मिलजुलकर खाओ।

 

मिलजुलकर खाओ। 

एक पंगत की कहानी, जीवन के दर्शन के साथ। सब धर्मो के उपदेश में यह कहानी अक्सर कही जाती है। 

एक सज्जन ने बड़े प्रेम से सत्संग और सहभोज का आयोजन किया। भोजन की सुगंध और सत्संग की महिमा ऐसी फैली कि आमंत्रित अतिथियों से लगभग दुगुने लोग पहुँच गए।

आयोजक धर्मसंकट में पड़ गए। बरामदा छोटा था और अतिथियों की संख्या बड़ी। सबको एक साथ बैठाना संभव नहीं था। अंततः तय हुआ कि आधे लोग पहले भोजन करेंगे और शेष आधे बाद में।

लेकिन भोजन की एक विचित्र शर्त थी!

हर व्यक्ति के दोनों हाथों को लकड़ी की पट्टियों के सहारे इस तरह बाँध दिया जाएगा कि कोहनियाँ मुड़ न सकें। भोजन सामने परोसा जाएगा, पर उसे खाने के लिए केवल तीस मिनट मिलेंगे। समय पूरा होते ही पंगत उठ जाएगी।

पहली पंगत : लड्डू उछले, पूरियाँ बिखरीं!

घंटी बजी और भोजन शुरू हुआ। सामने गरमागरम पूरियाँ, सुगंधित सब्ज़ी, दाल-चावल और रस से भरे लड्डू सजे थे। भूख से व्याकुल लोगों ने अपने-अपने हाथों में भोजन उठाया और अपने मुँह तक पहुँचाने की कोशिश करने लगे।

लेकिन हाथ सीधे थे, कोहनियाँ मुड़ नहीं सकती थीं!

बस, फिर क्या था! कोई पूरी को उछालकर मुँह में डालने की कोशिश करता, तो पूरी मुँह के बजाय सामने वाले की पगड़ी पर जा गिरती। कोई सब्ज़ी का कौर उछालता, तो सब्ज़ी मुँह तक पहुँचने से पहले ही कपड़ों पर अपना रंग दिखा देती। किसी ने लड्डू उछाला तो वह मुँह में जाने के बजाय सामने बैठे सज्जन की गोद में जा गिरा। कहीं दाल छलक रही थी, कहीं पूरियाँ हवा में उड़ रही थीं और कहीं लड्डुओं की लुढ़कन से पंगत में हँसी-ठिठोली मची थी।

हर कोई अपने मुँह तक भोजन पहुँचाने के लिए हाथ उछाल रहा था, गर्दन आगे बढ़ा रहा था और मुँह को कौर के रास्ते में लाने की जुगत भिड़ा रहा था। भोजन कम नहीं था, भूख भी खूब थी, लेकिन हर व्यक्ति अपनी ही थाली और अपने ही पेट की चिंता में लगा था।

इस उछल-कूद में तीस मिनट कब बीत गए, किसी को पता ही नहीं चला। जब समय पूरा होने की घोषणा हुई, तो सामने पकवानों से भरी पत्तलें थीं, कपड़ों पर सब्ज़ी के दाग थे, जमीन पर पूरियाँ बिखरी थीं और पेट अब भी खाली थे।

भोजन सामने था, लेकिन भोजन का सुख किसी को नसीब नहीं हुआ! 

देखते-देखते तीस मिनट पूरे हो गए। पकवान सामने थे, भूख पेट में थी और भोजन का स्वाद केवल कल्पना में रह गया था।

आयोजक ने समय समाप्त होने की घोषणा की। पहली पंगत को उठना पड़ा। लोगों के चेहरे पर असंतोष था। भोजन की कोई कमी नहीं थी, फिर भी पेट खाली रह गए।

दूसरी पंगत : अपनी नहीं, सामने वाले की चिंता!

अब दूसरी पंगत बैठी। वही बरामदा, वही पत्तलें, वही पकवान और हाथों पर लकड़ी की वही पट्टियाँ।

लेकिन इस बार एक व्यक्ति ने सामने बैठे अतिथि को देखा और सहज ही कहा, “भाई साहब, आपके हाथ तो मेरे मुँह तक पहुँच सकते हैं। आप मुझे खिला दीजिए, मैं आपको खिला देता हूँ!”

बस, एक छोटी-सी बात ने पूरी पंगत का गणित बदल दिया।

सामने वाले ने कौर उठाकर उसके मुँह में डाल दिया। उसने भी अपने हाथ का भोजन सामने बैठे व्यक्ति को खिला दिया।

फिर क्या था! एक ओर से पूरी उठी तो दूसरी ओर से सब्जी का कौर आया। कोई सामने वाले को दाल-चावल खिलाता, तो कोई मिठाई का स्वाद चखाता। हाथ सीधे थे, पर मन उदार हो गए थे। कोहनियाँ नहीं मुड़ सकती थीं, लेकिन रिश्तों में झुकने की सहजता आ गई थी।

किसी को अपने मुँह तक हाथ ले जाने की आवश्यकता ही नहीं रही। हर व्यक्ति दूसरे का पेट भरने में लगा था और इस प्रक्रिया में उसका अपना पेट भी भरता जा रहा था।

पंगत में हँसी थी, संतोष था और भोजन का आनंद था। तीस मिनट कब बीत गए, किसी को पता ही नहीं चला।

समय पूरा हुआ तो दूसरी पंगत के लोग तृप्त होकर उठे। वही भोजन, वही समय-सीमा और वही शारीरिक बाधा—लेकिन परिणाम बिल्कुल अलग!

अंतर कहाँ था?

पहली पंगत में हर व्यक्ति सोच रहा था—मैं अपना पेट कैसे भरूँ?

दूसरी पंगत में हर व्यक्ति सोच रहा था—मैं सामने वाले का पेट कैसे भरूँ?

परिणाम यह हुआ कि पहली पंगत में सबके सामने भोजन होते हुए भी लोग भूखे रह गए, जबकि दूसरी पंगत में एक-दूसरे को खिलाते हुए सब तृप्त हो गए।

व्यवहार में अंतर है।

साधन कम नहीं थे। अंतर केवल दृष्टि और व्यवहार में होता है।जहाँ हर व्यक्ति केवल अपने लिए जीता है, वहाँ प्रचुरता के बीच भी अभाव है। जहाँ व्यक्ति दूसरों के सुख में अपना सुख देखता है, वहाँ सीमित साधनों में भी समृद्धि है।

जीवन का सबसे बड़ा विरोधाभास यही है—दूसरों को देने से हमारा हिस्सा हमेशा कम नहीं होता; कई बार वही हमारा पेट भरने का एकमात्र रास्ता होता है।

समाज, परिवार, शासन और संसार—सबकी सफलता इसी सरल सिद्धांत पर निर्भर है:

एक हाथ दूसरे को सहारा दे, एक व्यक्ति दूसरे का हाथ बँटाए और एक मन दूसरे मन की चिंता करे।

क्योंकि अंततः प्रश्न यह नहीं है कि हमारे सामने कितना भोजन रखा है, बल्कि यह है कि हम उस भोजन को बाँटने की कला जानते हैं या नहीं।

Eat Together, Live Together

A Story of One Dining Row and the Philosophy of Life

This story is often told in the teachings of different religions to convey a simple yet profound truth: we can nourish ourselves by learning to nourish others.

A gentleman lovingly organised a gathering for spiritual discourse followed by a community meal. The aroma of food and the appeal of the spiritual gathering spread far and wide, and nearly twice as many people arrived as had been invited.

The host found himself in a dilemma. The veranda was small, while the number of guests was large. It was impossible to accommodate everyone at the same time. Eventually, it was decided that half the guests would eat first and the remaining half afterwards.

But there was a peculiar condition attached to the meal!

Each person’s hands would be secured with wooden splints in such a way that the elbows could not bend. Food would be served in front of them, but they would have only thirty minutes to eat. Once the time was up, the dining row would have to disperse.

The First Row: Laddoos Flew, Pooris Scattered!

The bell rang, and the meal began. Before the guests lay hot pooris, fragrant vegetable curry, dal, rice and laddoos soaked in syrup. Hungry and eager, everyone picked up the food and tried to bring it to their own mouth.

But their arms remained straight. Their elbows could not bend!

What happened next was pure chaos. Someone tried tossing a poori into his mouth, only for it to land on the turban of the person sitting opposite. Another flung a morsel of vegetable curry towards his mouth, but the curry splattered across his clothes before it could reach its destination. Someone tossed a laddoo, which missed his mouth entirely and landed in the lap of the gentleman seated opposite him.

Dal spilled here, pooris flew through the air there, and laddoos rolled across the dining row, provoking bursts of laughter and playful commotion.

Everyone was waving their arms, stretching their necks and manoeuvring their mouths in desperate attempts to catch a morsel. The food was plentiful, and their hunger was genuine, but each person was preoccupied with his own plate and his own stomach.

Amid all the frantic activity, nobody noticed how quickly the thirty minutes passed. When the announcement came that time was up, the plates were still laden with food, clothes were stained with curry, pooris lay scattered on the ground, and stomachs remained empty.

The food was right in front of them, yet nobody had experienced the pleasure of eating!

The host declared the time over, and the first row had to get up. Disappointment was written on their faces. There had been no shortage of food, yet they had gone hungry.

The Second Row: Think of the Person Opposite You!

Now it was the turn of the second row. The same veranda, the same plates, the same delicacies and the same wooden splints restricting their arms.

But this time, one guest looked at the person sitting opposite him and said spontaneously:

“Brother, my hands can reach your mouth, and yours can reach mine. Why don’t you feed me while I feed you?”

A simple observation transformed the entire arrangement.

The man opposite picked up a morsel and placed it in his mouth. In return, he fed the other person from his own plate.

And so the miracle began!

One hand offered a poori while the other brought a morsel of vegetable curry. Someone fed his neighbour dal and rice, while another offered him a taste of the sweets. Their arms remained straight, but their hearts had opened. Their elbows could not bend, but they had learned the art of bending towards one another with kindness.

Nobody needed to bring food to his own mouth. Everyone concentrated on feeding the person opposite, and in the process, everyone’s own hunger was satisfied.

There was laughter, contentment and the sheer joy of sharing a meal. The thirty minutes passed before anyone realised it.

When time was called, the guests in the second row rose with full stomachs and satisfied hearts. The food was the same, the time limit was the same, and the physical constraint was the same—yet the outcome was entirely different!

Where Did the Difference Lie?

In the first row, everyone was thinking:

How can I fill my own stomach?

In the second row, everyone was thinking:

How can I fill the stomach of the person sitting opposite me?

As a result, the first row remained hungry despite having plenty of food before them, while the second row enjoyed a satisfying meal simply by feeding one another.

The difference lay in their attitude and behaviour.

The resources had not changed. Only their perspective had changed.

Where everyone lives solely for themselves, scarcity can persist even amid abundance. Where people find happiness in the well-being of others, even limited resources can create a sense of prosperity.

This is one of life’s greatest paradoxes: giving to others does not necessarily diminish our share. Sometimes, it is the only way to fulfil our own needs.

Whether in society, family, governance or the world at large, success depends on this simple principle:

Let one hand support another. Let one person lend a helping hand to another. Let one heart care for another.

For, ultimately, the question is not how much food is placed before us, but whether we have learned the art of sharing it.

Life becomes fulfilling not when everyone struggles to feed themselves, but when everyone cares enough to feed one another.

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Win Big: A Lesson from the Sequoias

Win Big: A Lesson from the Sequoias

“It is a big world for a little seed.”

A Sequoia begins life as something almost insignificant—a tiny seed in a vast forest. Millions of seeds are produced because only a very small number will survive the hazards of nature and grow into giants. Ultimately, perhaps only one seed from a mature tree needs to reach maturity for the forest to continue. I found this simple fact deeply moving. It seemed almost like a metaphor for human life: the odds may be against us, but the possibility of becoming something extraordinary always remains.

My visit to the giant Sequoias began after a brief exploration of San Francisco. We saw the Golden Gate Bridge, the waterfront and port area, Chinatown and drove through the city's streets before beginning the long journey towards Sequoia National Park.

The Golden Gate Bridge itself had already given me a lesson in human determination. Conceived and built during the difficult years of the Great Depression, the bridge was financed through bonds and opened in 1937. Its enormous towers and suspension cables represented not only engineering achievement but also the willingness of people to undertake something seemingly impossible during a period of economic hardship. Looking at it, I thought that great achievements often begin when circumstances appear least favourable.

After nearly 300 miles of driving, we reached the Three Rivers area near Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks in the evening. After checking into the Comfort Inn and having a simple supper of ready-to-eat Indian food, we went for a walk beside the highway.

It happened to be the night before Dev Diwali. The moon was exceptionally bright. Away from the lights and pollution of a large city, the full moon appeared almost extraordinarily close and luminous. I remember thinking of the old Hindi expression “Chaudhavi ka Chand.” The walk became unexpectedly meditative. Under the vast sky, in the cool night air, there was little to do except walk, look upward and listen to the silence.

The little town had everything a visitor needed—accommodation, restaurants, a grocery store, a bank and a post office. It struck me as a simple but effective lesson in tourism infrastructure: a natural attraction becomes economically useful to a region only when visitors have the basic facilities to stay, eat, travel and enjoy it comfortably.

The following morning, we drove into the forest.

Sequoia National Park lies in the southern Sierra Nevada and is renowned for its giant sequoia trees. The landscape rises dramatically from foothills to high mountain country, eventually reaching Mount Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous United States. In early November, a light covering of snow had begun to transform the forest. The giant trunks, evergreen foliage and patches of white created a landscape that looked almost timeless.

But it was the trees themselves that overwhelmed me.

The General Sherman Tree, one of the world's largest trees by volume, stood like a living monument. Around it were hundreds of other giant sequoias. Some had already lived for more than two thousand years. They had stood through the rise and fall of kingdoms, empires, civilizations and technologies. When these trees were young, much of what we now call recorded human history had yet to unfold.

I stood before one of them and tried to imagine its age.

What had the world looked like when this tree was a seed? What rulers had come and gone? How many generations of human beings had lived and disappeared while the tree quietly continued to grow?

The forest made human time appear very small.

I also noticed the visitors. Birdwatchers moved quietly with long camera lenses, waiting patiently for a bird to appear in the right frame. Squirrels moved among the trees, and signs of deer and other wildlife added to the sense that this was not simply a collection of trees but a living ecosystem.

The visitor centre was modest but thoughtfully organized, with displays explaining the forest, its wildlife and its natural history. Maps, signboards and trails made the enormous landscape accessible to ordinary visitors. It reminded me again that good public administration often works best when it becomes almost invisible—when information, infrastructure and systems are arranged so well that the visitor simply experiences the place.

There were still places I could not see because of the limited time. I had visited one of the canyons but could not explore Crystal Cave. The forest seemed to demand more time than I had available. Some places are like that: one visit introduces them to you, but does not exhaust them.

Yet the greatest lesson came from the trees.

A Sequoia does not begin as a giant. It begins as a tiny seed in a dangerous world. Fire, wind, drought, disease and competition threaten its survival. Millions of seeds may fall, but only a few become mature trees. And yet the forest continues.

That thought stayed with me long after I left the park.

In human life too, we begin as small and vulnerable as seeds. We encounter failures, disappointments, competition, uncertainty and circumstances beyond our control. We cannot determine every hazard that will come our way. But we can determine whether we continue to grow.

The Sequoia does not hurry. It simply keeps growing—year after year, decade after decade, century after century.

Perhaps that is the secret.

Do not worry about how small the seed looks today. Give it the conditions to grow, survive the storms and keep reaching upward.

As I stood among those ancient trees, I wrote a line for myself:

“Look at a Sequoia and imagine that you are a Sequoia seed. Then turn the wheel of life and see if you will WIN BIG.”

The giant tree was not always a giant.

It was once a seed.

Win Big.

 

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South Korea

 

South Korea: A Model of Spectacular Growth

A Journey That Became an Administrative Lesson

In March–April 2012, I had an opportunity to visit the Republic of Korea as a participant in the training programme “Climate Change & Disaster Prevention”, organised and funded by the Korea International Cooperation Agency (KOICA). The programme was held from 29 March to 18 April 2012. Fifteen participants from eight SAARC countries—India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Maldives—were part of the programme.

At that time, I was serving as Commissioner of Relief and Principal Secretary, Revenue Department, Government of Gujarat. Therefore, Korea interested me in two different ways. As an administrator, I wanted to understand its disaster-management and development systems. As a traveller, I wanted to see how ordinary Koreans lived.

The combination was fascinating.

I found that sometimes the most useful lessons of administration are not found in conference rooms or presentations. They are visible in the way people live, work, eat, travel, speak to one another and organise their communities.

Korea became such an experience for me.

First Impressions of Korea

South Korea is a peninsula of about 100,140 sq. km, with nearly 70% of its area covered by mountains. At the time of my visit, its population was around 48 million.

The first impression of a foreign visitor was of an orderly, energetic and highly organised society. Modern cities stood beside mountains and rivers. High-rise buildings, wide roads, efficient public facilities and busy commercial areas reflected the country's rapid economic transformation.

But beneath this modern appearance was a society with its own distinctive food, language, family customs and social habits.

The Korean people appeared simple, disciplined and socially connected. Like many Asian societies, family remained important, but the younger generation was increasingly living a modern and individualistic life.

Husband, Wife and Everyday Life

One amusing observation I made was about the relationship between husbands and wives.

The traditional expectation was that the husband would earn and hand over the money to his wife, while the wife often managed the household finances. In my informal conversations, I noticed that husbands could be quite humble when asking their wives for money!

Two expressions that became part of my small vocabulary were:

“Ton juseyo” — Please give me money.

and

“Sarange juseyo” — Give me love.

I used to imagine a Korean husband approaching his wife with both requests!

Behind the humour was an important social observation. Women played a very strong role in the Korean family and economy. They looked after the family, managed finances, participated in farming and increasingly entered professional employment.

For an Indian visitor, the arrangement was both familiar and different. The family remained important, but the economic independence and participation of women were clearly visible.

A Foreigner's Little Korean Dictionary

Whenever I travel to a country whose language I do not know, I like to pick up a few words. One does not need to become a linguist to communicate with people; sometimes five or six words are enough to create a smile.

In Korea, some expressions became particularly useful to us.

“An nyong ha se yo” — Hello.

“Ol ma ye yo?” — How much?

“Kka kka ju se yo” — Please give me a discount.

“Gam sa ham ni da” — Thank you.

These were simple words, but they created an immediate human connection. A foreigner trying to speak even a few words of the local language was generally received warmly.

I learnt again that administration and travel have something in common: communication begins with respect for the other person's language and culture.

Kimchi: More Than a Dish

No description of Korea is complete without kimchi.

Rice remained the staple food, but a Korean meal was accompanied by several side dishes. The most famous was kimchi—a mixture of vegetables such as Chinese cabbage, radish, green onion and cucumber, prepared with red chilli powder and garlic.

For a foreigner, the first sight of a Korean meal could be slightly confusing. Instead of one large dish in the centre, there were several small dishes placed around the rice. Every meal seemed to have its own little collection of tastes.

Kimchi was particularly striking because of its colour and strong flavour.

Traditionally, the long Korean winter made fresh vegetables difficult to obtain. Families therefore prepared large quantities of kimchi in late November or early December to last through the winter. It was stored in large clay jars, partly buried in the ground to maintain temperature and preserve its flavour.

Modern refrigerators have now replaced much of that traditional arrangement.

I found something beautiful in this practice. What appeared to a visitor merely as food was actually a combination of climate adaptation, household planning, food preservation and community tradition.

As an administrator working in disaster management, I could not help seeing another lesson in it: people living in difficult climatic conditions had developed their own systems of preparedness long before modern disaster-management terminology came into existence.

A Food Culture Very Different from Ours

Koreans eat a wide variety of food. Fish, eels, crabs, octopus, chicken, duck and pork are common. Pork and coffee had become increasingly popular among the younger generation.

For an Indian visitor, some food habits could be surprising. Koreans were comfortable eating things that many Indians might consider unusual.

This reminded me that administrative understanding of a society cannot be separated from its culture. Food habits, family structures, festivals, religion, climate and economic conditions all influence the way people respond to government policies.

A policy that works in one society may need considerable adaptation in another.

Hangul: A Language Designed with Thought

The Korean script, Hangul, was another fascinating aspect of the country.

King Sejong the Great, one of the most outstanding kings in Korean history, developed the Korean written language with the help of scholars. The alphabet has 24 characters—14 consonants and 10 vowels.

What fascinated me was that the letters were designed systematically, with the consonants reflecting the shape of the organs used in pronunciation and the vowels based on three basic elements symbolising the sun, earth and people.

For a foreign visitor, the Korean script initially looked completely unfamiliar. Yet there was an underlying logic to it.

I found this another example of an important principle in administration: complexity can often be reduced when a system is designed thoughtfully from the beginning.

A Nation That Rose from War

Behind this modern society was a painful history.

Korea was a Japanese colony from 1910 to 1945. After liberation, it was almost destroyed in the Korean War of 1950–53 and divided into North Korea and South Korea, following Communist and Capitalist systems respectively.

Russia supported North Korea, while the United States supported South Korea. Even during my visit, the security dimension was visible. The two brother countries continued to spend enormous resources on defence.

Yet South Korea had chosen to concentrate on economic development.

Its transformation from a war-ravaged country to a modern industrial economy was one of the most impressive stories of the twentieth century.

The Korean Work Ethic

South Korea followed Export-Oriented Industrialization, moving from labour-intensive industries such as textiles, garments and toys to capital-intensive industries such as electronics, automobiles, shipbuilding, oil refineries and civil works, and then towards high-value-added industries.

The workforce itself underwent a dramatic transformation. In 1963, agriculture, forestry and fisheries employed 63% of the labour force. By 2010, the figure had fallen to 6.6%, while the tertiary sector had risen substantially.

The story of Samsung particularly impressed me. A small company making black-and-white televisions in 1969 had become a global technology giant.

Another story that fascinated me was that of a poor young man who came to the city after selling a cow, worked in a rice shop, carried bags on his shoulders and travelled by bicycle, eventually building a giant industrial group, PASCO, in construction.

These stories reflected something beyond economics.

They reflected aspiration.

A society becomes prosperous when its people begin believing that tomorrow can be better than today—and then work collectively to make it so.

Korea in the Morning

One of my pleasures during the visit was simply observing ordinary life.

People were constantly moving—going to work, travelling by public transport, shopping, eating together and returning home. Young people were particularly energetic. They appeared focused on education, careers, income and the possibilities offered by modern life.

The streets had a rhythm of their own.

There were offices, shops, restaurants, markets and cafés. Technology was visible everywhere. Traditional food existed comfortably alongside modern consumer culture.

Coffee culture was becoming popular. Western-style cafés had become part of urban life. At the same time, traditional Korean food and family customs remained strong.

This coexistence of old and new was perhaps one of the most interesting features of Korea.

A Society Moving Towards No Religion

Among all my observations, one subject stayed with me long after the journey: religion.

My training report recorded that about 47% of Koreans identified themselves as having no religion, while the remainder included Buddhists, Protestants, Catholics and followers of other religions.

I began thinking about the younger generation.

In the Western world too, churches appeared to be visited more frequently by elders and children, while many young people seemed more occupied with education, careers, earning and enjoying life.

I wanted to understand this change.

So I asked a Korean young man:

“Why do you prefer the status of no religion instead of following the religion of your family?”

His answer stayed with me.

He said, in substance:

“I was not born with a religion. I followed the faith of my parents. Now I am young and I have to earn for myself and for my future family. I am yet to find a girl of my choice and marry her. Progress and growth in my life are more important to me than religion.

“Religion teaches us what to do and what not to do, and mostly talks about our condition after death. It has become more customary in nature—how to perform marriage, death ceremonies and rituals. Sometimes religion becomes an obstruction to growth because of its restrictions.

“For me, the present life is more important than life after death. I should grow, my friends should grow and all should grow. My country should grow. We should work hard, produce, improve our income and increase the GDP of the country and live a better quality of life.

“I may follow or not follow the customs of religion in my rituals, but in day-to-day life my participation in the economic activities of the nation is more important. I shall earn, buy a house and other amenities of life, spend money on my needs, pay taxes to the government to build infrastructure, and help people in need if I have excess money.

“Development of my physical life is my first priority.”

I do not know whether this young man represented all Korean youth. Certainly, he did not. But his answer made me think deeply.

Religion, Development and Human Life

I began to wonder where the orthodox world was going.

In the name of religion, some people continue to accept inequality among human beings by birth and create conflicts in society. Some are brainwashed into becoming terrorists in the hope of attaining Jannat after death. Religion, which should unite people, sometimes becomes a dividing force.

Yet who does not want to become a good human being?

Who does not want peace and happiness?

Who does not want the bliss of God?

Almost everyone wants these things.

But souls live in bodies. Bodies need food, shelter, education, healthcare, employment and security.

Therefore, economic activity matters.

The physical and mental strength of youth should be used for individual development and, through that, for the development of the community and the country.

At the same time, we should not lose the good practices that have traditionally been taught through religion—Yoga, Asanas, meditation, discipline, compassion and self-control.

Perhaps the question is not simply religion or no religion.

The real question is:

What makes a better human being and a better society?

Looking Beyond the Finger

Thought leaders such as Krishna, Buddha, Mahavir, Jesus, Muhammad and Gandhi conveyed ideas of common good to humanity.

But many of us, instead of looking at the moon towards which they pointed, keep looking at the finger—and then begin fighting over the size and identity of the finger.

This seemed particularly meaningful to me in a country where people from different religious backgrounds were living together, while a large section of the younger generation was choosing no formal religion.

The lesson for me was not to reject religion, but to look beyond labels and ask what values can contribute to human welfare.

The Administrator in Me Looks at Disaster

While these social observations enriched my travel experience, the administrator in me kept returning to the purpose of the visit.

The training covered Korea's climate-change adaptation, disaster-management institutions, flood and typhoon management, landslides, coastal disasters, tsunami warning systems, local emergency management and collaborative emergency-management systems.

The field visits took us to a water-retention basin, Gosan Meteorological Observatory, the National Typhoon Centre and a windmill power plant in Jeju, and to the Korea Meteorological Agency, Han River Flood Control Office and Samsung Electronics in Seoul.

These visits made the training much more real.

A PowerPoint presentation can explain a flood-control system. Standing before the actual infrastructure gives the administrator a different understanding.

A lecture can explain early warning. Seeing the monitoring systems shows how information travels from nature to technology and from technology to the decision-maker.

A policy document can speak about coordination. Observing institutions working together shows what coordination actually means.

The Emergency Operation Centre

Korea had Emergency Operation Centres at major cities and provincial headquarters. They dealt routinely with medical, fire and police emergencies and coordinated disaster-management operations during calamities.

I found this particularly relevant to Gujarat.

A disaster does not arrive department by department.

A flood may simultaneously require the Revenue Department, Irrigation Department, Police, Fire Services, Health Department, Electricity authorities, Transport Department and local government to act.

Therefore, the challenge is not merely to have competent departments. The challenge is to make them work as one system when the situation demands it.

This became one of my strongest administrative takeaways from Korea.

Information Is Power During a Disaster

Korea had developed sophisticated information systems for disaster monitoring and response—automatic rainfall warnings, CCTV integration, disaster information sharing, situation analysis, mobile warning systems and decision-support systems.

I returned with a simple thought:

The administrator who receives reliable information ten minutes earlier may save many lives.

For a disaster manager, information is not merely data. It is a resource that can become life-saving action.

This was why I recommended that Korea's ICT-based disaster-management systems be studied further and adapted to Indian and Gujarat conditions.

Floods: Prevent Them Before They Become Disasters

Korea's experience with floods was especially relevant to me.

Its four major rivers—the Han, Nakdong, Geum and Youngsan—faced flood risks, while urbanisation and heavy rainfall created additional vulnerabilities. Korea had invested in flood monitoring, reservoirs and river-management infrastructure.

I immediately thought of Gujarat's Tapi, Narmada, Mahi and Sabarmati.

My training report suggested that Gujarat could take a lead in modernising flood-control cells for these rivers and improve protection for Surat, Bharuch, Vadodara and Ahmedabad.

This was more than an engineering lesson.

It was a lesson in administrative timing.

The best disaster manager is not the person who reaches the flood site fastest. It is the person who makes the flood less dangerous before it happens.

Green Growth

Korea also made me think differently about development.

Its Green Growth policy attempted to minimise natural-resource use and environmental pollution while continuing economic growth and using environmental challenges as an engine for new growth.

The idea was attractive because development and environmental protection were not treated as permanent enemies.

Clean energy, green technology, energy efficiency and environmental protection could themselves become sources of investment, innovation and employment.

My training report therefore recommended Green Growth as a possible pathway for reducing greenhouse-gas emissions while creating new economic opportunities.

This became particularly relevant to me because the training itself was on climate change and disaster prevention. Climate change was no longer an issue for environmental departments alone. It was becoming a challenge for every administrator responsible for infrastructure, agriculture, cities, water, health and livelihoods.

From Aid Recipient to Donor

Perhaps the most inspiring part of Korea's story was its economic transformation.

Its GNI per capita had risen from $63 in 1953 to $29,010 in 2010. It had moved from receiving aid to becoming a donor country. KOICA was established in 1991, and Korea joined OECD/DAC in 2010.

For an Indian civil servant, this was an important lesson.

Development is not merely about receiving assistance.

The ultimate goal should be to develop the capacity to stand on one's own feet and eventually help others.

What I Brought Back from Korea

When I returned, I realised that I had brought back three different kinds of lessons.

The traveller in me remembered kimchi, unfamiliar foods, Korean words, mountains, modern cities, cafés, family life and the humour of husbands asking their wives for money.

The citizen in me thought about the young Korean who valued economic independence, hard work and quality of life more than religious identity.

And the administrator in me returned with ideas about Emergency Operation Centres, early warning, flood monitoring, GIS, inter-departmental coordination, disaster preparedness, Green Growth and time-bound action plans supported by budgets.

Perhaps this is what makes travel valuable.

We do not merely see another country.

We see our own country differently after seeing another.

The Final Lesson

Korea taught me that spectacular development does not happen through one miracle.

It comes from the cumulative effect of hard work, education, technology, infrastructure, disciplined institutions, entrepreneurship, policy continuity and people's aspirations.

Similarly, effective disaster management does not depend on one heroic administrator. It depends on systems that can predict, warn, coordinate, respond and recover.

And a healthy society does not necessarily depend upon everyone following the same religion. It depends upon people respecting one another and sharing common values of humanity, peace and prosperity.

Scientists, technologists, doctors and agricultural scientists have made our lives more comfortable and liveable. Our life expectancy, education, income and material comforts have increased enormously.

But development also brings responsibility.

Climate change and over-exploitation of natural resources can become challenges for the next generation. Therefore, development must be combined with sustainability.

And prosperity must be combined with humanity.

Combining the fruits of economic development with a life of good virtues can make the world a heaven. Otherwise, the endless fight of “I”, the ego, can destroy harmony and make the earth a hell.

My Korean journey therefore left me with a thought that has remained with me:

Religion or no religion, humanity and prosperity should be the torch of our life.

In Retrospect

Looking back, the most valuable thing I brought home from Korea was not a particular technology, policy or administrative model.

It was a way of looking at society.

I learnt to observe a country simultaneously through the eyes of a traveller, a citizen and an administrator.

The traveller noticed the kimchi.

The citizen noticed the aspirations of young Koreans.

The administrator noticed the Emergency Operation Centre.

And all three noticed the same thing:

A society progresses when its people, institutions and aspirations move in the same direction.

That, for me, was the real lesson of South Korea.

 

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