My First Memorable Journey to America (24)

 24. My First Memorable Journey to America (22)

(Christmas Vacation: 25 December 1997 to 4 January 1998)

Bakulbhai’s Company and the Visa Connection

Our Christmas vacation was approaching at the University of Ljubljana. I came to know that getting an American visa which is usually difficult to obtain from India, was much easier to get here as a student. So, I thought of spending the Christmas vacation in the United States.

But where to go? I had never been there before. Then I remembered Bakulbhai Pandya, who lived in New Jersey. I liked his warm and friendly nature. He had once told me, “When you visit America, you must come to our place.” Bakulbhai was associated with the Asaram Ashram, and I had first met him at the Motera Ashram in Ahmedabad. His son, Dipal, was a devotee of Asaram Bapu, and I had met him earlier in Surat. So, I called Bakulbhai from Ljubljana and asked if I could visit. He warmly welcomed me, saying, “Don’t worry about anything — just come!”

I then applied for a U.S. visa at the American Consulate Office in Ljubljana. They interviewed me and granted me a six-month visa. With the help of Ashwin, I booked a round-trip ticket on Lufthansa Airlines and departed for New Jersey, USA, on Christmas Day, 25 December 1997.

I arrived the next day, and there was Bakulbhai waiting for me at the New Jersey Airport. I found him easily at the exit gate. We drove to his house in New Jersey, where his wife Gitaben and sister Varshaben warmly welcomed me and served a home-cooked meal.

That night, they laid out a mattress for me in the living room and explained where to fold it up in the morning and which bathroom I could use.

The next morning, after milk and breakfast, while we were chatting, Gitaben asked, “So, what’s your plan for your return?”

I was brand new to America — I hadn’t even figured out where to go yet! That question immediately made me think.

Sensing my situation, Bakulbhai smiled and said, “We’ll see about that in the evening. For now, put on this black windcheater jacket and this cap — let’s go see the Statue of Liberty and a few other places.”

I happily agreed and got into his car, ready for my first American adventure.

New York

First, we went to see the Statue of Liberty — a gift from the people of France to the people of America. Standing tall in New York Harbor, it has witnessed the dreams of millions of immigrants who arrived seeking a new life.

In America, everything requires a ticket — even seeing the statue and parking the car. So, you have to keep your watch handy! Bakulbhai paid for both the entrance and parking tickets.

From there, we went to see the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center (which were later destroyed in the 9/11 terrorist attack). Since it was a holiday, the buildings were closed, so we just drove around and saw them from outside. After that, we headed to the Empire State Building — the 102-storey skyscraper built in 1931, one of the tallest in the world at that time.

It was the first time in my life I had seen such a tall building. The elevator took us up to the 80th floor, where we walked around the circular lobby and then came back down.

In America, people don’t usually eat lunch. They have a heavy breakfast in the morning, go to work, and then have dinner at night. But I was used to eating at noon, so by afternoon I was quite hungry. Bakulbhai noticed and took me to a nearby store where we stood and had coffee and French fries — a makeshift lunch. Meanwhile, he took several photos of me with his old roll-film camera.

We roamed around the streets of New York City, and by evening we returned home, where Gitaben had already prepared dinner.

While we were eating, she asked again, “When are you leaving?”

I replied, “I have a friend, Yogesh Patel, who lives here — I’ll contact him and stay with him for a while.”

I called Yogesh, but he said, “Let me ask Kashmira (my wife) first — then I’ll let you know.”

Now my confusion deepened. It was only my second day in America, and I had nowhere to go!

Silently, I prayed to God, “Please show me a way.”

Gitaben used to copy and sell cassette recordings of Asaram Bapu’s sermons, so we spent some time discussing Bapu’s teachings and spiritual topics. It was during that conversation — around 8:30 at night — that a Swaminarayan Patel friend of Bakulbhai unexpectedly dropped by. Usually, no one visits that late, but perhaps destiny had planned it so.

He listened to my situation and suggested an itinerary for my “America darshan.”

He said, “Disneyland is quite far, but you should go to Orlando, where there’s Disney World and Universal Studios. There’s also a temple — a former church purchased and converted into a Hari Mandir — managed by Kanubhai Patel. He’ll arrange your stay and food there.”

He even called Kanubhai on my behalf and gave me his phone number.

We discussed the route and decided that on the way back, I could stop in Washington, D.C., for a short visit.

I wanted to see America from the ground — up close. To travel economically, I decided to go by Greyhound bus — truly a pilgrim’s journey, like the humble Siddhpur yatra.

Orlando

Since it was a long journey, we woke up early the next morning. I packed just enough clothes for my southern trip into a shoulder bag, and by 6 a.m., Bakulbhai and I reached the bus station. I bought a ticket from New Jersey to Jacksonville, and from Jacksonville to Orlando — the total fare was $116.

I had planned to stay in Orlando for two nights, then stop in Washington, D.C. on the return trip before coming back to New Jersey. I requested Bakulbhai to pick me up on my return. When the Jacksonville-bound bus arrived, I boarded it, offered a heartfelt farewell to Bakulbhai through the window, and watched him until the bus pulled away.

As I looked out the window, I observed the American landscape, its people — both Black and white — passing by. Occasionally, the bus would stop for breaks, and we’d glance at the food in the restaurants, but since I was used to fasting often, I continued without eating much. Once, I had some coffee and French fries to keep going.

After 20 hours of travel, we reached Jacksonville at 2 a.m. I switched buses and continued for another four hours, arriving at the Orlando bus station early in the morning. Despite a full 24-hour journey, I didn’t feel tired — I had managed to sleep well on the bus.

I called Kanubhai, who said, “Just take a taxi from the station and give the driver this address — he’ll bring you straight here.”

I hailed a taxi; the driver was a West Indian named David. I sat in the front seat and chatted with him along the way, learning about his life and family. He had been married for five years, and he and his wife were hoping for a child. I gave him my blessings, paid the $15 fare, and arrived at the Hari Mandir.

Kanubhai greeted me warmly and said, “Sir, you have two options — I can book a motel room for you, or you can stay here at the temple. Right now, we’re hosting a three-day cultural camp for Patel girls, so food won’t be a problem. We’ll also arrange for someone to take you to the sightseeing places in the morning and bring you back in the evening.”

I replied, “All I need is a mattress to sleep on and a nearby toilet and bathroom — the temple will be perfect. Plus, I’ll get to meet people here.” So, my stay was arranged at the Hari Mandir. After a refreshing bath, I enjoyed a hot breakfast and got ready for the day’s sightseeing.

One of the Patel brothers was waiting with a car, and we headed to Disney World. He bought a full-day ticket and pointed to a meeting spot: “I’ll pick you up here at 8 p.m. If you finish early, just call Kanubhai.”

I entered Disney World, queued up for one ride after another, and enjoyed each one. But how much fun can you have when you have to stand in line for half an hour or more for a ride that ends in a few minutes? Still, it was an exciting experience. I met Mickey Mouse, shook hands with him, and smiled for a memory — though I didn’t have a camera, so my eyes became my camera.

There were tourists from all over the world in those lines. Sometimes I made brief friendships, exchanging names and countries. I noticed that many people seemed to know very little about India.

At 8 p.m., I reached the designated spot, and the same Patel brother was already there with the car. He drove me back to the temple, where the camp girls had prepared a hot dinner. I ate heartily and chatted with a few of the girls, who spoke a mix of American English and Gujarati — the latter being our sweet mother tongue.

The next day, I visited Universal Studios, and on the third day, after thanking everyone warmly for their hospitality, I left for Washington, D.C.

Washington D.C.

Once again, I had to travel nearly 20–22 hours by bus. The journey stretched through the day and night. By morning, I reached the Washington D.C. bus terminal, placed my shoulder bag in a locker, and purchased a Hop-on Hop-off bus ticket for a city tour.

That day, a strong cold wind was blowing, so I couldn’t enjoy sightseeing as much as I had hoped. Still, by around 3 p.m., I managed to see the White House, the Capitol Building, the Lincoln Memorial, a national cemetery, and a museum — all the major landmarks. Then, I returned to the bus station, bought my return ticket to New Jersey, and called Bakulbhai.

That night, around 8:30 p.m., Bakulbhai picked me up from the station. On the way home, he said, “Parmar Saheb, make sure your friend comes to pick you up tomorrow morning.” We reached his house, and I phoned Yogesh, telling him, “Now, whether your wife agrees or not, you must come tomorrow morning to take me with you.”

After spending that night at Bakulbhai’s home, I had milk and breakfast in the morning. Just then, Yogesh arrived. I loaded my luggage into his car. Before leaving, I had a short chat with Japan, Bakulbhai’s second son. I already knew his elder son Deepal, whom I had met in Surat, India.

I thanked Bakulbhai and Gitaben wholeheartedly — after all, they were the main reason my first trip to America had happened. Then I got into the car with Yogesh and set off. Yogesh was my friend from our 1983 Secretariat training, when we had first met as Assistants (Deputy Section Officers).

Edison

Yogesh’s home was in Edison, a modest two-bedroom apartment, where he lived with his wife Kashmira and their two small children. Kashmira welcomed me warmly, bought fresh vegetables, and prepared a hot Indian meal — dal, rice, roti, and sabzi — which I ate with great satisfaction.

Yogesh stayed home, while Kashmira went out to work. Their children, full of curiosity, would ask me questions about the stories from the Ramayana I told them. In the evening, Yogesh took me to a Swaminarayan temple. Seeing a Hindu temple in America filled my heart with joy.

Observing that both husband and wife worked, I got a sense of their financial situation. Kashmira worked at a Dunkin’ Donuts store. The next morning, she brought home donuts for me — it was my seventh day in America, and the first time I had ever tasted a donut. It was delicious — perhaps because it carried Kashmira Bhabi’s warmth and affection.

She continued to prepare hot meals for me every day. One afternoon, Yogesh and I went shopping — I bought groceries like atta, dal, rice, turmeric, chili, and spices, along with a 2-in-1 radio-cassette player and a Sony camcorder. I regretted not buying it earlier, as I could have captured photos and videos of New York, Orlando, and Washington D.C.

During our talks, Yogesh shared how his hard-earned savings had been lost in the stock market. He also mentioned how lifting heavy loads at work had caused him back pain. From his company’s medical support, he had received a special waist belt, which he kindly gifted to me.

That evening, I called Laxmi from Yogesh’s home and told her about my entire U.S. trip so far, and that I was now staying with Yogesh. Kashmira Bhabi, who was nearby, overheard the call — and as soon as I hung up, she flared up!

She said sharply, “Why didn’t you tell Laxmiben that Kashmira Bhabi is taking such good care of you — cooking fresh food and feeding you hot meals twice a day?” I was taken aback! I tried to calm her down, saying I would mention it the next time I spoke, but she remained upset.

That night, we went to New York’s Times Square to see the New Year’s Eve lights, but my mind was preoccupied, so I couldn’t fully enjoy the dazzling atmosphere.

The next morning, there was a bit of awkward silence between us. To lighten things, I went out shopping and bought a pair of jeans and a few household items for her. We spent that night peacefully.

On the third day, Yogesh dropped me off at the airport. With 56 kilograms of luggage, I boarded my return flight, traveling via Frankfurt, and by Sunday, January 4, 1998, I landed back in Ljubljana, where I returned to our ICPE hostel — my home away from home. The next morning, our academic program resumed.

Thus ended my first-ever, unplanned one-week trip to America — a journey full of learning, emotions, divine coincidences, and unforgettable memories.

Divine Help

Throughout that first journey to America — from the moment the idea arose, to obtaining the visa, finding accommodation, meeting helpful people, and returning safely — everything seemed to unfold so smoothly that it felt guided by an unseen hand.

At every stage, when uncertainty appeared — like where to stay, how to travel, or whom to contact — someone would suddenly appear to show the way. It was as if the Divine was silently arranging everything.

When I didn’t know where to go in New Jersey, Bakulbhai’s friend appeared late at night with a perfect plan for the rest of my trip. In Orlando, Kanu Bhai and the temple community received me with affection and ensured my comfort. In Edison, Yogesh and Kashmira Bhabi provided me with warmth and care as if I were family.

Such coincidences were too precise to be random. It felt as though God had already charted the path, and I was merely walking upon it — protected and guided all the way.

That’s why, when I recall this journey even today, I don’t see it as my personal achievement.

It was a story of grace — divine help at every step.

— 30 September 2025

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MBA in Europe (23)

 

23. MBA in Europe 

The year was 1997. I was 37 years old. From Ahmedabad I flew to Delhi, from Delhi to Frankfurt, and from Frankfurt I reached Ljubljana — Europe. That charming city in Central Europe! The Alps end where Slovenia begins. In winter, the temperature here can drop to minus 15°C. More than the cold itself, the whistling winds could chill your bones — so whenever one stepped outside, a windcheater and cap were a must. During winter, snowfall would cover the entire country with a white blanket. Lake Bled would freeze so solid that people played sports on it.

ICPE (International Centre for Promotion of Enterprises) Hostel

At the Ljubljana airport, one of the two staff members from the ICPE training institute a Nepalese named Ashwin was waiting for me. He assisted me with the formalities, got my passport stamped, and arranged a car that took me to Dunajska cesta 104, where ICPE (International Centre for Promotion of Enterprises) was located. I was allotted Room No. 703 on the seventh floor. I took the key and entered my room.

It was a hostel building, with each floor having rooms for trainees and visitors. Each unit had a single room with an attached bathroom — once the double bed was in place, the room was nearly full. There was just enough space for the essentials: the bathroom and a wardrobe. The room had a built-in heating system through hot-water piping, so no heavy bedding was needed. I hung my clothes on hangers, arranged my belongings in the wardrobe, placed other items in their spots, and went to check out the kitchen.

During the initial briefing, we were told that each floor had a shared kitchen with four burners — two on the left and two on the right. We had to coordinate our timings to cook. The washing machine was in the basement — we’d collect our clothes for the week and wash them together.

Since we had arrived at the end of August, the weather was pleasant. Food didn’t spoil easily. In the beginning, enthusiasm for cooking was high, so we would cook enough vegetables for four or five days, store them in the fridge, and reheat as needed. Our chapatis turned out like maps of different states, so for the first fortnight, we mostly stuck to rice and khichdi. But rice digests quickly, and we needed meals that kept us going through long study hours, so gradually we learned the tricks of kneading, rolling, and roasting dough — and soon became good at making chapatis too.

Just like with the curry, we’d prepare dough for two or three days in advance. Our student coupons were limited, and none of us wanted to spend unnecessarily. Moreover, the icy winds outside discouraged us from bundling up and walking an hour to McDonald’s or other fast-food places. So, we continued with our simple Indian meals — and in that way, though we were in Europe physically, our hearts stayed connected to India.

Interestingly, beer was cheaper than water there! And the tap water in the bathroom was cleaner than what came through our taps back home, so whenever we felt thirsty, we’d drink straight from the washbasin. Drinking water was also available in the classroom.

University Campus 

As morning broke, streams of fair-skinned young boys and girls would fill the streets of the university, flowing like a tide of youth. Some students lived in the city and came every day using bus passes, while others stayed in the university hostels.

In those hostels, there was no division between “girls” and “boys.” Students could choose their roommates freely — male or female — as they preferred. Once the day’s classes were over, the entire campus would grow silent. It reminded me of the celestial Gandharvas in our myths — they would appear at night, dance, and vanish by dawn. Here, youth and beauty blossomed in the daytime and disappeared into stillness by night.

After sunset, the place became completely quiet. We would cook, eat, and watch some television in the lounge before lying down to sleep. And as I drifted off, I could hear vehicles racing down the highway beside our building — the sound like stones whizzing from a sling. Listening to that steady rhythm, I would finally fall into peaceful sleep.

Classroom Learning 

There were 18 students in our classroom in total. Each of us had an individual desk and chair. Every morning, people sat wherever they liked. From India, besides me, there were Sudhanshu Mohanty from the Indian Accounts Service, Mohan Varghese Cherian from ONGC, and later, IAS officer Dinesh Kumar joined. From Pakistan came Rafatullah Barki; from Bangladesh, Khalilur Rahman Khan and Safiullah; from Sri Lanka, Deshapriya. From Bulgaria came Yuli Kalkonov, and from Albania, Eston Taro.

Among the Slovenians, there were men — Marko Bahor, Mitja Kreger, Anton Lenko, Miha Rozman, and Slavko — and women — Dunja Buder, Anja Kokzanjkic, Tanja Turk, Mataya Zonk, and Vesna Ster. From Uganda came Jolly Zaribwende, who worked as a bank officer but was academically a veterinary doctor.

When I left India, I wondered how refined European English must be — how would ours compare? But after meeting the students and professors, I realized it was quite similar to ours. “Ah, brother, we are alike!” Out of 18, we were eight Asians, one African, and the rest Slovenians and Europeans. Since their mother tongue was Slovenian, their English was actually weaker than ours.

If we ever needed to coordinate with the university or one of its faculties, we did so through our course directors — Mansoor Ali from Pakistan and Ashwin from Nepal. The Director General of ICPE was an Indian official. He and his wife would meet us during public functions and had invited us for meals once or twice. Both Ashwin and Mansoor were married to Slovenian women. Ashwin never invited us home, but Mansoor did once. His daughter lived with him and her boyfriend in the apartment upstairs.

Market and Shopping

For flour, vegetables, rice, and spices, we went to the shopping complex on weekends, carrying bags and returning on foot. Because of the language barrier, we couldn’t converse much with shopkeepers, so we mostly relied on gestures. The bus routes and stops were confusing, and since most people used passes or cards while we dealt in cash, we gave up on four-wheeled buses and managed with our own two-legged “Bus No. 11” (walking!).

When crossing roads, car drivers would stop and let us pass — unlike in India, where we must let them go first.

Youth Culture

When we went to the market, we often saw young couples with their arms around each other, kissing passionately in public. Watching them made me quite uncomfortable — on the first day, I even felt nauseated. I wondered, how could they exchange saliva like that? Once, I asked Jolly, “Girls wear lipstick — do the boys end up eating it too?” She laughed and said, “Lipstick is edible.”

After a while, it became a common sight. Here, physical intimacy was just a part of life. They stayed together as long as there was mutual attraction; once it faded, they simply moved on — “You’re you, I’m me.” In our Slovenian group, some three boys and girls once had a “nude party” at one of their homes. Dunja used to tell me all the gossip. Her mother was Slovenian and her father a Turkish Muslim.

I never saw my classmates drink water — beer was their beverage of choice. Whenever they went out, they drank beer, which was cheaper than water or orange juice. When they dined in groups, no one treated or paid for everyone. Each person would take out their own wallet and pay exactly for what they ordered — very disciplined! Unlike in India, where one person often ends up paying for all out of courtesy.

They couldn’t handle spicy food — if they saw curry with gravy, they’d wrinkle their noses and say “Oh!” Their social reserve was such that they wouldn’t invite anyone home for a meal or offer to take you out in their car. Among them, Mitja Kreger was married, and hence more open-hearted. Toward the end of our program, Kreger hosted a party at his home and invited all of us with our families. He cooked chicken tikka marinated in liquor, while we vegetarians made do with roasted potatoes.

Venice Carnival 

When the Christmas vacation arrived, I took a short trip to America. Later, in February 1998, our group went to attend the famous annual Carnival of Venice at St. Mark’s Square. We couldn’t explore all of Venice, but the experience of the carnival itself was unforgettable. People wore colorful and creative costumes, painted their faces and bodies, and paraded through the streets to the sound of music and instruments. Tourists gathered around to watch and enjoy the spectacle.

During the same season, we also visited Lake Bled. It was frozen solid — walking over the icy lake was a delightful and surreal experience.

Money and Lifestyle

Today Slovenia uses the Euro, but back then the currency was the Tolar — roughly five Indian rupees to one Tolar. At our hostel reception, the phone worked on a per-minute basis, so to save money, we would cleverly time our calls — we’d dial just as the minute hand touched 12, start speaking, and hang up right before it crossed 12 again, saving one precious minute! Phone calls were expensive — about ₹100 per minute.

When we went shopping, we’d always check the price tag in Tolars, convert it mentally into rupees, and buy only what seemed affordable. Potatoes were the cheapest — around ₹ 28 to 30 a kilo — but eggplants cost nearly ₹400 a kilo!

I saw celery for the first time there. At first, I mistook it for oversized coriander leaves and bought it despite its high price. When I added it to a curry, the flavor turned out strange — that’s when I learned it wasn’t coriander at all but celery!

The locals mostly ate hard bakery bread, so we couldn’t find flour like the wheat flour we use in India. We’d visit the stalls of flour-sellers, mix two or three varieties — fine, semi-fine, and coarse — and make our own version of wheat flour. Then we’d knead the dough as best we could, roll it into uneven chapatis, roast them partly cooked or fully cooked, and eat them with curry. Round or not, it all ended up in the same stomach anyway!

The rice there was thick and sticky, so we had to keep experimenting with the water ratio to get it right. We’d use it mostly for khichdi in the evenings, and on holidays, we made dal-chawal.

Cooking wasn’t entirely new to me — I’d spent my childhood watching Raibhabhi cook, my father frying fritters (bhajiyas), and my mother managing the kitchen all her life. So within the first fifteen days, I learned to cook reasonably well.

Seeing how expensive things were, when I visited America in December 1997, I brought back all the essentials — flour, pulses, rice, spices, and vegetables — whatever I could find cheaper there. My total luggage, including two check-in bags and hand luggage, came to about 97 kilograms!

Later, when my wife Laxmi came to Slovenia in May 1998 during the summer vacation with our children, I had specially requested her to bring flour, pulses, rice, turmeric, chili powder, and other spices. The combined luggage of the three of them must have been over 100 kilograms too!

Jaysukhbhai 

One day, while walking through the market in Ljubljana, I met an elderly man named Jaysukhbhai, a descendant of the Ahmedabad-based industrialist Shrenikbhai Sheth family (of the Lalbhai Group). He showed me the ISKCON Centre there. I was pleasantly surprised to see fair-skinned young men and women joyfully singing Hare Krishna, Hare Rama while playing the dholak.

Jaysukhbhai had left his wife and son in Ahmedabad and settled in Slovenia after marrying a Slovenian woman. The couple had no children. Initially, he had a job, but by then he had stopped working and was living off his Slovenian wife’s income. Every Sunday, he would go to the ISKCON Centre for the free lunch served there.

Though his family was wealthy in Ahmedabad, he was helpless here. He believed that his son had forged his signatures and usurped all his property. He requested me to help him find a good lawyer and to assist him in reclaiming his share of the estate. Since I was going to be in Slovenia for a while, I assured him that I would look into it once I returned to Ahmedabad. I also asked him why he didn’t just go back himself. He said, “I’m 55 now and have been here for about 20 years. Where can I go back to now? Ahmedabad is full of disputes.”

A year later, when I returned to Ahmedabad, I called Shrenikbhai to follow up on the matter, but he denied knowing anyone by that name.

Studies 

When it came to academics, I was among the top performers. In numerical subjects, while others used calculators to solve problems, I would calculate mentally and speak out the answer. My speed and quick responses became well-known among the university staff — people began saying, “An Indian has come who’s exceptionally bright.” I always maintained good relations with all the faculty members, local or foreign.

Computer training was a compulsory part of our curriculum. Back home, I had been used to pen-and-paper work — our government offices had computers mostly as showpieces, often placed in officers’ chambers so they could enjoy the air conditioning that came with the “computer room.” Most secretaries didn’t know how to use them, but having one was a status symbol.

At the university, we had to submit project work in Word documents and sometimes make PowerPoint presentations. Most of us were beginners, so in the beginning, we often forgot to save our files and had to redo the work. The computer lab was open 24×7, and there were no passwords in those days — anyone could use any machine.

Among the students were some clever copycats too. I would finish my project work in the evening and leave; later, someone would open my folder and copy my work. I’d be surprised to see presentations almost identical to mine. Sometimes I’d even wonder, “Did I copy theirs by mistake?”

Those “copy masters” had likely noted which computer I worked on and then duplicated my files later. Eventually, as the number of documents and folders increased, each of us began using fixed computers for our work — and that solved the problem.

Helping Fellow Students 

My reputation was high not only among my classmates but also among the faculty. Some students struggled with difficult subjects, project reports, thesis proposals, and synopses. I often helped them — staying back after class to coach them and explain tough topics more clearly. Among the girls, Jolly, Anya, and Vesna had no problems; Mateja managed with a little help. Tanya would pass if she got guidance, but Dunya was a real challenge to teach — helping her pass was the toughest task.

Some even tried to bring cheat slips into the exam hall. And if the supervisor happened to be strict, they would get so nervous that they’d forget everything they had prepared, managing to pass only in their second attempt.

One professor, Dr. Daniel Pučko, was feared by everyone. He was strict by nature — gave no hints about exams, showed no favoritism, and taught Strategic Management. Because of that fear, Dunya could neither understand nor remember the subject. During his exam, she would wear a skirt and hide numerous cheat slips as if they were ornaments — even preparing an index sheet of where each note was concealed! But as soon as the exam started, she would forget where she had hidden them.

Despite all the tutoring I gave her, she failed the Strategic Management exam three times in a row. I was exhausted from helping her, but her fear overpowered her learning. She focused more on preparing cheat notes than actually understanding the subject. Now, if she failed a fourth time, she would lose her academic year. She came to me crying bitterly and said, “PK, you have a good rapport with Prof. Pučko. Please recommend me — I can’t pass otherwise.”

Because of my good performance, Prof. Pučko respected me. Though I felt hesitant to ask, Dunya’s course was company-sponsored — and if she failed, all her expenses would be deducted from her salary. So, I went to the university staff room, requested an appointment, and appealed to his human side. He looked at me silently for a moment — and, out of regard for me, he agreed. As a result, Dunya finally passed.

Tanya got stuck preparing her thesis synopsis. She tried four times, but the university rejected it each time. Frustrated, she came to me in tears: “PK, please make it for me.” I set aside my own work, studied her thesis, and prepared the synopsis myself.

Guest Faculties 

A visiting professor from Denmark taught so fast that no one could keep up. Most students couldn’t grasp the definitions of the technical terms or the tricky calculations — everything went over their heads. Since I was good in statistics, I understood easily. After his classes, I often spent an extra hour explaining things to others. The professor stayed in our hostel as a guest faculty member, and he would see how I simplified and taught the material to everyone.

After our exams, when the results for his subject came out, the scores were excellent. Delighted, he brought beer cans for everyone and a special orange drink for me.

Another visiting professor, Dr. P.K. Jain from IIT Delhi, was also impressed with me. He invited me to pursue a PhD at IIT Delhi under his guidance.

Thesis Material 

For my thesis material, Laxmi helped me from India. There was no Wi-Fi at that time, no WhatsApp, and email was uncommon. So, the only way to exchange material was by post. I would tell Laxmi what I needed, and she would collect it from the office and send it by mail.

Results 

In my MBA, I studied 16 subjects. My results were:

• 11 subjects – Grade A

• 4 subjects – Grade A-

• 1 subject – Grade B+

Combining my coursework and thesis, I earned First Rank with Distinction, and we all walked a little taller with pride.

The Constricted Coil of the Secretariat 

The Secretariat — a truly confined complex in every sense. Two incidents about telephones are worth recording. At that time, only Secretaries and a few Joint Secretaries in the Secretariat had access to ISD (international calling) facilities. Fortunately, my department’s phone could make ISD calls. So, I had told Laxmi that if she ever needed to contact me urgently, she could go to my department office and call me.

I had explained the timing to her — since Slovenia is 3 hours and 30 minutes behind India, if she called before noon, she would reach me conveniently. One of my batchmates had taken charge of my post while I was abroad, and we were both aware of this arrangement.

One morning, Laxmi went to the department as planned. As soon as she saw the nameplate of my batchmate, she went into his chamber to meet him. When he learned that she had come to make an ISD call, he flatly refused — saying he had a meeting — and walked out, leaving her embarrassed and disappointed. Laxmi returned home hurt and humiliated. Even after 28 years, whenever she happens to see that officer, she still remembers that painful incident — how he had refused to let her make that one phone call.

But the telephone saga didn’t end there.

As soon as I left for Slovenia and my successor took over, the Administrative Branch of the department wrote to the Telecom Office instructing them to disconnect the telephone at our government residence in Gandhinagar.

Suddenly, Laxmi and the children were left completely cut off from communication. I could still manage abroad — but what if my elderly parents in Ahmedabad needed help? Or if Ujjwal or Dhawal faced any emergency?

Laxmi somehow managed to call me from a STD booth and inform me of the situation. I advised her to meet Mr. Ashok Bhatiya, the Additional Chief Secretary, who lived nearby in Sector 19.

Laxmi was furious inside — “What kind of system is this? My husband has gone abroad on official duty, not quit his job. Why would they cut off the connection?”

Mr. Bhatiya, being a kind and considerate man, listened to her patiently. The very next day, he wrote a letter to the Telecom Department, and the telephone connection was promptly restored.

Laxmi’s First Courageous Journey Abroad 

Laxmi’s journey to Europe — traveling alone with Ujjwal and Dhawal to reach me in Ljubljana — turned out to be quite an adventure. I had written her a detailed letter explaining every step of the process.

All three already had passports, so they only needed to obtain Schengen visas. Following my instructions, she applied and went to the German Consulate Office in Mumbai with the two boys to get the visas. She then booked Lufthansa Airlines tickets via Frankfurt, keeping the return sector open.

The trip from Ahmedabad to Delhi, and Delhi to Frankfurt, went smoothly. But once they arrived in Frankfurt, confusion began. The connecting flight to Ljubljana was a small one and operated from a different terminal, and she didn’t know how to get there. It was her first international trip. She assumed it must be close by — but Frankfurt Airport, being one of the largest in the world, was massive.

Managing two children and three pieces of hand luggage, with no knowledge of English, was daunting. She looked around for an Indian face and managed to ask for directions in Hindi. Looking up at the electronic screens, she somehow figured out which terminal and flight she needed. Then she realized that the terminal was very far away and could only be reached by subway train.

She boarded the first tram but ended up at the wrong place. After struggling to ask in broken English, she was guided upstairs to catch a second tram, which finally took her to the correct terminal. Much time had been lost, but luckily, the flight hadn’t departed yet. The airline staff had been waiting for them. As soon as they saw her from a distance, they rushed forward, picked up their hand luggage, and literally escorted them onto the aircraft.

And then, at last, they were in the air again — bound for Ljubljana.

At the Ljubljana Airport, I was already waiting eagerly. When I finally saw them coming out, it was a moment of immense relief and joy. I received them warmly, and we all went together to our home — the ICPE Hostel.

Now I finally felt at ease. Laxmi took charge of everything — cooking, laundry, ironing, and keeping the room tidy. The room was small, but the four of us fit comfortably and happily within it.

Europe Tour

Then came our Europe Study Tour — a part of our academic program, a 15-day educational journey across Europe. The academy had arranged a luxury bus for the trip. There were 18 participants and 2 course directors, so many seats were still vacant.

Our expenses were already covered in the course fee, but this seemed like a perfect opportunity to take our families along. We submitted a proposal suggesting that since the bus would travel half-empty anyway, our families should be allowed to join at half price. We even requested that children be charged at 25% of the rate. The organizers were hesitant at first but eventually agreed, since the trip was profitable for them anyway.

So, we — the participants, along with our families — embarked on our memorable European journey.

Over those fifteen days, we traveled through eleven countries: Italy, Switzerland, France, the United Kingdom, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and Austria, among others — visiting their most famous cities like Milan, Geneva, Paris, London, Brussels, Amsterdam, The Hague, Bonn, Munich, and Salzburg. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, filled with unforgettable moments.

Highlights from the Trip

London:

Watching the Buckingham Palace parade was a sight to behold. And a visit to Big Ben and the London Tower — no London trip is complete without hearing those iconic chimes.

One afternoon, our driver dropped us off at a posh hotel for lunch. The menu looked tempting, but when I read the prices in pounds, I was stunned — £65 for one lunch! I decided to skip it. We went to a nearby departmental store, bought bread, butter, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and made delicious sandwiches — our lunch cost just £10! While there, we also picked up a packet of Pakistani basmati rice, which later came in handy in The Hague.

Hague:

At The Hague, Laxmi managed to get into the hotel kitchen, added some oil and spices, and prepared a fragrant pulao. Since we had two children with us, no one objected.

Paris:

When I saw the Eiffel Tower, I remembered Mahatma Gandhi’s words — he once called it not a monument of man’s wisdom, but of his folly.

At the Louvre Museum, we marveled at its magnificent sculptures and paintings — especially Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, which left an unforgettable impression.

Amsterdam:

By the time we reached Amsterdam, it was late evening. To our surprise, the bus driver dropped us off near the famous Red-Light District.

Our Slovenian classmates — single young men and women — were thrilled and rushed off to explore theaters and shows. Even one of our couples wandered off.

As for me, Laxmi, and the kids — what could we do? We found ourselves walking through streets lined with shop windows displaying beautifully dressed women selling their bodies, just as mannequins model clothes. Music blasted from every corner, and crowds filled the alleys.

To pass the time, we bought some snacks from a street stall and strolled around. After all, it was a study tour, so I joked to Laxmi that we should “study this part of society” too!

We stopped near one such window. The woman said, “75 dollars.” Then, pointing toward Laxmi, she laughed and said, “You already have her — nothing new here. Move along!” I realized that even for conversation, one had to pay $75 an hour, so we simply walked away.

Late that night, everyone regrouped, and we returned by bus to a hotel outside the city, where we fell into deep sleep.

Beyond the Study Tour

Apart from this official trip, we also took a personal tour — visiting Rome, Pompeii, Florence, Pisa, and Naples.

Before Laxmi arrived, during Christmas 1997, I had visited America alone.

In February 1998, our classmates went together to see the Venice Carnival.

After Laxmi joined me, some of our Asian colleagues traveled solo to Vienna. I, however, had to wait another twenty years before I could visit Vienna myself.

If I were to write about every experience, the pages would never end. But one thing is clear — seeing the world is richer than merely living it. As the saying goes:

“He who travels, thrives — he who stays tied, starves.”

A Gift from Ljubljana

I managed to save some of my dollars from the trip. The government later allotted me a plot in Gandhinagar, and with a loan approved, we built our own house there.

We named it ‘Ljubljana’ — the city that had given me my degree, and whose blessings helped me build my home.

In the next chapter:

I’ll share the story of my first trip to America, during the Christmas vacation from Ljubljana.

29 September 2025

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Secretariat to Slovenia (22)

 

22. From Secretariat to Slovenia 

After being selected for the IAS in 1985, I bid farewell to the Secretariat to go for training at Mussoorie. Later, in 1989, I was appointed as Deputy Secretary in the Roads and Buildings Department for about three months. Once again, I returned to the Secretariat as Deputy Secretary, Health Department, in August 1995. Mr. Vitthal Cowlagi was our Principal Secretary. I took charge from Rajesh Kishore, and therefore, the branches related to Public Health came under me.

At that time, Secretaries were considered real bosses. Kaulgi Saheb was generally calm, but once he started speaking, it was hard to interrupt him. It was the first time Gujarat had an independent BJP government. Ministers were full of enthusiasm. Instead of frequently calling Secretaries to discuss files, they began summoning Deputy or Joint Secretaries.

Once, Cowlagi Sir saw one of his officers sitting in the lobby of a Minister’s cabin. During lunch that day, he called a meeting of officers and delivered a long speech: “Look, if you need to discuss something with the Minister, you must inform me first. Don’t go directly.” At that time, officers were very cautious about their Confidential Reports (CR), so everyone followed the Sir’s instructions without question.

ORET Project

A project named ORET was introduced to equip Primary Health Centres (PHCs) and especially Community Health Centres (CHCs) with advanced instruments — mainly X-ray machines. The scheme’s terms were attractive, but both the Principal Secretary, Cowlagi Sir, and I felt uneasy about two aspects: the Netherlands was supplying obsolete equipment, and the currency exchange risk on the loan was to be borne by us.

We sat together at his Sector-19 residence and drafted a note suggesting improvements to the project’s terms, which we then presented to the Health Minister. However, the Minister was keen to accept the ORET project as it was, and so the proposal was approved in its original form. As a result, PHCs and CHCs across Gujarat received modern equipment.

It’s another matter that in some centres, where X-ray machines were installed but no technician was available, the machines remained unused. At some places, machines capable of producing thousands of X-rays per hour were used for barely twenty-five per week — serving more as showpieces than tools. Still, the ORET project’s equipment made Gujarat’s health centres superior to those in many other states.

Public Health Reform Report

After Cowlagi Sir, Ashok Bhatia Sir became the Principal Secretary of the department. The important branches of the department were considered to be those related to medical education, and since the Joint Secretary, Mr. Christian, was doing good work there, Bhatia Sir didn’t find it necessary to reshuffle my branches.

At that time, the government had constituted a committee on health service reforms, which included two Principal Secretaries of the department, the Health Commissioner, Deputy Director Dr. Ghasura from the Commissioner’s office, and myself.

Having served as a District Development Officer (DDO) for about five years, I was well acquainted with the functioning and shortcomings of Primary Health Centres (PHCs) and sub-centres managed by district panchayats. My field experience proved useful, and several of my suggested reforms were incorporated.

A draft report was prepared, but Bhatia Sir later revised it and prepared a new version. My name, which had appeared in the preface of the draft report, was somehow disappeared. However, before the report went for printing, Bhatia Sir was transferred to the General Administration Department, and Prabir Basu Sir took charge as the new Principal Secretary. Being aware of my contribution, he restored my name in the preface before the final printed version was released.

TCGL Assignment

During this period, GAD (General Administration Department) assigned me additional charge as Managing Director of the Tourism Corporation of Gujarat Ltd. (TCGL).

There, three influential “J”s practically ran the show. MDs came and went, but what the three decided, happened.

The tourism assignment brought with it certain perks — a vehicle, occasional access to a cook, and other support facilities — so I gladly accepted it. I began working to bring the corporation’s operations within proper regulatory frameworks and to transform irregular decision-making into a rule-based system.

However, my joy didn’t last long. When Praveenbhai Laheri Saheb returned from central deputation, the government handed over the MD charge of TCGL to him, relieving me from the post. The privileges I had briefly enjoyed, like those of a “Gandharva Mahal,” vanished instantly.

Since Sureshbhai was the Industries Minister at the time, I assumed that the decision to withdraw me from additional charge of MD TCGl could have been made at his behest — and once again, I found myself irritated with him.

Election Observer – Nalgonda Lok Sabha Constituency

In 1996, I got an opportunity from the Election Commission of India to serve as Election Observer for the Nalgonda Parliamentary Constituency in Andhra Pradesh. That election set a record — 480 candidates contested! The ballot papers were as large as a full newspaper page, and extra ballot boxes had to be arranged.

I wondered how voters would ever find their candidate in such a long list — yet they managed efficiently and elected the CPM candidate with a margin of one lakh votes.

The lady Collector of the district managed the election exceptionally well. My prior experience twice as Returning Officer (RO) of Loksabha elections and once as District Election Officer (DEO) helped me guide her effectively.

The assignment gave me a valuable opportunity to see a new region of Andhra Pradesh, understand its people, administration, and politics, and gain new insights into the country’s diverse governance landscape.

Deputation to the Government of India 

Once again, the political scene was in turmoil — a game of khajuriya–hajuriya (rivalries and alliances). In October 1995, Sureshbhai Mehta became the Chief Minister. Because of him, I had returned to the Secretariat, so there was no longer any hope of going back to the district. However, when he chose my batchmate Sanjay Gupta who had earlier served as Secretary to Chimanbhai Patel as his own Secretary, many, including me, were surprised. Later, in 2002, when Sanjay resigned from the IAS and joined Adani Group, some pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit, though ultimately, only God knows the full truth.

That same year, a Gujarati officer became the Chief Secretary, strengthening the influence of the General Administration Department (GAD). Around this time, I faced a new challenge.

Usually, when officers’ names were to be sent to Delhi for central deputation, the practice was to consult them informally first. But in my case, without asking me, my name was forwarded to the Government of India, and soon, an appointment order arrived from Delhi, posting me as Deputy Secretary, Ministry of Agriculture.

At that time, my mother had fallen and fractured her femur; she had undergone surgery and had rods placed in her leg. My parents were elderly and had risen from a life of hard labour, taking care of them was my first priority. In fact, I had given up the IRS in 1984 for the same reason to stay close to them. So, though deputation to Delhi was a career advancement opportunity, I decided to decline it.

I met my batchmate Sanjay Gupta, who was then Secretary to the Chief Minister, and through him, I got the Chief Minister’s consent to write to Delhi to cancel my deputation. Simultaneously, I went to Delhi and met Mrs. Vilasini Ramachandran, an officer from Gujarat cadre serving in the Department of Personnel & Training (DoPT). She informed me, “You will face a five-year debarment if you refuse deputation.”

I told her that my parents’ health was my top priority, and if debarment was inevitable, so be it. I continued to request withdrawal. Eventually, the Gujarat government sent a letter, and Delhi cancelled my deputation order.

However, kind-hearted Mrs. Ramachandran probably managed to ensure that I wasn’t debarred and that proved crucial, because just the following year, I became eligible for a long-term foreign training program.

Sanjay Gupta and the General Administration Department (GAD)

My batchmate Sanjay Gupta—because of his intelligence, administrative skill, and vision—had been very close to Chimanbhai Patel, and by now had also become close to Sureshbhai Mehta.

During Chimanbhai’s tenure, when the Chief Minister travelled outside the state, blank papers signed by him were left with Sanjay so that, in emergencies, he could issue instructions in the Chief Minister’s name. His influence continued even during Sureshbhai’s time, and he played a significant role in many government decisions.

Two incidents from the administrative sphere during this period are worth noting.

In the General Administration Department, there was a Under Secretary who had been working continuously in the IAS Establishment Branch for about 15 years, rising from the rank of Assistant. He was a “high flier” — many were pleased with him, and many were not. Those who benefited from his decisions praised him; those who suffered spoke bitterly of him.

His English note-writing was excellent, and because he had been in the same branch for so long, he had an in-depth grasp of the latest rules and Government Resolutions (GRs). When an IAS officer was appointed above him as Deputy Secretary, some control was established, but many still felt that further reform was needed.

He had earlier clashed with members of our IAS batch and possibly also with Sanjay Gupta, perhaps over a car advance or some other administrative issue. Moreover, he and the Chief Secretary might have aligned in not implementing certain instructions from the Chief Minister’s Office (CMO).

Eventually, with the Chief Minister’s approval, orders were issued transferring this officer out of GAD. It is said that when the Chief Secretary tried to delay execution of the transfer, The Indian Express published a front-page story, which forced immediate implementation of the order.

Sureshbhai Mehta remained Chief Minister for barely a year. During Shankarsinh Vaghela’s tenure, one of the senior Secretaries in GAD reportedly considered initiating departmental action against the same officer. But the new Chief Secretary protected him, and the matter was dropped. Later, when the political situation turned favorable, the officer returned, continued in service, earned promotions, and stayed on till retirement.

In another significant move led by Sanjay Gupta, a controversy arose at the U.N. Mehta Institute of Cardiology over the alleged delay in treating a cardiac patient. Following the inquiry, the existing medical team was replaced, and Dr. R.K. Patel was brought in. Dr. Patel went on to serve the institution for nearly three decades, bringing great credit both to himself and to the hospital.

Travel and Detachment to a Spiritual Ascent

By this time, I had begun to feel detached from my work at the Secretariat. It seemed to me that the same bureaucratic ups and downs would continue endlessly. I thought, why not travel a bit instead?

My batchmate and friend Sitaram Meena was then the Collector and District Magistrate of Pithoragarh, a district in Uttar Pradesh (now Uttarakhand). My son Ujjwal, was studying in Ranikhet. So I decided to combine both reasons and plan a short trip — Laxmi and I set out on a journey to meet them.

We picked up Ujjwal from Ranikhet and went on to Pithoragarh. Sitaram kindly provided me with a government jeep and a driver named Mohan Joshi. Each morning, after tea and breakfast, we would set out, have lunch somewhere along the way, and return to headquarters in the evening for dinner and rest. This continued for four or five days.

Then one day, driver Joshi, somewhat exasperated, said to me:

“Saheb, you keep roaming from one place to another, one temple to another — but God is within us. What we need is the understanding to see Him.”

His words struck me deeply. I asked him, “And what is your understanding of spirituality?”

He replied, “My Guru is Baba Jai Gurudev. He wears jute clothes. Through his teachings, I have experienced the divine consciousness within myself. I only drive to support my family — otherwise, how could one who knows the Eternal and Immortal wander about for worldly gain?”

His words pierced my heart. Though spirituality had interested me since childhood, Mohan’s insight made me realize that something was still missing within me.

We completed our planned tour and returned to Gandhinagar — but now, while my body remained at the Secretariat, my mind wandered in spiritual thought.

Asaram Bapu

One day, my old friend Kaluji Vanzara came to visit me. I told him, “I want to listen to satsang. Please suggest a nearby saint or spiritual teacher.”

Kaluji replied, “That’s easy! My brother, Dahyaji Vanzara (IPS), is a devotee of Asaram Bapu, whose ashram is at Motera. He’ll take you there.”

He called his brother, and one evening, as Bapu’s satsang was concluding, we reached Motera Ashram. They seated me in the front row. When the discourse ended and devotees lined up for darshan, Dahyaji asked me to wait aside. As the crowd thinned, he introduced me to Bapu.

Asaram Bapu extended his hand warmly, shook mine, and greeted me with affection. That was the beginning of my regular attendance at his satsangs.

Bapu often quoted from the writings of Swami Ramsukhdasji, and perhaps his team people like Premji and others would prepare notes or themes for him. But Bapu spoke fluently and without error. His discourses flowed naturally from one story to another, then another, and finally returning seamlessly to the first, keeping the listener deeply engaged.

If he needed to cough while speaking, he would briefly turn off the microphone, cough, and resume — showing great attentiveness. After dinner, there would be small group sessions for advanced seekers, where he read and interpreted the Yoga Vasistha.

In explaining Advaita Vedanta, very few saints of that time matched his clarity and simplicity. His Guru was Lilashah Bapu, but his spiritual growth was also influenced by Swami Muktananda of Ganeshpuri and Narayan Bapu of Halol. According to him, he had attained self-realization at the Ganeshpuri Ashram.

Bapu’s family had migrated from Pakistan during Partition — one of many displaced families. He was then child, came to Ahmedabad, grew, married, and blessed with one daughter and one son. His brother’s sugar shop in Kalupur Lat Bazaar still exists. He used to sit there but later, weary of family conflict, renounced home and turned toward the spiritual path.

It was said that after years of intense practice, he became well-versed in Kundalini Yoga and the science of Shaktipat (energy transmission). Through his satsangs, I too gained guidance on the awakening of Kundalini through Tantra and an introductory understanding of non-dual (Advaita) philosophy.

Anita Prasad Madam

Our Revenue Principal Secretary at the time was Annie Prasad Madam — an exceptionally kind and compassionate officer. One day she told me that she wanted to design a scheme to help homeless, destitute, and helpless people who wandered near railway and bus stations without shelter or support.

I drafted a proposal and named it the “Kasturba Shelter Scheme.” I got the draft refined by my friend Kanti Prajapati, and soon, the scheme was launched — providing food, shelter, training, and rehabilitation for those abandoned and destitute individuals.

The Race for “Number One”

The government was functioning on a fast track in those days — administrative decisions were made quickly, and the Secretariat campus was constantly crowded with visitors. The new Chief Minister Shankarsinh Vaghela often said he wanted everything to be “number one” — number one in administration, number one officers, number one performance… everything “number one.”

One day, he called for an old report from Madhavsinh Solanki’s time that dealt with the reorganization of districts and talukas. Before detailed discussions could even take place, an announcement was made — Gujarat’s districts increased from 19 to 33, and talukas from 184 to 225.

A Government Resolution (GR) followed to implement the decision. Around the same time, the government decided to issue new land records (farm account books) to all farmers — a massive printing and distribution task, which later became quite controversial.

Sanjay Prasad (IAS) was then handling that work in the department as Deputy Secretary, and whenever Revenue Minister Atmaram Patel Kaka reviewed progress, the minister did not hesitate to use his sharp tongue to express displeasure.

Government Land and Encroachments

In the Revenue Department, I was handling the sensitive desk dealing with allocation of government land and regularization of encroachments. The Revenue Minister and Cabinet had authority within prescribed financial limits, and in special cases, final approval required the Chief Minister’s signature. Applicants naturally sought to get land at the lowest possible price.

The District and State Valuation Committees fixed market prices valid for six months, but many proposals were delayed, requiring revaluation. To prevent delays, a practice began of approving cases on the previous valuation plus 12% simple interest.

For regularizing encroachments, as per GR, the occupant had to pay 2.5 times the market value of the land. In special cases, however, decisions were made allowing regularization at single market value.

If the applicant was a charitable institution, the GR allowed regularization at 50% of the market rate. Where revenue exemptions applied, those provisions were followed.

The new government had been formed with external support, making it internally unstable. The Revenue Minister, though religious and politically ambitious, had developed a strong coordination with the Finance Minister. As a result, whatever joint note or proposal Revenue and Finance officers prepared would generally be approved they feel.

If a file was sent to the Finance Secretary for concurrence, he would return it with just a brief signature, thus endorsing the government’s preferred decision.

Later, one case where land allotted at a low price was exchanged for another plot of higher market value went as far as the Lokayukta’s scrutiny.

Fast-Teack Government and the Fast-Teack Chief Minister 

The fast-track Chief Minister of the fast-track government started a “Lok Darbar” (public grievance forum) at his residence for quick resolution of people’s problems. In those meetings, Deputy and Joint Secretaries of the concerned departments were required to remain present.

One day, I too had to attend. The session started at 10 a.m. and went on till noon. My department’s matters came up and were dealt with. Then someone arrived, and the Chief Minister said, “Parmar, you stay seated; I’ll be back soon,” and left around 1 p.m.

By then, it was 2 p.m., and my stomach started growling with hunger. There was no food arrangement at the Chief Minister’s residence. I waited till 2:30 p.m., but the CM didn’t return — so I left for home to have lunch. Later, when the CM returned around 3 p.m., he noticed my absence and got upset that I had left.

Back to the Health Department

Soon after, I found the same file from Santhani, Kutch, on my table the one that had earlier caused me trouble in Kutch. It was a case of irregular land regularization, and I couldn’t write a note in violation of rules. When I noted as per the rules, the beneficiaries panicked. They approached Babubhai Shah, the Minister from Kutch, and as a result, I was transferred from the Revenue Department to the Health Department.

I met the Revenue Minister, but he shifted the responsibility to the Finance Minister. His Private Secretary, Nalin Upadhyay, tried to explain the matter to the Minister but failed.

The Finance Minister happened to be from Kutch and personally knew me, so I contacted him. His tone softened. I then called the Chief Minister’s Secretary, and met him in his chamber.

I reminded him that during the collectors’ reshuffling, if my name had been mentioned in the transfer orders, this situation would not have arisen. He replied that he had thought I was happy with the work as DS (Land) and therefore didn’t intervene — otherwise, it would have been handled differently.

He reassured me. In my presence, he spoke with the Finance Minister. I couldn’t hear what the Minister said, but both ended the discussion on friendly terms, and soon after, I resumed in Health Department.

When I met the Chief Secretary, he smiled and said, “There’s a silver line — your ACS, Health, is happy with your posting.”

Thus ended my brief but memorable seven-month tenure in the Revenue Department.

UNDP-Sponsored Foreign Training

On May 30, 1997, I joined the Health Department as Joint Secretary (ICDS and Public Health). According to the department’s work allocation, Ashok Kosi was my boss as Principal Secretary— a strict officer. Even to get leave sanctioned, one had to argue. But as always, I did my duty diligently.

As the saying goes, “Whom God protects, none can harm.”

During my time at the Asaram Ashram, I had learned a Saraswati mantra. I decided to test its effect and began chanting it regularly. My mind was already purified — Dhawal and I had both completed a Chandrayana fast, which is said to cleanse the mind.

Barely a month after joining the new post, one afternoon, after lunch at home, I returned to my office. On my table lay a cover addressed to me personally from the Government of India.

I wondered, “A letter from the Government of India, in my name? What could it be?”

When I opened it, I was pleasantly surprised — I had been selected for an MBA program at the University of Ljubljana, Slovenia, under the UNDP program.

My salary would continue, all travel expenses were fully sponsored, and I would receive a daily allowance in US dollars — it felt like winning a lottery!

I filled out the required forms and began the process for visa and ticket booking. Such long-term training opportunities are common for directly recruited IAS officers, so this wasn’t entirely new — but for me, it was a timely blessing, as it allowed me to step away from the Secretariat environment for a while.

After completing the training and returning to India, I discovered an unknown helping hand behind my selection.

At that time, ARTD had just been separated from the General Administration Department (GAD). I didn’t know but the Under Secretary, Bhaljibhai Solanki, was working there. He was originally from my chawl. He had added my name to the list of officers recommended to the Government of India for training — and that’s how this opportunity came my way. Otherwise, had “the other person” been in charge, I would never have gone so soon and smoothly.

Now, a new chapter of experience was waiting to unfold in my life —on one side, the European continent, its education, people, and breathtaking places, and on the other, the emotional farewell of my parents as their son left for distant lands.

30 September 2025

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छठ पूजा ।

छठ पूजा।

यह दुनिया धनात्मक-ऋणात्मक आवेशों की जोड़ है। हम कुछ भी हो लेकिन है तो उस सूर्य के तरल घटक (plasma) के अंश। उसकी पूजा कर कुछ अपने अंदर निहित ऊर्जा का पुनर्भरण कर ले। बस इतनी सी ही तो बात है। लेकिन बड़ी बात है। छठ पूजा सूर्य पूजा का एक सुंदर प्रतीक है। 

गौतम बुद्ध की माँ का देहांत बुद्ध के जन्म के छठवें दिन हुआ था। इसलिए बौद्ध लोग इसे माया देवी की पूजा के स्वरूप में मनाते है। 

हर हिंदू कुटुंब में बच्चा पैदा होता है तब ऐसा माना जाता है कि छठ की रात को विधाता उसके जीवन का लेख लिखती है। अर्थात पुराने जमाने में बच्चे पैदा होते ही छह दिन के भीतर मर जानेकी संख्या ज्यादा होगी। अपने शिशुओं की सुरक्षा के लिए भी यह पर्व महत्वपूर्ण माना जा रहा है। 

महिलाओं के लिए घर ही सर्वस्व होता है और घर में भरमार। बिना पति का जीवन पहले अत्यंत कठिन था। इसलिए सौभाग्य रक्षा के लिए यह पर्व मनाया जाता है। 

हिन्दुस्तान दिल से ज्यादा और दिमाग से कम जीता है। लेकिन उसके दिल को खोल के देखो तो दिमाग़ ही नज़र आएगा।

२७ अक्टूबर २०२५

छठ, कार्तिक शुक्लपक्ष २०८२

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Collector & DM Kutch (21)

21. My Days as Collector and District Magistrate, Kutch

“In winter Sorath is best, in summer Gujarat, in monsoon Vagad —but Kachchh is good all twelve months.”

In Gujarat’s long history, Kachchh has always held a special place. Officers posted here often say — they cry twice: once when they arrive, and again when they leave. When they come, they lament being sent to this dry desert land; but when they go, they are so deeply moved by the warmth and affection of its people that they leave with tears in their eyes.

The Kachchhi people say fondly, “Māṇḍu Bhagwān jeḍā āy” (people of kutch are like God) — a phrase that carries deep sincerity. When they say “Achho” (come), it feels welcoming; when they say “Achhijao” (come again), their affection pulls you back to them.

Wherever a Kachchhi may live — in Mumbai, Karachi, Africa, or Europe — they never forget their homeland. The news of the first rainfall in Kachchh travels fast, and greetings are exchanged with joy. Distinct from the rest of Gujarat, Kachchhis celebrate their New Year on Āshāḍhī Bīj with mutual visits and blessings.

The cold of winter and heat of summer are both extreme here. Before Narmada waters arrived, many villages drank salty tea, much like in Kashmir. While Valsad drowns in unending monsoon rain, Kachchh rejoices even at a few scattered showers.

In summer evenings, the gentle western breeze brings delight to both body and soul — that soothing coolness makes you wish the evening would never end.

A Grand and Royal District

Kachchh District is so vast that it is larger than many Indian states and twice the size of Israel, covering 45,674 square kilometers. It borders Pakistan’s international frontier, and hosts major ports like Kandla and Mundra, with Jakhau also well-known.

On clear nights from Jakhau coast, one can see the lights of Karachi port. Kachchh is home to the Indus Valley Civilization site of Dholavira, the mesmerizing White Rann of Kutch, and its unique Dhordo cuisine. Sacred places like Koteshwar and Narayan Sarovar attract pilgrims.

When the Sindhu River’s Nara branch once flowed here, rice was cultivated, and Lakhpat thrived as a trading port dealing in lac and shells. Guru Nanak Devji had passed through here en route to Mecca. Among Jain tirthas, Bhadreshwar is particularly famous.

The Mandvi beach is refreshing and scenic. Mandvi’s wheat is known for strength-giving quality, and Khadir-Rapar’s millet rotlas are unmatched. Once you taste Kachchhi dates, you’ll crave no other. The Kesar mango of Kachchh rivals those of Junagadh and Valsad. Fruits like dragon fruit and pomegranates taste sweeter when grown here. The Aina Mahal (Mirror Palace) still reflects the grandeur of royal life.

A Land of Kings and Legends

During British rule, Kachchh was a princely state. The region, shaped like a tortoise, connects its ancient roots to the Indus Valley Civilization through Dholavira.

When Mahmud of Ghazni invaded Somnath in 1025–26 CE, Gujarat’s ruler Bhimdev I is said to have fled and taken refuge at Kanthkot in Kachchh.

The Jadeja dynasty of Kachchh was established in 1147 CE by Lakhaji Jadani, who defeated the Chavdas. The capital was at Lakhiyarvir (Nakhatrana), named after his twin brother.

Disputes between descendants of the elder and younger sons led to tragedy — Lakhaji’s younger son, Jam Rawal’s father, was murdered, allegedly by Rao Hamirji of Lakhiyarvir. In revenge, Jam Rawal killed Hamirji in 1537 CE, ruled for two decades, but was later overthrown by Hamirji’s descendant Rao Khengarji I in 1557 CE, who established his rule over Kachchh with Bhuj as the capital.

Jam Rawal migrated to Saurashtra and founded Nawanagar (Jamnagar), with his descendants spreading across Rajkot, Gondal, Dhrol, and Virpur. The Jadejas of Kachchh worship Ashapura Mata as their Kuldevi (family goddess).

Meeting the Royal Descendants

When I took charge as Collector of Kachchh, the titular ruler was Rao Pragmalji III. When I met him at his palace, he came across as courteous and humble. He had no sons, and hence was exploring ways to commercially develop his vast estates. He often discussed such projects at length.

His uncle Himatsinhji visited me at the Collector’s residence regularly — once a fortnight or monthly — and we shared cordial conversations.

Another member of the royal family, Shikaribhai, would often bring royal-style pickles as gifts and always met me with warmth and respect.

And when speaking of Kachchh, one cannot forget Ramsingh Rathod, who was equally an embodiment of Kachchhi loyalty, culture, and charm.

Border Forces

Since Kachchh is a border district, it hosts key installations of the Army, Air Force, BSF (Border Security Force), IB (Intelligence Bureau), and other important central security agencies.

Because of this, I maintained cordial and cooperative relations with many senior officers — Army Brigadier J.P. Pathak, Air Commodore Jain of the Bhuj Air Command, Air Commodore Tyagi of Naliya Air Base, BSF Chief Menon, and his Deputy Rathore, among others.

Whether it was a get-together at their mess or a dinner at my residence, there was regular friendly interaction between us. Whenever I was invited to dine with them, I would politely request in advance:

“Please serve dinner early, then you all can enjoy yourselves as late as you wish!”

Perhaps my warm ties with these agencies were helped by the fact that my predecessor had a few unpleasant encounters with the Army.

The BSF Deputy Commandant Rathore once gave me some valuable driving tips, which proved useful to me throughout my service.

The Madhapar Road Incident

Near Bhuj, by Madhapar village, lies an Army Cantonment. The road passing through it had long been used by civilians as a daily route.

During my predecessor’s tenure, the Army suddenly sealed the road permanently, denying access to the public. The Collector had tried to reason with them, but when the Army officers ignored him, he famously mounted a tractor himself and led the effort to reopen the road — a story that locals still recounted with admiration.

He had a passion for travel and photography, and spent nearly three long years in Kachchh, leaving behind a strong and fond memory among the people.

He had a cook named Kasam. The Collector frequently suffered from recurrent typhoid, and for a long time the cause remained a mystery — until finally Kasam himself was diagnosed with typhoid, revealing the source of the infection.

The Collector’s Residence

When I arrived, my predecessor had already completed his CTC (charge transfer certificate) and perhaps returned to his hometown. However, his wife was still living alone in the house.

We had already vacated our Valsad residence, and staying indefinitely in the Circuit House was not practical — especially since Ujjval and Dhaval’s schools were about to reopen.

Luckily, the outgoing Collector had partitioned the bungalow into two sections — one side retained for his household goods, and the other made available for us.

The Collector’s Bungalow dated back to princely times — it was once the British Political Agent’s residence. The layout had two rooms on each side, with a kitchen, dining area, and drawing room in the center.

The right-wing section of the house became available to us only six months later, but by then, we had grown so accustomed to the left wing that moving into the other side felt almost alien.

The compound was adorned with mango, tamarind (goras ambli), and neem trees. In the garden grew a creeper with chandelier-like flowers that I became so fond of that I planted one at my father’s house in Ahmedabad, and even today, the same vine thrives at my residence in Gandhinagar.

Just outside the southern gate of the compound stood a Shiv temple, adjoining the road. Every Shravan month and on Mondays, we would visit for darshan and inquire about the priest’s well-being.

Etiquette and Protocol

From my very first day at the Collector’s Office, I was aware that I was serving in the former princely territory — where the Collector’s role carried an aura of royal authority.

My personal orderly was Naik Jogibhai — short, elderly, and modest in appearance. One day he asked me,

“Sir, since I’m a Naik, may I wear the red sash (patto) of my rank?”

I smiled and replied,

“Of course, but one sash alone would look incomplete — add a turban on your head and polished black boots on your feet.”

The old man’s face lit up with joy. From that day till my very last in Kachchh, he faithfully maintained that uniform, taking immense pride in it.

He was assisted by another orderly, Satu Bhai Jadeja — both men representing the old world’s dignity and devotion.

The Supporting Team

When Bhattibhai was present in the office, the Collector had nothing to worry about. He was efficient, calm, and ever-reliable — a man who ensured that every file moved in time.

At his side, Vaishnav, equally disciplined and respectful, assisted with devotion.

The Resident Deputy Collector (RDC) post was first held by Jagdish Pandya, followed by Shankarbhai Patel, both of whom managed the office with remarkable competence.

Officers of Class I and II performed to the best of their individual capacities — some exceptional, some average — but the administrative machinery ran smoothly.

As District Development Officer (DDO), Vasantbhai Gadhvi, and later Sanjay Nandan, ran the District Panchayat efficiently, maintaining excellent coordination with the Collectorate.

Among the Prant Officers, I had —

• C.R. Kharsan in Nakhatrana,

• A.B. Parmar, later replaced by Nalin Upadhyay in Bhuj, and

• Dushyant Dave in Anjar.

All three were dynamic and effective, ensuring that sub-divisional and taluka-level work moved briskly.

The Mamlatdars, as always, were a mixed bag — some outstanding, some mediocre, some weak — yet the district administration as a whole functioned well.

The Household Staff

At the Collector’s Bungalow, the small, loyal team became an extended family:

• Kasam, the cook, ruled the kitchen.

• Abdul, a short and slim man, handled ironing and minor stitching with quiet efficiency.

• Husenbhai, the gardener, tended to the lawns and flowers.

• Mahmud, the night watchman, patrolled the compound after dusk.

• Two security guards were stationed at the bungalow, and a gunman, Ashok Vaja, accompanied me to office and on tours. When the shifts grew long, a second guard took over.

All were disciplined, punctual, and deeply respectful of the Collector’s dignity.

As drivers, I had Damji Makwana and Kishor — both skilled and steady.

Gone were the days of nervous journeys; unlike in Junagadh, I no longer feared accidents.

During trips to Gandhinagar for meetings, the long, monotonous drive often left us exhausted.

But the moment we began the return journey to Bhuj, a sense of joy — almost like going home — would arise within.

Drought Relief Operations

When I took charge of Kachchh, the district was facing a severe drought.

Having earlier handled over a lakh labourers on relief works in Dahod Subdivision, the Kachchh operations seemed moderate in scale — but their challenges were unique.

The main concern here wasn’t human labour but fodder for livestock. The vast Banni grasslands were home to thousands of cattle, buffaloes, sheep, and goats.

In normal years, Kachchh supplied fodder to other drought-hit districts — but when Kachchh itself suffered, we had to source fodder from Junagadh, Bhavnagar, and even as far as Panchmahal.

The second major challenge was drinking water.

Many villages were accustomed to receiving piped or tanker water only two or three times a week — but when tankers were delayed even for a day, panic spread like wildfire.

So, I made a firm rule:

“If there’s a serious complaint or agitation in any village, my vehicle must be parked at that village the next morning.”

This direct and personal approach reassured people. Throughout my tenure, I ensured that no village in Kachchh suffered severely for work, fodder, or water.

Visit of Shri Atal Bihari Vajpayee

That year, Shri Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the Leader of the Opposition, visited Kachchh to review the drought relief efforts.

Dressed simply in a dhoti, kurta, and bundī, he radiated quiet dignity and charm.

I had first seen him from a distance in 1977, during the Emergency elections, at a public meeting in Khanpur, Ahmedabad.

Now, destiny had brought me the privilege of meeting him in person and spending an entire day in conversation.

He listened carefully to the district’s situation, appreciated the efficiency of our relief measures, and appeared deeply satisfied.

I shared with him my vision for Kachchh’s development, comparing it to Israel — a land that had turned its arid terrain into a flourishing hub through water conservation, irrigation, agriculture, and industry.

Atalji was visibly moved.

He said warmly:

“परमारजी, आपकी कच्छ विकास की सोच उत्तम है।

अपने को कच्छ देश का प्रमुख मानकर काम करो।”

(“Parmarji, your vision for Kachchh’s development is excellent. Work as if you are the head of the Kachchh state itself.”)

Later, we travelled together to Gandhidham, where a Sindhi community leader, known to Vajpayeeji, came to meet him. He brought a portrait of Vajpayeeji and requested an autograph.

Atalji smiled, took the pen, and wrote two lines that have remained etched in my memory:

“ढलती उम्र, बढ़ती परछाई —

वो एक दौर था, आज नया दौर है।”

(Fading age, lengthening shadows — that was one era; now begins another.)

As he signed, it felt as if he was gently reflecting on his own journey — a poet and statesman summing up a life of struggle, grace, and renewal.

Hamirsar Lake Rejuvenation

In Bhuj, rainfall was always scarce, and the town constantly faced water shortages.

To ensure that every drop of rainwater was stored and utilized, the rulers of Kutch had, in earlier times, designed an intricate network of lakes, inlets, and outlets — an outstanding example of traditional water management.

Among them, Hamirsar Lake was the pride and ornament of Bhuj.

It was believed to be sanctified because Sahajanand Swami Maharaj had lived in Bhuj and used to bathe in this very lake. Hence, it was revered as a ‘prasadi’ (blessed) lake.

When I became Collector, I thought, “Why not enhance its storage capacity?” I convened a meeting of local leaders, the MLA, and the saints of the Swaminarayan Temple.

I shared my vision and personally pledged to contribute one month’s salary toward the desilting of Hamirsar.

My proposal ignited enthusiasm.

MLA Pushyadan Gadhvi immediately sanctioned ₹1 lakh from his MLA grant. Donations began to pour in rapidly — and within an hour, we had collected ₹10 lakh!

The Swaminarayan saints took charge of the supervision.

Their devotees offered tractors at cost, covering only diesel expenses.

Volunteers and labourers lined up to work, and soon the desilting operation began.

The excavated soil was spread along city roads and in nearby low-lying areas.

By the time the work was completed, Hamirsar Lake’s storage capacity had increased by nearly one crore litres.

Faith, Effort, and Divine Reward

I always believed that positive collective resolve brings positive results. So, I proposed conducting a Vishnuyag (Vedic ritual) on the lakebed before the monsoon.

Our family priest, Harikrishna Khera of the Rajpurohit family, officiated as the yajman (chief priest).Local couples volunteered to bear the expenses and participated in the rituals.

The atmosphere all around was filled with faith and optimism.

I instructed the Deputy Conservator of Forests (DCF) to keep one lakh saplings ready for plantation.

Then came the miracle —

That very year, 1994, Kutch received the heaviest rainfall of the century!

Rivers, streams, and reservoirs overflowed with abundance.

A region that normally recorded only 15–25 rainy days received over 75.

In Bhuj, Nakhatrana, and Mandvi, the water tables rose dramatically, and the long-parched land turned fertile once again.

The day Hamirsar overflowed, the entire town rushed to the lakeside in celebration.

According to tradition, the next day was declared a public holiday, and the Mayor, as the city’s first citizen, would perform the ritual welcome of the overflowing lake by letting a few drops of blood from the little finger of his right hand fall into the water — a symbolic gesture of gratitude.

That year, the municipality had no mayor but a deputy collector as administrator. Some people felt that the Collector deserved the honour — for his initiative had revived the lake.

But, some murmurs started about the caste-based opposition, and if somebody raises it in public, could create awkward position. Sensing my subordinate’s dilemma, I chose to stay away from the event. The ceremony was instead performed by the Deputy Collector, B.K. Thakkar, who was in charge administrator of the municipality.

Greening Bhuj

Soon after, we launched a mass tree-planting campaign across Bhuj.

Saplings were planted along both sides of every major road and around Hamirsar Lake.

Residents living nearby were entrusted with the care and watering of the trees after the monsoon.

No one can say how many of those trees survived but even today, the green avenues of Bhuj and the trees around Hamirsar stand tall, bearing silent testimony to our collective karma and vision. 

Surat Plague (1994)

That year (August–October 1994), Surat was struck by the devastating plague outbreak.

Municipal Commissioner S.R. Rao had transformed Surat’s sanitation system, yet, due to the panic, a large exodus of people began from the city — many of whom started arriving in our district.

This raised the need for immediate vigilance.

My close friend and Civil Hospital Bhuj physician Dr. Kashyap Buch, along with the district’s doctors and health officers, swung into action.

We prepared radio talks and audio-visual cassettes explaining the nature of the disease, its symptoms, treatment, and preventive measures, and began broadcasting them through cable TV.

Fortunately, our district remained unaffected by the plague.

Malaria During Navratri

During the Sharadiya Navratri, a grand fair is held at Ashapura Mata’s shrine, where thousands of devotees, much like those visiting Ambaji, walk long distances on foot for darshan.

I too drove there by car — and, unfortunately, fell prey to mosquito bites.

Within a couple of weeks, I developed a high fever.

Blood samples were taken, but the malaria test came back negative, so the doctors prescribed other medicines.

The fever persisted, and my condition weakened severely — food intake stopped, and I became frail.

At one point, when my temperature rose to 104–105°F, and a fever spike hit, I felt as if death was near — everything went dark, and only faint voices of visitors reached me.

Dr. Buch ordered another blood test — this time it confirmed falciparum malaria.

Injections were started immediately, and with timely anti-malarial treatment, I survived.

Elections and Voter ID Cards

In December 1994, elections were announced for District, Taluka, and Village Panchayats.

As District Election Officer, I was fortunate to have a capable team, and we conducted the elections smoothly.

Soon after, the newly elected Panchayati Raj institutions began working in coordination with us.

That was the era of T.N. Seshan, the formidable Chief Election Commissioner, known for strict reforms.

The introduction of voter identity cards had just begun. Teams visited every village and ward, taking photographs of voters and updating the electoral rolls.

Printing of these cards for the state was centralized by the Chief Electoral Officer of the State, and each district was assigned a designated printing press. Kutch was allotted the Jamnagar press, which already had a backlog, as the local collector gave priority to his own district’s work.

As a result, we fell behind schedule.

At a review meeting in Gandhinagar, I had a brief argument with Deputy Chief Electoral Officer Kailasanathan, requesting either a separate press or to pause Jamnagar’s work to clear our pending cards.

Whenever I visited Jamnagar, I stayed with Collector Sanjay Prasad. His home was like a community kitchen (sadavrat) — large bowls of palak paneer were placed on the dining table, and everyone could help themselves.

My wife saw love of Sangita for palak paneer loved dish, and from then on, palak paneer became a fond memory for her. Even today, whenever it’s cooked at home, she fondly recalls those Jamnagar days.

Chief Minister Visits and Political Events

Chief Minister Chhabildas Mehta frequently visited Kutch.

He often arranged spiritual camps by a Thakor from Sabarmati, Ahmedabad, who claimed to cure women’s back pain by pressing specific vertebrae apart with his hands.

Around that time, a group lobbied hard for DSP Pramod Kumar’s transfer, but, on my recommendation, the Chief Minister refused to transfer him.

That year, due to the election code of conduct, the Republic Day (26 January) I as Collector of the District unfurled the flag. Everything parade and salute went smoothly. The ceremonial protocol duty of the event was attended by the District Home Guard Commandant.

1995 Legislative Assembly Elections

Then came the 9th Gujarat Legislative Assembly elections in February–March 1995.

The sitting MLAs of the 8th Assembly from our district were: Pushpdan Gadhvi (Bhuj), Sureshbhai Mehta (Mandvi), Tarachand Cheda (Abdasa), Navinbhai Shastri (Anjar, Law Minister), Harilal Patel (Rapar). Parbat Sodha (Mundra). 

As District Election Officer, I was responsible for six constituencies, handling electoral rolls, logistics, vehicles, staff training, law and order, polling, counting, and results — all within schedule.

Kutch’s vast geography made it challenging — it’s as large as three or four districts combined. In remote desert areas without roads, we even used camels for transport.

Despite the odds, the elections went off successfully.

In the new Assembly, Nimaben Acharya (Abdasa), Mukeshbhai Zaveri (Bhuj), Vasan Ahir (Anjar), Babubhai Meghji Shah (Rapar) were newly elected MLAs, while Suresh Mehta and Parbat Sodha were re-elected. 

Later, Pushpdan Gadhvi went on to become a Member of Parliament in 1996.

New Government formed

The ruling Congress (45 seats) suffered a major defeat, and Chhabildas Mehta resigned.

Keshubhai Patel of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) formed the government with a majority of 121 seats. From Kutch, Suresh Mehta became Industries Minister and ranked second in the Cabinet.

Whenever a new government takes office, transfers of officers usually follow. 

Fortunately, Keshubhai Patel’s first official tour was to the Kutch border areas, where I accompanied him.

During the journey, he spoke warmly about his early career — how he began as a coal weigher in Rajkot, and through dedication and service, rose to leadership. He narrated stories of driving the jeep himself whenever Atal Bihari Vajpayee or L.K. Advani visited.

At that time, the government’s focus was on industrial development in Kutch. The region had abundant limestone reserves, enough for a century of cement production.

The Sanghi Cement proposal, which had been under review by the previous government, involved granting large tracts of land on long-term lease.

Finding it detrimental to public interest, I advised the Chief Minister to consider a joint public-private venture instead.

However, since the Industries Minister himself was from Kutch, his opinion prevailed, and Sanghi Cement project survived.

Despite these differences, the Chief Minister appreciated my work and received no major complaints from local legislators.

While many other collectors were transferred, DSP Pramod Kumar and I were retained in Kutch.

However, as Suresh Mehta’s recommendation was not accepted, he became displeased — both with us and with the Chief Minister.

Pingleshwar Party and Ujjwal’s Rescue

At that time, the presence of the Army, Air Force, and BSF units in the district brought a unique vibrancy to local life.

After the Legislative Assembly elections, Air Commodore Tyagi of the Naliya Airbase (Abdasa Taluka) hosted a dinner party one evening at Pingleshwar Beach, famous for its golden sands, to help everyone unwind. 

SP Pramod Kumar and I attended with our families.

Since the gathering involved a drinks party, I stayed a little away with Ujjwal, while Laxmi joined the women’s group with Dhawal.

The sea tide was slowly rising, and as dusk settled, I held Ujjwal’s fingers tightly in mine, and we both walked toward the water, letting the gentle waves touch our feet.

Suddenly, the waves grew larger.

Before we could react, two massive waves surged toward us, engulfing both of us in their force.

My feet were anchored in the sand, but Ujjwal was lifted off the ground, being dragged into the sea.

His small fingers were still locked within mine — a grip that meant life itself.

Had the sea pulled with just a little more force, he would have been gone.

I was submerged too — all I could see was water everywhere.

In that instant, a spark of clarity came over me. With my free hand, I reached out, grabbed Ujjwal’s arm, and pulled him tightly against my chest, securing him before we both could be swept away.

Then, silently, I prayed to Lord Daryalal (Sea God):

“O Lord, I will not offer you my son.

If you must take someone, take us both.”

No sooner had I said this in my heart than the sea suddenly receded, the waters calming.

From a distance, Pramod Kumar, sensing something was wrong, came running.

We made it back safely to the shore.

That day, Ujjwal had been wearing a small gold ring (3–4 ratti) — a gift from his grandfather.

When we looked at his hand afterward, the ring was gone — claimed by the sea.

It felt as if the sea had taken the ring in exchange for sparing his life.

A Tragic Incident

In 1995, during the auspicious month of Vaishakh, a horrific tragedy struck a Patel village Baladiya near Bhuj.

A devout Swaminarayan follower, Devji Karsan Patel, known for reading the Vachanamrut, lived there.

His daughter was married in the same village.

When his son-in-law’s brother’s wedding was arranged, Devji was not invited, due to a quarrel between the two brothers-in-law.

The day before the wedding procession (jān), the decorated bullock cart carrying the groom, his brother, sister-in-law, and relatives passed through Devji’s street, accompanied by drums and music.

Humiliated by being excluded, Devji, in a fit of religiously twisted vengeance, misinterpreted a line from the Vachanamrut, underlined it in red ink, and attached it to a note expressing his anger.

He closed the door of his courtyard, filled a large kerosene can, and kept it near the entrance.

As the wedding procession reached his lane at dusk, when everyone was dancing joyfully to the music, Devji climbed to his rooftop, poured the kerosene over the bullock cart where the groom, women, and relatives were seated, and set it ablaze.

In seconds, a festive celebration turned into a scene of horror.

The groom and 23 others were burnt to death; several others sustained severe burns.

Devji’s own son-in-law perished, and his daughter was critically injured.

The wedding songs turned into funeral laments.

The injured and dead were rushed to Bhuj General Hospital, while the severely burned victims were transferred to Ahmedabad for advanced treatment.

Meanwhile, Devji escaped into the night on a bicycle.

The police searched the entire region, and by morning, they found his body in a well — he had committed suicide.

At his home lay an open Vachanamrut, the underlined verse, and his note explaining his act —an expression of wounded pride and religious delusion.

Even today, that incident raises a haunting question in my mind — how blind faith and ego, when combined, can turn into unimaginable destruction.

The sight of burnt bodies and the stench of human flesh at Bhuj General Hospital that day shook me to the core.

Even now, whenever I recall that scene, a deep sense of sorrow and revulsion fills my heart.

Ujjwal’s Hostel Admission

By then, the constant workload had begun to exhaust me.

The tragic Baldia incident had shaken me deeply from within.

I often asked myself — “Why does such suffering exist?”

Moreover, dealing with Sureshbhai Mehta’s temperament was becoming increasingly difficult for me.

I would always tell Laxmi,

“My job is my first wife — so please, never let household matters interfere with it. Take care of the family on your own.”

Both our sons were now growing up.

Because of my frequent transfers from one district to another, Ujjwal and Dhawal’s schooling was constantly disrupted, and their education suffered.

Fortunately, Dhawal found a good tuition teacher Dipti Soni, who helped him get back on track. But Ujjwal, though he passed Class 8, was not performing as I expected. I grew increasingly worried about his future.

After his near-death experience at Pingleshwar Beach, my attention toward him intensified.

On friends’ advice, I decided that he should repeat Class 8 and study at G.D. Birla Memorial School, Ranikhet — a reputed residential school.

He was 13 years old then.

Given the heavy responsibilities of a Collector, taking leave was almost impossible.

So, we made a bold plan — I would take him to Ahmedabad Railway Station, and from there, he would travel alone to Ranikhet.

I wrote down important phone numbers for him on a small sheet of paper and explained how to use them.

I gave him some travel money and spoke to Principal Rajeev of the school to inform him about the travel schedule.

We packed his bag, luggage, and tiffin, bought his train ticket, and went to drop him off at the station.

Before departure, I carefully instructed him:

“When you reach Delhi Railway Station, come out through the bus terminal gate.

From there, take an Uttarakhand Transport Corporation bus to Ranikhet.

Get off only at Ranikhet, then immediately call me from a public phone booth (PCO) to confirm your arrival.

After that, take local transport to the G.D. Birla Memorial School, report there, settle in your hostel room, and then call me again.”

To my immense relief and pride, Ujjwal proved his maturity and courage.

He reached Delhi safely, caught the bus to Ranikhet, and when the phone rang with his call from Ranikhet, I felt a wave of happiness — and pride as a father.

He studied there for two years (Class 8 and 9).

However, the strict hostel life did not suit him well, so after Class 10, we brought him back to Gandhinagar.

Astrological Prediction

It was July, after Ujjwal had gone to Ranikhet.

One evening, during a public function at Kutch Town Hall, Sureshbhai Mehta and I happened to be seated next to each other.

Despite the majority in Gandhinagar, there were growing internal differences within the BJP, and rumors of instability in Keshubhai Patel’s government were circulating.

In my private circle, it was known that I had knowledge of astrology.

During a light moment, Sureshbhai asked me,

“What do you foresee in the current political atmosphere?”

I asked him for his date, place, and time of birth.

Using my training, I drew up a rough horoscope mentally, analyzed the planetary transits, and compared them with his natal chart.

I noticed signs of sudden gain and elevation, and told him,

“Since you are a Number 2 person, prepare yourself — by October, you may be taking oath as Chief Minister.”

My prediction drifted into the air that evening but a few months later, it manifested exactly as foretold.

Disturbing the Beehive

My popularity kept rising, and the newly elected MLA Nimaben Acharya, full of enthusiasm, even declared publicly that “If Parmar Saheb contests Loksabha elections from Kutch, he will easily win.”

But just when everything seemed to be going well my hand fell into a beehive.

Two separate issues brought me into conflict with political figures.

First, I had to take strict action against our District Supply Officer, Bhaskar Bhatt.

There was widespread adulteration in petrol and diesel across the district.

When complaints of fuel adulteration came in, instead of investigating them properly, he would make excuses.

I had seen such manipulation earlier in Panchmahal District, so I was alert.

Despite repeated warnings, when his attitude did not change, I transferred all supply inspectors under him to work directly under the supervision of the three Prant Officers, and began thorough investigations into the complaints and irregularities.

Bhaskar, however, used his political connections — he reached out to Rajya Sabha MP Anant Dave.

Meanwhile, during an inspection at a petrol pump in Lakhpat, a major case of fuel adulteration was caught. The petrol pump owner was associated with MP Harilal Patel, who naturally stepped in to defend him.

Around the same time, another issue emerged a land case in Bhuj.

A piece of land originally allotted to a Dalit beneficiary in Santhani had been illegally sold to another person.

The matter was pending for conversion and non-agricultural (NA) approval, after fixing a premium.

Apparently, someone close to the MP had a vested interest in that land.

When they couldn’t get their way, they played their final card — to demand my transfer.

But I knew that as long as Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel was on my side, there was no need to worry, unless Sureshbhai Mehta himself decided otherwise.

Soon after, the District Planning Board meeting was scheduled, chaired by Sureshbhai.

He arrived and, at the Circuit House, I explained the entire matter in detail. He assured me that he was satisfied and that there would be no further opposition.

Accordingly, I restored the Supply Inspectors under the control of the District Supply Officer.

That day, the Planning Board meeting went extremely well — full of energy and enthusiasm.

MP Anant Dave, surprised to see my upbeat mood, commented with sarcasm,

“Parmar Saheb, you seem to be in great form today — even though you’re about to be transferred!”

Sureshbhai said nothing.

As Independence Day (15 August) approached, he returned to Gandhinagar and soon after, my transfer order arrived.

Former MLA Pushpdan Gadhvi held deep affection for me, but he was no longer in office. His son had benefited from a mining lease. But when it comes among the trio — Sureshbhai, Anantbhai, and Pushpdan — he remained silent.

Later, my friend and MLA Tarachand Cheda told me that when he objected to my transfer, asking,

“Why remove such an efficient officer?”

the reply was, “He is not that Parmar”

As proverb says — “We can stay till we have quota of food and water assigned by the destiny.”

I handed over charge to my successor and departed for Gandhinagar, where I took charge as Deputy Secretary (Public Health) in the Health and Family Welfare Department, succeeding Rajesh Kishore, and joined Ashok Bhatia Saheb’s health administration team.

Khajuriyas and Hajuriyas

During the Gujarat Assembly elections, Shankarsinh Vaghela was the State BJP President and had strong aspirations to become the Chief Minister.

However, when that did not happen, and when his opinion was either not sought or not given due weight in the formation of the Cabinet, he grew displeased.

Matters worsened when appointments to Boards and Corporations were made without his consultation adding fuel to the fire.

The spark of dissatisfaction quickly became a blaze.

Around that time, while Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel led a ministerial delegation abroad to attract foreign investment for Gujarat’s development,

Shankarsinh Vaghela, along with 48 of his loyal supporters, went off to Khajuraho.

Soon, the Gujarat BJP split into two factions —those loyal to Keshubhai became known as “Hajuriyas” (loyalists), and those aligned with Shankarsinh were called “Khajuriyas.” Those who stayed neutral were jokingly called “Majuriyas” (workers).

In the delegation abroad, State Minister Vipul Chaudhary acted as the information link, keeping track of both sides sending updates from abroad and receiving news from Gandhinagar.

The political game continued until a truce was brokered by senior leaders L.K. Advani and Atal Bihari Vajpayee.

Ultimately, Keshubhai Patel resigned, but instead of making Shankarsinh Vaghela the Chief Minister, a consensus candidate acceptable to both factions — Suresh Mehta — was chosen.

He took oath as Chief Minister in October 1995.

Back to Astrology

I had believed that my transfer from Kutch as Collector had been done due to the words of Sureshbhai Mehta, and hence I bore some resentment toward him.

Yet, I also knew that in politics, wisdom lies in humility before power. So, when Sureshbhai was announced as the new Chief Minister, I set aside my feelings and went to his residence to congratulate him.

Present there were Vipul Chaudhary and several MLAs. Vipul, with a teasing smile, said,

“This is the same Parmar Saheb — an amazing astrologer! Whatever he predicted has come true for me!”

Sureshbhai looked at me and smiled knowingly —our earlier discussion at the Bhuj Town Hall was still fresh in both our minds.

He asked me to find an auspicious time (muhurat) for the swearing-in ceremony.

After studying the planetary positions, I advised him to complete the oath-taking within a specific time window, and also suggested the ideal number of ministers to include initially.

He accepted both recommendations and implemented them.

However, on the day of the oath ceremony, due to delays in the Governor’s arrival and last-minute debates over which MLAs to include, only some ministers could take the oath within the muhurat, while others were sworn in after the auspicious period had passed.

That evening, I visited his house again.

All those who were present earlier were there once more, including Arvindbhai Patel from Mehsana, who asked,

“Parmar Saheb, how long will this government last?”

I tried to avoid answering, but when they insisted, I finally said,

“Barely a year. Those who took oath after the muhurat will be the cause of its fall.”

And indeed, it happened exactly so.

Shankarsinh Vaghela struck again — this time splitting the party to form a new faction.

For a brief period, President’s Rule was imposed in Gujarat.

Soon after, with the support of the Congress, Vaghela became Chief Minister.

But as always, power gained through rebellion is short-lived.

Shankarsinh’s reactive temperament worked against him, and within a year, he too had to step down — proving once again that political fortunes rise and fall like the planets themselves.

Artisans of Kutch

How could one ever forget the craftsmen of Kutch masters of exquisite handicraft!

Their embroidery work alone could win international awards.

Looking at the intricate stitches of Soof, Jat, and Ahir embroidery, one can only marvel.

In Soof embroidery, the artist counts each thread of the fabric before the needle pierces through creating stunning geometric designs with nothing but patience, precision, and imagination.

Through the efforts of Kantilal Shroff and Chandaben Shroff of “Shrujan”, the traditional artistry of Kutch’s women artisans gained international recognition.

The weavers of Bhujodi are equally unmatched. Their shawls, stoles, and blankets (dhabla, shawl, saadi) are so beautiful that one feels compelled to buy them instantly.

The locks of Suthari are so skillfully made that only an expert can open them.

One seldom visits Khavda, but its Mysore (Maishuk) sweets leave an unforgettable taste once tasted, one becomes a lifelong fan.

The ice cream candy of Mankuva’s Patel makes one exclaim, “Oh! What a taste!”

The food at the IFFCO guesthouse in Gandhidham is so delicious that it calls you back again.

A visit to Vighakot border and the surrounding vast desert feels like stepping into another world altogether.

In the Banni region, the mud houses (bhungas) and the simplicity of the people offer a glimpse of a unique way of life. Even today, I have preserved the quilt gifted by Gulam Hussain, a treasured memory.

The lacquer work of Nirona could easily surpass even Sankheda’s craftsmanship, but due to lack of marketing and proper guidance, it could not reach its true potential. Yet, the wood-carved furniture they make tables, stools, and more lasts many years without losing its charm.

When I became Commissioner of Cottage Industries and simultaneously Chairman of Gujarat State Handlooms and Handicrafts Corporation, I took steps to promote the art and livelihood of these artisans.

We developed artisan clusters, improved their designs and materials to match modern markets, and established a Craft Bazaar in Bhuj to sell their creations.

We also expanded state-level fairs and exhibitions, giving them more opportunities to sell their work a humble attempt to repay their love and artistry.

Friends

During my time in Kutch, beyond my circle of officers, I built a close-knit group of friends.

The small Officers’ Club often became the venue for musical evenings or poetry sessions.

Two of my dear friends were Dr. Rohit Shyam Chaturvedi, District Panchayat Medical Officer, and Dr. Kashyap Buch, an excellent physician.

Dr. Chaturvedi would recite poetry, while his son Akshatvishal entertained us with mimicry, especially imitating Mithun Chakraborty. Dr. Chaturvedi had even performed my sacred thread (yajnopavit) ceremony.

Dr. Buch’s knowledge of anatomy and physiology was remarkable — he could recite medical details effortlessly, and his list of medicines was endless. His wife Stella made wonderful uttapams and lovingly insisted everyone eat. Their little daughter, Meemansa, who once played in the cradle, is today Kutch’s youngest cardiologist.

Who could forget Dr. (Mrs.) Rajaram — Japanese by birth but Indian at heart, a radiant personality and a gracious host. Dining and conversing with her was always a pleasure.

Sharad Bhatt and a few young men of the town ran a local orchestra, helping organize musical events at the Collector’s bungalow or Town Hall.

A local girls’ education trust ran a wonderful institution, and even today, I remember Maneklal Gandhi’s laddus — their taste still lingers on the tongue.

Dipti Soni deserves special mention for putting our son Dhawal back on track in his studies.

I befriended Pandit Dinanath, a Kashmiri Pandit married to a Kutchhi Thakkar woman, through whom I learned much about Kashmir’s geography and history. His daughters Archana and Beena were close to my wife Laxmi. Archana worked at Shrujan, teaching her about Kutchhi embroidery, its styles, motifs, and beauty. Later, Archana joined the district court, and Beena became a teacher.

Kirtibhai Bhansali and his wife were a loving couple — his wife has since passed, but Kirtibhai still calls fondly saying, “Saheb, you must come visit.”

I once helped Dr. Kamal in saving her inter-caste marriage, and her family continues to hold deep respect for me.

The South Indian dishes at Jatthum’s restaurant were delightful. 

Though Prince Hotel’s paneer tikka couldn’t match Daras of Valsad, it was tasty enough to keep the children asking for more.

How could I forget the Kutchhi Jain merchants?From Mumbai, Ravibhai Senghvi stayed in touch as long as he lived. Others like Shantibhai Mekoni, Damjibhai Ankarwala, and Sumatibhai of VIP Bags remain fondly remembered.

My friendship with Devendrasinh Zala, General Manager of Balarpur Industries, continues warmly even today — he now runs a major salt enterprise, “Dev Salt.”

Whenever I visit Mumbai, friends like Dharam Patel and Bhachhubhai receive me with the same affection and hospitality as ever.

Among the Bhanushali, Pithubhai and his family, Asubhai, and Ashokbhai Bhanushali of Valsad, as well as Harshadbhai Kataria, still maintain close ties.

Rameshbhai Shah of Gandhidham never fails to send festive greetings.

My college friend, Kamlesh Brahmakshatriya, now a chartered accountant from Nakhatrana, and his family treat me like one of their own — his mother loves me as her son, and his brothers like their own sibling.

In Rapar, friends like Jayeshbhai, Hemendra, Nitin Thakkar, and Mukesh are ever ready to help whenever called.

Only Kanak Mehta has drifted away with time but now does receive call.

When I returned to serve Kutch again during the 2001 earthquake, many of these bonds were rekindled — but that story deserves its own telling.

One thing, however, is certain:

Whoever drinks the water of Kutch can never forget Kutch.

Kutch stays in the heart — all twelve months of the year.

– 27 September 2025

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