Return to Homeland (25)

25. Return to the Homeland and the Struggle for Right Placement 

(Kalpsar, Scheduled Caste Welfare, Education and Midday Meal)

Kalpsar Project

After completing my MBA studies at the University of Ljubljana, Slovenia, I returned to India.

The knowledge of management and computers had enhanced my administrative skills. I believed that since the government had spent a large amount of money on our education, it would surely assign me to a key managerial or executive position — perhaps as the Managing Director of a board or corporation.

However, upon my return, I was appointed as Joint Secretary (Kalpsar Project) in the Planning Division, General Administration Department. A retired Chief Engineer, C. K. Patel, had been assigned as OSD (Officer on Special Duty) for the preliminary study of the project, and I had to work with him. My reporting officer was Secretary Mr. Bhagat of the Planning Department.

At that time, Kalpsar seemed more like an ambitious imagination than a concrete plan. Engineer C. K. Patel was preparing the pre-feasibility report with some agency from the Netherlands, so neither he nor I had much actual work. Once that report was received, it would need to be studied, followed by a feasibility report, then a DPR (Detailed Project Report), and only after that could the actual project be conceived — if at all.

The idea was to construct a 30-kilometer-long dam across the Gulf of Khambhat, creating a Kalpsar (lake) of fresh water. On top of the dam, a 10-lane road would provide a direct route for trucks traveling between Saurashtra and Surat — a huge logistical shortcut. As a result, fresh water from the Sabarmati and Mahi rivers flowing into the Arabian Sea would be retained, forming a freshwater reservoir where fish could thrive and the coastal lands of Bhāl could be revived for cultivation.

However, when the Narmada Dam project itself was struggling to raise funds, this ₹25,000 crore plan appeared far from feasible. Still, it was worth studying to assess whether such a bold engineering venture could even be attempted.

Now, 27 years later, the projected cost is estimated to have reached nearly ₹1 lakh crore.

Meanwhile, the political climate in Gujarat had settled down until the Bhuj earthquake shook things up again. The Shankarsinh Vaghela government, sustained by Congress support under leaders Amarsinh Chaudhary and Sitaram Kesri, collapsed within a year after their alliance broke down.

Dilipbhai Parikh succeeded Vaghela — a stroke of luck for him — but his government too lasted only four months. Midterm elections followed. Vaghela’s Rashtriya Janata Party (RJP) failed to strike a fair seat-sharing deal with Congress, which helped the BJP sweep to power with 115 seats and 44.88% of the votes. Though Congress (34.90%) and RJP (11.69%) together secured a higher 46.49% vote share, their split cost them victory. The old Janata Dal managed to take 2.64% of the votes.

Now, with the BJP government firmly in place, things appeared stable. It was Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel’s second term, and he focused on solving Saurashtra’s drinking water crisis, rural development through the Gokulgram Yojana, and promoting Samras Panchayats. The internal conflicts subsided, and bureaucrats’ voices began to be heard again — along with those of their relatives and well-wishers, who also became more active.

Director of Social Welfare

Tired of a life without meaningful work or even an official vehicle, one day I casually asked in the General Administration Department if there were any upcoming transfers — and soon enough, they appointed me Director of Social Welfare. Within the administrative cadre itself, certain posts were reserved for specific categories.

Since there was a separate Director for the OBC community and a separate Commissioner for Tribal Welfare, my responsibility was limited to Schemes for the Welfare of Scheduled Castes (SCs). Our Minister at the time was Fakirbhai Vaghela — a man of discipline and precision. He worked like clockwork and expected others to do the same. His meetings started on time, ended on time, and the next one began exactly as scheduled. If someone arrived early, he made them wait outside; if late, he scolded them sharply.

As the Minister for Social Justice and Empowerment, he personally conducted detailed reviews of both SC and OBC welfare programs. He ensured that each department’s secretaries were present, insisted that the mandatory 7% budget allocation be properly utilized, and reprimanded poor performance. Under his leadership, we were able to accomplish several constructive initiatives and introduce new welfare schemes.

We instituted the Dr. B. R. Ambedkar Award to recognize outstanding contributions in Dalit literature — an initiative that brought much pride and visibility to Dalit writers in Gujarat.

In Gujarat, the Mochi (cobbler) community of Dang and Umargam was historically treated as untouchable and thus eligible for reservation benefits. However, when in 1977, the Central Government (Janata Party) declared the entire Mochi community as a Scheduled Caste (SC), other SC communities expressed strong dissatisfaction.

We successfully persuaded Menaka Gandhi, the then Union Minister for Social Justice in the Vajpayee government, to remove the Mochi caste from the SC list. Eventually, the Mochis were excluded from the SC category, and later included in the Mandal (OBC) list, which helped reduce resentment among other communities.

At public functions, if I was given the microphone before the Minister, my speeches were so impactful that it became difficult for him to re-engage the audience afterward. Once, from the stage itself, our Minister humorously remarked,

“PK, are you planning to contest elections? Leave some of the applause for us!”

Dr. P. K. Das Committee Report

Our Additional Chief Secretary, Dr. P. K. Das, was a learned and kind-hearted man — fond of long conversations. He was married to Binduben, a Gujarati woman, and like me, had a keen interest in astrology, which helped us bond well. He had earned a Ph.D. in the United States, where his son later settled, though they had some coordination issues.

Dr. Das often said that since his father had been a government doctor, he spent much of his childhood in villages, playing with children from underprivileged backgrounds — which gave him deep empathy for welfare programs.

The government formed a committee under Dr. Das’s chairmanship to review all ongoing welfare schemes across departments, eliminate duplication, and strengthen effective programs. I was appointed Secretary of the Committee. My academic background, analytical ability, and computer skills learned in Ljubljana proved highly useful.

We prepared an excellent comprehensive report, which was later implemented by all related departments. Ironically, the Finance Department found in it a new “weapon” — a structured way to write “No” on funding files!

After Dr. Das was transferred, L. Mansingh took charge — a remarkable personality with a booming laugh that filled the entire room. His conversation never seemed to end, especially when discussing bureaucratic affairs. We developed a warm friendship.

Later, even after my transfer from that department, fate brought us together again — this time in Bhuj, during the Kutch earthquake relief operations.

But that story, I’ll share in the next chapter.

Scheduled Caste Welfare

The schemes for the welfare of the Scheduled Castes (SCs) were primarily focused on educational scholarships, which had been running for years. Compared to the national average of 15% SC population, Gujarat had only about 7%. One reason was that in other states, communities like Dhobi (washermen), Devipujak, Vanzara (nomads), Koli, and fisherfolk, who were listed as SCs elsewhere, were not treated as untouchable in Gujarat, and thus were excluded from the state’s SC list. These groups were also sparsely present in Gujarat’s eastern tribal belt.

We strengthened the implementation of ongoing welfare programs. The housing assistance scheme was renamed the Dr. Ambedkar Housing Scheme, with improved eligibility criteria, increased budget allocations, and higher targets — emphasizing self-employment and economic empowerment.

As an experiment, we toured Dalit neighborhoods in villages of Chunval to directly understand housing issues. Everywhere we went, people would rarely point out actual beneficiaries in need — instead, they would start talking about their own concerns. I realized the difficulties field staff faced in selecting limited beneficiaries amid widespread need.

In departments delivering social services, officials and staff often need motivation; without it, both morale and performance suffer. So I took two key initiatives:

1. Equipped every branch with new computers, trained all officers and staff, and ensured all office work was done digitally.

2. Ended the practice of staying late after office hours — I insisted that all work must be completed during regular office time.

To keep morale high, I arranged Art of Living workshops inspired by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, helping awaken a sense of commitment and energy. We also revamped the system of reporting formats and procedures. The result was a team that began to work with renewed enthusiasm and purpose.

For the development of SC communities, education, self-employment, and entrepreneurship were key tools. To help them study abroad like the Patels and earn in dollars, we launched a foreign education loan-assistance scheme. 

The Manav Garima Scheme was expanded to provide toolkits for self-employment. 

To help girls reach higher education, we started giving bicycles to female students from upper primary onwards. 

I still remember — the file for this scheme was signed by Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel on stage during the Dr. Ambedkar Award Ceremony at Tagore Hall, Paldi. Later, the scheme was restricted to girls studying outside their home villages, narrowing its reach. The broader health and empowerment benefits of girls cycling — improved height, digestion, appetite, and reduction in anemia — were overlooked. Back in 1986, during my Bharat Darshan tour, I had seen groups of schoolgirls cycling to school in Tamil Nadu villages. Compared to that, Gujarat seemed socially conservative.

The SC community in Gujarat is religiously Hindu, but due to the lack of Brahmins willing to perform rituals for them, they developed their own sub-caste of ritual specialists — the Shrimali Garos, who acted as priests. Similarly, since barbers (Valands) refused to serve them, a sub-caste called Senmas performed that work. From among them also came the Turi-Targada, who traveled from village to village performing Bhavai folk theatre, entertaining their own people. Their drummers (Dholis) were indispensable for everyone.

Every village was divided into Savarna (upper-caste) and Avarna (untouchable) sections — separated by a psychological wall. Yet within their own settlements, Dalits built a self-sufficient social system, living with dignity and cultural identity.

The Shrimali Garo sub-caste was relatively educated — proficient in astrology and almanacs. Unlike Patels, who often named their children freely, SC families always named them strictly according to zodiac signs. Their house construction, farming, and rituals followed astrological timing — based on muhurta and vastu. Weddings, from Manek-stambh installation to Ganesh worship, the four sacred rounds (fera), and Ganesh immersion, were all aligned with nakshatra (constellations) and choghadiya (auspicious times).

Even for auspicious journeys, feasts, and social visits, muhurta was consulted. Death rituals — the 12th and 13th-day ceremonies and shraddha offerings — were observed like in mainstream Hinduism.

One major difference was in cremation: instead of burning, they practiced burial — yet followed Hindu directional rules for laying the body. 

From the time of Israel King Solomon (970–932 BCE), a similar belief persisted — that the spirits of the departed remain on earth as ancestors, and should be worshipped with lamps and offerings. Even today, placing cooked rice in an earthen pot near the grave remains a living tradition. The ancient practice of offering animal sacrifice for divine blessings for the birth of a first son continued in some villages for years — and still survives in a few.

Seeing the shortage of Brahmins and the growing SC population, we conceived a plan to train young Shrimali Garo men in ritual and priestly skills, helping them earn better livelihoods. During school vacations, when SC hostels stood empty, we launched Karmakand Bhaskar training programs to enhance their ritual knowledge and self-employment capacity.

Ujjwal’s Accident and Rescue

At the time I was serving as Director, a terrible incident struck my elder son, Ujjwal. He was then studying in Class 12 Science. We lived in Sector 19, and his Physics tuition was in Sector 8. I had bought him a Vicky (moped) on which he went to tuition every evening and returned home around 9:30 p.m. After he came home, we would all have dinner together.

One night, when it was already 9:45, he still hadn’t arrived, and I began to worry. Those were the days before mobile phones, so there was no way to contact him. Suddenly, the landline rang. I picked up the phone — it was a police constable asking, “Is your son Ujjwal? Please come quickly to Gandhinagar Civil Hospital — he has met with a serious accident.”

I froze. My wife, Laxmi, was right there and asked what had happened. I said, “Grab your purse and whatever cash is in the house — get in the car.” We rushed to the Civil Hospital. When we reached, we saw Ujjwal unconscious, froth coming from his mouth, a deep cut on the back of his head, and blood flowing. My heart sank.

Upon inquiry, I learned what had happened: while returning from tuition in Sector 8, near Sector 9, outside the Directorate of Economics and Statistics building — right across from Secretariat Gate No. 3 (used for ministers’ vehicles) — new speed bumps had been constructed that very day. The zebra markings hadn’t yet been painted. Ujjwal, used to that smooth road, didn’t notice the new bump. Riding in his usual carefree way, his moped hit the bump, and he was thrown off, crashing hard onto the road.

Knowing the limited facilities at Gandhinagar Civil Hospital, I didn’t waste a moment. I had him immediately loaded into an ambulance with an oxygen cylinder, nurse, and doctor, and we sped toward Ahmedabad Civil Hospital.

On arrival, the duty doctor said, “Sir, we can’t start treatment without a CT scan. In head injuries, if the brain is swelling, we need to give medicine to reduce it — but if the brain is contracting due to shock, we need to give the opposite treatment.” Unfortunately, the CT scan machine at Civil Hospital was out of order. My fear grew worse.

Without delay, I ordered the ambulance to head to Samved Imaging Center, Navrangpura. Traffic was light, but near the center, a drunk motorcyclist got in front of our ambulance, driving slowly and blocking the way. I was furious — we kept honking continuously until we somehow reached the imaging center.

After registration, we wheeled Ujjwal in on a stretcher toward the CT scan room — and just then, he regained consciousness. What a relief that was! We completed the scan, took the report, and rushed back to Ahmedabad Civil Hospital, where the medicines and injections were immediately started.

Ujjwal survived.

However, he lost about a month and a half of studies. Though he passed his Class 12 Science exam, his marks dropped, forcing us to revise our plans for his higher education, and that, in turn, changed the course of his life.

Commissioner for Midday Meals and Schools

How long could I be kept doing the same kind of work? Perhaps the government thought, “Let’s test this officer in the field of education.” So, I was transferred as Commissioner, Schools and Midday Meal Scheme.

In the Midday Meal Scheme, our focus was on improving the quality of food supplies through the Civil Supplies Department and on curbing irregularities in implementation. I carefully read the Government Resolution (GR) of 1980 related to the scheme. It had been written by a very capable hand. The objective of the Midday Meal Scheme wasn’t limited merely to increasing school attendance. Its purpose extended to improving children’s nutrition and also to providing employment to the organizers, cooks, and helpers.

Creating one lakh jobs through a single GR was considered a major achievement in those days. Moreover, appointing cooks and helpers from economically weaker families fulfilled the government’s social responsibility toward their nourishment too. So, if a cook or helper’s family shared the same food prepared in the school kitchen, how could that be termed misuse? How could anyone justify that in such a large kitchen, two hungry stomachs should remain empty?

As Commissioner for Secondary Schools, I constantly faced pressure to approve new teacher posts. In grant-in-aid schools, managements appointed teachers directly. Whenever student numbers increased, they sought new teaching posts because each new post meant financial gain for the institution. Meanwhile, when schools had a surplus of teachers, no one wanted to move; some teachers refused transfers, and some institutions didn’t want to accept them.

In some schools, student numbers were too low, and the minimum staff had to be retained just to keep them running. In others, when enrolment exceeded the sanctioned strength, they demanded additional full-time teachers. Many students were chronically absent — and how many were actually ghost students could only be discovered through impartial inspections.

When I analyzed the academic standards of high schools, I found that teaching hours were taken as the key benchmark. Even daily group prayers and weekly physical training (PT) conducted by the PT teacher were counted as part of every teacher’s academic workload.

By rough calculation, those 15 minutes of prayer each morning cost the government ₹55 crore a month! I revised the norms to make them more realistic and began efforts to relieve the government from the burden of unjustified extra teachers.

Most high schools in the state were grant-in-aid, but there were still about 16–20 government high schools functioning. Teachers there drew full government salaries, yet student strength was low, and results were poor. So, we considered an idea — why not hand over management of such schools to some successful educational institutions to improve performance?

At that time, schools run by organizations like Swaminarayan Gurukul and a few other religious trusts were performing well. The idea was still under consideration when we received a complaint that a religious group, assuming the government school would soon be handed over to them, had already begun visiting and making students chant “Hari Om” and “Jai Swaminarayan.” We immediately realized the potential danger and dropped the experiment altogether.

Around that time, it was the early IT boom — every young graduate who developed a small piece of software would rush to market it. One such trio of entrepreneurs came to me offering a school attendance register software, priced at ₹30 lakh!

I thought to myself, “A school has just 15 teachers — their attendance fits easily on a single-page register. Why would we need such an elephantine system for that?” Besides, there was no internet infrastructure then to record and monitor attendance online. Many schools didn’t even have computers.

However, since the trio came with a recommendation from a GAD officer, they assumed an easy sale — sell the CD, pocket the cash, and walk away. I refused outright. I told them, “If the government ever needs such a system, it will issue a proper tender and select a suitable vendor through competitive bidding.”

They left — but soon after, my negative attitude toward their proposal reached their well-connected friend. That friend made his move when I was promoted to Secretary cadre in February 2001, getting me transferred as Commissioner of Fisheries — right when I was on Kutch earthquake relief duty.

My car and driver changed, and with that, so did my chapter of work.

Natural Disasters

During Keshubhai Patel’s second term as Chief Minister, his government lasted three years and seven months — but both natural and man-made disasters never stopped following him. When Keshubhai first became Chief Minister in 1995, it was a man-made crisis that brought him down. When he returned to power in March 1998, the Porbandar cyclone of June 1998 struck as if to welcome him.

Nine districts were affected, 1,173 people lost their lives, and property and infrastructure damage was estimated at around ₹2,000 crore.

Then came January 26, 2001 — Republic Day. We were all waiting at the Gandhinagar helipad for the Chief Minister to arrive for the flag-hoisting ceremony. As soon as he arrived, the ground began to shake violently. It was instantly clear that something catastrophic had happened. Soon, news started pouring in — from Kutch to Ahmedabad, the earthquake had flattened thousands of houses and caused massive loss of life.

When I returned home from the helipad to our government quarters in Sector 19, I found a deep crack running from the house to the garage. The floor tiles had split in several lines, and one wall of the building seemed to have tilted. When I arrived, Lakshmi and the children were sitting outside, waiting for things to calm down.

We reported the damage to the Inquiry Office. Their staff came, inspected the house, and noted down the details. While we were still wondering what to do next, I got a call from C.K. Koshy Saheb’s office — instructing me to leave immediately for Bhuj–Kutch for earthquake relief work.

I told Lakshmi, “You manage the house. I’m leaving now.” I asked her to follow up with the Inquiry Office, and if possible, find a vacant government house and submit an application to shift. I told her, “If the house feels unsafe, make the garage your home for now.”

I packed two pairs of clothes and one bottle of water, got into the car, and left. I had no idea about the full extent of the disaster — so I didn’t carry any food or plan for a long stay.

But as soon as our car crossed Radhanpur and headed toward Bhachau, the atmosphere of sorrow and devastation began to grip my mind. When we finally reached Bhachau, I stopped — and for the first time, realized the true magnitude of the tragedy.

1 October 2025