Farewell (35)

35. At the Hour of Farewell

The moment of farewell finally arrived, the end of my 41 years of service in the government, which began in 1979. I joined service on the morning of July 30, 1979, and retired on the evening of July 31, 2020.

My journey had come full circle, from the old Secretariat to the new one, through districts and various departmental offices, back again to the Secretariat campus where I had spent nearly twenty years of my life sitting in its chambers. There, I had witnessed the rise and fall of many, from Chief Minister Madhavsinh Solanki to Vijaybhai Rupani, working with several ministers and getting the rare opportunity to serve the people of the State.

Chief Minister Vijaybhai Rupani used to tell me, since February that year, “Poonamchand, I intend to continue your services even after your retirement.” But then came COVID  and everyone’s attention turned toward containment, treatment, and management of the pandemic. Gradually, I sensed that the Chief Minister’s enthusiasm was cooling.

However, the Governor had seen my work on the Natural Farming Mission and how, in a very short time, we had turned it into a people’s movement. Impressed, he had thought to use my service in natural farming post retirement. He even asked me to collect details of a retired Andhra Pradesh officer working in natural farming, his post, pay, and service conditions. I procured the details and gave them to him. The Governor even arranged a joint meeting with the Chief Minister about another related matter to help formalize it. Yet, for some mysterious reason, the plan never materialized. Both remained silent, and on 31 July 2020, as office hours ended, I formally retired.

As per tradition, the Additional Chief Secretary of the General Administration Department came with the retirement order and a bouquet. A few IAS colleagues also dropped by. Because of COVID, there were few visitors. A couple of months later, when the situation normalized, I was invited for a Committee of Secretaries farewell, and a year later the IAS Association felicitated all officers who had retired in the past two years with parting citations. With that, the chapter closed.

After retirement, I turned toward my family. Those long-missed days of being at home, free from official duties, returned. As if waiting for my retirement, my younger son Dhawal was blessed with a son, Hiranya, on November 7, 2020, and my elder son Ujjwal had a son, Dhairya, on April 5, 2021. Now, like the five Pandavas, I had five grandchildren: Kavya, Riya, Krishna, Hiranya, and Dhairya; keeping me company in play, study, meals, and outings. Life became a garden of joy.

But before that joy settled in, on the early morning of 15 December 2020, I faced a cardiac arrest. I had been feeling weak for some time and had suspected some trouble, but, being overzealous in my work, I had neglected to get myself examined despite visiting the UN Mehta Cardiology Institute every Tuesday for a year while in the Health Department. My annual checkups showed everything fine, though my heart’s pumping efficiency had dropped from 55 to 50 percent - a warning I ignored.

That winter morning of December 15, 2020 was bitterly cold. Laxmi, who was always by my side, had been staying for a month at Dhawal’s house nearby to help our daughter-in-law Kinjal with baby Hiranya. I was alone in bed. As usual, I woke around 3:30 AM, during Brahma Muhurta. My eyes opened but I couldn’t move. My hand wouldn’t lift. My head and chest were soaked in sweat. Alarmed, I gathered whatever strength was left, forced myself up, went to the adjoining office room, popped a sugar candy into my mouth, and phoned my elder son Ujjwal sleeping upstairs. By fortune, he picked up on the first ring. He came down immediately, began pressing acupressure points as I instructed, and then fetched Laxmi from Dhawal’s home. She made me a hot cup of coffee, and gradually I regained consciousness. It was just 6 AM. Thinking the junior doctors would be on morning duty, I delayed going to the hospital. Once I felt stable, I called the driver, bathed, dressed, and reached UN Mehta Hospital around 10:30 or 11 AM.

Because I had called ahead, the team was ready. They took me straight to the operation theatre. While talking to me, anesthesia was administered, and Drs. Anand Shukla, Jayesh Prajapati, and Sibasish Sahu performed the angiography and angioplasty. When I regained awareness, I was still in the OT, hearing someone say, “The stent has moved ahead of its place.” They assured me the procedure was almost done, they just had to run the final camera check through all heart sectors. Again I drifted off under anesthesia.

When I next opened my eyes, I was in VIP Room No. 1 of the Institute’s new building. Dr. R.K. Patel the Director of the Institute came and said, “Sir, the hospital you helped build — we’ve had you inaugurate its VIP room yourself!” I smiled. The elite team had implanted three stents: two in the RCA, which was fully blocked, and one in the LCx; the LAD, 70% blocked, was left for later. I was advised another stent after six months, observed for two days, and then discharged.

With the stents and new medications, my heart began “recalibration,” but instead of improving, my health worsened. My pumping was dropped to 40%. I could barely complete a one-kilometre walk around the nearby lake without sitting down five times. My face darkened, body weakened. Echo reports at follow-ups showed stability, but the heart had already expanded and would return to its original form so only regular medication and an stress-free life could sustain it.

Being educated, I understood what each medicine did, so I began tapering off those unnecessary for my symptoms. The fewer pills I took, the better I felt. After consulting Dr. Tejas Patel a renowned cardiologist, I continued only on a blood thinner, statin, and beta-blocker. Statins gave me calf pain, so I switched from wheat to millet bread, reduced the dose, and almost stopped it. The beta-blocker was for blood pressure; stopping the thinner would normalize BP, but both had to balance each other. Over time, collateral vessels developed in my heart, and my condition improved. I remain at Class 2 heart failure, taking care to avoid slipping into Class 3.

By mid-2020, I had retired, but the Chief Minister’s unfulfilled promise still lingered. A file regarding the Gujarat State Police Complaints Authority (GSPCA) went up. Unaware of the post’s status or pay, he appointed me a Member. Three months after retirement, on 13 January 2021, a notification was issued to post me as member GSPCA. As a former Additional Chief Secretary, I could have been its Chairperson, but was made an ordinary Member, yet something was better than nothing. The Authority met once or twice a year, with ₹1,500 as sitting fee per meeting, so technically I held a job worth ₹1,500 a year! The Chief Minister kept his promise in his own way. Now that he has passed away in an airplane crash, the mystery behind it remains unsolved. By then my heart’s condition restricted me from taking any major assignment, so silence prevailed on both sides. 

Then, in September 2021, the Chief Minister changed, and the entire Cabinet was replaced. I reflected that I had served 41 years, lived 35 years as an IAS officer, and retired with dignity, while in politics, however, fortunes change overnight. I met the new Chief Minister four times over four years, mainly to get logistics support to attend my granddaughter Kavya’s health and to offer my services if needed. But time passed, years slipped away, and opportunities faded. Trusting verbal assurances, I even declined a probable chance of a Member CAT. Now at 65, after witnessing two politicians break promises, I understood the real limits of power.

At home, I am content among my five Pandavas (grandchildren). Having registered for a PhD at Gujarat Technological University (GTU), I continued my research and successfully defended my thesis before the examination committee in January 2024. In June 2024, I was awarded the PhD degree.

In November 2021, Laxmi and I attended a workshop on Kashmir Shaivism in Bharuch. On our way back, we visited Kabirvad, just as the annual Kabirpanth festival was concluding. After a brief chat with devotees there, I brought home COVID. I suffered first, then Laxmi, and finally our granddaughter Kavya. With an oxygen monitor at home, we tracked our SPO₂ daily and waited it out. I recovered in a fortnight; Laxmi took longer, and Kavya bounced back in three days. Still, with children at home, we followed quarantine protocols diligently.

I served on the GSPCA till April 2025. Though the Chairperson’s post later fell vacant, someone else was appointed at the last moment. Occasionally the government remembered me for small assignments such as a committee to suggest formula to fix fees of schools run by private institutions, or to attend SPIPA Governing Body meetings or selection interviews. Those occasions gave me a reason to wear formal clothes again. Otherwise, retired life had its own quiet charm. Clothes lost their pull; days and dates slipped by unnoticed. Morning turned to evening, evening to morning - Sundays came and went, seasons passed - winter, summer, monsoon - Diwalis came and went; the years now seem to fly like days. Time’s clock has quickened - Einstein’s theory of relativity fits perfectly!

Once, I had a life of movement; then a life of authority; and now a life of peace, contentment, and ordinariness. The path of spiritual insight has opened, and my pen finds freedom again. Going to the market and meeting people brings joy. Having tea for ₹15 at Barot’s stall in the Secretariat’s Meena Bazaar, or eating a ₹50 plate of bhajiyas at Rajkot Bhajiya House feels delightful. Walking through the vegetable and fruit markets whether at Gandhinagar or at Kalupur or Naroda in Ahmedabad among the lush greens and vivid colors, one feels life vibrate with vitality.

When in office, that “well” of power seemed deep. Now who is Chief Minister or Minister, who is Chief Secretary or Collector? We know what lies behind those walls. When one no longer belongs to that world, what use is it? Now, if the mind desires, there is tea; if it desires, there are sweets. When tired, one rests; when awake, it is morning. Reading, writing, chatting, watching TV or the social drama on social media — all unfold before the eyes. One can clearly see who pulls which cart, who bears the load, and who merely barks at the passing caravan. It is a world of performance.

I am reminded of Befam (poet Barkatali Virani) of Bhavnagar, whose ghazal a former Deputy Secretary in GAD (Planning), Madhubhai Bhatt used to quote: बेफाम तोय केटलु थाकी जवु पड्यु, नहि तो जीवन नो मार्ग छे घर थी कबर सुधी. (Befam too grew weary — for life’s path runs from home to grave). Another of Befam’s tender verses still echoes within me: नयन ने बंद राखीने में ज्यारे तमने जोया छे, तमे छो तेना करता पण तमने वधारे जोया छे. (When I closed my eyes and saw you, I saw you as more than what you are). Between the eyes and the grave, in that blink of separation, lies the grandeur of this entire life.