes unrewarded.” He remembered that small gesture of goodwill, and later, when a training program in Japan came up, he ensured that I was selected for it.

Farewell to My Parents

By then, I had been in Kutch for more than two months, overseeing relief operations. On 31 March 2001, I received a call from home: my brother-in-law Vinod had suffered a serious brain ailment and needed immediate medical help.

Since the situation in Kutch had stabilized somewhat, I sought leave from Mansingh Saheb and left for Gandhinagar. Vinod underwent brain surgery, but sadly, he did not survive — he passed away on 6 April 2001.

That same day, my father underwent cataract surgery. A few days later, on 10 April 2001, he suffered severe angina pain, and on 12 April 2001, he passed away from a heart attack at the V.S. Hospital, at the age of 81.

Even before I could recover from the loss, after completing his last rites and memorial observances, my mother fell seriously ill. She was hospitalized and put on a ventilator, but she too could not be saved. On 23 May 2001, at the age of 78, she left for her heavenly abode — to join my father once again.

With both parents gone, I felt an emptiness I had never known before. Yet, their values and teachings became my guiding light — the lamp that would illuminate my path through the rest of life.

2 October 2025

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